The afternoon's elation was somewhat diminished by the reaction of Ron's parents. Though they were very impressed that Hermione had found a dental clinic in Australia with her name (his dad was highly intrigued about this web-thing they had browsed), and agreed that the chance that this clinic was actually her parents's was quite large, but they warned her not to get her hopes up too high.

'Hermione is a character in a poem by Shakespeare,' his mother said after dinner, 'It's not a wizarding name, and you certainly aren't the only person named after it.'

'But mom,' Ron replied, 'There can't be more than a handful of people who've actually used that name, and for it to be on a dental clinic in Australia… Think of the odds!'

'It would be an enormous coincidence, I agree,' his father said from his comfortable chair by the fire, 'But you must not rule out that possibility. You would be surprised how often these sorts of coincidences happen. One of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett, said: "Million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten".'

'Can you honestly say that you believe–'

'Your father is right, Ron,' Hermione interjected. She had been quiet for a while now, he realized. 'We can't rule out the possibility that the clinic is run by somebody other than my parents. Yet.'

'Yet?'

'It's just over eight 'o clock in the evening now,' Hermione said, peeking at her wristwatch, 'There is a nine hour time difference, which means that it is Thursday morning there now. It should be five in the morning. The office opens at nine.'

'Hermione,' Ron said, 'We can't make it to Australia in just four hours.'

'No,' Hermione said, 'But we can call them. You have a telephone here, right?'

Those four hours seemed to stretch endlessly, in that irritating way time had of stretching when you were waiting for something important to happen. Ron sensed a growing irritation and uncertainty in Hermione. They had retreated up to his room, and Hermione had been seated in the windowsill almost the entire time. Ron had tried to talk to her about it, and though she answered his questions and comments reasonably enough, he sensed her heart was not in it. He had invited her to a game of chess, which she promptly declined, and his invitation her for a snog on his bed had met a similar fate. Ron had taken place in his rickety office chair (it had groaned under his weight), and had sat down next to Hermione, his feet planted in the corner of the windowsill she occupied.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'I'm afraid,' she said in the smallest of voices, 'Afraid of calling. Afraid of finding out it isn't my parents's clinic.'

'Don't be,' he said, knowing it was a weak reply, 'Look at it logically. Suppose it is the clinic we're looking for. We would have to visit just a single city, and we'll probably be finished before the end of the week. If it isn't the clinic of your parents (Hermione's head dropped, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt), well, we'll just have to do some detective work. It will take longer, yes, but we'll just have to enjoy ourselves. We'll treat it like a vacation.'

Hermione seemed marginally happier.

'Do you want to know how I feel?' she asked, 'Really know it?'

'Yes, of course!'

'Take out your wand then,' she said, as she took out hers. Ron picked up his new, long wand from his desk. His brow furrowed, they had never used the bond between the wands before like this. There had been moments when they had both been using their wands at the same time, but never explicitly to use the connection between them to share their emotions. It still felt odd, feeling Hermione's emotions, it was still alien. It wasn't a bad thing, just odd, and unusual. Hermione conjured a couple of her waterproof bluebell flames, flicking them into existence, and extinguishing them immediately afterwards.

Hermione had not been lying when she had said she was feeling afraid. The emotion was powerful and drowned out any of his own feelings immediately. There was also a gigantic feeling of dread. Hermione was obviously not looking forward to placing the call.

'Do you want me to do it?' he asked, hoping to alleviate her dreadfulness. The words had not left his mouth when he suddenly felt a sharp feeling of affection mingling with the alien emotions. Again, he was struck by the logicality of them. It was as if she had weighed his offer to call for her, then concluded that feeling affectionate would be most appropriate. He wasn't sure if this had actually happened, but if it had, it was an extraordinary insight into her inner workings.

'No, Ron,' she said, an alien feeling of mischief popping up, 'I should definitely do it myself. You'll probably just start shouting again.' A smile formed on her lips, the first since dinner. Ron raised an eyebrow in silent protest.

Even though time seemed to have stretched, it could not be stopped, and before either of them knew it, it was ten passed midnight. Hermione got up from the windowsill, seemingly a little unsure of herself. Ron got up from the bed, where he had spent the past half an hour levitating an increasing number of gobstones to test his new wand. The had been moving in circles, as if he was juggling them without needing his arms. He had managed to get twelve in the air before he they started drifting off-course or knocked into each other. Hermione walked over to him and gave him a hug. It was brief, and in silence, but it meant a lot to him. Hermione trusted him enough to have him experience her feelings, and sought him out when she was afraid. She had nuzzled her face against his chest, her bushy mane close enough for him to smell.

'Let's go,' she said.

The had agreed to call the office under the pretence of being an English tourist that wanted to have a root-canal treatment. They had concluded that a receptionist would most likely answer the phone. If so, she would ask for the names of the dentists at the clinic. If either of her parents would answer, she would just hang up the phone.

Most of the family was already downstairs, huddled in the living room. Concern was on their faces. Ron was grateful of how his family was there in a time like this; ready to help Hermione, and to support in either outcome.

'Hermione dear,' his mother said, rising from the seat next to the telephone, 'take this chair. The telephone is right there.'

Hermione sat down on the edge of the seat, her legs and hand quivering. She had told Ron that the telephone rather old, and that most new telephones had buttons. This one still had a dial, and she carefully fed in the number by rotating it. She put the horn against her ear. Ron slipped onto the armrest, moving his ear as close to the horn as possible. She turned it a little so he could listen in. The rest of the Weasleys sat as silent spectators. Harry and Ginny were seated close to them on the sofa, Ginny pressed so tightly to Harry that Ron thought she would soon be on his lap. His father had taken his usual seat by the fire, and his eyes were fixed on his wife, listening intently. Molly had moved to stand next to her husband, and held his hand as she gazed into the fire. Even George, who spent much of his time upstairs, was there, a brass horn pushed into the hole of his ear, in an effort to hear better. Ron smirked at him, and George returned the favour. Bill and Fleur stood near the coffee table, hand in hand, his oldest brother making a fist, wishing Hermione strength in a silent gesture.

A tone sounded. It was hollow and metallic. Another tone, then another. Ron suddenly felt afraid the clinic might not pick up the phone. They had not expected that. Suddenly, he heard something.

Click! 'Dental Clinic Hermione, Good morning, how may I help you?'

The voice, sounding equally canned as the dial tone was that of a woman. Ron was pretty sure it was not Hermione's mother.

'Hello,' Hermione said weakly, 'My name is miss Delacour, I'm calling from England, so there may be a bit of a delay on the line.'

There was a pause, and after a moment, the woman on the other end of the line replied.

'I understand. What can I help you with?'

'I will be leaving for Australia in a few hours, and one of my molars is troubling me. I was wondering if it was possible if I could have someone take a look at it upon my arrival.'

Another pause. 'Yes, this is possible. I can schedule you in for a week from now, at noon. Can you make it here that time?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, her voice gaining a bit of the strength and authority it usually possessed, 'May I ask what the names of the physicians are that are working at your clinic?'

Another pause, one that seemed to take ages.

'Our clinic is operated by two dentists and a hygienist,' the canned voice replied, 'The hygienist is called Parssons, the dentists are both called Wilkins. They recently emigrated from England, so you should have something to talk about.'

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'I'm sure we should. Thank you.'

She hung up the phone before the canned voice could reply. Ron was feeling very elated, and didn't know whether he should kiss Hermione or open a bottle of champagne. Hermione seemed dazed.

'Well?' Ginny asked, 'Did you find them? Don't leave us hanging like this.'

Hermione shook out of her trance. 'It's them.'

The Burrow was in a state of euphoria. After many cheers and hugs and claps on shoulders, they shared a couple of rounds of butterbeers his mother had hidden from them just for this occasion. Hermione was obviously relieved. Ron found her standing by the fire, flanked on both sides by Harry and Ginny when he returned with a fresh round of butterbeers. His mother was hugging her, again. Bill and George were animatedly talking to each other. Fleur's smile was radiant, and she too had hugged Hermione several times now. Ron handed everyone a new drink, except for Bill and Fleur, who announced that they were heading home. Bill didn't know if they would be able to see them before their flight to Australia left, so he wished them a lot of luck.

Hermione had drunk eagerly and deeply. She wasn't a heavy drinker, and though butterbeer was not very strong, he wondered if she was used to drinking so deeply. It was smuggled into the Gryffindor common room occasionally, and he did not remember her ever drinking more than one glass of it. Even in Hogsmeade, when everyone enjoyed a couple of rounds of the golden ale, Hermione had almost always switched to water after the first couple of rounds.

It was around one 'o clock that his mother ushered everyone upstairs. Mister Weasley would have to go to work the next morning, and his mother dropped a hint that they would be doing some chores around the house too.

'Up you go,' she said, stifling Ginny's protests, pushing her daughter up the stairs, 'Not a word from you until tomorrow.'

Ron saw Hermione pick up her glass of butterbeer when his mother's back was turned, and saw her down the contents in one go. She looked at him guiltily when she noticed he had seen her. She meekly complied with his mother's demands to go to bed. They ascended the stairs together, Hermione ahead of him. She turned to face him on the third floor landing. Ron walked up to her, stopping one step shy of the landing. He was still longer than her, but not by as much as usual. Hermione wrapped her arms around him.

'I'm so relieved,' she whispered, 'I was sure she was going to tell me the clinic was run by some muggle we didn't know.'

Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Breathing in the scent of her hair he told her she had every right to feel relieved, and that if she wanted, he would sneak up another butterbeer for her.

'I'm sorry you saw that,' she said, clearly a little uncomfortable, 'I don't want you to think I was trying to get drunk. I just wanted to celebrate. To let go a little now I know where my parents are.'

'Don't be,' he said, 'I would have fed you another dozen rounds if you felt like it.'

She kissed his neck, saying she hoped he would remember that she would not want him to do that, if the opportunity ever presented itself. She didn't want to get drunk. She pulled away from him, a warm smile on her face.

'I wonder what you would be like drunk,' he said, honestly intrigued by the idea, 'Remind me to liquor you up sometime.'

She swatted his shoulder, then turned to the bathroom, where she went to brush her teeth. They kissed goodnight briefly, and Ron walked up to his bedroom feeling more than a little excited.

He awoke in the middle of the night. Clutching his wand (a habit they had developed over the passing year he was yet to stop), Ron sat up straight in his bed, a feeling of fear still in his mind. He'd had a nightmare, which was odd, because Ron rarely had bad dreams. He also never awoke without good reason. Living in a household of nine people, he was used to hearing people go to the loo in the middle of the night, and the ghoul in the attic would make a racket if things seemed to get too quiet. He had grown used to sleeping through a bit of noise.

He could clearly remember his dream. It had been odd. Ron had dreamt of being tortured by Bellatrix leStrange, who was hovering over him menacingly, and was clearly enjoying herself. He had dreamt of her cutting him with a silver knife, and it had ended with her shoving it deep into his gut.

The feeling of fear was rising. It felt different, and it took him a moment to realize it felt alien, and must have been from Hermione. He didn't quite understand what had happened. He was holding his wand, so that explained why he was able to feel her emotions, but he wondered how it was possible to feel them without Hermione doing magic. Just holding the wands had never been enough before. One of them had to actually perform magic in order for the other to feel their emotions. And he had also never shared a dream like that before.

Abruptly, the feeling of fear faded away. Perhaps Hermione has woken up, Ron thought. If so, that meant that they would share emotions and even dreams if they were asleep with their wands in their hands, which was a disconcerting idea. He did not want to pry into Hermione's dreams, and he was pretty sure he didn't want Hermione to see some of his own dreams.

Ron wondered if he should put his wand away. It felt a bit wrong to pry into her dreams like this, but he also wanted to know if she was alright. Hermione was probably falling asleep again by now, perhaps still clutching the wand. He glanced at Harry. He was still sleeping soundly in his bed. Harry was knackered from everything that had happened in the past few years. Ron could see the fatigue behind his green eyes. He had been utterly spent since the battle at Hogwarts, and Ron knew he need another few weeks of uninterrupted sleep and heavy meals to get back to normal.

Ron felt a new emotion. Hermione was clearly awake now, and this feeling was quite different from the previous one. Where he could normally feel her feelings and emotions in his head, this feeling came from deep down in his gut. It was small, but insistent, like an itch you just had to scratch. He knew what it was (he had felt it himself often enough) but it was a bit of a shock to feel it coming from Hermione. He knew it was only logical; she was a human being just like the rest of us, but he had never been able to think about it without feeling so ashamed that he started thinking of other things.

Hermione was feeling randy. The kind you feel when you're alone and need some relief. He had felt that more than enough himself. The feeling was alien, but that only made it more potent. It was like a secret window into a part of the woman he loved that she had not yet shown him before. He wondered what to do with it. It was certainly getting him off, he could feel his body react to it in the obvious way it always did when he was getting off. Should he put his wand down? It would break the connection, but he was rather enjoying it. Should he keep holding it? He assumed Hermione did not know he was listening in, so to say. His indecision stretched on, and as time progressed, his hornyness increased. So did Hermione's, he realized.

In the end, Ron decided to take a bit of a risk. He cast a spell he had learned at Hogwarts. It was not one he had learned in class, or from a professor. It was a spell he had learned about from whispered conversations in the common room. A spell shared among classmates and fellow students. He had first heard of it from Fred and George, who referenced it in a conversation long ago. He had not had the balls to ask them about it then. Later on, he overheard Dean and Seamus talk about it. They had been swapping information about it. He had learned what the spell did then, and knew instantly that asking Fred or George about it was the wrong idea.

The opportunity presented itself in their fourth year. It was a couple of weeks after the Yule Ball, and Ron had been listening to a couple of seventh year students. One of them mentioned how somebody should cast the spell on one of the Durmstrang visitors. He had asked how to do it then, and though it had earned him a pointed look and backhand remark, they had divulged the information.

The spell was simple. Just a simple up-and-down movement and a short incantation. The effect was instant. An invisible hand wrapped itself around the tip of his penis, and he could feel it stroking him. You had to keep your wand pointed at it, or the spell would break. He suddenly wondered if girls had something similar.

A new set of feelings reared up from the back of his mind in quick succession. The first was surprise, followed almost immediately by realization. He suddenly felt utterly mortified, a feeling that lasted a little while, before giving way to two feelings that presented itself at the same time. The first was surrender, which he knew must have been very difficult to do in this situation. The other was randyness again. Hermione knew he was on the other end, and apparently didn't seem to mind. It turned him on enormously, and Hermione reacted in kind.

The invisible hand was stroking faster now, guided by his own lust. He split his legs apart a little, arching his back in silent joy. Hermione's feeling of lust was quickly escalating. He could feel it pitching up higher and higher. He suppressed a groan, suddenly alarmed about Harry's presence. Harry was still out cold though, and Ron surrendered to the combination of his own lust, mingled with the alien feeling of Hermione's. He came in shocks and spurts, a long, drawn-out explosion that made his balls tingle afterwards. He felt immensely relaxed, and the knowledge that Hermione too had found her release (it had sent him over the edge) was comforting. He listened in on Hermione's feeling of satisfaction, mixed with naughtiness and bit of shame. He wanted to go down to tell her there was no need for her to feel ashamed (even though he knew he felt quite the same); that he didn't think any less of her, and that he was pleasantly surprised.