A/N: Not gonna lie, there's a dash of smut in this one. Consider this your fair warning.

Only one more chapter to go, and I'm trying to post it tomorrow. Making up for lost time. :)

Comment if you enjoy it!

Hermione adjusted her jumper for the hundredth time as she inspected her reflection, her stomach a ball of knots. It was the first day of her first year at Hogwarts University and she was anxious to get started.

Satisfied, she turned from the mirror and slung her school bag over her shoulder, scooping up her timetable on her way out the door.

Distillations and Effusions Lab took place in the Slytherin Building, which was on the other side of campus. She passed through the Quad, its green spaces filled to the brim with her fellow students, lazing under the shade of the trees or tossing around Quaffles.

She arrived a few minutes early and set herself at a table in the front of the classroom, unpacking her notebook and getting ready for the lesson. The lab stations were intense: crammed full of delicate glass instruments and multicoloured cauldrons of various sizes. She was sure she knew what most of the equipment was for, but she ran through the definitions in her mind to settle her anxiety.

The professor hunched over his desk, a sallow, hook-nosed man with greasy black hair. Hermione swallowed, pushing down the mixture of panic and disappointment that bubbled in her stomach when she caught the teacher's eye. Snape, she was pretty sure he was called, leered at her, then resumed whatever he was doing, ignoring the trickle of students entering the classroom.

Great…her very first college professor, and he didn't seem to like anyone very much. There went her big ideas of mentorship.

The professor stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and flicked his wand towards the blackboard, filling it with small, cramped writing that outlined the syllabus of their first term. Hermione scribbled furiously, determined to catch all the detail before he erased it.

Not five minutes into the lesson, the classroom door creaked open and a student with bright red hair crept through. His brilliant locks were long, flipping out from his forehead and around his ears. He was tall, rather lanky in his build, and notably pale and freckled.

Professor Snape stopped talking and turned with a slow, deliberate intention that made Hermione avert her gaze. His eerie black eyes glared at the newcomer, who shrank a few inches under the professor's assault.

"Take a seat," he breathed through his long, hooked nose. "Now."

The tardy student started down the aisle, only to be called back by the professor. "No, stay in the front where I can keep my eye on you. What was your name?"

"Weasley," the student answered, sinking into the open stool next to Hermione.

Hermione resisted the urge to groan. Not only was her new professor belligerent and angry, but she was also stuck with this Weasley person as her lab partner.

This was not the brilliant first day of class that she'd been imagining.

The rest of the lecture continued uninterrupted. Snape instructed the room to review and label all the instruments at their lab station as their first assignment.

Determined to make the best of it, Hermione swivelled in her stool to face this Weasley guy. He was zoned out, doodling in his notebook.

"Hey," she snapped. He jolted in his seat. "Did you hear anything the professor said?"

"I did," he responded, though his skin flushed with pale pink.

Then, for the first time, he looked at her and Hermione was struck dumb. She didn't think she'd ever seen such beautiful eyes before. They were the most perfect grey starbursts that faded into brilliant, piercing blues. As though echoing her thoughts, his grumpy expression shifted to one of interest as he appraised her.

"I'm Ron." He stuck out his hand, and she slipped her own much smaller palm into it, ignoring the jolt of electricity upon the contact.

"Hermione."

She cleared her throat, pulling her hand away and returning to her notebook. "Um, shall we?"

"Yes, right." He offered her a sheepish grin and her stomach did a tiny flip. "What was the assignment again?"

Once he focused, Ron proved to be a pretty decent lab partner. He didn't have as much of the content memorised as she did, but he was a good sport about helping to look things up and took his turn documenting. By the end of the period, Hermione felt confident in the work they submitted.

They packed and, turning into the hallway, he spoke. "How do you feel about meeting up again later this week?"

"Yes, I was thinking that too," Hermione agreed, flipping through her notebook. "It would be good to get a head start on the next assignment. Maybe we can do some pre-reading on the condensation points of the more simple solutions we'll be starting with."

"Sure, great idea." He took two long strides and turned to step in front of her, smirking at her surprised, stuttered halt. She stopped reviewing her notes and looked at him. "I was more of the mind that we'd go to get drinks, just you and I," he said. "Without any notes or books."

"Oh," she responded, a bit embarrassed about how breathy she sounded. "Like, um, like a date?"

"Definitely a date, yes."

His smile was ever so slightly crooked, and Hermione's chest was all butterflies as she answered. "Yes, I'd like that."

His eyes clouded over and a mist rolled along the floor, obscuring their feet. He shook his head, blinking. "That's not right."

"It's not, is it?" Hermione frowned. "You didn't ask me for drinks."

"No, I was determined that it be dinner." Ron's lips moved, and it was his voice, but it was different somehow. Lower, more mature. "It was really important to me that I ask you to dinner for our first date."

The air between them grew more opaque, and the hallway in which they stood seemed to fade from view.

"I remember." Hermione smiled. "We had fish and chips. It was nice."

He reached out to her, though they seemed to be moving further apart. "I was so nervous to hold your hand."

"It was perfect when you did."

Ron disappeared and her vision became all white.

His stomach an absolute ball of nerves, Ron smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the blanket he'd laid out beneath a large tree. He checked his phone, seeing the three dots flash before her response hit his inbox.

See you in a moment.

She was on her way. He double-checked the contents of the picnic basket, and, too anxious to resist doing something with his hands, busied himself with popping a bottle of prosecco.

"Ron, what is all this?"

He whirled about, and there she was: Hermione. She gaped at him, her unruly curls today pulled into a submissive plait over her shoulder, though several had escaped their confines. Her eyes were such a dark brown that he thought he might be gladly drowned in their depths, and he admired the gentle blush of her cheeks as comprehension dawned and her full lips pulled into a grin.

She was so beautiful. Even in a uni-branded jumper and jeans, she took his breath away.

"Is this for us?"

He nodded, offering her a flute of prosecco and indicating for her to take a seat. She settled herself next to the small basket he'd brought, peeking under its top as he poured his glass.

"Don't worry," he told her, sitting down so he could rest his back against the trunk of the tree. "It's only strawberries and a few chocolates. I know you have more revising you want to do, but I still think that taking short breaks is good for you."

"Ron," she beamed at him. "That's so sweet."

His heart leapt. "I figured we could enjoy both a bottle and the view, just for a few minutes." He swept a hand and she followed his pointing, taking in the calmness of the campus lake.

"It's perfect."

She unwrapped one of the candies, popped it in her mouth, and closed her eyes. He couldn't tear his gaze from her; watching her suck on the chocolate unexpectedly aroused him.

"Well go on, then." He was pleased that his voice didn't sound as strangled as it might have. "Give us a bit." She manoeuvred to sit beside him, and they passed the time nibbling on the fresh fruit and sipping their drinks.

Ron's ears burned before he posed the question, but he was determined to see it through. "Hermione, can I ask you something?"

"Always."

A gentle breeze rippled across the otherwise still water of the lake. She smiled at him, and he was pleased to know that she was less stressed. He could consider that a victory, even if the second half of his plan didn't work the way he hoped.

"AmIfriendzoned?"

He blushed what he was sure was a deep shade of crimson, and she blinked. "What was that?"

More to avoid her than anything, he looked over the water and took a deep breath. Figuring he was already about as red as he could be, he forced himself to speak slower. "Am I…I mean, do you just consider me a friend? It's fine if you do, I'm happy to be your friend. It's just that we've been on five dates, and my mates figure if we haven't snogged by now then we never will." He ran a hand through his long hair. "You should know, though, that I think you're really fucking beautiful, so if we are only friends, I might need a little time to figure out how to handle that…"

He trailed off, mesmerised by her response to his chaotic speech.

Her smile had grown with every word he'd spoken until she'd dropped her flute, letting the prosecco spill, and crawled to close the short distance between them. She stopped, on her hands and knees, letting their noses brush.

She was so close to him that he could see the lightest dusting of freckles across her nose and the ever-so-slightly darker ring that lined her irises. Hermione grinned at him, then pushed her lips against his.

Ron discarded his own flute and eagerly pulled her into his lap, smiling against her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips were so soft, impossibly soft, and he poured every ounce of his happiness into returning her kiss. This was nirvana; he could do this forever. She tasted like berries and chocolate…

"Wait." He pulled away from her with a loud pop and shook his head. "It wasn't strawberries."

Hermione's arms were still wrapped around his neck, but she wrinkled her nose. "You're right; it was cherries. I remember so clearly. You tasted of them." She ran her thumb over his lower lip. "I loved it."

The white mist rolled around them again, fading the scenery faster than it did before.

"Still arguably the best first kiss in history," Ron grinned.

Her voice sounded further away than she seemed. "Absolutely."

She disappeared, and his vision became all white.

"Are you sure?"

Ron's eyes bored into her, searching her soul. He was so sincere, so worried about her that her heart stuttered in her chest.

"Yes, Ron, I'm sure."

"Right now though?" He looked around. "In the dusty stacks of this rundown library?"

"Yes." She yanked his collar, pulling his lips back to hers. She was perched on a table, and he stood between her legs. She ran her hands over his back as she snogged him with a greedy resolution.

He moaned, eager and responsive to her touch. It aroused her to no end that he was so into her, Hermione Granger. Not the other, flashy sorority girls she saw on campus. He never had eyes for any of them.

Just her.

That she could elicit such enthusiastic reactions from him made her skin heat. She struggled with her denim jacket until Ron helped her shove it off. She moved to his neck, grazing her lips along his jaw as she fumbled with his belt buckle.

"It's just that," he gasped, clearly torn. "It's not very romantic for a first time, is it?"

His determination was impressive, as Hermione herself was so turned on by now she couldn't think straight.

"It's 3 AM, no one else is here, and it's a library. A library, Ron." She planted a firm kiss on his lips. "You couldn't have planned anything more perfect for me." He laughed and let his fingers trail the skin of her thighs.

The blue around his starburst eyes darkened when he was aroused. She loved to see it. That darker shade intoxicated her.

"Besides," she whispered in his ear, "I wore a dress today, specifically for this."

"Fuck, Hermione," he groaned, then grabbed her jaw and snogged her until she was sure her lips would be swollen.

When he was lined up, he met her eyes again, as though looking for a final affirmation. She bit her lip and nodded, holding onto his shoulders as he moved slowly into her. She hissed with the sharp pain, and when he was buried as much as he could be, she held him still, letting the new sensations wash over her.

His breathing was laboured, and she could feel the involuntary twitches between her legs, but he waited, his hand tangled in her wild hair and his eyes pinned on hers.

Finally, she nodded, and he began to move, rocking his hips forward and back against her. As his pace built, he used his free hand to stimulate her. She was overwhelmed with sensitivity, every little touch lighting her up from the inside out.

A white mist rolled across the floor of the library.

"No, not this one," Hermione moaned. "Go away. Let me have this one."

Ron looked down and growled. With sudden ferocity, he picked her up and carried her, slamming her back against a bookshelf. She gasped, and, meeting his darkened, swirling eyes, knew that he was much, much older than this memory showed him to be.

"This is not how our first time went." Her words broke apart as he thrust into her with practised, seasoned movements. "As I recall, we never left that table." The books deliciously dug into her spine, and she sank her fingernails into his back, lamenting that they'd never removed his shirt.

"You're still as beautiful as you were the day I met you," he said by way of response, then tore the buttons off her blouse with a single, frantic rip.

"You're one to talk," she panted and her eyes rolled back with her mounting libido. "How is it that you're even sexier in your thirties?"

He kissed and licked every inch of her skin that he could reach until the world around them faded into white.

Ron's mother had objected at first to his bringing someone to Bill's wedding.

It was his fault, he supposed. He hadn't publicised that he'd been dating Hermione for close to a year, and his mum didn't want a random woman around the family on such an important day.

Watching her now, laughing as she interacted with his siblings, he was glad that he'd insisted. They all loved her, he could tell, and that filled his chest with so much warm emotion that he thought it might burst out of him.

He wasn't embarrassed by his cheesy grin, nor the way Ginny kept rolling her eyes at him.

The band struck up a new, slower song, and he reached a hand to touch her arm, not caring that he'd interrupted her conversation with Percy.

"Dance with me?"

"Of course." She grinned and followed him to the crowded floor.

He wasn't a great dancer, but they swayed and spun together well enough, and as long as she kept smiling that way, he knew he'd never want to stop.

"Hermione." For once his speech was unplanned. He let his heart guide him. "I think I lo-"

"No, don't ruin it." Contrary to her words, she pulled him closer, and he rested his chin on her head.

"How would that ruin it?"

"I don't know. I just…everything is so perfect right now. I don't need anything else."

He understood this somehow, her vague point, and was intrigued to find that it didn't upset him. He kissed her head as they swayed.

"Okay," he agreed.

The white mist crawling along the floor no longer surprised him.

"No." Hermione stepped back from him. "That's not what you said."

"It's not." He lifted a hand and spun her so that her back was to him, pulling her flush against his chest and wrapping his arms around her. She shivered as he spoke, close to her ear. "I believe I said: Okay, but I do, you know that, right?"

"That's right." She sighed, leaning her weight into him. "And I said: I think I do too."

She looked up, over her shoulder, and he lowered his lips to graze hers.

She began to fade from his view.

"What's happening to us?" Half his mind was enthralled in the moment, even as the other half revolted against the illusion.

"I think we've been spelled or cursed somehow, Ron." Her whisper was urgent and she turned, pushing him hard against his shoulders. "We need to wake up. WAKE UP!"

His vision again became white.

Hermione sat up with a jolt, gasping for breath and looking around frantically. She was in the offshoot of the cave where she and Ron had fallen asleep side by side hours before. She jostled Ron's arm and his eyes snapped open.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Some kind of enchantment, I think," she answered, struggling to escape the sleeping bag and stand. "We have to go. Something in here isn't safe."

Ron was already moving, rolling up his blankets and shoving them into his pack. She was relieved to see that his injury hadn't bled through his dressings, which was a good indicator that it had healed enough for him to no longer be in danger.

His muscles rippled beneath his skin with every motion and she felt something in her centre tighten. She tore her eyes away, groaning.

"Ron." She clenched her teeth, keeping a hand on the cool rock of the wall at which she now focused. "I'm a bit, erm, on edge after…whatever the hell that just was. Could you please put on a shirt or something?"

She heard rustling behind her, then he cleared his throat. She turned and accepted her bag, which Ron, now dressed, had packed and held out for her. "If we had any time or semblance of safety, I would insist on discussing that further."

His eyes were still several shades too dark. She bit her lip on impulse, though released it when his eyes dipped to her mouth and his jaw ticked.

This nook was much too small. She ducked into the main cave, breathing in the cooler air and surveying their options. There was one way to go: deeper into the cavern.

"Really though," Ron said, following her. "What was that?"

With a little space from both Ron and the effects of the enchantment, Hermione found that she could think much more clearly. "I'd guess some kind of secondary protection. It'd have been much easier for whoever was guarding this place to take prisoners if people couldn't fight back."

The cave grew steadily darker, and she illuminated her wand tip, hearing him do the same. "Maybe it was an ancient spell," she hypothesised. "One designed to use real memories to distract people. Like catching them in a realistic dream. But you and I, we have the same memories, and the spell is old, so it got some details wrong and we were able to reason ourselves awake."

"We're very lucky, then."

She wasn't sure if he meant because they'd shared so many memories, or because they'd broken the curse, but she was too raw from the experience to ask for clarification.

She heard a movement ahead of them and, pressing a finger to her lips, dillumated her wand.