I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is

- "She" by Elvis Costello

oOo

"Ron... Ron... RONALD!"

Ron's eyes flew open.

"ARGH!" he threw his arms up to cover his face. The sun was even brighter than yesterday and was blinding him. As he squirmed, he became aware of something weighing the bed down next to his leg. Slowly this time, he opened his eyes to look.

Hermione's knee was resting on the edge of the bed. She had bent over him to shake him awake. He was about to peer up at her face, had he not stupidly lowered his eyes for a split second to see that her dressing gown was a little too loose, and was allowing him a perfect view of her cleavage...

"RON!" she squealed again, bolting upright and hugging her robe tight around her, going pink in the face. It seemed she'd followed his wide-eyed gaze.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said, holding a hand up as he propped himself up to a sitting position with the other. Hermione backed away from the bed, clutching the top of her robe, trying to look annoyed but only really managing to look embarrassed.

She cleared her throat. "I was going to tell you that you should sneak up to your room before your Mum realises you were in here all night."

"Er... yeah, alright," Ron flung the covers back and groggily got to his feet.

"Oh, hang on," he said, his mood darkening. "Was Ginny up there all night?"

Hermione didn't say anything. The fact that she avoided his gaze was a clear enough answer.

"Oh Merlin," Ron grimaced. "I bloody told her..."

"Oh, come on, Ron, we slept in the same room last night too! How is that any different?"

"Because-"

"Ron?! Hermione?!" called Molly from downstairs. Ron and Hermione both froze, staring wide-eyed at each other. Despite Ron's facade of fear, he was a little relieved that he'd been interrupted. He was about to say something very foolish. Of course Ginny sleeping in the same room as Harry was different! Ginny hadn't been woken up to the sound of Harry bawling over his butchered arm...

"Yes, Mrs Weasley?" Hermione called back, her voice a little too high-pitched.

"Breakfast's almost ready!" replied Molly, sounding a little shaky. Walls were thin in this house. Maybe she knew...

"Okay, we'll- we'll be down in a minute!"

Hermione marched up to Ron and with her free hand grabbed the collar of the t-shirt he'd slept in. For one mad second, he was sure she was about to snog him. She even kept her hooded eyes on his as she forced him against the wall. But, she let go of him and yanked the bedroom door open. She grabbed his collar again and shoved him through it.

"I'm getting dressed now, Ronald," she said firmly, thought still pink in the face and clutching the opening of her gown. "Or would you like to stay for another eye-full?"

"That was an accident! You were right there!"

"Ronald?!" Ron heard his mother's shrill voice waft up the stairs. "You'd better not be bothering that poor girl!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "No, Mum!". His attention went back to Hermione, who was still standing there. She was tapping her foot.

"'Mione..." Ron began. When she looked at him expectantly, he became aware that he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say. There was so much he could say... so much that he wanted to say, and lots that he needed to say.

"Sorry for falling asleep," he lied, bowing his head in mock repentance. When he looked up at her through his lashes, she was half-smiling at him.

"That's OK," she said.

" And I'm sorry for staring at your tits."

Her smile dissolved as she blushed.

"That's... um, that's OK too. I mean, I... you're forgiven."

They stood there in the doorway, awkwardly avoiding each other's gazes. Ron knew perfectly well what was keeping him there, but he was sure he looked like a massive prat.

"I'll go and get changed then."

"I'll see you downstairs."

"Cool, bye."

Ron scurried up the stairs as she slowly shut the door. His room was empty and cold. When he'd shut his own bedroom door, he thudded his forehead against it.

"Fuck..." he muttered before twisting round and sinking to the floor.

He was probably exaggerating, but his relationship with Hermione was the single most confusing relationship in existence. He didn't know who knew about them, he didn't know who she wanted to tell, he didn't know how she felt, he didn't really know how long they'd been 'together'. Were they still together? Would she want time to recuperate after nearly scratching her arm off? Lots of girls did that: something out of the ordinary would happen and they'd claim they needed space. But blimey, he knew bloody well that Hermione wasn't like other girls. He had to stop thinking about her like that.

"Grow a pair..." he sighed as he clambered to his feet. The sooner he got dressed, the sooner he'd see her again. That was quite a paradox in itself: telling yourself to man up, because then you'll get more time with your girlfriend...

When he came downstairs, the atmosphere was much more agreeable than it had been in a long time. He spotted Hermione first, who dishing sausages up onto everyone's plates. His Mum was frying something else on the stove, her free hand waving wildly around her as the smoke hit her face. Harry was ravenous and practically inhaling a piece of toast, as was Ginny. Ron even allowed himself a little chuckle at the sight of Percy, whose hair was not immaculately greased and curled today. It was wild and matted at the back and it was to Ron's immense relief that George was hiding a smirk behind a glass of orange juice.

Hermione sat down to eat at last. Ron went to sit in the seat beside her a little too hastily, eliciting a smirk from Ginny from across the table. He looked down at his plate. Two slices of toast, one fried egg, three sausages. As he slowly speared a sausage onto his fork, he eyed up everyone else's plates. Everyone else had two sausages. He cast a sideways glance at Hermione who looked wistful as she ripped a chunk of toast apart.

When he'd caught her eye, he raised his eyebrows. I always thought favouritism wasn't your thing.

She smirked and gave a slight shrug. Things have changed.

He chuckled slightly and smiled. Thank 'Mione.

She returned his smile. You're welcome. Merlin, that smile was pretty.

"Bacon, anyone?" Molly asked, suddenly standing there with a frying pan and tongs. Ron quickly tore his eyes away from Hermione and self-consciously shuffled his chair away from her. He'd been sitting a lot closer to her than anyone else.

"Yeah, thanks Mum," he said weakly. Once she'd dished out bacon to everybody, she sat down beside Ron. He could feel her watching him and the girl beside him. Being seated directly in between Hermione and his Mum felt a lot like his first game of Quidditch.

"Ronnie, dear?" said Molly as she sat down. "I need you to fold up the camp beds in Bill's old room now that he and Fleur have gone home."

"Ugh, fine..." grumbled Ron, too calm to kick up a fuss. There was something about the post-Voldemort air that made him feel almost drunk with tranquillity.

Molly cleared her throat. "And I'll need someone to help me with lunch."

Ron saw his mother cast a hopeful eye at Hermione.

"I'll do that, Mum!" said Percy snootily. Molly's shoulders shrugged.

"Thank you, dear..." she said with a sigh. Ron sat up, feeling a little victorious.

Molly perked up. "Oh, I wonder if anyone would be so kind as to volunteer to prune the rose bush..."

Hermione swallowed her food. "I'll do that for you, Mrs Weasley."

Molly smiled widely. "Oh, would you? Thank you, my dear!"

Ron felt himself pout. Across the table, he saw Ginny going pink from containing her laughter. Ron picked up his last remaining piece of toast and flung it at his sister's face, effectively ending the calm atmosphere in the kitchen.

oOo

As boring as chores were, Ron was perfectly happy to help his mother out that morning. Stuff had to get done somehow, and Molly Weasley already had her hands full. There were eight hungry mouths to feed throughout the day and that was her priority.

Ron was strong enough to flip the sofa bed back into position with one arm and not much effort. It thudded to the floor as though it were depressed. Much like every other piece of furniture in the Burrow, it had endured years of boys' fights and restless guests. Ron chose to ignore the ominous snap sound that the springs made when the bed was folded back up. No-one but his mother would burst a blood vessel at the sight of a possibly-broken sofa bed. Ron bunched the sheets and pillow cases up and stuffed them into the linen cupboard in the hallway. He threw himself against the cupboard door to close it, and bounded down the stairs intent on sneaking out the back door before his mother caught him.

"Ah, Ronnie! Wouldn't give the bathroom a once-over, would you?"

"Mum..." Ron began to groan, but the look on his mother's face told him that she was not a woman to cross today. He huffed and retreated back up the stairs.

He could practically smell the sunshine outside, which torturously teased him by seeping through the cracks in the house's shingles. The hallway and staircases were dark and windowless. The bathroom was hardly any better. The high window reminded him of prison. Azkaban. Dementors. Malfoy Manor. The bathroom was worn and familiar. He'd been nearly drowned in here by the twins, he'd frowned at his pale, gangly reflection in here and he'd discovered himself in ways that he didn't care to think of. At least, not while his family were in the house.

He flicked his wand around the room, scougifying every surface and tap in the room. He kicked damp towels into the crack between the sink and the drawer unit. He blasted a cobweb out of the corner of the ceiling and looked around anxiously for a family of furious, homeless spiders.

Outside, someone was ranting.

Ron jumped up onto the side of the bath and dropped forward, coming to lean on the back wall. He craned his neck and looked out of the high window.

Out there in the garden was Hermione, her head in a rose bush and shouting at it. He chuckled as her hair became more and more entangled in the thorns as she struggled. He jumped down from the side of the bath and quickly concluded that the bathroom was in a better state than it had been all week. He flew down the stairs towards Hermione.

"Ah there you are, Ron!" he heard his mother say.

"Bathroom's done," he said as he reached for the back door handle.

"Oh jolly good. Now, go and tidy your room."

Ron groaned. "Mum, this is slave labour!"

"Don't exaggerate, Ronald, now go and sort that room out. It looks like a troll's been at it!"

When Ron began to argue, Harry turned the corner and walked calmly into the kitchen. "I'll do that, Mrs Weasley," he said. Ron's face lit up.

"Oh there's no need, Harry, it's Ron's room,"

"I don't mind. It's mostly my mess anyway. Ron can swap jobs with me."

"Oh... kay..." said Ron, judging by Harry's smug grin that his chore was far worse than tidying a bedroom.

"What was your job, then?"

"De-gnoming."

That was all it took for Ron to spew up a see-you-later and dive for the door. It was bloody embarrassing, really, for his mother and best friend to snigger at how keen he was. But at least Ron was able to use "we just won a war" as an excuse for almost everything uncharacteristic these days. That included his drive to be a good boyfriend.

Being outside in the garden with Hermione felt just as claustrophobic and intimate as it would've done had they been in his bedroom. She hadn't noticed him yet. She was still strategically untangling her hair from every thorn it had been caught on. Her arse was in the air facing Ron. The longer he stared, the more she'd scold him.

"Hermione?" he called out to her. She froze, her little bum stopped mid-writhe.

"Uh... hi."

"Need help?"

"Yes please."

He smirked and sat down beside her. He wasn't quite sure what she'd been doing to get her hair this matted into a rose bush. It was as though someone had tied her hair in bows around the branches.

"I know what you're thinking," said Hermione, failing to conceal utter humiliation behind a facade of indifference. "You're thinking that I'm a ridiculous klutz. Well, you're wrong."

"I am?" he chuckled. She'd said those two words to him so often over the years, he often thought that it was an off-day when she didn't say them.

"Yes. There's a dead rose head at the back and I just couldn't reach it."

"What were you going to do, bite it off?"

She lifted a leg up and kicked him in the stomach, like a donkey would with a trembling young cowboy. He grabbed her leg before she put it down.

"Don't, I'll fall!" she squealed.

"Are your feet ticklish?" he asked, grinning at her socked feet. She'd abandoned her shoes a few yards away.

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare!" she growled into the rose bush. He could not let this golden opportunity pass him up. As soon as his nails raked the soles of her feet, she gave an ear-piercing shriek and miraculously jutted back out of the bush. As soon as she was free, she lunged for him.

"ARGH!"

He toppled backwards. They thrashed around on the grass, each trying to tickle the other. Hermione knew from Harry's dormitory tales that Ron was ticklish in the ribs. Hermione's most ticklish spots were an unexplored, almost mythical place. Nobody had managed to get past her violent defensive slapping. As it was, they were both going red with laughter as they batted each others' hands away, at the same time reaching for the other one's ribs.

She was so pretty. In between squeals, she was laughing and smiling so freely that he was sure he'd never seen her so happy. Or maybe he had, but not in a long time. It delighted him to know that he was the one making her happy right now.

When their arms began to ache, their battle ceased and their laughs quietened. Hermione was half on top of him, panting, smiling down at him, tendrils of her hair tickling his face. She was blocking the sun. It shone around her. She was his, and he could remind her of that right here, right now.

"My head hurts," she giggled, sitting up.

"Did I actually get you?" he asked, leaning on his elbows.

"No, no. The roses did though."

To see what she was looking at as she peered into the rose bush, he leaned forward so that his head was inches away from hers. Knotted around the more prominent thorns were clumps of Hermione's hair.

He laughed. "It looks like what happens when a sheep falls in barbed wire!"

She grinned. "You always did say that you could knit jumpers from my hair."

His laughter stopped. He swallowed his pride and glanced at the clumps of hair again. They were quite big.

"Ouch... bloody hell, I'm sorry, 'Mione."

"I didn't notice!" she smiled, turning to him. The intimacy and pain of what he'd been with her to endure the night before suddenly flashed across his mind.

"Did I hurt your arm?!" he blurted out.

She seemed a little taken aback by his question. "No, it's fine." She pulled her sleeve up a little of the way. A hint of white gauze bandage peeked out.

"How did you manage to get out here, anyway?" she asked casually.

"Hmm?" The change of conversation and atmosphere was so quick, he'd almost missed it. Clearly, now was not the time.

"Oh! Ah, I swapped jobs with Harry."

"Shouldn't you be de-gnoming, then?"

Ron rolled his eyes and looked around. She chuckled and pointed to the side of the house. "They're over there," she said, then blushed a little. "I'll come with you if you like."

"Uh... sure."

De-gnoming wasn't a hobby of hers. It certainly wasn't fun for him, or anyone else he knew. If she was coming with him, who was he to complain?

They practically marched over to the side of the house, where it was shadowy and a little bit cooler. It was how Ron usually approached gnomes to scare them off. There were none in sight.

"Well, that worked!" said Ron cheerfully. Although, gnomes had a habit of scarpering for a few seconds while humans walked past. They'd no doubt reappear when they were gone. Rather than face a grumpy mother, Ron started peering into the small green shrubs to look for them. When she sensed that Hermione was not moving, he looked back at her. She looked decidedly embarrassed.

"'Mione?"

"Yes?"

"What's up?"

Her face was very pink, but she looked up at him with a peculiar expression of innocence. "Nothing!" she squeaked. She was a bad actress.

Ron looked around him, and remembered what she'd told him.

"Hermione, you said the gnomes were around here!"

"I did, didn't I..."

"Then where the-"

He whirled round, looking for any sign of the annoying creatures. He noticed that she kept glancing up at the house. He followed her gaze. No windows.

Seeing understanding click in his face, she took a step towards him. He could only stand there looking like a dumbfounded numpty. A year ago, he would never have guessed that Hermione Granger, or any girl in fact, would lure him down the side of the house for a kiss. So, when Hermione kept stepping towards him with an expression of determination, bashfulness and anxiety, his stomach did somersaults.

She gulped. "I don't want you to think I'm-"

"Hermione..." he murmured, shushing her. She was close, and nervous. He placed his hands on her hips. As their eyes fluttered closed and their lips met, she ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders, then around the back of his neck. Surely this was a dream: Hermione's lips pressed lightly against his, her arms around him. Only, she was still nervous. She kissed him so lightly and her hands were loose on his neck. In response, he wrapped his forearms around her so that he was hugging her around her waist. He moved his lips against hers with a little more firmness. With that, she hugged him so tightly that she was pulling Ron to her.

He stumbled along with her, their teeth almost clashing as her back bumped against the side of the house. He was pressing her against it as they snogged, and that was pretty bloody cool.

She tore her lips away from him. "Is this okay?" she breathed.

He gawped at her. Same old Hermione, same old look of exhilaration when she accomplished something new. She studied him with apprehension as well. Her hair was a mess, her chest was rising and falling quickly with her heavy breathing and her lips were red and swollen and she was lovely.

"You're... a bloody... fantastic kisser..." he panted. He had a moment to see her face light up before he ducked down and pressed his lips to hers again.

She was kissing him with such rigor and passion that he was sure she was holding out on something. So, tentatively, he tested the waters with something new. He'd done it before with Lavender, but rather than shove his tongue down Hermione's throat, he parted his lips and carefully slid his tongue along her bottom lip. He felt her body tense. He needn't have worried. Her tongue met his, and within seconds they were properly snogging. Snogging Hermione. He moaned in the back of his throat.

"Ahem..."

They jumped apart, red in the face. Standing several feet away from them was Kingsley Shacklebolt with a traumatised Harry Potter. Ron felt his ears start to burn.

"Oh hello Harry, Kingsley..." said Hermione weakly. She smoothed her jumper down.

"I hope that you two are... well-adjusted... since the battle?"

"Um... yeah," said Ron in place of Hermione, who looked too mortified to keep up conversation.

Kingsley nodded. Ron shot a concerned glance to Harry who looked as white as a sheet.

"Hermione, I have to speak with you," said Kingsley. "I'm afraid it's urgent."

"What about me?" asked Ron, taking a little step forward. "I'm coming."

Harry's face was almost grey.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I want to stay and here what this is all about."

"I can't allow that, Ron," said Kingsley, shaking his head. "Not unless these two agree to have to in the room and you swear that you'll not tell anybody at the Ministry that I let you."

"Of course Ron can be present!" said Hermione. "Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded slowly.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait... the Ministry? Kingsley, what's going on?"

Kingsley looked solemn. "Let us convene inside."

oOo

A/N: BOOM got it published on time, didn't I? I can't say the same thing for next week's though..

Feel free to leave a review.

Nel X