Dinner was finished. Hermione had stood in silence after Ron's declaration about how much he loved her, but he had snapped her out of her revelry by asking her if she wanted desert. She had nodded, and when he returned with a small bowl of blackberries picked from his garden, she was already seated at the dining table again. You would not have noticed anything had happened at all, save for the fact that her eyes were a little more glassy and red-rimmed than usual.
"Blackberries!" she said, when Ron placed the bowl onto the middle of the table, "My favourite."
"I'm warning you," he said, "These are mighty sour."
She gingerly took one of the berries out of the bowl and put it into her mouth. Her face turned into a grimace after the first bite. She continued chewing for a little while, then swallowed.
"That," she said, shuddering from the experience, "Was the best blackberry ever." She took out another one.
Ron wondered how Hermione was able to munch down another ten blackberries. He had eaten four, and each of them covered top to bottom with sugar. They were still insanely sour, and it was a blessing that Hermione was finishing the bowl quickly.
"And here I was, thinking a home match of the Chudley Cannons was auto-mutilation."
She swallowed the last berry and smiled wickedly. "Ron, if I couldn't stand a bit of sour once or twice, I would not have been your friend for long."
Ron acted the part of outraged shock, but really didn't feel anything but a very warm glow near his heart. Hermione was simply too sweet and disarming for him to ever feel hurt by anything she said about him. Most of it was tongue-in-cheek anyways, and the few spiteful or nasty things she'd say were generally either true or deserved.
Sitting there opposite her, he felt a strange sense of tranquillity. It was as if every worry and trouble in the world had fallen away. It was as if the entire planet, and all of space and time stopped just outside of the farm they were in, and neither of them missed it. They were in their own little universe, which consisted of sugar-coated blackberries, sawdust, and large hearth that supplied warmth and comfort. Without a word, and largely without thinking, Ron got up and took Hermione's hand. She complied willingly to his touch, allowing him to take her to the lowered floor of the sitting area, where they plumped down on a rug he had bought at an IKEA store.
Hermione looked at him expectantly. Neither of them seemed to need words to convey their emotions. Ron reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand. Drawing her closer, he sealed her lips with his own. If the farm had been their universe, then now they existed in a place without time and space. A place where the senses did not cease to register, but were hyperactive, and assailed his mind so utterly that it was very long before any coherent thought registered.
Hermione broke the kiss. It had been a long kiss, he knew, though any notion of time was beyond him at the moment. Her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his, she climbed on top of his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck and her breath hot on his face. She pressed her forehead onto his, the tip of her small nose touching the tip of his own long one. Another kiss, wetter and more passionate. Hermione was eager and wrapped her hands around his neck in an effort to keep him from escaping, as though she was afraid that letting go of him would unmake the moment. Ron breathed in deep, taking in the lovely scent that he had found nowhere else in the world. No girl alive other than Hermione had just that distinct smell. Her breath was heavy with the sauce her had made an hour earlier. He could clearly identify the sage and fresh oregano he had ground through it himself.
Her hand was pulling at his shirt. It came loose from the inside of his pants after another yank, and her fingers soon probed the hard angles of his back and chest. He lay down slowly, Hermione joining the motion until he found himself with her straddled on top of him.
"What was that bit about taking things slow again?" he asked.
Hermione smiled and pressed her forehead against his again. Ron couldn't manage to close his eyes, drawn by that perfect brown colouring he knew so well.
"We are moving fast again, aren't we?" she asked, following her question up with a small kiss on his lips that was both tender and fleeting.
"I think so," he replied, "But though I love the idea of moving fast, it might be wiser not to. I won't survive another break up like the last."
"I should hope not," she said, pushing his chest playfully while sitting upright.
The spent another hour like that, talking and kissing, until Hermione realized that it was time for her to leave. She had a report to file before the morning, and wanted to prepare a presentation.
"How's the job-hunt proceeding?" she asked while putting on her jacket.
"Terrible," he said, "I swear, the market is unusually limited for N.E.W.T.-level drop-outs that spent the past four years developing large number of abilities that are completely useless in ordinary life."
Hermione pushed her hair out from below the jacket, and he reached down to zip her up. While he pushed both halves of the zipper together, she smiled at him.
"You have much more to offer than camping advice, Ronald," she said, as he slowly pulled the zipper up, "Would you mind if I ask around a bit for you?"
"Sure," he said, "I'm not going to do a desk-job though, so keep that in mind."
"I might have something else in mind," she said, but when he asked her about it, she wouldn't expand on it. Kissing him good night, she left. He felt her disapperate at the corner of the street.
o0o
A week passed and Ron busied himself with many of the small repairs and modifications he could do on the farm. He spent a full day pruning the apple trees in the yard. After assessing the utter chaos and disrepair of one of the larger sheds in the back, he decided against cleaning it manually, and instead used his wand to clear everything out. He found a couple of good quality chairs and an old sofa that had been Wilbur's, but they weren't his taste, so he sold them. He also found some (mostly broken) china in a box that had sustained some water damage and was on the point of dissolving. He carefully sought out a plate that was only minimally damaged, and tried to repair it by magic. Two smaller pieces attached itself to the larger one in his hand, and the glazing knitted back to form a single plate again. It wasn't too bad.
Ron managed to fix over twelve plates before only the most severely damaged plates were left, which refused any sort of magical repair. He might have been able to glue some of them together, but discarded that notion. Twelve plates was more than enough.
Hermione came over nearly every day, either to help with the repairs (She wasn't in any way of assistance though. Hermione had great theoretical knowledge, but couldn't replace a light bulb without a manual), or just to have dinner. The money from the chairs and sofa allowed him to pay for each dinner, and he even managed to buy desert on Wednesday.
Though she had not mentioned if she was looking into job openings for him, Ron assumed that it would take some time, and did not press it. He still sent out résumés, in the hopes of finding a job himself. They were eating dinner together in front of the fireplace when Hermione suddenly broached the subject.
"So Ron," she said, staring into the fire, "I've been asking around for job openings at the ministry. Something hands-on, like you requested."
"Yeah?" he asked.
"Well," she continued, "The most logical choice would be the Auror department, but they refused to allow you early entry. Harry has put in a good word for you too, but someone higher up seems to be a sucker for the rules."
Ron grinned at Hermione's reaction. Her face clearly showed her frustration. He wondered how her eleven-year-old self would have reacted to it…
"Anyways," she continued, staring into the fire and still oblivious of his thoughts, "I didn't think you'd want to work in most of the other departments, and the department of mystification has really strict protocol of admittance. You'd need N.E.W.T. level training, and all O's for that matter."
"So basically," Ron summarized, "The ministry is a dead end."
"Yeah," she said, "There's some low-level stuff, like courier or maintenance, but I doubt that you would want to do that. It hardly pays for that matter."
Not what I was hoping to hear, he thought, as he mulled it over, I've not had a single reply to any of my own inquiries, and if working at the ministry is out too, that leaves little choice.
He had been playing with the idea of signing up for a muggle job. Something in construction or a courier service. He had been a courier when he had been in Barcelona. It was good work, and being able to apperate to the other side of town really cut back on the hours. He'd be paid for eight hours of work, while he would actually be done in two. Not bad.
"Can I make a request?" Hermione said, breaking the silence between them and turning her head towards him.
"A request?"
"Yes. I would like you to write something about your travels. Something like an introduction, but be sure to make it funny and interesting at the same time. Something like two hundred words should suffice."
"Two hundred words?" Ron countered, "Just two hundred?"
"Yeah," she said, "And make it double-spaced just to be sure."
"Double-what? Hermione, this sounds awfully much like homework. Do you remember me doing a lot of homework when we were at Hogwarts?"
"That is beside the point. It's not homework, it's a request by me. Just try it out. When you're finished, bring it over to my office."
Ron looked at her incredulously. He knew that there was little possibility of him changing her mind; her jaw was set in just that way that it was when she had made up her mind. No amount of rowing or reasoning would veer her off-course now… Great, as if repairing a home and looking for a job wasn't enough to worry about. Now I've got to do bloody homework too.
"And why exactly would I be doing that?" he asked, returning his attention back to the logs in the fire place.
"Because I can make it worth your while," she said. Ron's attention quickly snapped back to Hermione. Laying on her side, one of her hands slid down from her neck suggestively. It rounded her shoulder and moved down further, her fingers straightening out creases while accentuating her petite form. Her hand ended on her hips, which she lazily rocked back and forth. Her head was propped up on her other arm, the wild and tangled mess of her hair cascading down to the floor where it formed a puddle of sorts.
Ron gulped. Hermione looked enchanting in the light of the fire, which was the only source of illumination in the house. The flickering flames caused shadows to dance across her face. The almost orange glow reflected in her eyes, giving the illusion of golden eyes that were burning with desire. Her lips, thin and pink, drew his own. If he had ever doubted if he was still attracted to her, that doubt was gone now. Hermione, his lovely, bossy, but ultimately perfect best friend held an attraction to him no other woman in the world ever did. Her skin was perhaps a little pale, her hair quite unmanageable, and her bum slightly flat, but it was Hermione, and he loved every one of her flaws as much as that gorgeous brown of her irises and her dramatic waistline.
"I might even give you a heads-up," she continued, "Just to let know now what you can expect when you hand it over."
Is she talking in sexual innuendo's? Ron thought, Please let her be talking in sexual innuendo's!