There was no way Hermione would get enough sleep for a while now...

There were too many things to think about. The trial, her parents, Ron...

Ron was at the forefront of her mind now: at five in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to rise.

Hermione lay under a thick duvet on the creaky camp-bed in Ginny's room. No concentration of heating charms could deter the unseasonably chilly air that was permeating the room from outside. This was one of the pit-falls of living at The Burrow: wear at least three layers at all times, or prepare to watch your toes turn blue.

To Hermione's surprise, her current thoughts were not enough to stop her shivering, no matter how hot and flustered she felt. Her mind was racing with yesterday's date, which was filled with new, impossibly strong feelings and... stirrings.

These weren't entirely new. She'd been old enough to digest inappropriate thoughts about Ron since she'd started wearing proper bras. She was as certain as the rising sun that her physical attraction to Ron would never go away. But were these thoughts still inappropriate? He was her boyfriend and they were in love... ugh, she was so in love. She was allowed to have these thoughts... these fantasies about that snogging going further than she'd allowed. Hermione noticed how much different she looked in these daydreams. Her hair was tame. She was taller. Her breasts were larger. Her skin was flawless...

She sat bolt upright and reached for the dressing gown at the foot of her bed. There was no way she was getting any sleep now.

The dormant house was breathing in its sleep. As Hermione tiptoed downstairs, the creaks of the wooden shingles were the Burrow's light snores. She crept into the lounge, where only the ticking clock could be heard. The house was protective of its slumbering children, like a home should. Hermione smiled sadly. The house reminded her of family Christmases, and the silly rhymes her mother used to whisper to her in bed in December. Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a...

"Mr Weasley?"

The jolly ginger man sat in his pyjamas and dressing gown in the armchair by the fire, his head lolled to the side in a fireside doze. His eyes flickered open.

"Oh. Hello Hermione. Morning, is it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Ah."

He strained to straighten himself up. The fire was dying out beside him. He sighed at it forlornly. "Blasted fire-lighting charm. One can never perfect these sorts of spells when one's distracted!" he grinned politely.

Hermione swallowed thickly. "No, I suppose not," it was best to leave her pretentious habit of spewing knowledge at capable wizards for another day.

He kept his eyes trained on the dying embers. "I expect you've got a busy day ahead of you," said Mr Weasley, eliciting a confused look from Hermione. "Making plans and so forth. Harry tells me you two are searching for homes!"

"Harry... said that?"

Mr Weasley nodded, happy to remain oblivious to the fact that alarm bells were ringing in Hermione's head. Expectations. Plans. Future. Adults. Ron. Harry.

"I... wasn't planning on..." she began. Mr Weasley's weary smile began to fade a little bit. Something rolled in Hermione's stomach. Maybe Harry had been right. Maybe leaving the Weasleys to their grief would be the kind thing to do... "... moving out until I'd restored my parents' memories!" Hermione finished quickly. There, that seemed logical.

"Ah, yes... your parents."

The two remained in silence for several seconds while Mr Weasley stared solemnly into the fireplace.

"You must've missed them a great deal. You know, when you were on your travels and such. I bet you can't wait to see them again."

Hermione blinked rapidly. "I do miss them very much, Mr Weasley."

Mr Weasley looked up at her suddenly, startling her with his watery eyes. "You give them both a big hug... tell them you love them."

Hermione wanted to run from the room.

"I will."

Mr Weasley nodded, then returned to staring into the fire. "Australia, is it?"

"Yes. Sydney."

"Excellent. Wonderful weather over there. Good... good collection of... erm, species of spider..."

Hermione smiled half-heartedly.

"Who mentioned spiders?" asked Ron's voice from the stairwell. Only then was Hermione aware of his lolloping down the stairs towards the lounge.

"Morning, Ron!" called Mr Weasley, rising to his feet.

As Ron stumbled in, running a hand through his hair and yawning, the house woke up. Doors opened and closed upstairs, people scurried across floors and more footsteps clambered down the stairs. The Burrow bloomed for another day.

"Morning," said Hermione to Ron.

His tired eyes searched the room for her, eventually spotting her and waking up fully. A smile played at his lips.

"Morning, 'Mione."

"Sleep well, Ron?" asked Mr Weasley loudly.

"Er, yeah."

"Brilliant! Now go and start on the breakfast, son. You've got a girlfriend to impress."

Mr Weasley grinned at his son. Hermione watched the two men exchange a look she would never understand. Finally, without another word, Ron walked through to the kitchen. Hermione would've followed him, had Harry not stumbled into the lounge at that moment.

"Harry, I need a word with you," she said seriously, approaching him. He took a step backwards, looking a little alarmed.

"Er, OK..."

"BREAKFAST!" screeched Mrs Weasley, swerving into the lounge and out the other door to the kitchen. "EVERYONE GRAB A SEAT!"

Harry practically sprinted for the door. Hermione sighed and followed suit. She would get him alone eventually.

Ron was standing bashfully as he fried eggs and bacon in separate pans. Hermione came to stand next to him, a little closer than perhaps she would've a year ago.

"Nice," she commented lightly. When she was sure everyone else was busy passing round plates and cutlery, she stroked his arm with the back of her finger. "You're quite the chef."

"Standing here prodding food while it cooks on its own is hardly master cookery."

"I was only being nice..."

"Well I don't need your help."

"You're an arse, Ronald Weasley."

"And you're mental."

"And you're not a morning person."

"And you're not a... a... person."

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

She stared at him blankly until he turned and grinned.

"That makes no sense, Ronald."

"Sit down, wench, so I can serve you some breakfast."

Hermione grinned and sat down in between Harry and Mrs Weasley. Ron came to stand between Hermione and his mother and scooped some of the food onto Hermione's plate.

"Thank you, Ronald," she said, noticing in her peripheral vision that Mrs Weasley was staring straight forward. She continued to do so until Ron had finished serving her breakfast.

"Yes, thank you indeed, Ronnie."

Hermione's eyes shifted to glance at Mrs Weasley, whose lips were pursed.

"Hermione... you're meant to eat it," said Ron, who'd sat down opposite her.

"I know, Ronald, thank you."

The usual bustle of the Weasley breakfast table picked up again, and Hermione found herself drifting into her daydreams again whilst she ate. She tried to be logical and rational: fretting about plans to Australia and the trial and Hogwarts. She'd have to talk to Ron. Ron. Ron.

Every time she even looked at Ron, she felt so far away from him. Knowing how it felt to be in his arms, to be connected at the lips, was torture. It was ridiculous and needy and painful and shaming.

"Right, we'd better be off!" said Mr Weasley suddenly, rising from his seat. Hermione shook off her rapid-moving thought process.

"Arthur, dear, wait until everyone's finished!" smiled Mrs Weasley animatedly, tugging at his sleeve for him to sit down.

Maybe she should watch Mrs Weasley closely.

"Molly, it starts in an hour!"

"We won't take that long!"

"Molly, I'd rather we got there early than late."

Mrs Weasley glared at her fearful husband for a long second before standing. "Alright. Harry, dear, get your jacket."

"Where're you lot going?" asked George, drawing the room's attention to him. Hermione's shoulders drooped a little. Just looking at him...

"Harry's trial," said Ginny eventually. "I'm coming too."

"Ginny, I'd much prefer it if you-"

"Molly, we don't have time to argue, let's just go! George, you going into Diagon Alley?" asked Mr Weasley, grabbing a pair of corduroy trousers from a stack of washing in the corner.

"Yup."

"Percy, you're...?"

"Going with him."

That made Hermione smile. After all, it had been Percy's reunion with the family that had allowed Fred to die smiling.

"Very well. Fall out, Weasleys!" Mr Weasley grinned. Hermione waved to him as he left to get changed. Before he disappeared, he winked fondly at her.

Within seconds, the kitchen had emptied as quickly as Kings' Cross Station on Christmas morning, leaving Hermione alone with Ron.

"Thank you for breakfast," she smiled, feeling like... well, like a prat.

Ron shrugged. "I make it a rule to always put my heart and soul into a fry-up."

"Tasted like it," she agreed.

"Good."

"Very."

He grinned at her. She loved that cheeky smile so much, it was nauseating... but now was not the time for gushy romantic sentiments. Today was the day to talk.

"Ron..."

"I love you," he said happily.

"Don't interrupt me," she scolded. A second later, she blushed and smiled. "There's no need to remind me every ten minutes."

"I know," Ron shrugged. "I just like saying it."

Hermione stood up. "Well, I like hearing it."

"Well, that's something," he walked round the table towards her, his awkwardness at intimacy still remaining despite everything that had happened. She loved him for that, though. He was a gentleman in that respect.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked as he took her hand.

Ron shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'm not fussed."

"I need to... look into international portkeys. You know, for Australia."

Ron nodded, bringing another hand up to sit on her waist. She knew plan-making hardly fascinated him. It was a Ron trait.

"Will that take hours?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Probably not, no..."

"Good," he moved closer to her, shadowing her. "I don't fancy spending all day researching wizarding travel laws when we have the whole house to ourselves-"

"TERRIBLY SORRY!" squeaked Mrs Weasley, stumbling into the kitchen out of nowhere. Ron and Hermione jumped apart.

"I forgot my... flask!"

She scurried over to the counter and yanked open a drawer.

"Oh, rats, it's not here. Oh well! Ron, I don't suppose you could find it for me while we're gone?"

"Mum, why don't you just use the-?"

"SEE YOU LATER!" she was an orange blur, then she was gone.

Silence permeated the house in the way it had done just two hours ago.

"The bloody hell was that about?" asked Ron, staring at the door.

"No idea," she lied. She knew that if she let Ron know about his mother's inhibitions about his new relationship, the two of them would be forced to broach the subject with Mrs Weasley. Hermione preferred that tensions did not rise until after she'd moved out.

Ron took her hand again.

"You wanna... go sit in the lounge?" he asked.

"Sure."

He lead her through to the living room, speeding up suddenly when they both realised the suggestive nature of the movement. The living room was even colder than the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, was the sun a horcrux? I'm freezing my-"

"Ron."

"-ears off."

Hermione whipped out her wand, which now lived in her back pocket, and aimed it at the fireplace. A quick mutter of a fire-lighting incantation and a little heat thawed out the shivering pair.

"British weather..."grumbled Ron, hugging himself as Hermione bent down to poke the fire. "too temperamental for my liking. It's probably a million degrees out in Australia now."

"Probably," Hermione sighed, putting the poker back. She stood up and faced him. She could see how she'd been so careless to upset him before: he didn't look like he was still grieving. Then again, she hardly had an opportunity to look at him properly when they were together.

"Warm enough?" she asked casually.

"Nope. Come here," he uncrossed his arms and held them out towards her. Despite her agenda, she willingly stepped into his arms, relishing his warmth. He smelt like clean laundry and Christmas. They stood there, arms around each other in a comfortable silence, listening to the firewood crackle.

"How d'you think Harry's trial's going?" asked Ron.

"They only just left. They're probably not there yet."

"Oh yeah..."

Hermione smiled inwardly. Bless Ron's attempts at small talk. She looked up, initially hoping to ease them into a proper conversation about plans... but he was staring at her in such a... comfortable way. He looked like he adored her and it made Hermione feel like a balloon was expanding in her chest.

"Is this weird?" he asked suddenly.

"No... why, do you think it's weird?"

"No, just... you look confused."

"A little bit," she admitted. Ron frowned. How could a fully grown man like Ron made her heart melt with a simple frown?

"-but it's nothing," she added quickly. As Ron's frown disappeared, Hermione was only half cheered. The longer she left this talk, the worse it would get. The closer they got to September the first, the greater a betrayal it would feel.

"Actually..." she whispered. She couldn't speak louder, for his lips were very close to hers. Could the conversation wait? Could she seek a teensy bit of happiness in achieving something a little reflective of the fantasies she'd been having recently?

"I know what you're gunna ask me," he murmured, pulling back slightly. "Harry told me."

Hermione slipped from her Ron-induced daze. "Harry told you what?"

"That you want to go back."

Curse Harry...

She froze in his arms. She'd barely been conscious of the fact that they'd been slowly rotating, dancing.

"I... wanted to talk to you about it... myself..." she spluttered feebly. He didn't look angry.

"I know, I know. I think Harry assumed you'd told me."

"Are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry?"

She dropped her arms from his waist. "Because I kept it from you."

She wandered over to the sofa and collapsed down onto it. He slowly walked towards her and sat down with a sigh beside her. When Hermione snuggled into his side, it was not quite instinctual. They hadn't got that far yet, but it still felt natural and safe and lovely.

"I didn't think you wanted to hear it yet. You kept talking about having one life, living in the present..."

"'Mione, it's okay!" the arm he'd had round the top of the sofa dropped down to hug her to him. "I... kind of knew you'd want to finish Hogwarts. If it's what you want, then you've got to do it. I'll keep myself busy."

"You're definitely not going, then..."

Ron's face didn't change. She saw sadness cloud his mind though. "I can't. I'm not as brave as you. I can't face all of that again. I reckon I need a bit more time, you know?"

Don't mention Fred, Hermione. Don't mention Fred.

"I'll miss you," she said at long last, turning her head so that she directly faced him. He did the same. He smiled, his eyes waking up with an exciting emotion that Hermione recognised now.

"It's only June. We've got a while."

Their lips met. They kissed softly for what seemed like no time at all before those stirrings greeted Hermione again. They were alone, in possibly one of the most romantic scenes she'd ever heard of. A living room, on the sofa by a fire. In love.

She grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him down on top of her, then kicking her legs out so he settled between them. This was what she wanted. Closeness.

He kissed her hungrily. She reciprocated. His roaming hands ran down her sides, up her neck and around her thighs. Her skin flamed.

"I love you," she breathed, finding it satisfying to say. She wrapped her legs around his torso.

"Love you too," he said, staring into her eyes for a second before disappearing. He began trailing kisses down her neck. Hermione wanted to say something... or do something... something was growing inside her, but she couldn't think what when at last, she moaned.

"Fuck..." she heard him mumble into her shoulder. His right hand moved slowly up her ribs until it almost reached her breast. Sod it, as he would say. She forcefully grabbed his hand and placed in squarely on her breast. He moaned louder than she had. Immediately she felt better.

It was boiling in the lounge.

Remove your clothes and reveal your scars.

Hermione's eyes snapped open.

He'll see your body and run a mile.

"Ron."

"I love you..."

"Ron!"

He sat up, watching her for explanation. She straightened up, blushing furiously as she adjusted her low-cut t-shirt.

"I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "It wasn't you, I... I think we're moving a little fast, don't you?"

She hated herself. She hated what she was saying. She felt cold without him on top of her.

"Yeah, sure, just... sorry."

"It's not you, Ron, really."

"But-"

"Look," she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips again. "I don't want to get carried away."

Ron glanced down at her lips again. She smiled and kissed him, slowly this time. When she pulled away, he did not look hurt.

"I wasn't trying anything," he said innocently. She gave him a look.

"I'm not ready for that stuff yet either," he continued.

"It's fine, Ron."

"You don't think I'm pushing or anything, do you?"

"No, of course not!"

"Good. 'cos I love you and I'd never do that."

Hermione stared at him, eyes stinging. It was things he said, like that, that begged her to tell him that she was ready. Merlin's sake, she wanted him. If it weren't for her body's sickening state, she'd throw composure to the wind and rip his shirt off. Sod tradition, sod manners, sod waiting. If it weren't for those bloody horrific scars...

"I need to research those portkeys, Ron," she said sadly. Ron nodded understandingly before bowing his head.

Hermione grabbed his shirt collar. He looked up, startled.

"I love you ever so much, Ron. You know I do."

Ron smiled shyly, then blushed. "Ten more minutes?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and leant back into the sofa. "Fine. Ten more minutes."

He grinned and put an arm around her waist. "And then maybe after we've researched the-"

"Ugh, yes, Ronald!" she exclaimed, her voice a little too gravelly. They stared at each other before bursting into laughter. Ron was quick to meet her lips again.

oOoOoO

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Christmas and such.

Have a good one,

Nel X