The alarm on his bed stand woke Ron up. He was on top of the covers, his legs still spread out a little and his wand clutched in his fist. He silenced the alarm clock with a quick slap of his hand. He felt refreshed. Hermione had slept in her own bed last night, and he in his. Their physical distance from each other had mattered little.

Ron got up and dragged himself into the bathroom. A good, long shower seemed in order. As the water poured down onto his back, Ron thought back on what had happened.

Hermione had been holding him against herself as he sat on his bed. His hands had quickly wrapped around her body too, and one of them soon began rubbing her ass. Looking up, Ron started kissing her neck and jaw, until Hermione looked down and kissed his lips. It was interesting to kiss her like that; he was used to being the taller of the two. The kiss quickly became a snog, which in turn led to Ron massaging her breasts through the fabric of her bra and shirt.

Hermione had pulled away. "I'm not sure if I trust myself with you right now," she said, a coy smile playing on her face. "Not after what we heard about the bond between our wands today."

"Very well," Ron said, feeling a bit let down, but trying not to show it.

"I'm going to brush my teeth," she said, "and then go straight to bed. Perhaps I'll take my wand with me to bed."

Ron processed the information for a moment, still feeling a little glum, until he realised what she meant. "I was thinking about checking out how the television worked, but I just might do the same."

Ron had never brushed his teeth as fast as he had done last night. It wasn't so much brushing as it was a cursory wipe of the toothbrush across his teeth. The thought made him smile; they were going to visit her parents today, but he had skimmed through brushing his teeth the evening before because he wanted to share long-distance sex with their daughter. Perhaps he should have made an effort…

He had been making more of an effort getting into bed as fast as humanly possible. He heard Hermione leaving her bathroom perhaps a minute after he had gotten into bed. Filled with expectation and feeling utterly randy, Ron stared at the door connecting his room to hers. Was Hermione feeling the same thing as he was? Who was going to start using magic first?

In the end, Ron was first in opening the connection between them. Levitating his alarm clock towards him, he allowed Hermione to feel his emotions. The magic itself was rather pointless; the alarm clock was just two feet away from him.

He had wondered what Hermione would feel coming from his side of their bond. She would most certainly be listening in on his horniness, which dominated most of his thoughts. He tried to gain some control over his feeling of lust. He did not want Hermione to think it was the only thing he thought of. Struggling to feel different emotions, he tried to set the prospect of sharing another night of sex through the bond of their wands aside. It did little to reduce his feeling of lust, but he hoped his excitation at being able to share this with her was noticeable.

Hermione had started to use magic too, and the bond allowed him to listen in on her emotions immediately. She too was feeling very horny. It was more controlled though, probably because there was also a foreboding sense of dread in her mind. Ron assumed she was dreading the next morning. Wanting her to feel better, Ron pointed his wand at the desk and made the ballpoint pen baring the name of the hotel scribble a quick note on a notepad also baring the name of the hotel. Then, he performed a charm he had seen his father use nearly all his life. The note folded itself into a small paper airplane, then soared into the air. Making a single pass around the room, it dipped so low it nearly hit the floor, unfolding quickly to fit under the door joining his room with hers. It would refold on the other side.

Half a minute later, he felt Hermione perform magic; her emotions coming over clearly. She was feeling touched and happy, the feeling of dread slightly diminished. As expected, Ron saw his note return from under the door, refolding into a plane which began circling over his head. He snatched it from the air, unfurling it.

Dear Ron,

You're right, I am feeling very anxious about tomorrow. Help me forget it for a while.

X Hermione.

A clearer invitation hadn't been necessary. Thinking back to the note made Ron feel horny all over again, though he wondered if his body would be able to perform today. Thinking back to the evening made him wonder if it had actually happened. They had not seen each other since brushing their teeth, but the bond between their wands had made the previous evening the single most erotic thing to have ever happened to Ron.

Scanning the message for a moment, Ron had performed the charm most of the boys in Hogwarts had learned by heart. The invisible hand that had stroked him countless times in the past immediately grasped him. Knowing the magic allowed Hermione a continuing entry into his feelings, Ron closed his eyes. As expected, Hermione started pleasuring herself with magic almost immediately after he did, and her emotions became clear to Ron.

Hermione was still feeling the dread for tomorrow which he had felt before. It was more remote now, no longer occupying her mind as primarily as it did before. Instead, she was starting submit to her more carnal appetites. He could feel how the emotions that came from her abdomen were starting to take over from what was happening in her mind. Hermione had told him how she found it difficult to stop worrying about everything; she had confided that to him years ago. Knowing how she could sometimes lay awake in her bed Hogwarts, worrying about exams, O.W.L.s, Harry, or him had made Ron more aware of her needs, and he had forcibly made her stop studying or worrying to help her unwind. Though it irritated her greatly (it was the source of much of their bickering) she had told him that she appreciated it a lot and that she didn't want him to stop.

He could feel her surrendering slowly; the rational, worrying side of her slowly being pushed into the background while her irrational gut-feeling was taking the upper hand. For a moment, he was overcome with a sense of complete and utter dedication to her. Here they were; in different rooms, separated by a thin wall, and experiencing their first real sexual moment in their lives together. Ron slowly felt himself lapse into a single-minded frenzy. The hand stroking him was picking up the pace. As waves of pleasure coursed through his body, he felt the tension between his shoulder blades fade; a tension he had not known consciously felt until just now.

Ron was rapidly approaching his climax. The hand was moving faster and faster. Suddenly, from the back of his mind, he listened in to Hermione's emotions. He felt a hesitancy there. She was still feeling very frisky, because he could feel that too. It was as if she was urging him to slow down. It was as if she was saying: "Slow down, I want to enjoy this as long as possible."

Feeling all the warning signs of release, Ron fought for control. The hand slowed down to a torturously slow rub that was highly satisfying, but which kept him continually on the edge of release. It was frustrating, but it was also very exciting, and he did want to postpone the moment of release as long as possible.

Hermione was not following her own advice. Ron, struggling for control, had found Hermione losing control. While he was busy postponing his climax, Hermione was fast approaching it. He tried doing the same for her as she had done for him; feeling a strong sense of caution and hesitancy. He could listen in on Hermione's frustration and ill-concealed haste. She too fought for control though, and her emotions became less frantic.

Still hovering closely to the point of orgasm, Ron could barely hold on as both he and Hermione felt a strong surge of love and pride. In that moment, he thought of just one word: "Together". It formed in his mind in two voices: that of himself, but also in hers. It was as if the bond had not only sent her emotions, but also her thoughts, and that the only thought that had been on both their minds was tipping over into climax at the same time. Ron felt the wave of release wash over him as his body responded to what his mind was telling him. At the same time, the bond made him listen in to Hermione, who was also clearly letting go at last.

On the ground, discarded in his haste to get into bed, were his denim jeans. They had been bought at the shopping mall less than a week ago, an though they were still a bit tight at his thighs, they were awfully comfortable. His wand, which he usually kept in a small pocket sewed into his jeans by his mother, was pulled out in haste too, but most of his other belongings were still in his pockets. His wallet, containing mostly flint. The key to the door of his room, attached to a small brass label on which the room number was embossed. The pebble Hermione had given to him on their way over to the library in Ottery St. Catchpole, which held an engraved R and H. And the deluminator, from which he clearly heard Hermione's voice. "Oh, Ron!"

Ron had heard it clearly. Overwhelmed by fatigue and utterly relaxed by what was perhaps the best orgasm he'd ever experienced, Ron had but barely registered the sound. Standing under the shower now, it piqued his interest. Was this what Hermione had mentioned in the windowsill back at the Burrow? Did Dumbledore really give me the deluminator for more than just finding my way back to them?

He turned off the shower, curious and excited about the little magical object which he had been holding and playing with for just under a year now. Drying himself quickly and dressing in his best outfit (he wanted to make a good impression on her parents), he walked over to the discarded jeans. He emptied the pockets, flipping the stone in his hand as he thought back at the moment he had received it.

When his hand found the deluminator, his fingers wrapped around it comfortably. It's cold surface had always been a comfort to him, while on the hunt, and when he had been alone at Shell Cottage. Now, it intrigued him. If he clicked it, would the deluminator turn off the lights (which it normally did), or would it spawn the light blue ball of light that had relieved him of his solitude? His thumb stroked to top button. He clicked it.

The blue ball of light flitted out of the deluminator, and immediately floated towards him. As it entered his chest, he felt a newfound certainty that Hermione was in the other room. He also felt a shiver of excitement wash over him. It was odd; he had never felt that feeling before when the light entered his chest. Making a mental note to tell Hermione, he pocketed the deluminator and hurried back into the bathroom to do his hair and brush his teeth.

Hermione entered his room about thirty minutes before Bernstein would pick them up. She was dressed smartly, wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, and a faded pink sweater which he knew had come from her parents's house. He could see she had spent quite a bit of time brushing her hair; it looked less bushy and unruly than usual.

"So," she said, leaving the single word hanging in the air ominously. Standing there, under the doorpost connecting their rooms, Hermione seemed a little forlorn. Ron walked up to her. Kissed her. She kissed him back primly, but when his mouth opened a little for the second time, she too opened hers. There was nothing prim about the kiss then. Pulling her into an embrace, Ron held her tight. He could feel her back move as she gave a deep sigh.

"I'm scared," she said.

"I am too."

"What if it won't work?"

"It will," he said, but he really didn't know what magic was involved. He asked her.

"The magic is actually quite easy," she said, as she extracted herself from him and sat down on the edge of the desk that stood in his room, "I'm hardly experienced enough to be able to change anybody's memories so much that I could erase whole parts of it. I would have to remove so many things from the past eighteen years that I would probably have caused some serious damage."

"So how did you do it?" he asked, as he opened the backpack and reached in with his hand, "If you didn't change their memories, how did they forget you?"

"They didn't," she said, "I changed their minds a little to make them think of Australia every time they would have thought of me. It was like taking a book and replacing one word with another on every page. My name is rather unusual, so I didn't have to worry much about them hearing the name on anyone else, which might have weakened the spell."

"Yes," Ron said, fishing deeper and deeper towards the bottom of the backpack, "But they named the clinic after you."

"I know," she said, "And when we found out, I was immediately scared that the memory charm might have stopped working. I wondered for a while if they might remember me fully."

"You're scared that they might remember you, but would not want to be with you?"

"Yes," she said, looking glum.

"I can hardly imagine your parents not wanting to be with you. They are muggles, and I don't know much about muggle families, but I doubt they would cast you out of their lives like that." His hands groped around the bottom until he felt what he was looking for. He pulled his arm back and as he did, Hermione's scarf came with it. "Here," he said, as he wrapped it delicately around her neck, "It's going to be cold outside."

Hermione smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I'm quite sure the memory charm is still there," she said after a while, "But I don't know if it is still as effective as I had hoped it would be."

"Speaking of charms," Ron said as he took out the deluminator, "I heard your voice last night. You said 'Oh, Ron', just when –"

Feeling his head turn red, Ron tried to finish the sentence without sounding embarrassing, but he could not find the right words to say. Hermione also became pink in the face and, unable to formulate a reply, wrapped her hands around his waist. He hugged her back tightly.

"Last night was very special," he said, wishing he could take the words back as soon as they left his mouth. I sound like a girl…

Hermione didn't seem to mind. Quite the opposite; she craned her neck up, pulled his head down to her level and kissed him passionately. They spent a good minute kissing like that until Hermione broke the kiss, only to resume hugging him. "It was the most special, intimate moment of my life, Ron," she said, "I love you."

Ron repeated the words, holding her tight. They were doing a lot of hugging. He wondered how much of that was due to last night, and how much was due to their appointment this morning. Ron wasn't complaining. Hugging and kissing Hermione were his new favourite activities in life.

"We've got an appointment at half past nine. When we arrive, we will probably have to wait for a moment in a waiting room before we are called in. Don't touch any of the model jaws. If they brought those over from England, they will probably fall apart once you touch them."

Ron listened to Hermione while he checked if they had everything they needed for meeting her parents. It was sweet of Hermione to instruct him like this; his experience with muggles was limited, and he hated it if he had to resort to asking questions. Time passed quickly, and before they knew it, they were ushered into Bernstein's car, and set off to the clinic.

They arrived a few minutes before half passed nine. Bernstein parked the car across the street and turned to them.

"Good luck," he said, "If you run into any problems, let me know. Perhaps the ministry can be of service."

Hermione and Ron got out, but Ron noticed how Hermione's movements seemed a little forced and that she jumped a little when he slammed the car door shut. He put an arm around her waist in an attempt to show her affection and give her courage. She smiled at him briefly, then crossed the road. She took hold of the door, and after a fraction of a second in hesitation, she pulled it open.

The clinic comprised of small hallway which held a coat rack and umbrella stand facing a small receptionist area where an elderly woman wearing black glasses sat. She was on the telephone, but told them to sit at a small bench at the end of the hall while she held the receiver pressed against her shoulder. Ron and Hermione both did as they were told. Ron could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He was nervous. He hoped everything would end up all right. They sat in silence, Hermione gazing at one of the three doors which opened out to the waiting area without actually looking. Ron tried to keep his hands busy; a nervous tick he had always had. Fingering the deluminator seemed like a bad idea; he did not want to disturb Hermione or the people working here. His eyes fell on the model of a human head which stood on a small table beside the bench. It showed the human skull in some detail. It was made of plastic, and half of it was shaped as though there was skin on it. The other half showed the skull, and the jaws. His hand reached out. He could not suppress the urge to feel the model; plastic was quite uncommon in the wizarding world. As his fingertips brushed the top of the head, the jaw immediately disengaged, and dropped onto the table with a loud clang, scattering fake plastic teeth everywhere.

Ron was spared Hermione's irritated comment as just then, a door flew open and a man aged around forty exited. He was smiling, but it wasn't with much enthusiasm.

"Make sure to keep the wound clean," a familiar voice said, "Don't use your toothbrush until tomorrow morning, and brush lightly."

"Yes doctor Wilkins," the man replied, clearly inarticulate because of what Hermione had explained were anaesthetics, "Thank you."

Doctor Wilkins exited the room with his patient, and checked a clipboard. "Miss Delacour?" he asked, looking up from it. His eyes widened in shock. He said nothing for a moment, as Hermione stared into her father's eyes. Ron was struck by how alike the two were. Both of them seemed like they were in a trance, their heads tilted to the side ever so slightly. Ron got up and extended his hand. This seemed to shake both of them out of their revelry. Hermione got up too, while her father introduced himself.

As they trouped into the office, Ron immediately noticed something was wrong; Hermione's mother was not present. Hermione had obviously noted it too, judging by the alarmed look she shot at him before taking place in the dentist's chair.

"The receptionist told me you were having problems with a molar?" her father asked, as he turned on a light fixed to an arm that hung from the ceiling.

"Yes," she replied weakly, "Yes, below on the right."

Her father asked her to open her mouth, and Ron observed for a moment how Hermione's parents had earned their living for the past thirty years. He had been wondering about that for years now, and this was the perfect opportunity for him to find out. He soon came to the conclusion that his image of a dentist was quite a bit different from reality. He had always imagined that her parents would be inches away from the patient's mouth, their hands halfway into the opening of the mouth to check the teeth, but her father had quite a few tools that made his work a lot easier. He had a small mirror attached to a rod that he used to look into her mouth without having to get too close. He also had a variety of picks and such on a small tray which he used to check her teeth.

"So, miss Delacour," he said, "You and your boyfriend are from England?"

"Yes," she said, managing to talk quite normally regardless of the instrument in her mouth, "We are visiting relatives. They moved here about a year ago."

"I see," he murmured, "Slide your tongue a little to the right. My wife and I moved here for England too. Uprooted our whole lives I just under a week and set up a practice here within a month."

"That must have been difficult," Ron said, "Leaving everything behind and starting over somewhere else."

"Nah," her father said, looking up at Ron for a moment, "All of our parents have already passed away. My wife is an only child, and I have a brother I see once every year. There was nothing but our work tying us down."

Those last words caused Hermione to cough. It was one of the sentences she had used to plant the memory charm in her parents's minds. She had told him that the dream of her parents to move to Australia was tethered into their minds with those sentences. They would repeat them consistently if the memory charm was still working properly and were asked about the reasons for why they had moved.

Her father quickly retracted the small mirror and let Hermione cough. Ron took the time to ask her father another question.

"Is your wife a dentist too?"

Harry had instructed Ron a few nights earlier. He had told him how he sometimes weeded information from others. It didn't sound all that difficult when he had explained it, but Ron was already aware of how dangerous it could be. If he was too forward, he would risk rousing suspicion. Be too gentle, and he would not get the information he needed. Harry had told him that it was very difficult to find the right balance.

"Yes," he said, "Good guess. She works here too. I just found out she was also assigned to your girlfriend by mistake."

"Ah," Hermione said, "So she is here today too?"

"No," he said, "My wife was feeling a bit under the weather." Ron could see Hermione's father was feeling a bit suspicious now. His brow was furrowing, and he bit his lip as he looked at Hermione and then at Ron. He fell silent then, re-inserting the mirror into Hermione's mouth.

Ron was thinking. If Hermione's mother wasn't here, they could not perform the reversal of the memory charm. Hermione had stressed several times that her parents would have to be as at ease as possible, and at the very least together. If they countered the memory charm for just her father, he would act differently when they would visit her mother. That might put her on guard, which could cause the spell to malfunction. It was imperative that they win their trust first, even if it was just a cursory, polite trust in a stranger.

He wondered what they would do next. Hermione's teeth were fine; asking for another appointment soon would be sketchy. Just popping by at their house would seem strange too.

"So where do your relatives live?" Hermione's father asked, "Here in Brisbane?"

"Yes," she said, "Not far from here. The neighbourhood across the park."

"Well, that is a coincidence," he said, "We moved to that area too. Small world!"

"Yes," Ron said, "Small world." Much smaller than you might imagine, he thought, but let's hope we can soon discuss this together.

Hermione's father finally retracted all of his tools from Hermione's mouth. "You have the cleanest, best maintained teeth I have seen in decades. If you have felt any pain in one of your molars, it is not caused by your teeth. They are pristine."

Ron suppressed a smirk. Hermione was positively glowing at her father's praise. She thanked him, and got up after the seat had moved upright again. Her father was urging them towards the door again, and Ron was panicking. How were they going to solve this puzzle? It would have been so much easier if he could confund her father, but that would make restoring their memory even harder.

The solution presented itself not a few seconds later. As they were walking away, Ron glanced back and saw Hermione's father looking decidedly conflicted. It was as if he was going to say something, but was held back. Ron stopped walking and turned to him fully.

"Doctor Wilkins," he said, hoping that her father would start on his own accord. He did not, but continued to look conflicted.

"Doctor, is there something you would like to say?" Hermione said, also turning fully to her father. This seemed to push him over the edge.

"Yes," he said, staring strangely at Hermione, "It's my wife. She's been having odd dreams for a long time now. Dreams that seem to have shaken her deeply, because she finds it very difficult to keep her dreams apart from reality."

"In her dreams, she has a daughter," he continued, "but you have to understand that we don't actually have one. We had discussed having children, but for some reason, we never seemed to have gotten around to it. Lately, she has been having difficulty accepting that. Sometimes, she claims that we did have a kid. She can even describe her."

"I say her, because my wife is convinced that we had a daughter."

Hermione said nothing, but her eyes widened considerably. Ron opened his mouth, but her father continued his speech. It was as if he had been wanting to say this to somebody for a while now.

"She has taken up painting," he said, "And I swear, you look exactly like the girl she paints."

Hermione was rendered speechless. Her father closed his mouth and his ears were turning pink. It was obvious that he was a little ashamed of how much private information he had just shared with a girl he hardly knew, and her boyfriend.

"I am kind of interested in these paintings," Ron said, "I am a bit of a painter myself, and I would like to see if my girlfriend does look like your wife's paintings."

Ron wasn't much of a painter (he had once painted the door of his own room, but that was about all of his experience summed up into one activity) but her parents didn't know this. Perhaps he could get them invited into their household.

"It would be a short visit," he pressed on when he saw her father open his mouth, "Nothing demanding, or taxing. Just a social visit shortly before we visit our relatives."

"I guess that would be alright," he said, sounding a little unsure, "You can ask for our home address at the receptionist. Call her 'Dianne', if she doesn't want to give it."

Ron and Hermione left the clinic a few minutes later holding a small note containing the address of her parents. The receptionist had been initially hesitant about giving out the address, but after Ron had mentioned her first name, she caved in. It was quite unnecessary for them to ask for the address (they had driven by the house a few days earlier) but it was best if they did; it would raise odd questions if her father checked up on it.

Hermione was at the point of crying. She took no part in asking the address, and she trembled slightly as they went through the front door of the clinic. He heard her stifle a sob as they crossed the road. He opened the door for her, letting her in on one side and getting into the car at the other. Bernstein sat in silence, obviously uncomfortable.

"Bernstein," he asked, as he looked at Hermione, who had her face hidden in her hands, "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

"Not at all," he said, clearly eager to leave the car and the emotional scene that was bound to follow, "I feel like taking a walk through the park for a while."

When he closed the door, Hermione finally gave her emotions free reign. She wept openly. Ron scooted over on the back seat, and draped his arms around her waist. Pulling her in close, he whispered into her ear.

"Shh, love," he said, "Your father is alive and well. You saved his life."

His words of comfort did little to slow the flow of tears running down her cheeks.

"Your mother is also alive," he said, "Even if it sounds like she is a little confused. You did some impressive magic last year, and once we set their minds straight, it will be like it was before all of this happened."

Hermione buried her face into his chest, her head half-hidden between the folds of his jacket. She was still crying, but she didn't shake as much as before, and her breathing slowly normalized. After a while, Ron felt her stir.

He had been whispering to her. Assuring her that everything would be okay, praising her for her spellwork and that she saved their lives. She tilted her head up, and he could see the wet mess on the lower half of her face and the bloodshot eyes that still produced tears.

"Thank you, Ron," she said, taking him by surprise.

"What for?"

"For being here," she said, "With me. For being my boyfriend. For understanding."

"Oh silly," he said, feeling mighty happy with himself but not wanting to let it show, "It's nothing. You would have done the same for me."

She rubbed her face furiously with her sleeves for a while, and after a couple of minutes she had calmed down enough to discuss what they would do in the evening. Bernstein returned a few minutes later.

"So," he said, glancing at Hermione and clearly relieved at seeing her calm and composed, "What happened?"

Hermione bowed her head down a little, which Ron knew was a tell-tale sign that she didn't really feel like rehashing the story.

"Her mother didn't come to work today," he said, giving Bernstein a quick outline of what had happened, "But we got invited over for a visit this evening at their house. We can do it then."

"That sounds like a good plan. I'm sure they will be calm in their own house. It could actually be a bit easier, removing the memory charm from them there."

"Yes," Ron said absently. His mind was on Hermione now, who looked ready to start crying. Bernstein seemed to realize this too, and turned back to the steering wheel.

"Where to?" he asked.

"The hotel," Hermione said, her voice unsteady, but definitive.

They arrived at the hotel a couple of minutes later. She meekly followed him through the lobby, where the girl that had given them instructions to the pub was now checking in a group of tourists. Ron led Hermione into the elevator, and hit the button of the third floor. The doors shut, and as the elevator began it's slow ascent, Hermione and Ron seemed to be in different worlds. Ron reached out to touch her arm, wanting to show his affection and that he was there for her. Hermione turned at his touch, but didn't rush into his chest like she had done in the car. Instead, she meekly smiled at him, and when the doors opened at the third floor, she stepped out quickly.

Together, they crossed the corridor. Ron took out his room key, but when he slowed down to open his room, Hermione stopped him.

"No," she said, pulling his arm to get him to walk further, "Join me."

Together, they entered her room, where Hermione tossed her bag into a corner and kicked off her shoes. She laid down on the bed, patting the space beside her. Ron followed her example, but closed the door magically before he did.

Once in the bed, Hermione shifted away from him, turning her back to him, and reaching back behind her to get him to hold her. She fit perfectly against his body, her wild mess of hair itching his nose while her bum was pressed deliciously against him. She was warm to the touch, and though Ron didn't know where to place his hand, he finally rested it on her hip.

"I feel like such a fool," Hermione said, "I messed with my parents's heads and now my mother is having some sort of mental problem because of it."

"No, sweetheart," Ron countered, talking to the back of her head, but relishing in the closeness they shared, "You are anything but a fool. Your mother's just too clever to have her mind changed for her. I always wondered who you took after. Now I know."

Hermione chuckled. It was a melancholic, gloomy chuckle that existed on the border between sadness and amusement. It made Ron feel partly happy for getting her to at least chuckle at something, but the near-desperate sound of it made his heart break.

"Last night was fun," she said suddenly. Ron frowned. This was a change of topic he had not anticipated. Hermione had not begun about it since this morning's brief discussion about it. She was awfully frank about it too. "And you mentioned something about hearing my voice?"

"Yes," he said, "From the deluminator. Right before you – you know… came."

It came out even worse than he had dreaded it would sound. Talking about Hermione and sex still made him feel utterly indecent.

"I guess that sort of proves our theory," she said, sounding more like the Hermione he had known half his life than she had since meeting her father. She turned her head to him, "Because I'm pretty sure I wanted you to next to me then."

Again, Ron was struck with the ease in which she made this statement. He could hardly find the words to tell her how much he wanted to have sex with her, and if he did, they would constrict his tongue and his sentences would come out choppy and fragmented.

"You did?" he said.

"Of course," she replied, "So I guess Dumbledore didn't leave you the deluminator because he expected you to leave us."

"No," he said, "I guess not."

It was a relief, finding out the deluminator had not been given to him because of a character flaw, but because of a character trait. It felt really good to know Dumbledore had not considered him the weakest of the trio, even if in the end, he had proven his worth.

Hermione took his hand and moved it onto her stomach. They were both still wearing coats, not having bothered to take off anything but their shoes. Hermione's coat was thick and woollen, and obscured any hint of her body. Ron pulled her to him eagerly. He wanted Hermione as close as humanely possible without hurting her. She sighed a breath of relief.

"I hope Dumbledore didn't imagine it being put to this use," he quipped.

"I would certainly hope not!" she said, craning her neck to glance at him. She was smiling again.

They stayed on the bed for half an hour, talking about little things, enjoying a moment of silence, or kissing delicately. Ron had unzipped Hermione's coat and was gently fondling the contents of her T-shirt. Her hands had travelled under his own clothes, roving around on his back, pulling him closer every time Ron's fingers squeezed lightly. They were no longer kissing. Facing each other and staring into each other's eyes, Ron felt Hermione's warm breath on his face. Everything that had happened before seemed to have been forgotten.

Hermione's eyes were fixed on his, something he was still learning to get used to. Ron had spent years watching Hermione, his eyes quickly pulling away if she looked back at him. There was something disarming about it, and though he trusted Hermione more than he trusted himself, it was still difficult to let his guard down like that. Those lovely brown eyes held him entranced though, and though he often sought to look elsewhere, he never did.

The tip of his long nose brushed hers. Like pretty much everything about her, Ron thought it looked Like pretty much everything about her, Ron thought it looked beautiful. It was not perfect; the bridge of her nose was slightly dented, and there was a small scar on one of her nostrils from a childhood wound that had been tended to poorly. Oddly enough, it was those sort of imperfections that made Hermione so beautiful to Ron. She was not physically perfect like Fleur was. She did not spend much time on her appearance like Lavender. Hermione had a natural beauty; a simple, but strikingly disarming appearance that drew him in completely.

His hands slowly slipped from her breasts to her belly. Hermione sighed contently and shuffled closer to him, laying down on her back and closing her eyes. It hit Ron that this was perhaps the first time in over a year that neither of them had anything to do.

"So," he said, "What now?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, eyes still closed, and a content smirk on her face.

"We've not got anything to do. We spent all of our free time last year planning and researching. After the battle, we were mostly busy with funerals or planning this trip. What do we do now?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Can't we just lay here for a while?" she asked, "I'm not really sure if I want to go anywhere or do anything at the moment."

"Would you like a book?"

"Do you honestly expect me to say no to that?"

"Not really," he said, as he slid off the bed and walked to the bag she had brought with her to Australia. Rummaging around a little, he found three books in it.

"Which one do you want?" he asked, "The Lonely Planet, the magazine you bought at Heathrow, or Down Under a Spell." That last book had been handed to Hermione by his parents a few days before they had left. It was a travel journal written a couple of decades ago by a backpacking witch. His mum had told Hermione that it was all the fad way back when.

"The magazine," she said, "I've read enough non-fiction for a while."

Ron put the Lonely Planet back, taking the other two books back to the bed. He handed Hermione the magazine, while he opened Down Under a Spell himself. Reading wasn't his hobby, and he had certainly lamented having to read his textbooks for school. Still, he didn't mind picking up a book now and again if he had nothing better to do.

They spent about two hours reading. Hermione had finished her magazine in about an hour, and had been browsing the Lonely Planet ever since. Ron was slowly making progress through his book, which was surprisingly good. It wasn't quite like reading a novel; there was no plot or theme in that sense. Instead, it was a detailed description of one person's journey through the outback, and all of the magical creatures and people she had met along the way.

It was around one 'o clock that Ron and Hermione go up from the bed to have a bite to eat. They didn't bother looking up a good place to eat, but simply wandered around the neighbourhood of the hotel, seeking randomly. Hermione had suggested a small and dingy diner, but Ron had objected; he wanted to eat somewhere a bit less dingy.

In the end, they found themselves in a sandwich shop that allowed you to choose your own type of bread and whatever you wanted on top of it. Ron took the biggest piece of bread he could find, and had it dressed in different types of meat: baloney, bacon, ham, and salami. It was a meat-eaters wet dream. Hermione had taken a whole-wheat loaf, and dressed it with lettuce, tomatoes, a bit of cucumber and tuna. They sat down at the small table near the window. The store was mostly filled with people who merely hopped in and out to get their sandwich. Ron turned to Hermione and leaned back against the window.

"What do you suppose we should do this afternoon? We've got another four hours to fill."

Hermione took a measured bite from her sandwich and chewed it thoroughly before answering.

"I want to visit a pharmacy. I think I need to buy some things there. We could try and do some shopping if you want to."

They spent about an hour shopping after lunch until Ron realized he was losing interest in it. They had visited a couple of stores, most of them bookstores, and though walking around with Hermione was blissful, he really didn't feel like browsing through more bookstores, clothing shops, or tourist stalls. Hermione seemed to lose interest too, he noticed; they had just passed two large department stores without so much as a question whether they should enter.

"Do you want to go back to the hotel?" he asked.

"I still need to find a pharmacy," she said, "But after that, I think we should. Unless you have anything specific you want to buy."

"Nah," he replied, "I'm fine."

They found a pharmacy after making some inquiries at a road-side hotdog stand. Hermione insisted on entering alone, so Ron waited dutifully outside while she got the items she needed. She was being very vague about that though, and Ron assumed that meant she was getting tampons or sanitary napkins, or something like that. Judging by the redness of her face when she emerged from the pharmacy, he probably wasn't far off.

"Got what you needed?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, "Let's go."

They arrived at the hotel around five, which meant that they had another hour to kill before Bernstein would drop by to pick them up. Hermione was still pink-faced, though Ron wasn't sure if that was due to their stop at the pharmacy, or because it had been really cold outside. Ron sat down on the edge of her bed, wondering about what to do next. Neither of them was in the mood to go out again, they had already spent a couple of hours reading, and they really didn't have anything else to do in terms of hobbies.

Hermione sat down next to him, her legs brushing his. That would be a nice past-time activity, he thought, but kept it to himself. He had already been kissing Hermione, and fondling the contents of her shirt. He didn't want her to think it was the only thing that he was interested in.

His eyes traced her face. The soft skin of her neck looked inviting to the touch, and Ron had to suppress the urge of kissing her there. He took his cap off and fiddled with it in his hands for want of something to do. Hermione put her hands on his.

"Don't take it off," she said, "Put it back on. I like it. It looks really nice on you."

He put the blue cap back on his head. He had been wearing it every day since they had bought it in England. Hermione had told him she liked it on him before, but it filled his heart with pride none the less.

"Hermione," he said, his eyes focussed on his hands, "Have you – I mean, do you sometimes, you know, feel like you want things to go faster?"

Ron didn't dare look up from his hands which were lying motionless on his lap. The day with Hermione had started out normally, and after their visit to the dental clinic, Ron was still feeling rather the same as he always had. The half an hour he had spent on the bed with Hermione, kissing her, feeling her, had changed his mood though. He had been feeling randy, and though he had tried getting rid of the feeling ever since lunch, it still remained with him. All he wanted to do was tear Hermione's clothes apart and shag her. It was a bit unsettling really. He had felt these feelings for a couple of years now, but they had never lingered as long as they did now. Was this what Nerang and Calca had spoken about the day before?

Hermione didn't answer him immediately. When she did, the answer was so wildly different from what he had expected that he stared at her in shock.

"I just bought a pack of condoms."