DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and things that are part of the Harry Potter universe all belong to J.K. Rowling, though should she choose to give up ownership of Ron, then I would gladly take him. This particular story, however, is mine.

After taking a few minutes to compose herself, she went downstairs to find that Bill, Fleur, and Victoire were gone and that the shop was mostly empty. She overheard one of the employees talking about plans to meet a friend at the Leaky Cauldron and concluded that the shop closed for lunchtime. She followed the same employee out the door and ducked back into the alley to whip off the cloak, breathing in the cold, fresh air that felt absolutely wonderful after being practically stifled. She decided to pop into the Leaky Cauldron as well to gather her thoughts as much as to appease her hunger.

Hermione had never felt so confused in her life. She had once compared Ron's emotional range to a teaspoon. What she wouldn't give right now to have such a small capacity to feel! The scene upstairs played over and over in her mind. How could the person who callously stopped writing to her and the person who was so tender and loving be one and the same? The incongruence made her uneasy, for now she didn't know what to believe.

She needed some semblance of order amongst her chaotic thoughts. She was used to operating in a linear fashion and she simply cannot function properly when nothing made sense. She dug into her purse for a quill, a bottle of ink, and a roll of parchment. As she ate her sandwich, she began to make a list.

Fact: Ron stopped writing weeks ago without any explanation. This was the basis of her research, as Harry had nicely put it.

Fact: I get jealous when I think of Ron with other girls. It was a natural, understandable reaction, she thought. He may not have cared for the giggling Ravenclaw group, but what would happen if someone like Fleur waltzed into the shop, someone so breathtakingly beautiful that he'd forget that he even had a girlfriend at all? Hermione was already out of her element with the whole relationship business and the added handicap of her less-than-stunning appearance only made the situation worse. She might as well have been playing Quidditch with both arms tied behind her back.

Fact: I don't trust him when we're apart. She stared at the sentence as if her hand had written it against her will. Seeing the words so plainly on the parchment made the thought irrefutable and real. She felt her stomach twisting into knots as she stared at the ugly piece of information. She wanted to cross it out, but it wouldn't help clear up her mind if she did; she would just be burying the truth and at this point in time she really needed to be honest with herself. She wouldn't hesitate to place her life in his hands, but her heart was another matter entirely. The mere act of writing out the particularly uncomfortable feeling freed her to completely express her thoughts and dredge up any hidden demons.

Fact: He can break my heart without trying. She felt even more vulnerable after jotting down that belief. She didn't think it was possible to love him any more than she already did, but after she had watched him with Victoire, Hermione could practically feel her heart swelling to make room for the new feelings and memories until it seemed like it would burst. The flood of emotion overwhelmed her and only added to her confusion, leaving her feeling exposed and even more susceptible to the pain that she was sure Ron would cause.

She nearly wrote down that he was cheating on her, but that was something she had yet to prove was fact. She ran a hand over the invisibility cloak, which she'd placed on the seat next to her. Was there even a point to using it now? She was bound to get hurt, whether she was invisible or not. Harry was right, she was mad to even consider spying on Ron. She should have confronted him directly, demanding the answers she needed. Perhaps she would have been spared these feelings of guilt and defenselessness. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed that she had nearly dwindled away a whole hour by composing the list. She stuffed everything back inside her purse and headed for the shop, which was again open for business after the brief break. She saw that it wasn't as crowded as it was before lunch and surmised that most people were now at home, preparing for the holiday festivities. Ron was nowhere in sight. Had he left for the day? Hermione didn't want a confrontation at the Burrow for undoubtedly it would involve his whole family as well as Harry. She wanted to keep this matter between the two of them.

She approached the employee she had followed out of the shop earlier. "Excuse me, have you seen Ron?"

"He's in the back, showing someone the Muggle magic tricks," he replied. "I can get him for you, if you'd like."

"No, thank you." With Ron back there she can be assured that their conversation would be private. "I know where it is." She went off to the back of the shop and overheard Ron speaking as she drew closer.

"Well, this is all we have. Quite honestly, we don't have much of a market for this kind of thing. Only my dad seems to enjoy this stuff and half the time we don't have the heart to charge him for it."

Hermione seethed when she heard a familiar female voice say, "I didn't really come here for silly tricks." She dragged the cloak out of her purse and threw it over herself. So much for not using it again. She went inside the small back room undetected and nearly cursed out loud when she saw Romilda Vane standing just a little too close to Ron.

Ron, however, didn't seem to notice that there was little space between him and Romilda. He was too busy reorganizing a jumbled stack of playing cards to pay attention to her proximity. "I hope you're not here for the love potions. I know for a fact that it works, but you don't need to rely on stuff like that."

Hermione fumed helplessly, wishing she could throw something heavy at Ron in the hopes of knocking some sense into him. Why was he taking the bait and encouraging Romilda?

Romilda's eyes lit up. "Is that so? I'm flattered." It was just the response she was hoping for. She'd been visiting the shop every day for a week now and she was running out of excuses for stopping by. It was about time Ron figured out why she kept coming. She had fancied Harry when they were all in Hogwarts together, but now that The Boy Who Lived is unattainable, she figured she'd land the next best thing. Ron is a lot easier on the eyes now than he'd ever been while they were in school and if the stories Lavender told her were any indication, then he was more than adequate at the physical aspects of a relationship.

He shrugged. "No girl should have to resort to using it. The same goes for guys, too. Everyone should just be themselves and hope for the best."

"What would you say my redeeming qualities are, Ron?" Romilda batted her eyelashes in what Hermione thought was a nauseating fashion.

He shrugged again, scratching his head. Truth be told, he didn't know Romilda all that well and he would forever associate her with his poisoning incident during his sixth year, even though her love potion-spiked Chocolate Cauldrons weren't the direct cause. He couldn't figure out why she was suddenly so interested in the shop; he'd seen her every day this week yet she never seemed to care about what she was buying. Maybe she was looking for a job. He'd have to ask George if it would be all right to hire her. She was a fellow Gryffindor, after all.

"Well?" she said impatiently, abruptly reminding him that she was waiting for an answer.

"Oh, right. Er...you're pretty confident. That's probably not a bad thing."

Shameless was more like it, Hermione thought. Romilda reminded her of Cormac McLaggen, which was definitely not a favorable comparison, so she couldn't understand why Ron was so generous with his compliments when he'd called Cormac some very unflattering names.

According to Romilda's one-track mind, his admiration of her confidence meant that he'd given her the green light to make a move. She ran her fingers down his arm, slightly surprised to discover the faint curves and firmness of muscle underneath the sleeve of his jumper. Well, well...Lavender may be on to something here. What else are you hiding, Ron Weasley? "I don't think it's a bad thing at all."

It took all of Hermione's restraint not to rip off the cloak and hit Romilda with a jinx. It took even more willpower not to do worse to Ron. The evidence she was waiting for was now staring her in the face. As she had accurately guessed, he clearly enjoyed the attention; if he didn't, he would have put a stop to Romilda's pathetic and transparent advances, perhaps even firmly reminding her that his heart already belonged to someone else. She knew what Romilda wanted and knew what this would lead to. But like a witness to a tragic accident, she simply could not look away from the destruction. She wanted to catch Ron in the act, even if it meant irreparable damage to her heart. Seeing him kiss Romilda would be the ultimate proof, a theory proven as fact.

Ron dimly heard warning signs going off in his head. Surely Romilda Vane wasn't coming on to him! The last time he'd checked he wasn't Harry Potter, so there was no reason for her to be flirting with him or giving him inviting smiles. Still, it couldn't hurt to gently warn her that whatever she was trying to pull, it wouldn't work. "Romilda, you do know I'm with Hermione, right?"

"Granger?" she scoffed as she rolled her eyes. The shrewish bookworm was hardly a threat. "That bore?"

Ron wanted to leap to Hermione's defense, but he needed to choose his words carefully. She was anything but boring, in bed or out of it, but the intimate details of his relationship were certainly none of Romilda's business. He simply said, "She's not." Unfortunately, he had a sinking feeling that Romilda wouldn't be deterred by such a tepid yet truthful denial.

Hermione didn't even hear his attempt at gallantry. His glaringly obvious hesitation to object to Romilda's claim was louder than any words he'd spoken. That brief silence was damning. So he thought she wasn't exciting enough. Had she driven him away with her dull tales of life at Hogwarts?

"I'm sure she'd rather have books keeping her company," Romilda continued snidely. "I, on the other hand, would prefer a man to pages of parchment." She moved closer, her body pressing against his, her intention unmistakable.

She didn't know if she was acting out of pride, jealousy, anger, the primal need to protect what was hers, or a combination of all four, but Hermione decided that she wouldn't just stand idly by, cowering under an invisibility cloak while this foul vulture disguised as a witch tried to prey on what she had no right to covet. Ron was hers, damn it, and he would continue to be hers until either she ended the relationship on her terms or he told her to her face that it was over. Forget evidence and facts! She was not about to let Romilda Vane get involved only to break them up.

It felt like it was happening in slow motion, yet it only took mere seconds for Hermione to throw off the cloak and silently cast a shield charm between Romilda and Ron before their lips could touch. The look on their faces would have been comical if she was in the mood to laugh. Romilda had on a startled and guilty expression, like a child who'd been caught sneaking a cookie from the jar when she shouldn't be having any, while Ron's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. He looked bewildered and terrified at the same time. Good, Hermione thought smugly.

"Hermione," he managed to croak. How long had she been there? How much had she seen? Not that there was much to see, really...

Romilda squeaked and dashed out of the room. Lust and bravado made her briefly forget that Hermione Granger was one of the best witches to come from Hogwarts in many years. If she can avoid being jinxed by her, then she would do it by all means. Ron can fend for himself. He'd helped defeat You-Know-Who; surely he can handle his enraged girlfriend.

Hermione barely spared her a glance. Instead she focused on the red-faced man in front of her, removing the shield charm with a wave of her wand. "You," she uttered in a voice that vibrated with anger.

Ron braced himself, expecting another canary attack or worse. But all she did was turn on her heel and stomp off. Unable to believe that he'd gotten off so easily, he called out against his better judgment. "Hermione, wait!" He had so many questions to ask her. To begin with, why was she spying on him? The faint stirrings of betrayal and bitterness started to creep in.

"I'll deal with you later." She felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting and a public place is hardly the time for an explosion. She Disapparated without another word, weighed down by the day's events.

An hour later, Hermione closed the front door after waving goodbye to her parents, who were spending Christmas Eve at the home of her father's old friend from university. Her parents had known immediately that something was amiss when she had arrived earlier, popping out of thin air; her emotions were telegraphed clearly on her face. They figured it had to do with Ron, the nice boy their baby girl was dating and most likely in love with. Nothing and no one else seemed to affect their daughter so much. It had been a struggle not to give her unsolicited advice, not that Hermione would resent the wisdom of parents who have been happily married for many years. However, they wanted her to learn the valuable lesson that the lofty ideals of love that are woven into the fairy tales she adored as a child were as unrealistic as the stories themselves. Being in love was hard work and it brought both pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure. If there is one thing their daughter could learn from her relationship with Ron, it is that the answers to everything aren't always found in books.

Crookshanks purred and rubbed himself against Hermione's ankles. Picking up the cat, she gave in to the comfort that he offered and nuzzled his fur. "Oh, Crookshanks. Why are men so much trouble?" The cat could only meow in response, though his eyes had an expression of understanding in them; he was used to offering his own brand of sympathy after being the sole witness to his owner's despair and frustration over a certain ginger human male many times before. "Maybe I should turn into one of those cat ladies we hear about in the Muggle news from time to time. What do you think? A houseful of cats would be less trouble than dealing with one idiot wizard."

Hermione jumped when she heard a loud yelp and a rustling noise by the side door in the kitchen. Setting Crookshanks down, she took out her wand before going to investigate the source of the disturbance. She opened the door and sighed at what she saw. "Honestly, Ron." He had Apparated into what was left of the rose bushes and was now trying to extricate himself from them. "Destination, determination and deliberation, remember?"

"Yeah, well...I might've added 'distraction' to that." He could think of nothing else but what had happened earlier in the shop. "Sorry about the bushes."

Who cared about dead plants that would grow back in the spring when his safety was at stake? "You know how important it is to Apparate with a clear mind. You could have splinched yourself."

He welcomed her lecturing tone; it made it seem as if things were normal between them. Having successfully disentangled himself from the bushes, he checked for missing appendages as he brushed away the snow that clung to his clothes and was relieved to discover that his body was intact and all limbs are present and accounted for. "I'm okay." The tension in the air was unbearable. "Hermione..." She glared at him and went back inside the house. He supposed that was her way of inviting him in.

He had no idea what he'd done wrong, but he was ready to beg for her forgiveness. He would do whatever it took to get back on even ground with her again. He had always enjoyed arguing with her, but he hated hurting her feelings. It was a line he used to cross thoughtlessly, but now he was mindful of the fine yet distinct boundary. Ron joined her in the kitchen, closing the door behind him. He and Crookshanks exchanged a look of mutual dislike. It sounded ridiculous in his mind (anyone's mind, really), but he could feel the disapproval emanating from the animal. It had been easier to win over Hermione's parents! At best, he and the cat had learned to tolerate each other out of respect for Hermione. Crookshanks, perhaps sensing danger and because he can't bear to be in the same room as the creature his owner appeared to dote on, thought it best to leave.

The silence was incredibly awkward. This should have been a happy reunion, Ron thought. She wouldn't even look at him. How was he supposed to begin apologizing when he didn't know what to apologize for? She should be angry with Romilda Vane, not him.

Hermione finally faced him, her arms tightly crossed. Her wand lay on the counter within arm's reach. It looked like he was safe from physical harm, for now, at least. She held something else in her hand, however; it looked like a folded piece of parchment. "Well?" she demanded.

"Er..."

"Don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

But didn't she already see for herself what happened? "For what?" He knew immediately that was the wrong response. The look in her eye was lethal. Maybe he ought to conjure up a shield charm just in case.

"For what?" Hermione repeated in a tone filled with ominous disbelief. She refused to acknowledge that he didn't know what he'd done wrong. "Even you can't possibly be that thick, Ron!"

He could feel his temper beginning to boil and decided to abandon his earlier inclination to relinquish his pride for the sake of earning her forgiveness. After all, he too was wronged. "I'm not being thick. And you're not the only one who deserves an explanation. How could you have even known Romilda was going try to kiss me? Or is spying on me just something you do every now and then when you have some free time?" Remembering the cloak, he added, "Is Harry in on this?"

"There's no need for you to be angry with him. The only thing he did was let me borrow the invisibility cloak and even then he tried to get me to change my mind."

"So it was your brilliant idea, then." If Harry tried talking her out of a plan that he himself would normally employ, then that must mean that she really was mental.

She bristled at his sarcastic jab. "Only because you gave me reason to do it."

"I wasn't encouraging her!"

"That may be, but you weren't stopping her, either. You probably would have kissed her if I hadn't interfered."

Ron was taken aback. "Is that really what you think?"

Hermione may have said it with conviction, but it rang false in her ears. "What am I supposed to believe?" she asked him. Think of the facts, she reminded herself even as her gut instinct argued with her sense of reason. "I saw you with my own eyes, Ron. And now you're telling me that you don't think you did anything wrong?"

He felt like they were talking about the same thing yet using different languages. She was angry with him about Romilda, that much was obvious, but it seemed as if she's furious about something more. Frustration mounting, Ron shouted, "So it was wrong of me not to kiss her? Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds? What exactly am I supposed to be apologizing for?"

In a couple of angry strides Hermione was toe-to-toe with him. He thought she was going to punch him but instead she slapped the piece of parchment on his chest and stalked back to her spot by the counter. Ron stared at the parchment, unable to believe what he was reading, that she had actually written the words, but her tidy handwriting was unmistakable. He wanted to lash out at her but he knew it wouldn't help either of them in the long run. Trying to quell his anger and hurt feelings, he looked again at his purported list of sins. It was time to set her straight.

"Here's a fact for you, Hermione," he said heatedly as he ripped the parchment in half. "I love you, all right? That has to count for something. Just because we don't see each other every day doesn't make it any less true. What have I done to make you distrust me so much?"

When she saw the look of haunted realization in his eyes, she knew immediately that he was thinking of when he'd abandoned her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt. "Ron, stop it. When will you stop blaming yourself for that?" As furious as she was with him, she hated to see how he kept beating himself up for a mistake that she and Harry had long forgiven him for.

Ron didn't answer. Harry and Hermione may have put his transgression behind them, but it would be a very long time before he could do the same; that is, if he could even forgive himself at all for what he considered his greatest failure as a friend and as a person. He had been so insecure during the Horcrux hunt and all the years of self-doubt had accumulated until he was forced to address his fears in spectacular fashion. He had been easy prey for Voldemort, really. But he'd destroyed the locket and in return gained the elusive self-worth and belief in himself that had been missing in his life. Loving Hermione only solidified his new resolve and the happier she made him, the sturdier his once fragile self-esteem became. Why couldn't she see that?

He then had an epiphany. She couldn't see it because she was blinded by her insecurities; he of all people would know the signs. This incredibly bright, gifted, and confident witch had a weakness in her supposedly impenetrable armor. Whereas loving her made him stronger and more self-assured, her feelings for him had the opposite effect on her: it made her vulnerable and paranoid; it made her doubt herself and in turn, doubt his feelings for her and what they had together. This added knowledge only made him want to treat her with even more care and protect her from the one thing that would hurt her most, which just happened to be himself.

He looked down at her list again, this time with eyes that held new wisdom. So she considered these her facts, did she? Hermione Granger hated to be proven wrong, especially since she was very often correct (sometimes irritatingly so). But Ron was going to teach her a lesson, one that he hoped she'd commit to memory even though it wouldn't be from one of her precious books.

Why won't he say something? Hermione felt like shaking the silence out of him. He only continued to look at the torn parchment with an expression akin to both wonder and enlightenment. She had to clamp down the urge to take the parchment away from him. She felt exposed and was at a disadvantage. By handing him the parchment, she had effectively given him the tools to smash her heart into pieces. Now she was defenseless; all he had to do was take aim and it would be a direct hit.

"When did you write this?" he suddenly asked.

"Why does that matter?" He only looked at her expectantly and didn't provide an answer. "Fine, if you must know, I wrote it today, just before I was entertained by you and Romilda. But I've been feeling this way for quite a while now, so it would still be true whether I wrote it five minutes or five weeks ago."

Why hadn't he seen the signs earlier? He could have prevented her pain. Then again, they had been leading separate lives ever since she went back to school and he started working at the shop. According to her list, however, one thing had brought all of her anxieties to the surface and he had been the direct cause. But he would address that later, for there were more important matters on her list that needed his attention and reassurance.

"There's no need for you to be jealous of other girls."

She let out a short laugh that bordered on the edge of hysterical. "I think you proved that there definitely is a reason why I should be."

"I proved it by not encouraging her?"

"I think you enjoy the attention a little too much, Ron. Granted, it's somewhat understandable, but—"

"I don't care for attention, not when it isn't from you. Glory, fame, all of that stuff, it doesn't matter to me anymore. Hermione, she's just another customer to me, someone we went to school with. I barely noticed that she was in the back room with me, much less what she was doing. All I could think about was seeing you tonight and worrying if you'll like your Christmas present. You said I was thick earlier; maybe you're not that far off. This is me we're talking about, after all."

Could it be true? Ron was never quick to pick up on signals. How many hints did she have to drop before they were finally on the same page? The idea certainly wasn't far-fetched. She remembered now that Romilda had abandoned subtlety before he caught on to what she was doing. "But why wouldn't you want someone like her?" she asked miserably. "She's fun, exciting. Pretty."

"And you're not? Your second home may be the library, but you're anything but boring. Why should I settle for Romilda Vane when I have someone who challenges me, someone who makes me want to be a better person, someone who likes arguing with me, who gets me to think of ways to prove that I deserve her and for her to be proud of me?"

"I..." She was at a loss for words. Was that really how he saw her, how she made him feel?

"It took me years, but I had to earn you. And in a way, I feel like I'm still trying to. I want to be able to deserve you. You have no idea how high the pedestal is that I put you on. No one else can come close. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

There it was again, that uneasy sensation of a hand clutching her heart. She felt dizzy as he bombarded her with his weapon of choice, which turned out to be unbridled honesty. His words echoed dimly in her ears as she felt herself trusting him and believing him, her heart and her head finally aligned.

"Sure, Romilda is nice to look at, but then again, so are half of the witches in the Wizarding world. But she can never..." He struggled to find the words to describe how he felt. "She's not special. She's not a part of me like you are."

Hermione could feel the tears threatening to spill over. No one had ever said such things to her. It wasn't poetry, but she found that she preferred his sincere, open declarations that laid his heart bare to a romantic sonnet filled with flowery words. When she caught him looking at the parchment again, aligning the halves together so that he could read it, she objected, "Ron, don't." How could she have ever doubted him? His words, the utter conviction in his voice, were all the proof she needed.

He shook his head. "You wanted your answers, you're going to get them." He wanted to make sure she was absolutely convinced that her heart was safe in his clumsy yet capable hands. She needed to hear what he had to say and he, perhaps, needed to say them to her. He had never been comfortable sharing his feelings, but one does a lot of growing up after fighting a war and staring death in the face. All of those months spent camping in the wilderness enabled him to reflect on his life and on missed opportunities. He wasn't going to mess up this chance.

She took the parchment from him, crumpling the pieces and tossing them aside. "I don't need to hear any more. I was wrong to think these things."

"Hermione, you're not that far off. Look, I get these thoughts too, all right? It's only natural since we're so far apart and I've never been in love before. It doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual. But there are nights where I can't sleep because I keep wondering if you'll find someone better than me, someone like Terry Boot or—"

"Terry Boot?" she repeated incredulously. "He'll bore me to tears in a week!"

"It doesn't have to be him. Whoever he is, he's probably in Ravenclaw though. And he'll be good at Quidditch too, and he can make you laugh, and he's really good at knitting clothes for house-elves, and he passes all of his exams with high marks and—"

Hermione could feel the stirrings of a smile. She could now see how ridiculous her jealous feelings were after hearing him describe his made-up rival. "He sounds perfect," she interrupted before Ron could gain full steam.

"He is," he muttered. "He's even read Hogwarts: A History. Twice."

"Perfect, but not perfect for me."

"The point is, I could drive myself crazy thinking about the possibilities that could break us up. But I'd rather work on keeping us together than destroy what we have because of things that may not even happen or people we may never meet. I've screwed up enough when it comes to you and I don't want to do that anymore. You can trust me."

"I know I can, and I do. It's just that when you stopped writing—"

"I can explain that. I don't know what happened to Pig on his way back from Hogwarts, but one of his wings was completely broken, the other mangled. I'm not sure how he even made it Diagon Alley. I had no idea what to do with him, so I took him to the Burrow where Mum can keep an eye on him while he heals. He didn't have your letter on him, it must have gotten lost."

"Oh, no." Hermione could picture the tiny owl struggling to fly back home and Ron's worried, frantic reaction. Like he did with Scabbers, he may gripe about Pigwidgeon but deep down he cared about his pet. She remembered the empty cage she saw earlier. "Will he be okay?"

"He's fine. You know how that bird is. Once he got some of his energy back he was strutting around his cage, showing off his bandages. Soon after that I was busy with the shop and I just forgot to write. I'm really sorry. It never occurred to me how much it would bother you."

Hermione sighed. Ron's explanation was perfectly reasonable and nothing at all like the crazy scenarios she'd imagined. She should have listened to her heart rather than her head and let love rule over logic. "I should have known when I saw you today that you weren't capable of being so cruel."

Ron frowned. "You mean earlier with Romilda?"

"No, I..." She felt the sting of shame as she told him, "I was at the shop since this morning. I followed you upstairs when you went off with Victoire. You were so sweet with her."

He felt embarrassed knowing that she'd seen him with his niece. He'd never revealed that side of himself to anyone and didn't even know until recently that he was capable of showing the kind of tenderness that usually came from a parent. He still wasn't accustomed to it. "So that noise I heard, that was you."

"I should have known even before then that you could never hurt me in the way I thought you did. I kept arguing with myself as I made up that list. I just didn't know what to believe. I feel so stupid."

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that last bit again?"

She fought to keep her lips from twitching into a smile. "You heard me."

"It's just a momentous occasion, that's all. Definitely a memory for the Pensieve, if you ask me—" Ron grinned when she rewarded him with the laughter he'd missed so much.

"Please, let me finish. I owe you that." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Ron, these past few weeks I was so convinced that you'd been unfaithful, which is why I borrowed the cloak from Harry so I can catch you in the act. But because I was so focused on finding anything to back up my theory, I kept ignoring all of the evidence that proved how completely wrong I was. I still think that it would be too easy for you to hurt me. However," she quickly added before he could object, "I believe that because you know that, you would try even harder not to."

"You're damn right," he said heatedly.

Hermione gently took his face in her hands. "I'm sorry for not trusting you. Do you forgive me?"

"I don't know. I might need some convincing." He could feel the smile on her lips as she kissed him and it took all of his restraint not to overwhelm her as her arms went around him, enveloping him in her softness and warmth.

All of the resentment and negativity seemed to melt away as their lips touched, only to be replaced by physical and emotional sensations that only he could illicit and give her. The way his body fit against hers was so familiar and his scent, which she could discern even in a crowded room, comforted her, yet excited her at the same time.

"I love you," he told her when he forced himself to put a bit of distance between them, staring into her eyes as he said it. He needed her to believe him.

"That fact should have overshadowed all of the other ones I'd written down today," she whispered. They kissed again, more avidly this time, as if they were both feasting after going for months without sustenance. His hands were everywhere, scorching her skin through her jumper, and her own fingers were tangled in his hair as she strained to be closer to him. His lips left hers to roam on her face and down her throat. She sighed, as she always did, when he lingered at the scar on her neck. "I love you. Come upstairs with me and I'll show you how much."

Ron glanced at the kitchen clock and saw that they had a couple of hours to spare they had to go to the Burrow. "There goes that brilliant mind of yours again."

Hermione grinned as she pulled him out of the kitchen. "Actually, I'm not thinking with my brain this time." Instead it was her heart that led the way and it was something she resolved to do more often.