Chapter 8

Damn, I never liked traveling via Portkey. Or by Apparating, for that matter. It always makes me feel like shite. After shaking my head in hopes of getting rid of the dizziness that I feel, I open my eyes to take in the family room of Layla Shacklebolt. It is not unlike Bill and Fleur's home at Shell Cottage, with rustic wooden furnishings and white upholstery. Outside a wide window facing the beach, it is dark, save for a bright crescent moon and the lights of the city on the ocean's surface. I had forgotten about the time zone difference. It was about noon when we left the Burrow, but it is clearly nighttime here.

"We're going to have be a little quiet," Layla whispers, confirming what I already suspected. "I'm sure that the rest of my family is already asleep. Let me show you to your rooms."

She guides us down a narrow hallway to two rooms that are parallel to each other, with a shared bathroom in the middle at the hallway's end. I immediately offer Hermione the bigger bedroom. She seems to want to protest, probably by bringing up how big I am compared to her so I will need more space, but the need to not wake the others seems to overcome her need to argue with my request.

After we set our bags in our respective rooms, Layla continues, "Please make yourselves at home. Anything in the fridge is fair game. If you feel like going outside for some reason, just make sure to close the door behind you. It's an older house, and we would prefer to avoid a draft if possible. Do you two have any questions? I figured that we could start hunting down your parents as soon as tomorrow, Hermione."

"That would be perfect," Hermione smiles, although I get the feeling that it does not reach her eyes.

"I think we're good. Thanks so much," I respond. I'm already thinking about raiding her fridge.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything. See you two in the morning!" Layla parts from us, turning to go to the opposite side of the house.
After Layla is a considerable distance away, I take Hermione's hand and drag her into her bedroom, closing the door behind me to create a sound barrier.

"Ron?" She asks, looking at me warily.

"Are you alright?" I respond in kind.

Her faces shifts, as if she weren't expecting the question. "What do you mean? Of course I am."

"I just know that you've been worried all day. I don't want you to worry. You're going to be great," I reassure her.

She gives me the strangest expression that I can't quite describe. Slowly, she takes a step towards me, wrapping her arms around my back. I immediately reciprocate with little doubt, which is a welcome change from just a mere couple of months ago. "I just didn't expect this all to be so soon," she confides into my chest. "I've packed for a month, fully expecting that it would take that long to find them. Yet here we are, ready to meet with them as soon as tomorrow. I'm excited to see them, but it's overwhelming… I just don't know if I am ready to do what I need to do yet."
I clumsily run my hands in circles along her back in an attempt to comfort her. "I mean, we don't HAVE to do it tomorrow if you don't want to," I remind her, admittedly not in any hurry to return to Mum's constant watch.

"Although the offer is tempting, I think it's been long enough. I do miss them," she says seriously, stepping back from my embrace and looking me in the face. I reluctantly put my hands back at my sides.

She clearly does not view this trip with the same relief as I selfishly have been. I just can't help it. Being alone with Hermione is all I've wanted for months. I also can't help but see Fred at home whenever we sit down for a meal, or when I pass the family room or the room he shared with George. A change of scenery is something I welcome, even if the circumstances are bad. However, rather than admit that to her, I decide that it's better to change the subject. "Wanna go outside? I reckon that we're not going to sleep any time soon, seeing as we just got up five hours ago."

She bites her bottom lip, looking at me thoughtfully. "I don't know if that would be alright with Layla and her family. They're supposed to be watching us."

"The war is over. We shouldn't have to hide anymore," I say with feeling. "And if there is any need for protection, I'll make sure you're safe. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

She gives me a small smile. "You know that I can protect myself, right?"

"But of course," I tease, waggling my eyebrows. "They say you're the brightest witch of our age."

"I keep hearing that somewhere," she chuckles, apparently remembering what I had told her just that morning. "But I still don't know if it would be proper to go out without letting them know."

"They're our hosts, not our wardens in Azkaban. Look at it this way," I suggest, stroking my chin in mock-thoughtfulness. "If we don't go out, the alternative would be eating everything in their fridge. Both sound appealing to me."

She lets out a small laugh. "Well, that's the biggest non sequitur I've ever heard! But if my options are so limited, I suppose I'll have to take the one that doesn't involve preventing our hosts from having breakfast in the morning."

Even though I don't have a damn clue what a 'non sequitur' is, I feel accomplished for convincing Hermione to do something that could rouse her from her self doubt and anxiety. We tip toe through the house to the front door, making sure to close it quietly behind us. In the dim moonlight, I can see a narrow sand path from the entry way that leads to the beach. I've only been to the beach whenever I had reason to visit Shell Cottage, which was only twice: to attend my brother's housewarming party, and to have a safe haven during the war. I don't know about Hermione's experiences with the beach, other than the one that we had the misfortune to share. However, I reckon that there is nothing like the present to create new and better memories! I take off my shoes at the door step, earning myself a quizzical look from Hermione. "What? Do you usually go to the beach with sneakers on?"

"I don't really go to the beach, period," she admits, begrudgingly moving to take off her own shoes. "I just feel like it's a bit silly to lay out on dirt in order to bake in the sun."

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's no sun to bake in at the moment," I point out, gesturing toward the crescent moon that casts a blue hue over the sprawling beach scape.

She rolls her eyes in amusement as she straightens herself out, having completed the task of taking off her sneakers. She pulls out her wand and directs it toward the path before us. "Lumos."

Although the night air is a bit cool, I enjoy the feeling of the sand between my toes as we walk toward our destination. It feels organic and life affirming, in a way. It brings me to the present. I look to the woman beside me, who is watching the path before her intently, probably fearful of broken glass or a prickly weed in the way of our bare feet.

Despite the circumstances, I still feel thankful to be here with her, if only for the fact that there could have been an alternative that had more to do with our own mortality rather than physical distance apart. I still can't believe my own luck sometimes. I have the feelings I have for my best friend requited. I get to live. Sometimes I get into a funk about it, since I am entirely undeserving of such luck, but those days are lessening as time passes. After all, I doubt Fred would have approved of me wasting my life in such a way. He would have wanted me to seize the moment at every opportunity.

Speaking of opportunity, I hear the waves crashing upon the shore, and I can't resist. Upon reaching an arbitrary spot upon the beach, I pull off my shirt, bracing my body for the chilly night air. Again, Hermione gives me a look that she usually reserves for only the most complicated of books. "What are you doing, Ronald?"

"Why else would you go to the beach?" I call, running toward the waves at full force. Shite, that's cold. Perhaps it wasn't the best of my ideas, but I feel high from the fact that I'm alive to have them. I wade in about thigh-high, reluctant to have my more sensitive areas submerged, and breathe in the salty air. I turn around to be greeted by Hermione's intent stare upon my body. Although it is dark, I swear that I see her blush, which provokes an even greater one of my own. Merlin, could she have been checking me out? I don't think there's much to look at, but not much else would explain the embarrassed look on her face. "Are you coming in? The water is fine!" I reckon that a little white lie never hurt anyone, especially when it is meant to distract Hermione from feeling regretful about one of the last things I would ever want her to feel bad about.

"Somehow, I don't believe you," she calls with a smile, amused by my antics. She sits down beside my shirt before using it as a make-shift blanket. "Besides, it's already chilly, and I don't exactly have anything proper to swim in."

"Suit yourself!" I yell, covering up my slight disappointment. Although I would like nothing more than to hold her in the water, I realize that it was already a feat to get her outside, given the circumstances. I'll take what I can get.

Despite the cold, I jump farther into the ocean, immersing my head in the salt water. I swim about for a while, acclimating to the cool water and burning some excess energy that has been pent up over the weeks. After about ten minutes, I return to the shore, only to see Hermione with a far-off, sad look upon her face. Well, my first attempt at distracting her was a dud. When she finally notices my return, I can't help but remember her prior gaze and wonder if there are other means through which I can entertain her. "Well, I'm bloody cold," I complain, only partially in theatrics.

"Ronald, don't swear," she scolds half-heartedly as she pats the spot next to her in invitation.

I take my place next to her without heeding her mild complaint. "You missed out. It was definitely worth it," I informed her before shaking my head, sending water into the air.

"Perhaps I'll take you up on it next time," she says, swatting me playfully with my shirt in retaliation for the light shower. "Although I still don't know if you're to be believed. You look quite pitiful."

"Perhaps you can help warm me up?" I suggest. I realize that it sounds much more like a genuine request than the flirty innuendo that I had intended. Either way, I can feel my ears burning.

She gives me a thoughtful half-smile as she grabs my deserted shirt and starts patting my cold shoulders with it. She is meticulous in her efforts and makes sure that not a part of me remains wet. As she moves to my chest, I can't ignore the stirring between my legs. Even though she is literally doing as I requested, I am driven dizzy by the sensations of my shirt on my skin, knowing that it is being guided by her careful hands. I unconsciously close my eyes, enjoying her innocent motions upon my torso.

"I suppose that I could have done this more efficiently with magic," Hermione murmurs as her hand moves toward my stomach. Although my eyes are still closed, I sense that she is closer than before, and my suspicion is confirmed when I feel a gentle kiss upon my shoulder.

I am all too aware of her closeness, particularly her hand's proximity to a place I had only dreamed of her being near. Thankfully, I am wearing jeans and not a swim suit, as my hardness would have already caught her attention. "Thank you," I mumble, stopping her hand's downward descent with my own. I look down to ensure that I have not betrayed myself, only to find that the excess fabric of the shirt was low enough to cover my waist. Thank Merlin.

"Well, hold on," she says, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling with an emotion I can't place. "Your hair is still awfully damp. Let me dry that for you."

"That won't be necessary!" I say abruptly, holding the hand with the shirt tight to my stomach.

Thinking fast, I reciprocate the kiss that she gave me by pressing my lips to the arm that I am holding still. As I had hoped, it distracts her enough to relinquish her hold on my shirt, allowing it to fall exactly where I need it to be in order to not be discovered. However, I can't resist continuing to taste her skin, allowing my journey to continue upward toward her bare neck. I let go of the arm that I held fast to my stomach, allowing her free range of motion if she wanted to push me back. However, she does quite the opposite by wrapping that arm around my neck, pulling me down on top of her.

She never ceases to amaze me.

Careful not to press anything incriminating into her, I shower the sensitive skin of her neck in kisses. She lifts her chin, granting me further access to this uncharted territory, which makes me ache. My kisses become more heated as a find her pulse, lightly sucking the rhythm beneath my lips. She lets out a small noise that I can't identify. The only other person I had ever snogged was obnoxiously loud and detailed in her enjoyment. I was used to the obvious.

I back away for a moment to look her in the face, which is harder than expected since her arm is still tight around me. She looks dazed. "Did I hurt you?" I ask, my ears burning. "I'm so sorry-"

I am cut off by Hermione's lips on my own, her body urgently pressing down upon me. Our positions are reversed now as she straddles my waist, mimicking my prior attentions by flickering her tongue upon my pulse. Much like with school, she is a quick study. I wrap my arms around her, moving my hands underneath her pink sweater to feel the soft skin of her back. She tangles her hands in my wet hair as she pulls me in for another kiss, thrusting her sweet tongue in between my parted lips.

This is the Hermione that I have had the pleasure of seeing only a few times in the brief stolen snogs that we've had in the past two months. Always wanting to learn and explore, she confidently gave her all to every thing that we have shared. But never have our experiments (as I'm sure she considers them) gone this far, I realize, as my hands find the soft fabric of her cotton bra. I am immediately struck by uncertainty, which is a far cry from Hermione's demanding lips upon mine. Would she want me to move further? I've been aching to touch her that way since I realized that she was a girl in our fourth year, but I have no clue if she would even be interested or ready for that, especially since she is fairly vulnerable at the moment due to the uncertain fate of her parents.

Perhaps she can sense what is going through my mind, or that I am feeling something other than skin under her shirt, for she pulls back, breathing deeply. I look into her brown eyes, searching for sadness or uncertainty and finding only warmth. Slowly, she pulls her fingers through my hair to let her hands rest at her sides. I fall back onto the soft sand, bringing my hands downward to hold her by her sides. She looks down at me with a soft smile. "It isn't fair for you to be the only one without a shirt all this time," she murmurs with a blush, and I move one of my hands to the shirt that shields Hermione from the bulge in my jeans with the intention of putting it back on. "And besides, skin-to-skin contact is better for keeping warm anyway."

I don't quite understand what she means until I see her hands move to the bottom of her sweater. It kills me to say this, but I have to. "You're keeping me plenty warm as it is," I admit, wanting to continue with our banter to lessen the expectant tension. I don't want her to do anything she would regret.

"I'm glad that I'm doing well in my task," she whispers, sounding entirely too seductive for the innocence of the words. In one graceful movement, she pulls the sweater over her head, exposing the flat expanse of her belly and a simple white bra that contains the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen. "But you know me. I always strive to be exceptional."

Merlin. How could they be even better than I had imagined? It's not that they're humongous or anything. They're a soft round shape, with the milky white of her skin almost blending in with the fabric that covers them. In the center, I can barely make out little peaks, probably hard from the chill of the night air. I throb underneath her, aching to cup one of her perfect breasts, but I still can't manage to do anything but stare. Long moments pass that I don't notice, except for the fact that Hermione moves to cover herself with her hands.

"No! Please," I whisper urgently, moving my hands up her torso to hold her arms gently. "You're so beautiful, Hermione."

Although it is hard to see in the moonlight, I can make out a blush that stains her cheeks. Instead of reaching out caress the beautiful orbs that I have dreamed of, I open my arms wide in invitation. She looks puzzled - maybe even disappointed - as she accepts the invitation, shifting off my lap to lay in the sand beside me, nuzzling into my chest. I wrap my arms around her to warm her. I let a few minutes pass as I breathe in slowly, allowing my arousal to die down. However, Hermione seems restless, her fingers rapping lightly and consistently against me. "I don't understand," she eventually mutters into my chest. "We were snogging, and I felt you, and I thought that was where you would want things to go."

Well, all that effort to hide myself from her was wasted, but I suppose I should have known it would have been that way the moment she got on top of me. "Hermione, you're bloody gorgeous," I reassure her, already kicking myself for my reservation. It had been nagging on me throughout our snogging that she may not be in the best place to do things. Or new things, at least. I just don't want it to go too far. "I just don't want to ruin anything."

"You're not ruining anything! Well, you weren't…" she says, a harsh edge in her voice.

I am starting to realize that I may have caused some of the damage that I had intended to prevent by being careful. Women are bloody complicated. "I just don't want to hurt you. I want to make sure that you want everything that we're doing. Not to please me, or to distract yourself from other things."

"Oh, so you think that is what this is about?" She asks angrily, moving up off my chest. "I'll have you know that I don't do a thing that I don't want to, Ronald Weasley. Is that what have you been doing this whole time? Trying to distract me from the fact that I'm not ready to see the parents that I haven't seen in over a year, or that I am probably not going to be able to restore their memories?"

Damn it. I really do ruin everything. I should have just touched her like we wanted me to. "Merlin, of course not!" I respond heatedly, wondering exactly how I went from Heaven to Hell in the span of two minutes. It also dawns on me that this is probably the closest we have come to a full on row since we have been together. I make sure to look intently into her eyes, and not at the beautiful flesh below her neck. "Half the time all I want to DO is snog and touch you."

"Oh really?" She says shrilly, her cheeks coloring from either embarrassment or anger. I can't tell. "Is that all you want me around for then?"
Her words are like a blow to the stomach. It takes me a long moment to respond. "Blimey, Hermione, really? After all that we have been through, is that what you think of me? That I'm just trying to get into your knickers or something?"

She takes a deep breath. "No… No, of course not. And it would be hypocritical if I acted like I didn't think about that a lot, too." Of course, this is news to me. News that instantly made me feel better about prior statements, but we aren't out of the woods yet. Although I'm worried about her reaction, I extend my arms to her again as a peace offering. She grabs both of our shirts and hands me mine before pulling her sweater back over her head. Although I am disappointed by the turn of events, I am relieved as she lays down to rest on me again after I put my own shirt back on.

"I'm sorry. You're sweet to be worried about me and where I'm at emotionally, even if I think that you're being too cautious. Just trust me when I tell you that I will never do anything that I don't want to do."

"I do. And trust me when I tell you that everything will be alright. You'll get your parents back," I reassure her. She doesn't respond, her gaze lost once again to the waves crashing upon the shore.