Author's Note: Having never been to the UK, and not having access to a Harry Potter atlas, the distances between places are probably a little skewed. Please forgive any inconsistencies. I am always open to corrections as well.

Also, there is a bit of a naughty scene at the end of this chapter. If you think it will offend you, stop reading after the line:

"I can do that," he replied, pulling her bodily up his chest as he reached his head down to allow his lips to meet hers.

Enjoy!

Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow two days after everyone parted ways at King's Cross. The two brunettes traveled with Hermione's parents to Kent, where they picked up her car and a few other necessities. Then, they planned on taking a mini-road trip to Ottery St. Catchpole. They gorged themselves on candy, soda, and horrifically fattening foods for 24 hours on the drive back to the Burrow. Hermione was pretty sure that she and Harry were going to be suffering the effects of diabetic shock by the time they reached Mrs. Weasley's loving care.

But she wouldn't have traded those two days for anything.

It was the first time that she could remember that she and Harry ever did anything that was just them. Since he would be leaving her in 12 days, she wanted to soak up every experience she could with the boy she had come to love as a brother. As long as she didn't stop to think about it, she didn't even get teary-eyed.

She let Harry take a turn driving the car, an experience that taught them both to never, EVER let him behind the wheel again. But he was a good navigator. They only got lost three times. This was a pretty good result, as neither of them had ever gone to the Burrow using traditional Muggle means. And Hermione only had to fight the urge to turn around and take Harry into hiding once.

Honest.

They talked. Hour after hour they talked. She heard about Sirius, about Luna, about Ginny. He heard about being an animagus, about Malcolm, about Ron. Harry found it weird that he wasn't weirded out hearing Hermione talk about his best mate, and former roommate, in such lovely-dovey terms. They even wandered into the issue of sex.

"Did you sleep with Ginny the night of the Leaving Ball?" she asked him outright.

"Did I sleep with her? Yes. Did we shag? No."

"Well, that's good."

"Why is it good?"

"Because neither of you are in the proper place right now to take your relationship to the next level."

"Really?"

"My God, don't you think anything through?"

"Of course," he huffed at her, "why are we not in the 'proper place right now'?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to huff.

"Do you love her?" Hermione asked, going in for the kill.

Harry was quiet. Hermione pursed her lips. It wasn't fun being right all the time.

"Yes," he answered softly, after several minutes had gone by.

"Really?" She was genuinely surprised to hear him say it. She thought it was a pretty safe bet to think he felt it, but to hear him say it…wow, he was making progress.

"Yeah, I think I really do."

"Well, that's something then," as proud as she was of him at this moment, she still had a point to make, "is she your girlfriend again, then?"

"I…I don't know," he hesitated.

"Ok, well, what happened the night of the Leaving Ball?"

"We were dancing, and I was pretty sauced, and then we started talking, and then it kinda turned into a fight, and then I kissed her, and then…."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Hermione interrupted, "you kissed her?"

"Yes."

"Well, why did you do that?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Ok, so then what happened?"

"Err, then I took her upstairs to my dorm room, and then…"

"Wait a minute, I have to stop you again," Hermione interrupted again, "I don't need the graphic details. But you didn't shag her?"

"No."

"Did you intend to when you brought her up there?"

"I think so," Harry said, after thinking about it for another few minutes.

"So what stopped you?"

"I was laying on the bed, and the fucking…oh sorry," he amended after Hermione shot him a look, "and the room was spinning and Ginny came forward and began trying to unbutton my shirt. I looked down at her hands, and they were shaking. She was scared…of me…of what we were about to do. Luna never did that."

"No?"

"No…she was always completely confident. She had, err…some experience with shagging already. If anything, I was the one who was the total wreck the first couple times."

"So Ginny's inexperience turned you off?"

"No…it was the importance of the thing…a girl's first time should be romantic and stuff, should be planned, not with some drunken wanker in his bloody dorm room when there is a good possibility that he will either puke on her or blow his load too soon."

"You've given this some thought," Hermione commented quietly.

"You have no idea," Harry admitted, looking out the window, to try to avoid how embarrassed he was by how much he was revealing.

"So you decided not to shag her?"

"Right, but I didn't want to let her go, either, so I basically forced her into sleeping with me."

"How did you accomplish that?"

"I laid her down next to me and hugged her so tightly she couldn't move away. I stayed that way until I felt her go to sleep. Then I had to roll over and throw up, but I brought her back up against me and went to sleep myself. Or passed out, rather."

"Gross."

"I cleaned everything up," he was quiet again for a few seconds, "it was really cute though…"

"What was?"

"In the morning, when she woke up, she had imprints from my shirt buttons running down her face."

"Those Weasleys do look cute in the morning, don't they?" Hermione smiled at him. They drove a few more miles, enjoying the quiet.

"Did you sleep with Ron the night of the Leaving Ball?"

Hermione pulled her sunglasses down slightly to arch an eyebrow at him.

"What do you think?"

"I think that the saying 'it's always the quiet ones' is absolutely correct."

"Oh please, when have you ever known me to be 'quiet'?"

"So it's ok for Ron to get shagged the night of the Leaving Ball but not me?"

"It's not the first time Ron and I slept together; it won't be the last."

"You sound confident."

"Well, as confident as two more weeks will make me, anyway."

"I can't believe you aren't coming with us," Harry said sadly.

"Well, those were the cards I was dealt," now it was Hermione's turn to think for a bit, "maybe it's better this way."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe it's better that you boys are getting the opportunity to go off and have an adventure on your own. You know, you can go and make bodily noises and eat like pigs and stuff without worrying about me telling you to clean up after yourselves and watch your language."

"Well, that would be fun," Harry teased her, amazed at the light mood her words put in him, "you would probably frown on us giving Malfoy a swirly."

"I wouldn't be too confident that you would be able to catch him," she smiled, "remember he's been to prison."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, I think you should ask him. I'm sure he would love to explain it to you in graphic detail."

He laughed, not really understanding what she meant. But the opportunity to embarrass Malfoy did sound promising.

He almost didn't want to get there. Who knew just hanging out with Hermione could be so much fun?

But, eventually, they did get there. The Burrow. His home away from home, so to speak. The ramshackle house full of red heads. Nine of them, plus Fleur, when they were all in residence.

Ron was waiting for them out on the front porch.

"Took you two long enough," he groused, moving to the trunk to get Hermione's bag.

"We took the scenic route," Hermione replied, kissing him on the cheek.

"Hi," said a voice softly behind him. Harry turned his head to see Ginny standing there, in all her self-conscious glory.

"Hey," he said back, smile coming to his face without his even thinking about it.

Even though there were more available rooms at the Burrow now, with most of the children having moved out, Hermione and Harry decided to uphold tradition and bunk with Ginny and Ron.

"Just like old times," Hermione said, throwing her purse on the cot in Ginny's room.

"Yeah, swell," Ginny replied, tripping over Hermione's trunk.

The four of them spent every second they could together, not doing anything, particularly, except being with each other. Hermione tried to occupy herself as much as possible, not wanting to let her mind wand to what would happen after July 1st. She received her acceptance letter to Morganna University in London, which required them all to go visit the campus and shop for her school supplies in Diagon Alley. They made a day of it, picking up Ginny's school supplies and having lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

"This may be the last time the four of us sit here," Ginny commented without thinking as they waited in their booth for lunch.

"Thanks, Gin," Ron replied crossly.

They stretched each hour to pack in as much as they could, but the days slipped past quickly. A week had gone by when Harry found himself washing the dinner dishes with Ginny in the Burrow's kitchen.

"So, what's going on with us?" she asked suddenly, taking a page out of his "let's be blunt now" book.

"We're washing dishes."

"How very clever you are at being evasive. Hermione must be giving you lessons."

"Would you believe me if I said that I was terrified of having this discussion with you?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes, but we're going to have it anyway?"

He stopped to look at her. "So is Hermione giving you bullying lessons as well?"

She smiled, "not lessons so much as I am very observant."

"I get that you're hesitant about having this discussion," she began again, leaning against the sink with one hand on her hip, turning to look at him fully, "but we need to have it. You owe me that much."

"You're right, I do," he, too, stopped what he was doing and turned to face her, "where do you want to start?"

"How do you feel about me?"

"You know that."

"I want to hear it."

He hesitated.

"Doesn't it help that you're already said it?"

"Well, if I already said it, why do you need to hear it again?"

"Because you were drunk last time."

"That's why it doesn't help; I was drunk."

"So you don't really feel that way?"

"No, I do…it's just that, if I say it out loud, it's like it has marked you or something."

"So we're back to the whole 'distance will keep Ginny safe' routine?"

"I can't change who I am, Gin, don't expect me to. Yes, I want to keep you as safe as I can, and if that means making sacrifices, then so be it."

She turned from him to think and washed a few more dishes.

"Before the Leaving Ball, Ron asked me if torturing you made me feel better," she said, seemingly changing the subject.

"And does it?"

"No, it made me miserable, but I still thought you should suffer. Then he asked what was the point of making you suffer, if I was just as upset as you?"

"When did Ron become so diabolically clever?"

"I know, right? This is the same thing. Are you happy making me suffer?"

"You are being a little melodramatic, Gin."

"Am I?"

"Yes. This isn't some kind of game. This is war. Yes, the Deatheaters already have a reason to hunt you down. I really don't want to give them another. And you have no idea how appealing a target you would be."

They silently went back to their chore for another few moments.

"But you do…" she began.

"Yes, I do love you," he interrupted. Somehow it was easier to say when he was agitated. No wonder Ron and Hermione seemed to get along so well now.

"You know, Draco said once that I was in danger by knowing you, but he also said I was a danger to you," she began once more, on yet another train of thought. Harry was having trouble keeping up sometimes.

"Really? He really said that?" this was a shocking piece of information, "did he say why?"

She huffed, "the short version is that I'm stupid."

"I don't think that," now he was offended on her behalf. As though he needed another reason to want to knock Malfoy's teeth down his throat.

"Well, maybe it was more that I'm too naïve and too gullible," she placed the last dish in the sudsy water, "he's right you know. It's good that I won't be going with you. I'm too much of a liability."

"How can you say that? I mean, I would be pretty distracted, sure, but that doesn't have anything to do with how good of a soldier you would be."

"He was right, Harry. I am too gullible and too naïve. But I spent all year trying to be better. And I'll keep trying. I want to do my part, no matter how small."

He reached forward and held her head, kissing the side of it. "You already do." He smiled at her and went to hang up the towels outside so that they could dry.

"Harry?" she called after him.

"Yes?"

"I love you too."

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL

Ron lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. To think, this is the last time for who knows how long I'll lie in this bed and stare at this ceiling. He refused to think that he would never see his ceiling again. Got to think positively.

Where had two weeks gone? Suddenly it was the night of June 30th, Hermione and Ginny would be taking him, Harry, and Malfoy to the train tomorrow. He almost couldn't believe that this was it.

His parents hadn't said anything about it, as they were all supposed to be keeping it a secret. But amazingly, all of his brothers had shown up, inconspicuously, for dinner that night. They all tiptoed around the fact that Ron and Harry were leaving. Everyone really knew, but no one could say anything.

He was rather surprised that the meal hadn't been more tense. Conversation made things light. Bill and Fleur talked about married life while Fred teased Hermione about being next. Used to him, she teased him right back, asking where Angelina had run off to. Altogether, it had been a great night.

But now it was over, and he was supposed to be getting his rest before the "Big Day."

He couldn't sleep.

Why not have some fun?

Harry's rthymic breathing lulled him into a hypnotic trance as he reached out with his abilities.

Harry…sleeping, thankfully no dreams.

Mum and Dad…sleeping. Dad's dreaming about…a radio?

Ginny…sleeping. Ginny's dreaming about…EWW! I did NOT need to see that.

Ugh!

Hermione…bingo.

Are you being naughty, Ron? She mentally asked him.

Depends on what you mean by "naughty."

Are you prying into other people's thoughts while they're asleep?

Not prying, just trying to find out who's awake.

I'm awake, as you can see.

Can you get to Bill's old room?

…yes, I think I can manage that.

Ron slipped as silently as he could out of the bed. Harry was typically a light sleeper; he would have to be careful. Years of sleeping in that room had taught him where the creaky floorboards were.

He was down the hall, down the stairs, and in Bill's room in less than three minutes. Hermione took a little longer.

"I'm rather surprised you weren't asleep like everyone else," Ron said quietly, startling Hermione as she crept through the door.

"As though I could sleep tonight," she walked immediately to where he lay, sprawled on the bed, and crawled in beside him. He cast an imperturbable and a silencing charm on the room before placing his wand on the nightstand and wrapping his arms around her.

"You know…"

"Don't," she interrupted, "I don't want to talk about tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to kiss me."

"I can do that," he replied, pulling her bodily up his chest as he reached his head down to allow his lips to meet hers.

They kissed for a long time, as though savoring every texture, every taste, needing to imprint it on their memories for the time to come. They were slow, deliberate, systematic. Ron ran his hands up and down Hermione's back, forcing his fingers to memorize the feel of her nightgown, the heat from her skin, the distance from the small of her back to her shoulder blades. Hermione's hands were in Ron's hair, trying to count each strand.

They broke apart only long enough to get Ron's shirt off. Hermione took a moment to count the freckles on his torso with her lips. Using her fingers, she traced the outlines of the muscles on his chest and stomach, even though she knew how much it tickled him.

When she moved her lips back up to kiss Ron's face, he broke away, kissing down her neck. He gently sucked and nipped on the curve where her neck met her shoulder, marking her in his adolescent way for as long as it would last.

Her legs had carelessly flopped on either side of his and she unconsciously squeezed them together as she got more excited. This was all the signal Ron needed to pull her right leg to hook over his hip and roll over her left, all in one fluid motion. From his new position atop her, he ground into her, as Hermione wrapped her other leg around his hip.

Ron reached down to the hem of Hermione's nightgown and yanked it up, ripping the lace on the bottom as he met resistance. She maneuvered so that he could get the offending garment off. Laying back down, Hermione took her feet and pushed against the waistband of his boxers, wanting them gone.

What had started off as a slow, methodical burn was now an inferno. Six months of practice allowed Ron and Hermione to know without words how to move, where to touch, what that sigh meant. Hermione's legs went around his waist again, pulling his hardness into her softness.

He hadn't been ready; he almost lost it. This time wasn't like any of the others. It seemed hotter…more intense…more sad. He didn't want to leave her. He couldn't leave her! This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wanted to change his mind. He wouldn't go.

Hermione seemed to realize that he was having a small breakdown. She reached up and held his head between both of her hands. She held his eyes for a few seconds and then brought his face down to hers, to kiss as she massaged the back of his neck.

His new position changed the sensations for her and she rubbed against him harder, aching for climax. It didn't take long before she was screaming his name and gripping his hair so tightly he worried he would have bald patches in the morning. The feeling of her walls closing in on him was more than he could take. It was too much and he had an orgasm too soon after.

He collapsed wearily onto her sweaty chest and closed his eyes. The last thing he felt before he passed out was Hermione gently smoothing his hair away from his eyes and caressing his back.