Chapter 3: The Muggle Way

The flat was small but cozy and exuded charm, a ground-floor studio they'd chanced upon when walking in a Muggle neighborhood not far from the Ministry. It was barely more than a room in size, just a large airy space, small adjacent kitchen, and an oversized bathroom with an old-fashioned tub. A slanted roof and coated glass allowed for soft light in the morning, and a small patio and garden adjacent to the main room made a lovely spot for reading and their tea. Built-in bookshelves lined three of the four walls, framing the oversized bed they'd stumbled upon in an antiquities shop in Diagon Alley.

Weary from the night's adventures, Ron reckoned he couldn't get into that big bed fast enough, and not for the reason he was usually eager for bedtime after three days away. His right hand was throbbing steadily with pain, and all he wanted to do suddenly was sleep.

Lowering himself unsteadily into a chair, he watched as Hermione rifled systematically through kitchen drawers in search of her small black medical kit.

"Got it!" she announced triumphantly, turning to take a seat next to him at their small kitchen table. Unzipping the nylon bag, she fished out a handful of items, then gently took Ron's hand.

Always prepared, Ron thought as he watched her, smiling to himself despite the pain.

She'd taken to tending the scrapes and bruises he accumulated on his auror missions "the way Mum used to," as she put it, the Muggle way. She seemed to enjoy the intimacy of it, and he certainly wasn't complaining.

She'd sit close to him, swabbing his skin tenderly with white fluffy balls soaked in Muggle potion while he studied the planes of her face, a face he was certain he now knew better than his own. (It was certainly better to look at than his own.) Then she'd squeeze a bit of goo onto him from a small tube and cover the whole mess up with plastic strips she fished from a box labeled 'Band-Aid.'

Ron remembered how Harry had smiled when he'd first turned up at their office with a collection of those strips adorning his hands and face.

"Hermione did this," he'd said, running his finger absently across one of the strips as Ron nodded.

"I liked the ones with Spider-Man. Dudley had those."

"Spider-WHAT?"

"Never mind," Harry had said, rolling his eyes.

Later, Hermione had pulled the strips off of him to reveal smooth skin where the wounds had been. "See," she'd said, a hint of pride in her voice. "Muggles do magic, too."

"They do if they made you."

That had got him kissed.. twice.. hard.

Her chair pulled up close to his now, Hermione was tending to his bloodied knuckles as Ron looked on contentedly. She hadn't said much about the dust-up at the pub, he noted. She hadn't said much of anything at all. After a long moment of watching her, Ron spoke.

"You're not going to yell at me for hitting Harry?"

Hermione gave a small shrug and continued to work on his hand. "Thought about hitting him myself that night in the tent when he told you to go."

Ron broke into a wide smile.

"Laying him out flat like you did Draco, eh?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling, too."I never laid Draco out flat."

"You did in my version." Ron tapped the side of his head at his temple. "Here."

"Thought about it, have you?"

"Too much."

They grinned at each other as Hermione discarded the fluffy white balls she'd been using and reached for the little tube of goo. Ron continued to watch her, a second question surfacing in his mind.

"Hermione?"

"Um-hm." She was fiddling with the tube.

Ron paused briefly, before deciding to ask the question.

"Am I overreacting?"

Hermione looked up immediately, her eyes locking on his. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

"Well, I'm not sure what hitting him accomplished exactly."

Ron outright grinned at her, pleased by her admonishment somehow. "I knew you weren't going to give me a pass on that."

"Well, I tried," she teased, as both of them laughed.

Hermione removed the cap from the little tube and raised it to his knuckles as she continued speaking. "You know, Ron, it was four years ago. Technically, we weren't together yet."

"But we wanted to be," Ron said quietly. "Harry knew that."

Hermione sighed. "That's true," she said sadly, squeezing the goo onto him.

"And he knew how he felt about Ginny."

"True, also," she said, looking solemn and reaching for the plastic strips.

Ron sighed and lowered his head to the table. "I thought the bloke was trustworthy," he mumbled.

"He is trustworthy, Ron."

Ron's head shot up in an instant. "Well, how do you reckon that, Hermione?! I'm gone, what, a day you said, and already the bloke is making a move on you?"

Hermione shook her head. "It wasn't like that."

"What was it like then?"

She paused, considering. "I was miserable. He was miserable. Both of us, over you."

"So, what? Let's have a shag and feel better?!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, he didn't even try to kiss me. He just-" she paused, remembering. "He took the locket off me, which was weird. And then.. Then it really looked for a moment like he was going to. Try to kiss me."

Ron groaned loudly lowering his head back down to the table.

"I know," Hermione said smiling and running a sympathetic hand along the back of his head.

"Then I really would have had to hit him," she added.

Ron chuckled into the table. He raised his head to look at her, and they smiled at each other.

"And you know, Ron," Hermione continued, "he'd never acted that way before, and he hasn't since which counts for a lot I think. He loves your sister. You know that."

"I thought I did," he said mournfully.

Ron sighed and watched wearily as Hermione affixed the plastic strips to his battered hand. It was nearly eleven already, and he was due back at the Ministry in just eight hours. At least Harry would be out of the office testifying at a trial all day. He wouldn't have to deal with the sight of the traitorous git until Monday.

Ron closed his eyes, seconds away from nodding off at the table, when another thought occurred to him.

"Hermione?"

"Um-hm."

"How come you never told me about this before?"

It was a question he'd meant to ask earlier in the evening before the rage had overtaken him and he'd lit out after Harry.

Hermione looked up and shrugged. "Honestly, I'd forgotten about it. So much happened that year."

Smiling at his knackered appearance, she reached forward and gently brushed the fringe from Ron's half-closed eyes. "You came back, thank God," she said quietly, prompting a smile from both of them. "Then there was Luna's, the Snatchers.. Malfoys'."

At the mention of Malfoys' Ron reached forward to cover her free hand with his, Hermione smiling appreciatively at the supportive gesture.

"Then Shell Cottage and Gringotts," she continued. "The castle, the war. Then us." Again, they both smiled. "Honestly, until you asked me tonight if Harry ever tried anything when we were younger, I'd forgotten about it."

"I wish I could forget about it."

"You will," she assured, nodding. "You just need a bit of time."

Ron snorted skeptically. "One question. Would you be this forgiving if it was me even thinking about kissing another girl?"

"Of course not."

"I'd be murdered in my sleep!"

"You would be, and don't doubt it."

They chuckled together, and Ron planted a kiss on the side of her head as she smiled happily and ran a soft hand down the side of his face. She looked up at him, the seriousness of her expression denoting she had something important to say.

"Ron, it was one moment in eleven years of Harry and me knowing each other. You and I have had moments six times a day since we were 14."

Ron smiled broadly, warmed by her words. "I suppose," he said happily, enjoying her characterization of his moments with her versus Harry's.

Hermione surveyed her handiwork, his now-bandaged right hand.

"That'll do, I think."

Careful of his hand, Ron reached forward and gently pulled her from her chair and into his lap. She settled comfortably against him, reclining back against his chest and nestling her face in the nape of his neck as he encircled her with his arms.

Ron rested his head against hers, his hand moving up to lightly stroke her back as she sighed contentedly against him. It was a position they'd assumed many times before, the simple comfort of it never losing its appeal. The two of them sat in easy silence, feeling sleep coming on.

Hermione gave a massive yawn Ron couldn't help but smile at.

"Are we too knackered for a bath?" she asked wearily, as she surveyed their grime-coated bare feet. Apparating without shoes had its consequences.

Ron nuzzled her hair. "It would be a bit anticlimactic, that," he said, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

"What?"

Ron turned his head from the glorious mass of hair so she could hear him better.

"The heroes of the Second Wizarding War," he said with mock reverence, "two-thirds of the Golden Trio," he continued, "have nodded off and drowned in their bathtub."

A fit of giggles seized both of them despite their weariness.

"You're mental," Hermione said, reaching up to kiss the side of his head.

"Back at you, love."

She slid from his lap and reached for Ron's good hand, pulling him out of the chair and in the general direction of the bathroom.

"Come wash my back," she said, arching her eyebrows in a suggestive fashion that never failed to turn him on. Suddenly he wasn't so knackered anymore.

"I'll even wash your front."

Hermione threw a look back over her shoulder at his words, grinning and rolling her eyes.

"Always thinking of others, Ronald."

"That's me."