I think I might've inhale you
I could feel you behind my eyes
You gotten into my bloodstream
I could feel you floating in me
- "Bloodstream" by Stateless
oOoOoO
It was amazing, really, how normal things could become after such a dramatic turn of events.
Hermione had finally heard those beautiful words from Ron, which now echoed around her head constantly.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
A day had passed. He'd stolen one quick kiss on the stairs in the single moment that they were alone together. Now, he was in the shower and she was washing dishes.
Whoever said that romance was dead?
There hadn't been fireworks or explosions or anything of the sort that she had so often read in books. That did not mean it hadn't been wonderful. Telling Ron that she loved him was like finally noticing that the snow was beginning to settle. It was joyful, because nothing in her world could possibly be ugly anymore. Hope, because they would always live with some distant threat. Now that they were here, in this awkward yet comfortable state of decided togetherness, Hermione felt lighter. She'd thought she'd always be weighed down with the weight of unrequited love. Hearing him tell her that he reciprocated her love had been... bliss.
"Want a hand?" asked someone from the doorway. Hermione turned and saw Harry. He gestured to the overflowing sink in front of her.
"Oh. Sure," she said casually, effectively hiding the sudden swell of guilt. She'd neglected Harry, these past few days. She'd gotten so used to giving him space that she hadn't gone near him at all.
"How are you, Harry?" she asked, handing him a tea towel. He grabbed a bowl and started drying.
"Not bad. You?"
"I'm well."
"Excellent."
Hermione and Harry continued in silence. Occasionally, she snuck glances at him in an attempt to decipher his expression. He wore that vague tiredness that he had usually done in the months before Voldemort had ever come tearing through the wizarding world, back into their lives. His jaw was unclenched. None of his usual pubescent angst there then.
When he finally looked up at her, she turned away with a blush.
"So..." he began in a light tone. "You and Ron, huh?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You knew that already, Harry," she grinned.
Harry shrugged, a sad smile playing at his mouth. "Yeah, I knew. You just didn't tell me."
Hermione looked at him and slowly put down the plate she'd been rinsing. "I... didn't think you'd want to know."
"Course I would!"
"I know, I know! I mean... Ron and I... getting together... must sound a little trivial to you. You just saved the wizarding world and so many people died..."
Harry widened his eyes at her in warning. Clearly, they were not to mention the 'D' word in The Burrow.
"Sorry..." she mumbled, returning to the washing up. "It seems like months ago."
"I know. It makes me feel so..."
"So...?"
"Invasive."
"What do you mean?"
"I feel like I'm intruding on them," he nodded his head in the direction of the door, referring to the Weasleys. "Both wars were tough on them and... I dunno, I feel like we should give them some space."
Hermione felt hot. His including of her in the intrusive nature of their 'guest' status made her feel for the first time as though she should leave.
"What about you and Ginny?" she asked quickly, shuddering out of her thoughts. "Where's that going?"
Harry sighed. "We're still... talking. She's still upset."
Had Harry not mentioned Fred before, Hermione would've asked him what Ginny was so hung up about. A horrible feeling roused in the pit of Hermione's stomach as the realisation that she might have simply been a distraction from Ron's grief slowly sunk in.
"My trial's tomorrow. I think I'll probably just pack up and make a move after that."
"Hmm..."
"Hermione?"
"Yes, sorry. What did you say?"
"I said I reckon I'll move out once my trial's over."
Hermione smiled at his trademark gallantry. "There's no need. Molly's said she'll let us stay until we go back."
"Go back where?"
"To Hogwarts, troll-brain!" her giggle was short-lived. Harry's shock had not been anticipated.
"You're... going back?"
"...aren't you?"
Neither of them spoke. This was the third knot in reality's rope. First, the trial. Second, the grief. Third, this.
They both heard footsteps stomping down the stairs. Seconds later, the kitchen door opened. Ron stepped in, looking casually indifferent yet somehow a little nervous.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asked with a smirk.
"Not at all," said Hermione quickly, composing herself. She was acutely aware that she needed to talk to him. Soon. But his current choice of clothes caught her off guard.
He wore jeans, as per usual, and scruffy trainers. But he also wore the formal-ish off-white shirt he'd worn at Fred's funeral. As Hermione appraised him nervously, Ron looked down at himself self-consciously.
"You never usually dry your hair," remarked Hermione with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, I didn't," he replied, smirking again.
"Then how-"
"Come upstairs with me."
Hermione was vaguely aware of Harry blushing scarlet and scurrying out the back door. Ron was holding his hand out, his cheeky smile alluding to some sort of plan.
She walked over to him and threaded her fingers into his. Silently, he turned them both around and lead her up the stairs. Hermione was inexplicably nervous and flushed, but decided it was too early in his scheme to chicken out. She frowned up at his smug smile.
"I don't like that look," she told him.
"Yes, you do."
"I don't like surprises."
"It's not a surprise. Well, not really. It's sort of a surprise. Half a surprise."
"Ron, what on earth are you talking about?"
Ron stopped them in the middle of the staircase and leaned his neck out, looking up and down the stairs, seemingly listening for movement.
"Okay. Hold tight."
He wrapped an arm round her waist and suddenly, her stomach lurched. He was apparating them clumsily. As Hermione felt her limbs twist and stretch, she tried hard to cling on to him. He wasn't as apparition-savvy as she was.
"Eurgh..." she groaned as her stomach settled. She kept her eyes shut, but was wary of the breeze around her and the sounds of twittering birds.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "We're here now, anyway."
She opened her eyes and her breath left her. Ron slowly released his arm from her and stepped into her view, smiling nervously at her as he awaited her reaction.
They were in a forest. At the edge of one, at least. Hermione could see rolling hills between the trees to her left. They were in a grassy clearing, in which a tartan picnic blanket had been laid and a hamper was placed in the middle. All around the blanket were empty jam jars.
"What are those for?" she asked, gesturing to the jars.
Ron looked bashful. "I tried to do those blue flame things, but I'm rubbish at them."
Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. "Give me your wand."
Once Hermione had his wand, she set about conjuring a blue flame in each jar, of which there were nine. Ron had to explain that the tenth one was smashed when he was a little too overzealous with his Scougify charm.
When Hermione took a step back to admire their work, she felt that warm, fuzzy feeling one usually felt on Christmas morning. Despite the mild weather, the blue flames managed to make the sky look dark. It illuminated their little nook in the forest and isolated them, wrapping them in safety in a similar way that a warm bath on a snowy evening did.
"Come here," said Ron softly at long last, sitting on the blanket. Hermione eagerly joined him, revelling in that rare emotion that comes around when for a split second, nothing else matters.
She sat cross-legged opposite him, sitting bolt upright. "What's in the box, then?" she grinned.
He flipped open the lid of the hamper. "Don't take the piss," he said, echoing what he'd said seconds before she officially became his girlfriend.
From within the hamper he brought out a small bunch of daisies. She stared at him. His face turned pink and he looked away, thrusting them at her. "They're for you," he mumbled.
She took them from him and clutched them, a lump rising in her throat at how lovely he was.
"Thank you, Ron. I love them."
He blushed a deeper shade of red and smiled shyly up at her. He turned back to the hamper and pulled out two bottles of butterbeer and something in a cardboard box. He lifted the lid and revealed a red velvet cake, a wobbly heart-shape iced onto it.
Red velvet cake. If Ron thought for a second that it had been that something as trivial as a cake that had awoken her from her selfish, misery-induced coma all those weeks ago, he was so wrong. Of course, it had made a dent in things. It had not been the deciding factor. His worry, his care and his tears... everything he'd put into it; everything he'd shown her... that was what cured her.
"Ron..." she croaked before swallowing the lump in her throat.
"I can put it away if it's reminding you of-"
"No!" she barked, startling him. Where his hands left the box, she pushed it slowly across the blanket to the side, out of the way. Even slower, she crawled over to him and kissed him without hesitation.
She could tell he was confused by the kiss: he'd initially been anxious about her reaction to the cake. Eventually, his lips started moving with hers and his weight shifted as a hand went up to the side of her neck.
Having been made acutely self-aware in this position (lips on Ron's, with arse sticking out the other end), she curled herself into a ball, initially aiming to sit directly in front of him. She had not intended to end up sitting in his lap, arms round his neck, kissing him as passionately as this new position accommodated for. She needn't have worried. He soon got over his perplexity and opened his mouth to allow her tongue access. These kisses were the ones that kept her awake at night.
She spent evenings tossing and turning these days, thinking of the feel of his wet tongue on hers. Of course, she never let her mind stray whilst they were kissing. Kissing was instinctual; spontaneous. It was the afterthought that drove her mad. They'd been together properly for a matter of days and she was already getting desperately flustered at the thought of going further... not that these new stirrings were foreign to her. She still lacked the privacy to do anything about them.
Some while later, after she'd re-arranged herself multiple times, she felt her body thud against him. He'd lowered them into a lying position on the blanket.
She tore her lips away from his. "If this cake was a cunning scheme to wrestle your way into a snog, Mr Weasley, shame on you," she breathed, half congratulating herself on maintaining coherence while being so hot and bothered.
"No... for you... you..." he panted, looking up at her in awe. Before any more words could be exchanged, she crushed her lips to his again. He responded with much more enthusiasm than before, if that were even possible. He rolled them over, coming to settle comfortably on top of her. She clutched him further down on top of her, feeling far too distant from him. Removing their clothes would've helped. Unable to resist, she ground her hips upwards. She immediately felt the bulge that she'd only briefly been aware of two days ago before he'd leapt off her. Instead, he did not resist. He rolled his hips into hers in response.
"Mmm... love you..." he mumbled into her lips. Their hips met again.
Suddenly, images of her reflection flashed in her mind as the possibility of this escapade going further dawned on her. If clothes were removed and eyes roamed, he would see things she really didn't want him to see.
"Ron!" she squeaked.
He was off her in an instant, as far away from her as possible. She sat up, gaining her breath. He sat awkwardly in the other corner of the blanket, his folded arms bending over to conceal his tenting jeans.
"'Mione, I'm... sorry. Really sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Ron, it's fine," she promised him, looking at him squarely. She meant it, of course. This wasn't his fault. "I just think we should... slow down."
"Yeah... sure..." he was really out of breath. Red in the face.
They were left listening to each other's breathing as their pulses slowed back to normal. At first Hermione thought the blue flames had grown bigger and brighter than before, but then realised it was down to the darkening sky.
"I'm really sorry," Ron said again, his breath having returned to normal.
"Don't apologise, Ron," she said softly. "I liked it."
She smiled at him. This whole world of sexual frustration, no matter how furiously fast-paced hers was, was a magnificent world to explore. He smiled sadly back.
After what Ron had said about having one life, Hermione was almost dead certain that the next conflict would be pace. She was sure he saw no reason in waiting, which she entirely understood. Had things gone differently this past year, she would've even agreed. But she'd seen parts of herself that nobody had seen before. In her later Hogwarts years, she'd pictured the ideal scenario in which he'd see her bare skin for the first time. They'd be in a dimly-lit room on a four-poster bed. She'd slowly unbutton her blouse, ever being the subtle seductress she'd wanted to be in moments alone with Ron. His eyes would rake over her torso and he'd lunge for her, hungrily ravishing her into the early hours of the morning. Now, she could see no other possible outcome of revealing herself other than his utter horror. He'd seen her topless once before and he'd broken down in tears. The scars were showing no signs of fading.
"Hermione?"
"Mmm?"
"Want a butterbeer?" he held one of the glass bottles of orange liquid out to her. She took it. It was wet with condensation and still cold, after Ron having placed a Cooling charm in the hamper.
"Thanks," she smiled up at him again.
Thankfully, his smile was genuine. "I do love you, 'Mione," he said, suddenly becoming sincere. "When I first told you, I... I meant every word of it."
"I know you did," she said softly. "And I love you, too. Now open this bottle for me. I'm too weak."
oOoOoO
A/N: Review etc.
See you next Saturday!
Nel X