Yet again, Hermione was up at dawn. Yet again, she was wracked with worry. The trial was over and she was going nowhere near Azkaban any time soon. There were, however, two new worries that foolishly dwarfed the threat of imprisonment. The first was sex.
Hermione stood in the bathroom with her eyes shut tight, re-living yesterday's experiment in her mind. Show her dragons, show her basilisks, show her dementors. She could handle those, she was a Gryffindor. Show her Ronald Weasley, her boyfriend of mere weeks, naked from the waist down? That was terrifying. Not in a visual way at all, it was more of a... foreshadowing. Boyfriends and girlfriends had sex. Hermione had previously found the male anatomy to be unappealing and oddly-modelled and a little scary, if one thought of its functions. She had no idea Ron's would be so arousing. Maybe it was a sign that they were biologically made for each other. And then, he'd shyly offered to reciprocate. Hermione groaned in frustration. She was not as naive as perhaps everybody thought. She'd had orgasms before. She could not imagine the pleasure that Ron's hands would bring in contrast to her own...
"Ugh!" she growled at herself and shivered out of those thoughts. In a few hours, she'd be stuck in a foreign country alone with him. Either this tension would be resolved, or she'd have no choice but to suppress it. The latter was probably the most logical answer. They were on a mission after all. That was the second worry: her parents.
Wendell and Monica had been living in Australia for a year. They undoubtedly had new jobs, a new home and new friends. Who was Hermione to take them away from that? She'd be killing them. And what would Robert and Jean Granger say when they came back into existence with no memory of the past year, in Australia, with their daughter explaining that she'd won a war against a sadist dark lord?
Robert and Jean Granger were not currently alive on this planet. They were tucked away somewhere in the minds of Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Or in Hermione's wand, she had no idea. Judging from the scrupulous research she'd done, the spell to restore memories was too complex to ever fully comprehend. That scared her. Nobody would ever know enough to be confident that Robert and Jean Granger could return.
Those thoughts were just as scary as the ones about Ron. Determined not to dwell on them any longer, Hermione decided she'd go downstairs and make a start on packing a lunch. She opened her eyes.
Having just had a wash, she was standing in her underwear. Her skin was flawless and even glowing, thanks to the complicated spell she'd cast just minutes before leaving to attend the trial, in fear of any photographers capturing her at an unfortunate moment of her t-shirt riding up or her unthinkingly rolling up her sleeves. It was lucky that she'd cast the spell before removing her top in front of Ron. Now, she was alone. She could assess the damage.
She picked up her wand from the side of the sink and aimed it at her stomach.
"Explico,"
The spell rippled out around her torso and down her arms, starting where she'd aimed her wand. The prickly sensation of the concealment charm being lifted was short-lived. Despite her skin feeling lighter and more comfortable now that it was no longer hidden in an unnatural-looking magic disguise, Hermione still felt stung. All over her stomach, chest and arms were the light pink flicks of scarring from the fallen chandelier at Malfoy Manor. On her left forearm, a vile word screamed. On her right side along her ribs, a nasty scald from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault at Gringotts was still red and raw, despite the pain having desisted long ago. And there, just peaking over the top of her knicker-line on her left hip, was the worst scar. She looked away, quick as a flash. She would not think of it until absolutely necessary, and even that might never happen. Despite the slow process, the scars were fading. Maybe she could abstain from going further with Ron until the scars had faded. There was no way she'd cheat Ron in such a way that they'd lose their virginity together with a concealing charm plastered across her body. No way...
Hermione swallowed thickly and pulled her shirt and jeans back on. She left the bathroom and proceeded downstairs, unnerving potential trigger phrases for an adult conversation about sex playing in her mind.
The kitchen was cold and empty, or so she thought. She opened the cupboard closest to her, numbly searching for food that would keep for 24 hours.
"Hermione?"
Hermione stood up and spun round.
"Sleep well, pet?"
Molly Weasley was sat at the dining table with a mug of tea in front of her. She smiled wearily at her, just like she had done hours after the war ended.
"Good morning, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione shakily. She was disappointed in herself that she was alarmed at Mrs Weasley's politeness. She and Hermione had barely spoken a word to each other outside of chores instructions and lying about Ron's whereabouts.
"Is your cup empty? I can make you some more tea," Hermione reached for the kettle.
"That's alright, darling. I'm fine."
"I wasn't stealing any of your food. Ron told me that you said it was okay for us to pack a lunch for when we get to Australia. He said you were fine with it."
"... sit down, dear."
Hermione stared at her, gulped, and pulled out a chair next to her. When she placed her hands on the table, Mrs Weasley immediately reached for one. She patted it fondly. Was she alright?
"I expect you're nervous about seeing your parents again," said Mrs Weasley.
"Very much so," said Hermione quietly. "the magic is complicated and I've never been to Australia."
"Have you booked hotels? Arranged living accommodation?"
"We're taking the tent."
Mrs Weasley frowned a little.
Hermione gulped again. "The tent has two bedrooms, Mrs Weasley."
To her surprise, Mrs Weasley chuckled almost fondly. "Oh, you're both adults now. I've no say in what you do," then, she stared into space, like something was troubling her. "Amazing, really, how quickly a child becomes a grown-up."
She still stroked Hermione's hands in a way that a relative might do if they were saying their last goodbyes to a loved one.
"You know, when Ron was four years old, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said he wanted to be a King," she smiled nostalgically. Hermione smiled too. She'd seen baby photos of her King all around this house. He was a cheeky little thing.
"... and then I asked him who his Queen would be," continued Mrs Weasley. "he said he'd never have one. Girls were sissy and bossy and they grumble all the time," Mrs Weasley grinned. "I told him that all good Kings went home to a Queen at the end of the day. I told him it'd make him a better King. Then he told me that if he ever had a Queen, it would only be because he really, really loved her and he couldn't help it. He'd only ever have a Queen if his life depended on it."
When Mrs Weasley looked up, both women had watery eyes.
"Mrs Weasley..." croaked Hermione.
"I don't expect you to understand, because you're not a mother. But one day, you'll be cradling your child whose the size of a loaf of bread and you'll be their world. And then, you'll blink and that baby will be towering over you, doing things for you. They'll be stronger than you and they'll crave a bigger life and you'll still give anything to cuddle them to sleep again."
No sooner had a solitary tear reached the corner of her mouth, Mrs Weasley straightened up suddenly and wiped her face clean of tears.
"I would die for my son," she said seriously. "These past few weeks, I haven't been entirely ready to accept that he's become a man yet. Hermione, I took that out on you. I tried to keep you apart. I said bad things about you. I made you feel uncomfortable when you'd done nothing wrong, and you were just what my son needed. I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me."
At that moment, the Burrow woke up for another day. Bedroom doors were flung open and people were bounding down the stairs towards them. In the short seconds they had left alone, Hermione stood up and threw her arms around Mrs Weasley's neck.
"If I can't bring my mother back..."
"Nonsense. You'll be fine," Mrs Weasley patted the girl's back encouragingly before letting her go and diving into making the breakfast as her family gathered around the table.
oOo
It was eight o'clock in the evening. The sky was a pleasant shade of pink. Ron and Hermione were walking hand-in-hand several yards behind Mr Weasley, who lead the way through the woods. They walked in silence, taking in their last moments of being on English soil before they were transported half way across the world.
"Here we are, kids!" called Mr Weasley. "It's right here!"
Ron and Hermione sped up. They joined Mr Weasley beside a something dropped in the leafy woodland bed: a tin mug, which looked to be discarded after a camping trip.
"That's it? That's our portkey?" asked Ron doubtfully.
"Yep!" grinned Mr Weasley at the mundane-looking object. "You sure you want to take this one?"
"We're sure," said Hermione with conviction.
"Because there's a chance it could make you violently ill."
"We know," sighed Ron.
"You've been through worse, I suppose," shrugged Mr Weasley casually. "Well then! I'll see you two in about a week!"
Ron awkwardly shuffled into his father's open arms and endured a long, tight hug. Mr Weasley let him go and embraced Hermione in a friendly way. Hermione adored this man. He could have revealed to the world that he was secretly Father Christmas and nobody would've been surprised.
"Right then!" said Mr Weasley. "Off you go!"
Mr Weasley watched Ron and Hermione tentatively crouch down on the soggy, leafy floor where the tin mug sat. Hermione stuffed her beaded back further into her jeans pocket.
"Ready?" Ron murmured to her. She nodded. Ron took her hand.
"Bye, Dad," said Ron quickly. His father nodded and stepped back.
Hermione placed a hand on the tin mug and in the next moment, they were falling.
oOo
"Ron?" Hermione croaked. She lifted her head. "Ron, are you alright?"
Ron retched and vomited for the fourth time in half an hour. "I'm brilliant," he deadpanned, wiping his mouth. "I feel like I've been punched in the stomach and I'm now in a scorching not country where there are probably flying acromantulas. Hooray."
There was a gentle whooshing sound in front of them. Hermione fell back on her bum and was pleasantly surprised to find that they'd arrived on a beach. Soft sand and a gentle tide. Behind them was a row of pretty shingled houses.
"What about you?" asked Ron. "Stomach settling?"
"I think so. I just don't want to move yet."
"Fine by me."
Ron sat up too and looked around him. He raised his eyebrows in approval. Ron reached deep into her beaded bag and pulled out a bottle of water and a box of tic-tacs. She held them out to him.
"What are those?" Ron asked.
"Mints."
"What d'you bring those for?"
"They help with sickness.
"Oh."
Ron hid his disgust for the foreign taste of mint when he swallowed about eight tic-tacs and guzzled them down with water. While he washed his mouth out, Hermione looked around at the seaside town. It was dawn. A man in a polo shirt and bright shorts was walking his dog further up the beach. Two young boys in diving suits splashed about in the waves. A plump woman in a beige dress walked at an awkward angle, holding the hand of an unstable toddler.
"It's nice here," mused Ron. "There are worse places to end up."
"That's what I'm worried about," Hermione mumbled.
Ron looked at her curiously.
"I'm scared that I'll see them living a happy life and I won't be able to give them their memories back."
"You say it like it's a weakness," said Ron, scooting across the sand to sit beside her.
"It is," she sighed. She leant her head on Ron's shoulder. The breeze was pleasant, but it hinted to a scorching day ahead.
"But," began Ron, sounding confused. "they'll forget about the past year. They'll go back to what they had before. They had you and their jobs and everything..."
"They won't be able to just return to their jobs after a year with no questions asked. All their friends will be angry with them for disappearing, too..." Hermione trailed off. She couldn't let herself think for a second that what she did was selfish.
"They were never really happy," said Hermione wistfully. "Not really. They loved me, of course, but... they always wanted excitement. My mum had a miscarriage when I was six. After that, they decided they wanted to travel and see the world. I suppose I put a stop to that."
After several miserable seconds, Ron placed an impromptu kiss on the top of Hermione's head.
Hermione smiled. "Thanks,"
"Any time."
One day, Hermione would thank him properly. His ability to wash away her bad thoughts was probably a little unhelpful, but she was ever so gracious for it.
They watched dawn break in silence. Occasionally, the sound of a nearby buzzing insect made them both flinch, Ron more so. Hermione giggled each time.
"You know, this is quite romantic," said Ron after a while. "Boyfriend and girlfriend, exotic country, sunrise, quiet beach..."
"Say romantic things to me, then," she grinned, leaning up and kissing his cheek. She lay on her back and grinned at the sky. She couldn't hear his movements in the soft sand, but he flipped his body over and lay on his stomach beside her. She looked up at him and smiled.
"Like what?" he asked.
"I don't know, be spontaneous!"
"I'm not very good at that sort of thing! I'm not a romantic bloke..."
"Of course you are!" she slapped his arm playfully. "If I had a group of girlfriends, I don't think I'd ever shut up about our picnic!"
Ron grinned proudly. She rolled her eyes.
"I'll give you a prompt then," she offered. "When did you start liking me?"
"Liking or loving?"
Hermione shrugged and fought back a huge grin. "Either."
Ron thought for a moment and wrinkled his nose. "I dunno, really."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"No, what I mean is..." Ron started again, capturing her attention once more. "Okay. I remember the moment I started liking you really clearly. It was in third year."
Hermione shifted closer to him, intrigued.
"I just remember we were sitting in the great hall doing work and you were reading a book and... I dunno, I just... ugh, I don't want to sound like a tit!"
"You don't sound like a tit!" groaned Hermione. "Now get on with it!"
"Why d'you want to know all this anyway?"
"I'm just curious now get on with the story!"
"Story?!"
"RON!"
"Okay! You were reading a book and I just happened to look up and I was going to say something to you but I just kept staring at you because you looked really pretty, and I remember thinking to myself 'Hermione's really pretty in this light'. And then the rest of the day went by and I kept catching myself staring at you because you looked pretty all the time. That's how I got a crush on you."
Hermione remained silent, her expression surely unchanging. His confession, as flattering as it was, was a little angering. Ron looked out around them casually, without tension. He was curious, not anxious.
"I haven't got a bloody clue as to when I actually fell in love with you, but it was pretty early on. Must've been fourth year or something. But I only admitted it to myself when we were at Shell Cottage. I just kind of..." he paused.
"kind of what?" asked Hermione quietly
"... I realised that I'd do anything for you. I would've literally killed for you. And I did."
"Why... didn't you want to admit it to yourself?"
Ron shrugged. "I was certain you'd go after Harry and I knew it would fucking hurt."
Hermione couldn't argue with that. She knew he didn't think it now. She needn't berate his previous views.
"Ron?"
"Mmm?"
"Cuddle me."
Ron laughed. "What? No snogging?"
"We've both just been sick."
"Oh yeah. That would've been grim."
"So come here and let me hug you!"
"What are we, five year old girls?"
"Fine then, don't bother!"
She was joking, of course, and stood up to leave. As she expected, he leapt to his feet and bounded after her. She squealed and sprinted off, knowing Ron was much faster than her. He caught her around the waist within seconds and whirled her around.
"No, Ron, I'll be sick!" she squealed before he put her down. They both groaned as their stomachs settled but he continued to hold her tightly. They were facing the sea and the golden sky. They were breathing heavily and smiling widely. Ron rested his chin on her shoulder
"This is romantic," grinned Hermione, leaning back against his shoulder. "Despite the nausea, you utter fool."
"Sorry," he chuckled and placed a kiss on her cheek. "But I wasn't gunna let you get away that lightly."
"You're an arse."
"So you've told me."
They stood there for a long time while families woke up. Tourists too, no doubt. The beach started to slowly grow in population. The few families who walked past them on the sand smiled. What a cute young couple...
"Shall we get going?" asked Ron eventually.
"Where to?"
"To the dentists'."
Hermione chuckled half-heartedly. "I'd love to, but I'm still in danger of throwing up."
She sighed and turned around to face him. She wrapped her arms around his face and mirrored his sleepy smile. "We should get the tent set up. Over there, though," she pointed to the back of the beach by a wave barrier. "I don't want us to get washed away in our sleep."
"Good plan," Ron agreed. "But I don't feel sick anymore so I'll set it all up. You can just stand there looking gorgeous."
Hermione laughed loudly. "I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing you flirt with me, Ronald."
"Well you'd better start getting used to it 'cause I'll never stop..."
His grin faded as soon as he'd heard himself speak.
That brought a pleasant tension between them. They'd both avoided talking about the future of their relationship so far. Hermione had been too busy thinking about the immediate future, that she'd completely forgotten about all those nights at Hogwarts in which she used to lie awake, picturing Ron's proposal. She'd look around the dorm and wager which bed their daughter would sleep in. It was entirely possible, now that Voldemort was dead, that any of those things could become reality.
They walked to the back of the beach. Hermione quickly did the enchantments around their little patch of sand before Ron set the tent up. They kept laughing whenever Hermione did find herself simply standing there and Ron grinned at her.
"Nice work," complimented Hermione, impressed at Ron's handiwork. The tent had been magically modified to be smaller and waterproof by Hermione, whose knowledge of muggle trends was not exactly extensive, but she was smart enough to know that a large gauze tent in the middle of an Australian beach would cause a bit of suspicion if their enchantments wore off or were done incorrectly.
It was the size of a two-man camping tent, i.e. much smaller than they were used to. They had to crawl in through the narrow entrance. Hermione was nervous about seeing Ron's reaction to her modifications: she had equipped the tent with a stove, a small bathroom unit and one double bed.
"This is... cosy," commented Ron, looking around.
"It was too small for another bed," said Hermione quickly. "But I could transfigure the bath if you wanted-"
"No, no, that's.. fine."
"If it's going to make things uncomfortable, then-"
"It won't."
"Okay."
They lingered awkwardly in the small space. Hermione felt like an idiot. She could've brought the tent they'd spent the last year sleeping in, but that was probably a bad idea. She could've brought Mr Weasley's tent from the Quidditch world cup, but Mr Weasley had spent hundreds of galleons on it. It was a prize possession and she was not financially capable of replacing it if she returned it damaged.
Whilst she'd been fretting, she hadn't noticed that Ron was walking around the tent, closely inspecting each and every item of furniture.
"Ron, what are you doing?"
"Nothing!" he said quickly, though he carried on. She eyed him suspiciously as he dashed into the bathroom and crouched on the floor. He lifted the toilet lid and peered in.
"The toilet's not a horcrux, Ron. What on earth are you playing at?"
"Just... checking."
"For what?"
He left the toilet and peered round the leg of the basin.
Hermione twigged. "Oh! Oh, Ron, there's really no need. I've cast the enchantments! Nothing can come within six feet of this tent. Not even spiders."
Ron sat up again, giving her a severe look. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," she sighed.
Ron looked back to the basin as though he'd previously been possessed and was awoken from his spell. He stood up suddenly and blushed.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
"You're welcome."
He looked at her through his lashes and smiled gratefully. She might've rushed over to him and snogged him senseless for the sake of his being adorable, had she not been sick minutes earlier.
"Do you mind if I use the bathroom?" she asked on that thought.
"Oh, er, not at all!" he stumbled awkwardly, squeezing back through the curtain into the main area of the tent. Hermione dashed into the tiny bathroom and yanked the curtain closed behind her.
She took a deep breath.
Alone, with Ron, with one bed.
She was sharing a bedroom with her boyfriend, whom she'd given a hand job days ago.
Surely she could do it again. Merlin knew she received more pleasure in watching him orgasm than having one herself.
She pulled out her bathroom bag from the beaded one and started brushing her teeth furiously. She scrubbed her face with a flannel frowned at her reflection in the mirror. They'd been in Australia for about an hour and already, her sun-induced freckles were starting to show.
She pulled the curtain open, satisfied that she was not going to get any uglier. Ron was there already.
"Hello..." she said stupidly, dazed by how close he suddenly was. He'd obviously been wandering around the tent. There was no way he'd be inches in front of her that quickly if he'd been sitting or lying down.
"Can I kiss you yet?" he asked eagerly.
"I don't know, can you?"
Ron began to smirk, but her retort didn't seem to register with him. He looked baffled as he tried to solve her riddle.
"Ron," she giggled, rolling her eyes. "just kiss me."
He seemed so grateful for such simple words. He slid his hands around her waist as though she were his most prized possession and kissed her sweetly on the lips.
"I love you," he grinned when he pulled back.
"I love you, too," she replied confidently. "I really do."
She felt her heart swell up like a balloon at how proud he looked.
"I love you," he whispered again, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you."
"You sound like a broken record," she giggled, leaning back and then kissing him on the forehead.
"Don't you ever get that, though?" he asked curiously. "You know, when there's a moment when it physically hurts if you don't say it? You just have to say it!"
She stared at him, bemused. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do get that."
She placed a lingering kiss on his lips. "I love you."
"We should probably do something productive," he chuckled.
"Sure," she grinned. "I think I'm ready to find the Wilkins's now."
"You sure?" he asked seriously. "You're feeling better, yeah?"
"Much," she smiled again. "Come on. Who knows, maybe I'll have parents by the end of today."
oOo
A/N: I promise I was going to address the scars issue, but the chapter would've been SO BLOODY LONG so it's going to be in the next chapter. Promise!
As for reviews, thank you very much for them! Keep 'em coming!
I go back to school on Monday, where our internet usage is limited. Updates might be scarce, but do keep checking.
Nel X
P.S. Do please follow me on Tumblr. The link's in my profile page.