Author's Note: I'm getting dangerously close to 8.000 words per chapter. I hope you guys don't mind, but really short chapters just aren't my thing..

'We're there!' He couldn't stop saying it. His back was killing him and his head felt like somebody had used it for bludger practice, but he couldn't wipe the goofy grin from his face. It had taken them nearly a day of travelling, but they had travelled to the other side of the planet! Hermione stood at his side defiantly, a hard gaze in her eyes. Her brown hairs stirred as a cold wind blew in their faces. Her face was pale in the hard light of winter. She pulled the sleeves of her shirt down over her hands absent-mindedly, while studying the city that sprawled out below.

Ron felt a rush of fierce pride at the sight of her. There she stood, proud and strong, after a war. She had suffered, hungered, and cried. She had gone through a year of malnourishment and uncertainty, and still she was standing solid, the weight of her resolve unyielding. He crossed the distance between them, his hands reaching out and wrapping her in a tight hug. She moulded into it completely, her face pressed hard against his chest.

As he held her, he thought for a moment that he could listen in on her emotions. His wand was in the right pocket of his pants, as it always was when he did not use it. Even so, he thought for a moment that he glimpsed something of relief. It passed as quickly as it had come. Had he listened in on Hermione's emotions, or was this his own relief at arriving at their destination? The bond between their wands was starting to confuse matters. It must have been my own emotion, he thought, Neither of us is holding our wand or performing magic.

Bernstein was walking away from them, Ron noticed. A car was parked a few dozen paces away from them, and Bernstein produced a set of keys from his pants pocket that opened the trunk. He tossed the portkey hubcap unceremoniously into it. Ron turned his attention back to Hermione. She was still pressed firmly against him. Rubbing her back a little, he tried to extract himself from her. When she reluctantly let go, he could see that she had cried. He kissed her forehead, then wiped the tears from her face. Hermione gave him a weak smile.

'Our ride awaits,' he said, putting his arm around her and steering her towards Bernstein. She followed him meekly. Bernstein opened the car door for them, and Ron helped Hermione in. He then stowed the backpack into the trunk and got into the car on the other side, while Bernstein got in at the driver's seat.

'I'll take you to the hotel your father has arranged,' he said, 'It's not the most luxurious hotel in Brisbane, but I'm sure you will feel more than comfortable.'

Hermione was unusually quiet as they sped down the hill and into the city. Bernstein seemed to have an unusual amount of luck at traffic stops; they would switch from red to green just as he arrived. Ron noticed that Bernstein never anticipated a red light; he was hurtling through the streets at an unusually high speed, and never touched the brakes, even when the traffic lights sprang to green moments before they arrived at an intersection. He also seemed to know exactly where to go. This was obviously not his first trip in Brisbane.

After a good twenty minutes, he stopped the car at an intersection near a small park. He pointed due west, away from the park.

'Miss Granger, the dental clinic of your parents is right there.'

Hermione scooted over to Ron's side and together they looked into the direction Bernstein had pointed to. The street was lined with different shops and businesses. Between a travel agency and grocery stood the clean and well-maintained façade of a dental clinic. The walls were painted white, and a large window displayed the name in bold lettering: Dental Clinic Hermione. They could not see anything inside, the window was opaque. The door opened, and a woman stepped outside with a small child. The little boy was happily sucking on what looked like a lolly-pop.

'Your father,' Bernstein said after the door at fallen shut again, 'is currently at work. Your mother does not work on Tuesdays, and will come back into office the day after tomorrow.'

'She's working part-time?' Hermione asked.

'Yes,' Bernstein replied. 'Is that unusual?'

'My mother used to work full-time. She normally took on fifty-hour workweeks.'

Ron could hear the concern in Hermione's voice. At Hogwarts, she had often spoken of her parents's tireless work ethic. While Hermione was away at school, her parents made long days at work. This way, they could spend the entire vacation with their daughter. From what Hermione had told him, Ron had always thought her parents were very mad about her, unwilling to spend any time apart from her.

'Perhaps she's decided to slow down a little,' Ron offered weakly, 'There isn't any reason for them to make such long hours now.'

'Yes,' she said, her eyes fixed on the clinic, 'But both of them were working tirelessly since before I was born. It's just the way they are, I just don't think my mother would suddenly decide to cut back on her hours.'

Ron wondered for a moment whether they should get out and enter the dental clinic. He was sure the receptionist would try to keep them from entering, but a simple confudus charm would be enough to take care of that. Her father would of course be startled by their appearance, but a quick word might manage to calm him down enough to be able to perform the magic that was required to lift the modifications to his memory. He would then be able to help them in returning Hermione's mother back to normal.

The problem however was that it was a very tricky business to modify someone's memory. Hermione had performed the charm on her parents while they were watching the television; completely at ease, and unsuspecting. If they were unable to explain the situation carefully enough to her father, he might resist the magic, and that could lead to unexpected results. He might permanently forget parts of his memory which Hermione had modified, or the modifications could be made permanent. It was all a very dodgy business, which mostly depended on keeping the subject calm throughout the process.

'You have a scheduled appointment in two days,' Bernstein said, 'As miss Delacour. Mister Weasley will accompany you as your boyfriend. We have arranged for the assistant to schedule both your parents as your dentist.'

Hermione nodded absently. He wondered if she too was thinking of entering today and throwing caution in the wind. Bernstein seemed to suspect the same.

'I can't tell you what to do and what not to do, but I would strongly advise against taking… rash actions. They have been safe and happy for a year now, they won't mind if you wait another two days.'

'Can we drive by their house?' Hermione asked, 'I'd like to see where they live.'

'Sure,' Bernstein said, 'It's quite close to the clinic actually.'

He started the engine again, speeding off. He drove halfway around the park, then took a side street and entered a residential area that held large duplexes. Bernstein stopped the car at the curb in front of one of the houses.

'This is it,' he said cheerfully, 'Number nineteen.'

The building was very pretty. It was made up out of red bricks, with a dark, clay-tiled roof. It struck Ron how similar the house was to Hermione's parents's house in England. The windows were a bit higher, and most of the side of the house was overgrown with vine creepers. At the front of the house was a big glass porch. It was bathed in soft light. There was a painting on an easel facing away from them.

'I didn't know your parents were into painting,' Ron said.

'Neither did I,' she replied, 'But perhaps the took on a-'

The large canvas had blocked the view of a woman sitting behind it. She had just gotten up, staring critically at what she had apparently been painting. Ron noticed how Hermione's mother had the same chocolate brown eyes, the same voluminous head of hair, and the same pale skin. She looked different from what he remembered. Her hair was longer and wilder; he remembered Hermione's mother usually wore it in a tight bun.

Hermione sat staring trancelike at her mother. Her eyes wide and her breathing heavy, Ron half expected her to want to run right up to her mother and perform whatever magic was needed to modify her memory. She remained seated however, her eyes never leaving her mother's face.

'Shall we go on to the hotel?' Bernstein asked with a considerable amount of hesitation. He too was watching Hermione's mother. Hermione didn't immediately reply. Ron reached out and put his hand on Hermione's.

'Yes,' Hermione said after a moment, 'Please do.' She tore her eyes away from the direction of her mother and began a thorough inspection of her jumpers. Bernstein turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine. He rolled away quickly. In that brief moment, Ron saw Hermione's mother looking up from the painting to the road, her eyes meeting his, then moving towards Hermione. The view was obstructed by another car then, and when they were past it, the house was no longer visible.

The hotel proved to be exactly like Bernstein had said it would be; it was simple and unassuming, but it looked nice regardless. They entered the lobby through a set of rotating doors, which opened out into a hallway with a marble desk. There was a woman standing behind it.

'Welcome to the Elliot Hotel,' she said with a thick Australian accent, 'How may I help you?'

Ron walked up to the counter with Hermione. Bernstein had left, his job of delivering them to the hotel finished. He had wished them lots of luck and success. Hermione had not spoken a word after visiting the house of her parents. She had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since arriving at Brisbane. Ron had hoped that Hermione would make the arrangements at the hotel, but she hardly seemed to have even acknowledged the receptionist.

'Yes,' he replied, 'I think we have a reservation.'

The receptionist, a short girl with close-cropped black hair, opened a folder which was on the desk. 'On what name is the reservation?'

'Granger,' Ron said, but as he did, he was not quite as certain as he had been before. Had his father reserved a room under Hermione's name, or under his own? 'It might also be Weasley,' he added, feeling a bit stupid, 'I'm not sure.'

The girl flipped to the middle of the folder, then started paging back. 'M, K, H, ah, G. First name Hermione?'

'Yes,' Ron said. He had hoped that Hermione would react to the mention of her name, but she stood silently beside him, avoiding all possible eye contact. 'Hermione Jane Granger.'

'Would you like the double, or the two joined singles?'

'Excuse me?' Ron said, not knowing what she meant.

'One room with a bed for two, or two rooms with a single bed.'

'Two rooms,' Ron said. Hermione looked up at him. It was the first instance of her participating in a conversation since she had seen her mother. She glared at him balefully.

The receptionist didn't seem to notice. She filled out a couple of forms in a computer, then asked for their passports. Hermione produced them from her bag, and slammed them onto the marble counter. The receptionist looked at Ron for a moment, then took the passports and finished the check-in. She handed them two keys, smiling as she handed one at Ron, and frowning a little as she handed the other to Hermione.

'The rooms are joined by a door,' she said, 'Room numbers are 312 and 314. You can find them by taking the elevator to the third floor.'

'Thank you,' Ron said, hoisting the backpack up to his shoulders and following Hermione towards a set of brass doors. The opened to reveal a rather small elevator. Ron had to press himself against the back of it to allow Hermione to enter too. She hit the button for the third floor. Ron looked up.

'There aren't any handlebars,' he said, slightly worried, 'Are you sure this is safe?'

Hermione didn't reply. She had turned her back to him and stood in silence. Ron soon realized his fear was baseless; the elevated moved slower than any he had ever been in, those of the ministry. It came to a stop with a 'ding'. Ron followed after Hermione. The passed a couple a doors, then finally reached rooms 312 and 314. Hermione had been given the key to room 314. She inserted the key into the lock, then opened the door. Ron, who was standing behind her, made to follow her, but she slammed the door closed in his face. Ruddy hell, he thought, why is she so angry at me?

'Hermione,' he said, straining to keep his voice calm, 'Please open the door.'

'No,' she said. She magically sealed the door, and as she did, Ron listened in on her emotions. They were wild and chaotic. Hermione was feeling hurt, and sad, and angry, but above all she felt afraid.

'Open the door, love,' he said, 'I just want to talk to you.'

It was quiet on the other side of the door. Hermione wasn't doing any magic anymore, so he could not listen in to find out what she was feeling. Ron was feeling angry about Hermione's absurd reaction, but he knew it had nothing to do with him. Breathing deeply, he forced his irritation down. What was he supposed to do now? Hermione had effectively locked him out of her room, and Ron knew enough of Hermione's spellwork not to even attempt to remove the locking charm.

'If you want to talk,' he said, 'I'll be in my room.'

He went over to his own room, and sat the backpack down on the floor. His body was aching with fatigue. His head felt like it could explode, and his legs were killing him. He sat down on the bed, intending to just rest for a moment, hoping he would not fall asleep. He leaned back, and closed his eyes for just a moment.

Bushy brown hair was tickling his face. Still half asleep, he flattened it with his free hand. He moved his hand back to her hips. It was amazing how perfectly Hermione fitted against him. She breathed in deeply, then snuggled up closer. It felt wonderful to lay like this, even though his other arm was pinned between her head and the matrass.

Slowly, his sleepy mind started to realize something unusual was happening. He tried pushing the thought away, intent on falling asleep again, but the more he tried to suppress it, the more awake he became. He suddenly realized he smelled Hermione, the subtle perfume he had grown so fond of clearly discernible. Still in her Weasley sweater, she lay curled up against him.

'Hermione,' he whispered, 'Are you awake?'

'No,' she said.

'Liar.'

Hermione turned around, her face and body so close Ron could count the faint freckles on her face, if his mind had not been constantly interrupting his thoughts with the notion of how close they were together.

'I'm sorry Ron,' Hermione said, 'For the way I treated you.'

Ron opened his mouth to argue with her, but she silenced him.

'No, Ron. I was out of line. You've been nothing but supportive to me. It means a lot to me that you joined me here.'

'Hermione,' he said, 'You don't have to apologize.' He did not know how long he had slept, but the anger and irritation he had felt when she had slammed the door in his face had long since abated. He wondered why. Ron had never been able to swallow his anger at Hogwarts. He knew his classmates took the micky out of him every time he and Hermione had been rowing. He knew Harry loathed their endless discussions. Hermione's first instinct, like his, was to react to anger by lashing out. He would sulk all day long after their rows, minimizing his interaction with Hermione to one-syllable responses.

He wondered if he felt different now because he had swallowed his tongue outside of her door. Waking up next to Hermione might also have calmed him a bit.

'I feel bad about it,' she replied, 'I know the flight was rough, and then I forced you to go through the whole experience of using a portkey for three thousand kilometres. Then we get here, and I slam the door in your face only because you were mature enough to get two rooms while I had hoped to share.'

Ron reached out and smoothed a few unruly strands of her hair back into model. 'I seem to recall you sitting next to me on the plane. Come to think of it, you also took the same portkey, and then you saw your mother for the first time in a year. I think anybody with half a mind would get a little overly emotional at that point.'

Hermione was quiet for a moment. Ron took advantage of her silence by kissing her lips. It quickly evolved into French kissing. Ron was leaning closely against her, propped up by one arm and his head tilted down to kiss Hermione. His free hand was playing with the hem of Hermione's sweater. Hermione was laying on her back, her eyes closed, and her hair fanned out behind her. It had grown very long over the course of a year.

His fingers were still playing with the hem of her sweater when his thumb brushed the bare skin of her stomach. It was soft, and smooth, and inviting. He stroked it again, and when he did, he heard Hermione inhale deeply. She was apparently enjoying it. He let go of her sweater altogether and started rubbing her stomach. Hermione's hands found their way to his hair, pulling him closer while kissing him furiously.

Twenty minutes later, they were interrupted in what was fast becoming a desperate struggle between wanting to touch more of each other and fighting to succumb to that urge by a loud rumble of Ron's stomach. He had not eaten since their second flight. His headache was also returning furiously. His lips detached from Hermione's. He looked down at her, and saw that both his hands were under her sweater. One of them was on her back, the other was brushing the side of her chest, right over the band of her bra. He guiltily pulled them out, then sat up at the side of the bed. Hermione quickly followed suit. Her hands had been on his chest. It felt as if she had been trying to touch all of it at the same time.

'If this is what every apology is going to be like,' Hermione said while straightening her hair, 'Sign me up for another row.'

Ron chuckled. 'What time is it?' The windows were still closed, and he had lost all sense of time. He checked his watch. 'Eleven in the morning? Well, that can't be right!'

'That's London time,' Hermione corrected, 'We're nine hours ahead here, so it's actually eight in the evening.'

'I guess we'll have to grab some dinner then,' he said, while yawning. He felt like it was early morning. He had never really experienced jet lag before, but he could tell he wasn't much of a fan. 'How do we do that?' It occurred to him that he had not a clue about how to find a good restaurant.

Naturally, Hermione had the answer. She told him she had looked up a couple of good restaurants before they left, and suggested asking the receptionist which restaurant was good. Hermione left for her room quickly, leaving him on the bed. Stifling another yawn, Ron got up and walked to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face, which helped in waking him up. He checked his appearance in the mirror. His red hair was in a desperate need of a cut. It was starting to curl around his ears, and most of his brow was obscured. His face was still a little sunken in, but not in the degree that Hermione's was.

He thought back at the many discussions that had had about it. He knew his mood had been foul; it always was when he had not eaten enough. Hermione was dividing the little food they could scrounge together in uneven parts; his was by far the largest, Harry's was roughly a third, and hers barely a tenth. He had rowed with her about it, when Harry was sitting watch and they could talk privately. Hermione had listed her motivations, and had never yielded ground to him. She insisted that her portions should be smaller because she was: a) smaller, and b) not a big eater to begin with.

The fights were worse when he had been wearing the locket. His mood would be foul, his mind still racing with all the little insecurities and discomforts that seemed to only plague him. With his frayed nerves and weakened patience, he would lash out at Hermione; the one person who did not deserve such treatment. He had loathed himself after those fights. He had to relieve Harry from watch sometimes, and those nights had been the longest and loneliest of his life. Wallowing in self-deprecation and insecurity, he had sat by the feeble fire feeling colder and emptier than ever before.

'Earth to Ron?' Hermione said, 'Do you copy, over?'

Startling from his thoughts, Ron suddenly noticed Hermione by his side. She had put on a change of clothes, finally forgoing his old Weasley sweater in favour of a blue cardigan he had never seen her in before.

'Sorry,' he said, feeling a bit silly.

'You were pretty far away for a moment,' Hermione said, offering him a gentle smile.

'Yeah,' he said, 'But I'm here now. Let's eat!'

Together, they left the hotel room and took the elevator down. When they arrived at the lobby, Ron saw the same receptionist standing behind the counter. She smiled at him, and gave Hermione a half-hearted greeting. Hermione walked up to the counter.

'We're about to head out for a bite to eat. Do you know any good restaurants nearby?'

'Yes,' the girl replied a little cold, 'What sort of food would you like to eat?'

'Nothing extravagant,' Hermione said, 'Just something with moderately good food and reasonable prices.'

'Well,' the girl said, 'You've got a pizzeria on the right-hand corner of the street. They aren't bad. Two blocks further along is a good Indian place.'

'Okay,' Hermione said merrily, 'Thank you very much!'

'You're welcome.'

Hermione turned to Ron, 'I guess it's either Italian or Indian food, Ron. Why don't you choose, I don't really care much either way.'

Ron was about to say he would like to try the Italian food, when the lady behind the counter asked if she could offer a suggestion. She was smiling now, clearly warming up to both of them. Her Australian accent was also more pronounced. 'I know a nice pub that serves some really good affordable food. It's not a five-star restaurant, but the food Is delicious none the less. It's more of a students's pub. It is a bit out of the way though. You'd have to walk five blocks, then turn right and walk another two.'

Hermione didn't seem to mind, so they thanked the receptionist, and set off together. They were still in front of the hotel when he felt Hermione's hand reach his. He closed his hand around hers. They walked in silence for a little while, enjoying the strange sensation of being in a large city neither had visited before. After a little while, they started talking.

'Look,' Hermione said, pointing at a shop across the street, 'I think that's the Indian place the receptionist mentioned earlier.'

There was a large picture of a man on one of the windows. He had several arms, and three faces. Each of them were looking in a different direction. 'Who's he?' Ron asked. Hermione said the person was called 'Shiva', and that he was one of the important gods for the Hindu's.

'His wife is called Parvati', Hermione continued, 'One of the Patil twins was named after her.'

They continued on, Hermione zipping her coat up completely. It was strange to walk outside in mid-June and to feel the cold of winter. Ron had just started to enjoy the summer heat at the Burrow. Last winter in England had been very cold, with lots of snow and extended periods of sub-zero degrees. The following spring been a rather drear experience; lots of rain and hard winds. The weather had taken a turn for the better right after the battle at Hogwarts. The hard winds had died down, and the temperature quickly rose to very comfortable levels.

They had taken a right-hand turn after five blocks. The distance was indeed far, but neither of them really minded it. They were enjoying their walk far too much. Hermione was sheltered safely from the cold by Ron, who had draped his arm around her shoulders and pressed her firmly against himself. They talked of simple, care-free things, like the advertisements that hung here and there, the shops they passed, and what magical creatures could be found in the outback.

'Acromantulas are indigenous to the island of Borneo, Ron,' Hermione assured him, 'You won't find them here. There are quite a few regular species of spiders here that can be lethal to humans, though.'

'Are you serious?' Ron asked, shuddering at the thought, 'Half the deadly creatures in "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them" live here, and then there are crocodiles and deadly spiders here too?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'But I wouldn't worry about them too much. Most of those creatures don't venture out into the cities.'

'Look,' Ron said, now wishing he had not asked about the Australian wildlife, 'I think that's the pub.'

As they neared the pub, Ron saw that it was quite crowded. Most of the people looked like they were over twenty. Many of them were having dinner. The pub turned out to be quite large, and catered for at least fifty people. Most of them were seated at tables for four, though Ron and Hermione managed to get a table at the back for two. Ron quickly shed his coat; it was very warm inside the pub. In one of the corners hung a large television which showed a soccer match. The sound was muted by the general laughter and talking that took place among many of the tables. A waitress sought them out quite quickly.

'Hello! My name is Katy. Would you like to see the menu?' she asked. She was quite pretty. Her hair was almost as bushy as Hermione's, though not nearly as long. Hermione's hair hung loose; the wild disarray of voluminous strands of her brown hair framing her pale face. The waitress's hair was held back by a ponytail. Her lips were also thin, like Hermione's, but her eyes were blue and round. Her smile was toothy, though several of them were discoloured.

'Err- yes please,' Ron said, 'Can we order drinks too?'

'Sure thing,' Katy said, taking out a pencil and note pad.

'I'd like a butter— OW!'

'Two glasses of beer please,' Hermione said, cutting roughly into his sentence while kicking his shins below the table, 'Thanks.'

The waitress disappeared. Hermione looked at him. Ron scowled back.

An hour later, Ron and Hermione finished their meals. Ron had ordered a large steak, which came accompanied by an even larger bowl of fries. Hermione had ordered a rib-eye steak, which she had managed to eat over three quarters of. Her side of fries was as enormous as Ron's, and though she was far from through it, she was diligently eating fries from it.

Hermione took a sip of her beer. Ron watched her as she did. It was remarkable how much Hermione seemed to comply with his image of what was pretty and what was not. Her voluminous hair, chocolate brown eyes, and petite figure all catered exactly to what he sought for in a girl. The simple fact that her personality and general demeanour was just as beautiful and unique as her appearance made him feel like he was the luckiest guy in the world. This wonderful woman, this strong and wilful creature, was his girlfriend now. He was allowed to kiss her.

'What are thinking about,' Hermione asked, after setting the glass back down.

'Nothing,' Ron said, 'Just something about Quidditch.' He remembered his first hesitant realization that he felt more than just friendship for her. It was somewhere during their fourth year, and he had lain awake on his bed for over an hour, trying to come up with reasons why he should not be in love with her. One of them had been the obvious possibility that it would tear the three of them apart if Hermione ever found out he was in love with her. Come to think of it, he seemed to recall that he had thought that Hermione 'was not his type'. Thinking back at those days, Ron realized he had been more than interested in blondes then. When had that changed? Did he not know what he liked back then, or had his long-lasting infatuation changed what he found attractive in women?

'Must be something big,' she said eventually, and Ron suddenly realized that he had been watching Hermione for a while now. He smiled guiltily.

They had finished their meal, but neither Hermione nor Ron made any move to leave the pub. When the waitress came over to clear away their plates, Hermione ordered another round of beers. Ron liked the muggle beer, though was more bitter and sometimes made him shiver when he downed a bit too much. Hermione drank it in small nips, though she took so many of them, she was finished with her second glass almost as quick as Ron was. They ordered another round, and then another. Hermione's nips were getting larger as time progressed, and though she drank slower, it was obvious that she was getting a little tipsy. Ron found himself feeling more than a little unsteady too.

A substantial part of the other visitors of the pub had retired home. Ron and Hermione relocated themselves to a soft couch that stood against one of the windows. Hermione had sat down close to him, and within a minute, he found her lips on his own. She tastes like beer, was Ron's first thought. This did little to keep him from her; quite the opposite. After a while, Hermione broke their kiss, and proceeded to suck his earlobe. She bit it ever so slightly, then whispered into his ear 'Let's go back to the hotel'.

Ron hurriedly paid for the beers and the food, then quickly zipped up his coat. Hermione was already waiting by the door. The trip back to the hotel was the exact opposite of the trip from the hotel to the pub. They walked a lot faster and in complete silence. Ron was trying to recall anything useful from Twelve Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches. He was starting to rue the fact that he had not packed it. He was excited. So much so that it constricted his ability to walk fast. Hermione had not expanded further on what she wanted to do at the hotel, but Ron was quite sure it would not be reading books or watching television. She had been kissing him for a while at the pub, so he doubted it would just that.

They must have looked rather comically by the time they arrived at the hotel. They had gotten to the point that they would have to break into a run to speed up any further. Ron was deep in concentration, thinking of chapter five; and the cautionary story in it about letting her set the pace of things. He would have to careful about that.

The receptionist that had recommended the pub was gone, replaced by an elderly man. He greeted them in a friendly, yet perfunctory way, all the while ruffling through some papers on his desk. They got into the elevator. While the doors closed torturously slow, Ron became highly aware of how small the elevator really was. He stood against the far corner, while Hermione was pressing the button of the third floor repeatedly. When the doors closed completely, and the elevator began its slow ascent, Hermione turned to him and closed the distance. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist as she interlaced her fingers behind his neck, drawing him down for a short but passionate kiss. Whatever fire was burning inside her had not been cooled by the cold of night.

The doors opened again with a slight squeal, and they broke apart guiltily. Hermione squeezed through the opening and walked determinately to their hotel rooms. When she did, Ron wondered for a moment if they would be going into his room, or hers. When Hermione seemed to realize the same thing, they made eye contact.

'Your place or mine,' Ron asked in what he hoped was a cool tone. Hermione broke into a laugh, then took out her own key and went inside. Ron followed suit.

Hermione's room was an exact mirror of his own room, though the painting of a pair of orchids that hung above his bed was a painting of a beach with a palm tree over hers. Her bed sheets were also still unruffled. Hermione stood next to the bed in what looked like considerable uncertainty. She sat down on the edge of the bed almost mechanically. Ron joined her. He felt highly self-conscious. Hermione fidgeted with her fingernails again. Ron reached out and took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers to keep her from her nervous habit. It seemed to calm her down enough to get her to look up at him. 'It's just me,' Ron said, improvising from chapter eight, 'It's just you and me.'

Hermione stretched out her back and neck, craning her head up to kiss Ron on the lips. Ron pulled Hermione onto his lap. Her body propped up on his knees, Hermione was nearly level with him. Her arms slipped around his neck. Ron settled his hands onto the outside of her thighs, rubbing them softly, but making sure not to touch the insides before she had shown some sign of interest in it. It did not take long before the sign arrived. Hermione had deepened the kiss into a very passionate snog, which she was most definitely enjoying. She now sat astride him, her legs on either side. Ron could not resist moving his hands onto her ass.

Their kiss was becoming more and more sloppy. Hermione had seemingly forgone any restraint and had become singularly intent on touching, kissing, and sucking Ron as passionately as she could. Her hands were freely roaming his body, the fingertips of one hand chasing unseen trails over his back while the other was firmly gripping a large portion of his hair. Ron's hands were massaging her bum, but he really didn't know how to do that other than just rubbing them a little. He pulled her in closer, and as he did, Hermione wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

One of her hands was now pulling on his shirt a little, in an effort to slip under it. He reached for it, then tugged hard, liberating the shirt from between his body and his pants. Ron pulled it over his head, and dropped it on the floor. Hermione leaned back (Ron tried not to spend any attention to the pleasant feeling of her hips pressing against his) and looked him over. Ron could see her eyes lingering at his nipples and then at the thin strip of red hair that poked up from his pants. He was pale, more pale than usual. Their quest for the Horcruxes had left them little time for sunbathing, and his nearly milky-white skin was marred only by a myriad of freckles that flooded down from his neck to his stomach.

Hermione pulled her vest up too, revealing a dark indigo camisole. She removed that too, leaving her only in her bra. Now it was Ron's turn to gaze at her. She was as pale as he remembered her. He had seen her like this at the shopping mall, but she seemed to have lost a bit of her insecurity.

'You look magnificent,' Ron said, 'Simply magnificent.'

The effects of three big meals per day for a couple of weeks were starting to become visible. Hermione's waist was still curving in, but it was not as dramatic as before. Her belly was less pronounced, the abs slowly disappearing behind a soft layer of fat. Marred here and there by a small scar or birthmark, Hermione's skin was smooth and pale; as pale as his own.

Hermione reached behind her back and unclasped the bra in a single movement. Ron watched her in silent awe. He had been imagining this moment for several years, and he wondered if it would be anything like he had thought it would. Hermione slipped the bra from her shoulders, and her two small breasts became visible as the cups of her bra released themselves from her body.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that Hermione's breasts, while much smaller than Lavender's, suited her stunningly. Then, he felt a slight tinge of irritation that his first thought had to involve Lavender. He had wanted to share this with just her, and his immature behaviour of more than a year ago had taken a bit of the shine off of this moment. Nevertheless, he looked Hermione directly into the eye, confirming once again to her how much he loved her, and that he thought she was very pretty. Unsure if he was allowed to both look and feel, he asked her.

'So long as you don't squeeze or pinch,' she said huskily, 'You can do pretty much anything you'd like.'

His hands immediately travelled up from her bum, sliding over her light skin to cup her breasts. They were soft and silky (as Lavender's had been, he thought with considerable irritation) and though they too small to fill his large hands, they were unmistakably Hermionish.

'You have no idea,' he said, 'how long I've wanted to do this.'

'Tell me,' she said, leaning forward and planting several soft kisses in the crook of his neck. Ron shivered.

'Fifth year,' he said, 'On the train ride to Hogwarts, you changed into your robes. You dropped them by accident, and bent down to pick them up.'

'So?'

'So you bent down—' Ron shivered as Hermione began kissing and nibbling his earlobe, '—and I had this wonderful view right down your blouse.'

'Is that why you couldn't talk to me for an hour after we changed?' she asked, in a much less husky, and much more curious voice, 'I might have guessed; your ears had gone ruby-red.'

Ron slowly leaned back to lay down on the mattress. Hermione followed him, kissing him as they went. When he was flat on his back, he looked down at his hands, which were still playing with Hermione's boobs. Hermione was bent over him, and gravity was pulling her boobs down. It looked rather sexy. He experimentally took one of her nipples between his thumb and index finger, and rubbed it softly. Hermione gave a content purr of joy. She slipped off him, sliding down next to him on the bed. Ron turned to his side, pulling Hermione closer to him. One of his arms was awkwardly pinned between his body and the bed, while the other was draped lazily over her bum.

'Hermione,' he said, 'I love you.'

'I love you too,' she replied.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Ron marvelled at how easy this all seemed. He could just reach out and touch her. He could just open his mouth and tell her what he felt about her. He could breathe in that lovely mixture of her perfume and her natural smell without fear of whether anyone else would notice. Her hair lay everywhere, and he had to brush some of it off of his face as it tickled his nose. The smile on Hermone's face reached her eyes, which were looking at him in silent joy.

'I want you,' he said, knowing he was venturing into very unfamiliar territory now. They had exchanged I-love-yous before. Their bonded wands had made them share their feeling of lust before. Hermione had felt the boner in his pants when they had kissed after buying their new wands. This was different though. Hermione would have to respond to it now. Even no response was a response. He knew not what she would say. Would she tell him off? He knew she felt the same sort of emotions, and she had admitted to them too. Still, he didn't know if he was being too forward or not.

'I want you too,' she said, blushing a little, but not breaking eye contact. It took a while for Ron to register the words. When they did, a weight dropped from his shoulders. At the same time, it hit him that their feelings of lust and want had just become as easy to talk about as saying "I love you" had. It was a simple fact. They were in a relationship, and that included physical love for one another. Everything was still new and exciting, and Ron was quite sure Hermione would not be up for everything he was up for, but they were going to do those things eventually.

'Well—' he said, not really knowing what to say anymore, '—Good.'

For a couple of minutes, Ron and Hermione busied themselves with kissing. Ron had slipped the arm that was pinned between his body and the bed under Hermione's head, and he held her close. His other hand had wandered back to her boobs again, and was gently fondling one of them. Hermione's hands were roaming non-stop over his torso. They moved slowly, but they never stopped.

After a while, he felt one of her hands drop down to the front of his pants. She began undoing his belt. After tugging the buckle open, her fingers reached for the button of his pants. Ron didn't know what to do. The hand fondling her had stopped moving altogether. Was he supposed to say something? He knew asking her if she was sure about this would be the right thing to do, but right now, he didn't really want to do the right thing. Still, he didn't want to botch it up, so in the end he simply made a bit of a mumble and a grunt that ended vaguely like a question.

Hermione disengaged her lips from his, and looked at him for a moment. Then, she flipped open his pants, the button zipper springing open in one go. His erection slipped into the vacated space immediately. Hermione's hand was just inches away from it, and only his underwear kept it from view. Both of them looked down at what had just happened. Then, both of them looked at each other.

Ron had never felt like this before. Hermione lay next to him, her hand inches away from his privates. Emotions and thoughts tumbled over each other. He had never been as turned on as he had been now, but was he supposed to say something? Should he ask her if she wanted to touch it? Did she want to see it? Was he allowed to open her pants? Bloody hell, he thought, what am I supposed to do?

Hermione seemed as confused and as unsure as he was. Her hand was still hovering over his crotch. Was he supposed to give her some sort of permission? Was she regretting opening his pants? At the same time, he remembered his promise to his mother. Was this going to be a problem? Would this lead to sex? Was he ready for that? Was she?

Hermione's hand reached out and opened her own pants. It revealed dark black panties. Then, before Ron could even process what had happened, Hermione grabbed hold of his hair with both her hands and pressed her lips on his. They kissed, and as they did, Ron felt her hips shifting in his direction. He moved closer too. Their bodies pressed together below the waist. Ron was certain that Hermione could feel his hard-on against the soft mound above her own private parts. She moved her hips forwards and backwards a little, grinding against his body. Every time she did, Ron felt a wave of lust course through his body. He grabbed her butt and squeezed it softly, which elicited an utterly satisfying moan from Hermione. His other hand had found its way back to her breasts.

This went on for a couple of minutes, until Ron could contain himself no longer. His body released, and a dark stain emerged in his pants. Hermione continued a little while longer, but after a few more thrusts, she too stopped. Ron kissed Hermione on the lips, a gentle, loving kiss he hoped would convey some of the emotions he was feeling. Hermione smiled at him, then hugged him tightly. Neither of them said a word for a long time, until Hermione broke the silence by asking Ron what time it was. He checked his watch. 'Two 'o clock, so its eleven in the evening.'

'Would you like to stay here tonight?' she asked, 'In bed with me?'

'Sure,' Ron said, 'I'd love to.'