CHAPTER V

The following morning could only be described as utterly uncomfortable. Ron awoke just after nine, still groggy from lack of sleep. After falling back to sleep, he had slept like a baby, but he had only had about seven hours of it that night, and he needed at least ten hours to function properly in the morning. He quickly cleaned his trunks and changed into new ones, hoping his mother would not notice the dried crusty stain he had not gotten out entirely. Harry was yet to come back to the living, and Ron decided to leave him there for a little while longer.

He quietly closed the door to his bedroom, and clothes in hand, descended to the bathroom. It was occupied. Ron knocked and asked if whoever was in there would be there long.

The door unlocked, and Hermione slipped out. She was very pink-faced, and stammered a bit. Ron could not get a word out either, so he just grunted something and entered the bathroom. Locking it behind him, he sat down on the toilet. Last night's escapade had reduced them to two awkward teenagers. He was dreading breakfast. How could he ever look at Hermione and not think of her as he had last night? How could he even try to find words to tell her how he felt about it?

After sitting on the toilet bowl of a few minutes, he realized his feelings for Hermione hadn't really changed at all. She was still the same lovely, somewhat bossy girl that he had fallen for years ago. She still looked gorgeous to him, even though she never wore make up, and was currently still a little frail. He loved her. What had transpired between them last night was new, and exciting, and little scary, but he assumed it was only natural in a relationship, and he had loved every part of it. So why did he feel so ashamed?

He took a long shower to wake up properly, brushed his teeth, then went downstairs to eat breakfast. Hermione sat reading a book at her usual chair next to his, the piece of toast in her other hand seemingly forgotten. She turned to look at him and immediately buried her nose in the book again, breathing heavy. Ron sat down next to her. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. He reached out and put a scone on his plate. Should he say something? Should he touch her leg? Every inch of his body was conflicted. He cut open the scone without looking at her, afraid he might lose what little confidence he had. He had never before felt this uncomfortable next to her. Ron took a jar of jam and spread some of it over the scone. He enjoyed his mother's strawberry jam greatly, so he added another scoop. Hermione stirred. She always reprimanded him for taking too much sugar; she had taken after her own parents. He saw her struggle to keep quiet, obviously uncomfortable herself.

Suddenly, Ron lost his feelings of shame and his lack confidence. The fact that Hermione was going through the same thing as he was made him bold and he decided to lighten the situation with a bit of humour. He upended the jam over his scone, the thick substance slowly glooping and glurging out over his plate. He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath, her shock at his absurd behaviour, and the repressed chuckle at his tomfoolery. She looked at him, and he looked back at her. The ice between them broke, and as she put her book away, she dipped her toast into his plate. He kissed her cheek. It was a soft, quick, and innocent kiss. Then, he wolfed down his first scone.

His mother was not all too pleased with her son. Entering the kitchen, she took one look at his plate and snatched the jar of jam from his hands.

'Ronald!' she shrieked, 'What in Merlin's name did you do?'

After breakfast, his mother quickly set him and Hermione to the task of picking strawberries and blackberries in the garden. It wasn't so much a chore as a reward; the sun was already shining, but it was not yet sweltering. He leisurely cut a berry from the plant as he looked at Hermione. They were alone, for now, and he hoped to be able to get in at least a word about what had happened last night.

'So Hermione,' he said, steeling his resolve, 'I woke up in the middle of the night.'

Hermione didn't say anything, but her dropping a strawberry on the ground told him she had heard him and knew what he was talking about.

'Are you having nightmares?' he asked, thinking it wise not to beat around the bush too much, 'About her?'

Hermione stopped midway with her hand to the ground, then straightened. 'Yes,' she said with a shrug, 'For a while now. I don't want you to worry about them,' she said firmly, 'Because I don't either. I had them more often at Shell Cottage, but they are becoming fewer and less frightening. I think it will pass soon.'

'Do you want me to help you with anything?' he asked.

'Like what?' she said, 'There really isn't much to do against it. I could take a potion of dreamless sleep, but that won't fix the problem; it will only suppresses the effects. I could sleep next to you, but I'm sure that won't keep me from having bad dreams; as pleasant as sleeping next to you is.'

He smiled at that. He had not forgotten how wonderful it had been to wake up next to her, even if Harry had been shaking him. He thought about waking up next to her in their own place, preferably after a good night of shagging. Bliss.

'I don't feel like the nightmares are such a problem. It's not like I wake up screaming every other hour. They are just bad dreams. It's a little inconvenient, but in the end, it's just a dream. She's dead, and I'm alive.'

'Yes, very much alive,' Ron said, hoping she would pick up from there. Hermione froze again, but didn't reply. She studied her hands intently. When it became apparent to him that she was not going to begin about it, he breathed in deeply. He moved closer to her, picking up the strawberry that was still on the ground. 'That was a rather pleasant surprise,' he said, offering her the strawberry, 'One I hope you wouldn't mind sharing with me again.'

His face must have been purple judging by the heat he felt on his cheeks and ears. His heart was beating rapidly, and he couldn't keep his hands steady. Hermione took the strawberry out of his hand, and when she did, her hand lingered just a little too long. He looked into her eyes. There was a confidence there he had not seen before.

'Perhaps tonight,' she said, 'It depends on how I feel.' She popped the strawberry into her mouth.

Judging by the look she gave him as she chewed on it, Ron thought he would not have to worry overly much about that.

They did not discuss last night after that. Ron was sent out into town to get some meat for dinner, and Hermione told him she would be reading up on customs and traditions in Australia. He left her sitting at the dinner table, four or five books surrounding her, scribbling absently on a bit of parchment.

Ron felt rather pleased. It was another sunny summer afternoon, and Hermione and he had made a significant step in their relationship yesterday. He was anxious for more, to feel her and taste her. He wanted sex with her, he wanted it very much. Just thinking of it had given him a massive erection. He had known her for years now. They loved each other, so much was clear. This was not puppy love. Ron was ready to be with her in full. To lay with her, like man and woman, instead of boy and girl.

He felt a little uncomfortable having promised his mother they would not have sex before getting Hermione's parents back. He wanted nothing more to do just that; to feel her, to experience her completely. It was on the back of his mind whenever they were apart, and on the front whenever they weren't. During lunch, Hermione had taken his hand in hers, and he had spent the next ten minutes fantasizing about doing her right there, on the kitchen table. Much of it was fantasy: Ron had never had sex before, so all he could draw from was what he thought it would feel like. He knew what went where (his brothers's collection of skin magazines had taught him something), but what it would feel like was a big unknown to him.

Ron tried to push the thought away again. He was already passing muggles on the road, and it would not do to keep thinking about Hermione like this. He had promised his mother they would try to keep off each other, and he had every intention to keep his word. Just like he had every intention of shagging Hermione the first chance they got. Damn it!

Standing at the butcher's shop, he ordered a couple of dozen breakfast sausages, some rashers of bacon, and a couple of pounds of spare ribs his mother wanted to have for dinner. Passing the butcher a note of muggle money (Ron still didn't quite grasp the coinage), he waited for his change. His mother didn't often send them out to town for food. Most of the vegetables and potatoes were grown in the garden. Meat was mostly delivered by a witch with a supermarket on wheels who worked the Devon area. She drove a big truck that looked more like a bus crossed with a house. She sold everything from toilet paper to baking soda. His mum sometimes sold her eggs or endive. She was on a holiday though, and for the past week, the Weasley family had been forced to buy their food in town. It wasn't much of an inconvenience. Ron quite liked the walk into town and back.

Receiving his change and a bag loaded with meat, Ron took off back to the Burrow. He was thinking of Hermione, the front of his pants becoming constrictive again. He needed to force those thoughts out of his mind. They would be heading to Australia soon, perhaps spending a full week with her. If his every thought would be about getting into her pants, he was sure she would be crawling up the woodwork with him, and his mother would be sorely disappointed.

He busied himself with thinking about how they would leave from Darwin to Brisbane. The Australian ministry would probably be able to arrange for some form of transportation, but if they had to, apparation would still be a viable alternative. The distance between the two cities was vast, but with a stopover in one or two cities along the way, it should be possible.

He arrived at the Burrow around two 'o clock. Hermione had buried herself in even more books, ranging from simple muggle travel guides, to big tomes about the magical history of Australia. When he entered, she looked up, smiling sweetly at him.

'Doing a bit of light reading?' he asked, setting the meat in the fridge. She leaned back.

'Not all that light,' she said, 'Catching up on my history of magic in Australia. We've caused a lot of havoc there in the past.'

'Who's we?' he asked, not really remembering anything about Australia from professor Binns's lectures.

'The British,' she said, 'The Dutch found the continent first, but the aboriginals cast a spell on them to make them forget about it. It sort of worked, the Dutch didn't pursue it with any real fervour. It was mostly left alone for years until an English sailor set foot on what would be known as New South Wales.' She pointed it out on a map.

'The British empire started using the continent as a forced labour camp,' she continued, 'And slowly expanded its territory. Obviously, the aboriginals didn't much feel happy about that. They started a magical war, and lost mostly because our side had a very gifted wizard in charge. He routed the aboriginals by inventing the potion of dreamless sleep.'

'Wait,' Ron said, 'What does that have to do with winning this war?'

'The aboriginals practice dream-magic. It's a bit much to explain, but their powers lay in shaping dreams, understanding them, and bending them. They could invade other peoples's dreams and even harm them there.'

'By inventing the potion of dreamless sleep, our side was able to quickly do away with the strongest offense the aboriginals could muster. They were subjugated for years. It is a really sad tale. We also gave them a lot of diseases, sometimes accidentally, but not always. It's only been since the nineteen sixties that they are being treated rightly.'

Ron thought it was typical for Hermione to study the land she would be visiting soon only to find an oppressed or mistreated group of individuals whom she could identify with. By the sound of it, these people had been treated very poorly indeed, and he could imagine Hermione setting up another SPEW-like cause for them.

'I've been thinking about how we should go to Brisbane,' he said, 'The Australian ministry should be able to set us up with a portkey or something like the Knight Bus. We should look up how to get into contact with them.'

'I've already listed their number. It was in one of the brochures your dad took home from work.'

His father had been very busy organising their trip. The ministry had (grudgingly) agreed to pay for their tickets, and even for a room in a hotel in Brisbane. He had been calling their ministry half the night for almost three days now, getting into contact with the right people and planning for their arrival.

'Good,' he said, 'You look like you could use a break.'

She arched her back, stretching her arms out behind her for full effect. She yawned.

'Why don't you go lay down on the sofa,' he said, 'You can go to sleep for a few hours before dinner.'

'That sounds lovely,' she replied, 'Will you sit by my side? You don't look all that fresh yourself.'

They slept for about two hours. He had felt a little silly, sitting at the edge of the sofa, with Hermione's legs draped over him, but sleep quickly numbed him down enough to stop caring. Then, he had fallen straight to sleep. During those two hours, his mother had started preparing dinner. Harry and Ginny had gotten in to play a game of wizard's chess, which Harry had spectacularly lost, because Ginny kept distracting him by playing footsy under the table. His father arrived through the fireplace, glancing at the two young wizards on the couch a moment, then walking up to his wife to kiss her. It was the smell of spare ribs over the fire that shook him from his dreams.

Those dreams had been wild and confusing. He didn't remember them (he never did), but he knew they had made even less sense than usual. They were a jumbled mess of kissing and more with Hermione, fighting along the corridors of Hogwarts, and flying on a dragon. He was sure there had been a dream where he and Hermione had been playing quidditch with Kreacher, Dobby, and Winky as other players.

It took a little while for Ron to realize Hermione's legs were still firmly on top of him, and that the kitchen was significantly busier than before. Hermione was still soundly asleep. Her face was buried in the crook of the sofa, her bushy hair fanned out in a tangled mess behind her. Her hands were wrapped around her body, and she seemed to sleep peacefully.

Ron turned to look around in the kitchen. His eyes fell on Harry and Ginny, who were playing another game of Wizard's Chess. Harry was studying the board, his legs and feet firmly pushed back out for some reason. Ginny was eyeing him seductively, rolling a white pawn between her thumb and index finger. Harry's ears were a bit red.

His mother was washing some vegetables, but when she glanced at him, he saw her smile sweetly.

'Finally up, Ronny?' she asked quietly, 'You two looked like you could use a couple of extra hours of sleep.'

'Yes,' he said, stifling a yawn. 'But I think even a couple of extra years of sleep would not be enough for us right now.'

'Why don't you wake Hermione up, dear,' his mother said, turning to check up on the spare ribs, 'Dinner will be ready soon.'

Ron reached out to wake Hermione, settling his hand on the outside of her thigh and shaking her a little. He felt he stir a little, unwilling to relinquish her dream world for the waking world. She muttered something incomprehensible, and buried her face even deeper into the pillows of the sofa.

'Wake up, love,' Ron said, shaking her leg a little more, 'It's almost dinner time. Are you hungry?'

'Yes,' she answered, opening her eyes just a fraction, still half-asleep.

Everyone was seated at the dinner table less than ten minutes later. Hermione was still sleepy; her hair was standing on end on one side, and her eyes were out of focus. She nibbled a small set of ribs. Ron dumped another set on her plate, knowing Hermione would not eat more of it if he didn't. She disliked eating meat right off the bone, and rarely did. At Hogwarts, she never ate chicken wings or drum sticks, opting for salads or steaks instead. She needed to gain weight though, and Ron would not let her dislike keep her from getting back some much needed fat. She sighed in frustration.

'You need to eat up,' Ron said seriously, keeping his voice down to keep the conversation private, 'I don't want you to pass out again.'

'I know,' she said, 'I just hate gnawing those bones.'

'Let me cut it for you,' he said, lifting the meat to his own plate. The meat was juicy and tender, and Ron was able to clean most of the meat off of the bone with his knife and fork, then dumped it back on her plate. Still sleepy, Hermione gave his hand an absent squeeze as a thank you. He grinned back sheepishly.

'It's like watching a documentary,' George said, 'I can just imagine sir David Attenborough saying "Now behold how the male tries to impress his female by supplying her with much needed sustenance".' Harry snickered, and even his parents couldn't suppress a smile. 'The female is impressed. She acknowledges him. The male is one step closer to mounting her.' Harry and Ginny doubled up, but his parents shot him a warning look. George's eyes lit up a little. Hermione turned a little pink, and gingerly poked at her dinner. Ron simply studied it.

Everyone went their separate ways after dinner. Harry and Ginny usually left for long walks round the Burrow. Ron knew Harry still had a lot to tell Ginny about their trials. Ron also knew he was feeling responsible for Lupin and Tonks dying. Teddy was his godson, and Harry worried about how his abilities as a godfather. He had not discussed it with Ron and Hermione yet, but Ron knew Harry would only start about it when he felt ready to discuss it.

It had always been like that. Harry was very guarding of his feelings, and it took him a while to start opening up about things that troubled him. Ron could relate; he also enjoyed keeping his thoughts and feelings private. The connection between his wand and Hermione's troubled him a little. He was certain that he loved her, but he wasn't used to sharing his emotions that openly. Whenever he would cast a spell, Hermione would be able to sense him. It frightened him because he sometimes felt things he would prefer to remain private. Some of his thoughts and emotions were less than noble. Would Hermione like the less-than-perfect side of him?

Ron knew he could be selfish. It was a childish behaviour he knew was wrong, but it was always at the front of his mind. If he saw a knut fall from someone's pocket, he would take it, instead of returning it. If he could find a way to win at a game, he would, even if that person had never won before. Hermione was different. She would let the other person win to make him or her feel good. She was selfless, which was part of her drive behind S.P.E.W.

He wondered if Hermione had the same reservations about sharing her feelings. Her mind (and he assumed her thoughts) was a lot more beautiful and perfect than his. She was selfless and powerful, headstrong and kind, gentle and caring. He just couldn't imagine Hermione's feelings to be as flawed as his own.

They were up in his room. Hermione had taken her usual spot at the windowsill. The room was stiflingly hot, and she had conjured a small fan she was using to cool herself. Ron sat in his office chair again, rolled up near enough to the window to prop his feet up. He was playing with a bit of Hermione's bluebell flames. They illuminated the room brightly. Ron wondered what the deluminator would do with them, so he took it out and clicked it. The lights went off, and the bluebell flames went along with them. Hermione seemed a bit surprised, so he clicked the deluminator again. The lights sprang back on again, but the bluebell flames did not return. Ron made a mental note to try this with a bit of regular fire soon.

With the deluminator in his hands, Ron thought back on his departure less than a year ago. It still shamed him enormously. Dumbledore had left Hermione a children's book, because he knew she was smart enough to figure out that the story of the Deathly Hallows on her own. He had left Harry the resurrection stone, because he knew Harry would be able to resist the power of the combined Hallows. It irked him that he had left Ron the deluminator, assuming correctly that Ron would leave them. He wished it had not been necessary.

Some of his emotion must have been visible on his face. Hermione turned her face to look at him, and said: 'Unpleasant memories?' He looked up at her, struck again by her natural beauty.

'I just feel so stupid for walking out on you two.' They had discussed his departure before, but only superficially. Hermione knew he felt ashamed about it, but had told him that it was in the past for her. She told him he had been under the influence of the locket, and that he would not have left if things had been different. He agreed on it (somewhat), but it still felt bad that Dumbledore had needed to anticipate it. 'I feel even more stupid that Dumbledore had to give me this to find my way back.'

'Harry and I talked about it a little while after I returned,' he continued, wanting it off his chest, 'I told him about how Dumbledore left it because he knew I'd leave you two, but Harry said Dumbledore had thought I'd want to return. It was nice of him to say so, but we all know it is the other way around.'

'Do you really think so?' Hermione asked, 'Do you really think that?'

'Don't you?' he said incredulously.

'Dumbledore was a great wizard, Ronald, but he wasn't much of a clairvoyant. Harry told me he had wanted to remove Divination as a course at Hogwarts, and that Trelawny was hire more for her own protection than for her abilities. Dumbledore couldn't have predicted how the locket would affect us, nor how specifically it affected you. I think he had another motive for giving you the deluminator.'

'Really?' Ron said, not quite convinced by her reasoning.

'What if, to look for a Horcrux, we had to split up. We did exactly that, mind you, when we went to scout out the ministry. What if Dumbledore wanted to leave one of us a method of finding the others when they were in distress?'

'I'm not following you there,' Ron said. Hermione and Harry had been in distress when they were almost killed by the snake and Voldemort. He hadn't heard them then.

'What if the deluminator works in a way that you can find people who call on you?'

'Wouldn't I have heard anyone else by now then?' Ron asked, 'There must have been a time when someone who needed me said my name. My mother, or my sister.'

'I think it has to be a very emotional kind of situation. Your parents love you, Ron, but I don't think they were ever in a situation where they really needed you to be there, and said your name. Nor your sister. She is the type of girl that solves her own problems.'

Ron mulled it over. He supposed that it could be possible. None of his friends and family had needed him that badly. Not specifically him. But why would Dumbledore not have given Harry the deluminator?

As if Hermione could hear him thinking, she answered his question: 'I think he might have given it to you because Dumbledore thought you the most dependable. Ron, you have a special place in Harry's heart, and obviously in mine too. If Harry was in trouble, and he'd need somebody, you would be the person he'd call out for. It's the same for me. I think Dumbledore gave it to you because you would be the brave and loyal man you always are.' Her hand slipped into his. 'You would rush to our aid in any situation.'

Hermione's reasoning made sense, but he could not make himself believe it. Hermione had not been in any distress when she had said his name, nor could he convince himself that Dumbledore had thought of him as courageous. He voiced his doubts.

'Ronald,' she said, her brow set in worry, 'You have done such incredible things these past few years. Dumbledore would have been blind if he had not seen it.'

'Also,' she continued, sounding a little unsure now, 'I remember that night very well. I remember missing you so much that it hurt. I had cried for weeks, but I had also been angry that you had left me. Not Harry and me, but just me. Then, when the events at Godrick's Hollow played out, I kept thinking "If only Ron had been there". It was the first time I said your name without feeling angry at you. Just sadness. And longing.'

'Longing?'

Hermione smiled shyly, 'Yes, Ron. I missed you so much and I was longing to see you again. Longing to have you near me. I'm not the same without you.'

Ron rolled up his chair to her and kissed her. He didn't really know what to say, so he kept his mouth occupied differently instead. Hermione complied, and he felt her relax a little. She was still wound up very tightly these days. Kissing her had a positive effect on her though, she relaxed more, and didn't fret so much afterwards.

Hermione leaned in eagerly, kissing Ron with equal zeal. She slipped off the windowsill and onto his lap. Ron sought for a place to put his hands. The thought of cupping one of her breasts came to mind, but he settled for putting his hands on her waist instead. Hermione gave a slight grunt of appreciation. Ron pulled her in close, until the chair made an ominous groan. It wasn't going to hold both their weights for long.

Ron wrapped one of his arms around Hermione's legs and lifted her up from his lap as he got up. It wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. Hermione might not be at her heaviest, but lifting just over seven stone while also getting up took him considerable strength. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, obviously surprised. He walked her up to his bed, gently setting her down.

'So what was that about me having a special place in your heart again?' he quipped as he lay down next to her. Hermione brushed some of his hair out of his eyes.

'You are my boyfriend,' she stated simply. Ron could feel himself swell with a bit of pride, 'My very own courageous Gryffindor.'

Hermione kissed his forehead, then his brow and his nose. She smiled. 'I can't believe you still doubt yourself after everything that you've accomplished.'

'I can't believe you still feel like you need to prove yourself after everything you've accomplished. Which is a lot more than I ever did.'

His comment struck a nerve. Hermione was silent for a while, her nervous fidgeting with her fingernails again striking him. How could he have missed something so obvious?

'We should go to sleep. I'm knackered.'

'Can't you stay for a little while longer?' he asked, hoping to prolong his time with her.

'No Ron,' she said sternly, 'We have to get up early tomorrow to do some shopping, remember?'

'What if we'll just leave an hour later?' he tried.

'No Ron, I want to be finished with shopping early,' she replied definitively in her bossy way. Ron knew any discussion of the subject was now finished.

'There's the Hermione I fell in love with,' he replied. Hermione had not been very bossy in the past few weeks, which Ron had attributed to her fatigued and frail form. He hoped this meant she was getting stronger again, 'Headstrong to a fault.'

'You're lecturing me about being headstrong?' she asked, a smile on her face, 'Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.'

'You'll have us in a bellowing row before the end of the week…' Ron joked, and Hermione chuckled openly to it. She kissed his lips tenderly, then proceeded to leave for the bathroom.

'Will you – Can we –' Ron mumbled. It was hard to say it out loud. Hermione did not seem eager to say anything either. Ron fervently hoped they would listen in on each other using the bond between the wands again. He had been thinking about it all day long, hoping Hermione would want to as well. He told her so (in a rather embarrassed sort of way).

'So have I,' she said at last, 'I'd like to, but I'm very tired. Can we do that another time?'

'Sure,' he said, hoping his disappointment didn't show too much on his face, 'We'll have more than enough time for that this summer.'