A/N: As usual, thank you so much for your support, it keeps me going! I hope you like this chapter, it's an important one. ;)

"Hermione." A big, slightly rough, very familiar hand landed on her shoulder and shook her. "Hermione, are you sleeping?"

She rolled onto her back and cracked open her eyes. Ron sat, sporting disheveled hair, with his back against the headboard of his bed. Even in the scant moonlight shining in through a gap in the curtains, she could see a sort of anxious look in his blue eyes.

"I was," she muttered, her heavy eyelids falling shut of their own volition.

It had been a bit of an exhausting night to say the least. Harry had positively oozed anticipation over the Auror documentation they had received, and spent most of the evening smacking Ron on the arm to get his attention and show him some coursework detail or training method. Ron had dutifully filled out the form regarding his own extraordinary circumstances and then, mostly silent, perused the information at hand. Hermione had watched the entire exchange, trying desperately to read the thoughts that she knew were racing through his head. Then they'd come upstairs, because he seemed to be in dire need of a distraction, but evidently even a prolonged shag had not sufficed to wear him out.

"I can't sleep," he said, his hand still on her shoulder.

Hermione turned onto her side, facing his outstretched legs. "I'd love to, Ron, but I probably won't be able to walk tomorrow if we-"

"No, I wasn't saying - I just want to talk to you."

At the concern in his voice, Hermione turned onto her back so she could see his face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know what I'm doing," he lamented. "I told Harry I'd send Pig out with our Auror forms tomorrow, but I also told George I'd help him for at least the rest of the holiday but I know he needs more help than that, and - and this is just a mess, Hermione, and I don't know what to do."

She pulled herself up so that she sat next to him, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. "What do you actually want to do?"

"It doesn't matter, does it? I basically made my choice when I spoke at the hearing." Looking resigned, he cast his eyes down to the duvet covering their lower halves.

"How, exactly?"

"You don't just go and make a speech to the entire Wizengamot about how you're qualified for a job and then, when they let you have the job, just say 'oh no thank you, I'm going to work in a shop in Diagon Alley instead', it's completely mental."

"No, it isn't," said Hermione. "You believed in what you said, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Well, then you didn't do anything wrong," she reasoned. "You just supported something you thought was right, there's no harm in that."

"But I did it for Harry, I just wanted to help him. It's a bit of a habit at this point," he said with a little smile. "But I never told him about George's offer, he thinks I was just helping out today for, I don't know, the hell of it." Ron made a sort of half-sigh, half-grunt in the back of his throat. "You can say it, love. I'm a mess."

"No, you aren't. But… do you even want to be an Auror?"

His whole source of stress, it seemed, was that he had gotten himself roped into working as an Auror and couldn't see an escape route.

"Yeah, I actually do. It's a good job, it's good money, it's - it's the kind of thing that matters," he concluded in a rush. "And there's always going to be dark wizards and I want to make sure - I don't want any of this to ever happen again. But then," he continued, "I've always loved the joke shop, and George needs my help and - and they used to rake in the Galleons-"

"Stop thinking about in terms of money."

"Poor kid mentality," he reminded her gently. "I will always think about money."

"Okay, well, pretend that they both pay exactly the same-"

"But I can't!" he exclaimed. "All these ways you're giving me to make the decision, I can't do it. I can't not consider you, or the money, or the fact that Kingsley wrote this bill for Harry and me specifically or the fact that my brother - that he's gone and that's why George needs help - I can't do it. I can't make a decision, I don't know how, and I think I'm just going to pitch myself off a bridge," he declared in frustration, hands gesticulating madly.

Hermione, however, felt like she was seeing things clearly for the first time in months.

"Just do both," she suggested as easily as if she were recommending their dinner for the evening.

"Right," Ron scoffed.

"Why can't you do both?"

"Because there're no more Time Turners anymore, we smashed them all? Remember?"

"Yes," replied Hermione with a touch of exasperation, "and I also saw those training schedules downstairs. You'd be able to work for George at night and on weekends without a problem. And I'll be away at school so you'll probably want to keep busy."

"It seems a bit mad," Ron said, slowly, thoughtfully.

"No, what's mad is how young wizards and witches are expected to have decided their futures. Don't you remember the end of second year, trying to choose what classes to add for third year?"

"I just signed up for all the same stuff as Harry."

"Exactly!" Hermione felt wildly energized now that this idea had come to life. "We were thirteen, we didn't know what we wanted. That was part of why I took so many classes, I couldn't stand the thought that I might change my mind later."

"Okay, but using third year as an example really isn't the best way to make me think this is a good idea, you ran yourself into the ground that year."

"But you wouldn't be living twenty-eight hour days like I was. And this way you'd really know whether you'd rather be an Auror or work at the shop, instead of just hoping you make the right choice-"

"Which means I would have to quit on someone eventually," Ron pointed out. He didn't have to continue the thought, because Hermione already knew what he was getting at: that he didn't want to let anyone down.

"That's okay," said Hermione. "There's nothing with realizing that something isn't right for you. You're eighteen - Muggles at least get four years of university to work all of this out."

Ron nodded, pursing his lips in contemplation. "You have a point."

"I know I do," she quipped, making him smile. "Honestly, you should just do what you want for once. You're always so selfless but you deserve to do what you want."

"I already have what I want," Ron said, softly bumping his shoulder into hers.

"I don't count."

"But you do, as long as we're together, that's all I need. Everything else is just, y'know, icing on the cake."

"Okay, but if you could pick, wouldn't you rather have your favorite kind of icing?"

Ron chuckled and wedged an arm between Hermione's shoulders and the headboard, bringing her into his side. "So if I do both," he began as Hermione leaned her head against him, "I might not be a very good boyfriend."

"But you are a good boyfriend."

"What if I don't have time to write you really long letters while you're away?"

She picked up her head, regarding him with befuddlement. "When have you ever written me a letter that was longer than five sentences?"

"I might, now that we're together," he replied defensively. "I won't be able to see you so I'll just have to write about all the stuff I want to do to you-"

"You wouldn't," Hermione replied, scandalized. "What if they're still checking through everyone's mail?"

"So what if they are? I think McGonagall knows we didn't sneak out to the Three Broomsticks because we wanted a butterbeer," he replied with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows. "And it's three months until Easter, that's a long time, I'm going to get lots of creative ideas."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes but then laughing in spite of herself.

Leaning close, he dropped a tender kiss on her lips. "I'm going to do it," he said, his voice calm yet determined. "I'm going to do both. I mean, I'll have to talk to George but he really doesn't have a choice, it's me or nobody."

"You're sure?"

"Definitely. It's barking, I think that's why I trust it." He kissed Hermione again, his lips lingering on hers. "I'm tired, aren't you? What are we doing up so late?"

Swatting his chest, Hermione crept back down under the covers and when Ron followed suit, she used his chest as a pillow. He wrapped his arms around her and was snoring within minutes.

•••

Once again, she was being shaken awake. Somehow, in the night, she had situated herself so that her back was pressed against Ron's chest, his arm looped over her waist. His lips were on her neck, her ear, her jaw, laying light kisses over her skin.

"Hermione," he whispered. "You can stay here and keep sleeping if you want, but I have to get ready, I told George I'd meet him at the shop."

"Now?" Most mornings she Apparated back home at six, but it didn't make sense for Ron to be working that early. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

Her eyes sprang open in horror. "Ten?! In the morning?!"

"Well, yeah," Ron laughed as Hermione leapt out of the bed and frantically changed out of her pajamas, leaving them pooled on the floor as she dressed in last night's clothes. "In a hurry, I take it?"

"I was meant to be home hours ago!" Hermione shoved her feet into her shoes, sloppily tying the laces. "My parents will be awake by now, I need to go!"

Ron opened his mouth to respond but before he could get a word out, Hermione had smashed a kiss onto his cheek and bolted from the room.

The second Hermione materialized in her childhood bedroom, she knew it was a mistake; her magical mode of transport brought her there with a loud crack that she could only hope her parents might mistake for a car backfiring. In a last-ditch effort to keep up any sort of appearance that she might have slept at home, Hermione changed into a pair of pajamas and strolled slowly out of the room, hoping that her parents might have simply allowed her to have a lie-in that morning.

But there was no such luck. Simon and Mary Granger were waiting patiently outside of her bedroom door, arms folded over their chests, eyeing their daughter with unsettlingly calm curiosity.

"Morning," Hermione said with a polite smile. There was still a slight shadow of a chance that they might simply be coming to see what she'd like for breakfast.

"Oh, is that it?" asked her mother, causing Hermione to stop in her tracks. "You're not planning to tell us where you've been all night?"

"Hermione, we've been worried sick," her father added, a bit more composed. "You weren't here when we came back, you didn't leave a note, we have no way of contacting you-"

To hell with it. She had already told them so much about the past year that spending the night at Ron's house seemed trivial in comparison. "Do you want to know where I was?" she challenged. "I was at Ron's house. I stayed there last night. I actually stay there a lot, I sneak out and you can't tell because I use magic to hide it."

There was a pause so heavy and swelling that Hermione thought for a second it might swallow her up. Her parents studied her, curious, but without any hint of anger.

"That's really all you did? You just went to Ron's house?" Mary clarified, regarding her daughter as though there was something she was missing.

"Yes," Hermione stated stubbornly. "And I don't think you should have a problem with it, I'm nineteen and I've already lived on my own for a year."

"Hermione," said Mary with a touch of impatience, "the problem is not with Ron. It's not about him at all."

Hermione looked over at her father; he stood against the wall, silent, watching everything unfold.

"So what is it, then? Because I told you everything the other day-"

"I know you did. But there is so much of your life that we've missed out on, so much we can never be a part of or even understand. We just want to be as much a part of it as we can."

This exchange was not exactly the dramatic fight that Hermione had been expecting upon her arrival home. She saw no anger when she looked at her parents, only concern, only sadness. She was their only child and yet, deep down in her veins, she was radically different from them. She would likely marry into a magical family, send her own kids to Hogwarts, work for the Ministry of Magic. There would always be a rift between them, but it didn't need to be any bigger than it already was.

"And I'm sure you can understand," added Simon, "why it worries us when you vanish in the middle of the night."

"I shouldn't have done that," Hermione conceded. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you where I was going."

"But not sorry that you left," Mary observed, rather correctly.

"It's just - I'm nineteen, Mum-"

"I know that, and I'm not naive. Just tell us that you're leaving next time."

Once again, over breakfast, Hermione ended up confessing everything: how, since their return to Australia, she had spent most of the summer sneaking out to see Ron, how he wasn't returning to Hogwarts in January, all of it. She thought it might be embarrassing or awkward to discuss this sort of thing with her parents, but they didn't seem to mind. In the past, they had always encouraged her independence and that didn't appear to change; they just didn't want to lose her entirely.

And that, Hermione supposed, she could understand.

•••

"You know, this is very inconvenient for me, you lot not coming back to Hogwarts," Ginny griped from her seat in the armchair, shooting an annoyed glare at Ron and Harry. "I'm going to have to hold emergency tryouts."

New Year's Eve had arrived. The usual four of them - Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny - had opted to spend the holiday holed up at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, watching snow drift past the window. Ginny had taken it upon herself to prepare a large batch of mulled wine, the consumption of which had made the group particularly loose and relaxed. Hermione had joined Ron on the overstuffed sofa, her toes tucked under his thigh to keep warm.

"You have a reserve Keeper," Ron argued with a lazy wave of his wand. "It's not my fault."

"Yeah, but no reserve Seeker," said Ginny, bumping the heel of her foot into the shoulder of Harry, who sat on the floor in front of her. "Everyone was too scared to try out against this git."

"All the better that I'm leaving, then," said Harry. "Gives those other kids a chance."

"But with you, I know you're actually good."

"So are you saying you won't miss my impeccable Keeping skills?" Ron asked his sister, grinning widely.

Ginny pretended not to hear him and nudged Harry with her foot again. "I just don't want to hold tryouts in the snow, okay?"

"We all know you're going to hold practice three times a week in the snow, so I don't see the difference," Harry replied. "May as well weed out the ones who can't handle it."

Ron turned to face Hermione and poked her on the knee. "You're quiet," he observed in a low voice.

"I'm tired," she explained. "We were up late last night."

The letters confirming that Harry and Ron's extraordinary circumstances had qualified them for Auror training had arrived the previous day. Nobody had been terribly surprised by this - Ron had joked that Harry need only put his name on his application in order to qualify - but he and Hermione had done some very private celebrating all the same. She had then spent most of the day shopping in London with her mum until the snowfall began, so by the time she arrived at Grimmauld Place, she was more interested in the comfort of Ron's bed. After all, she only had a handful of nights left to spend with him.

"You've got to stay up until midnight, though," said Ron, "because we have to have a New Year's kiss."

Smiling warmly at him, Hermione inched herself closer. Most people wouldn't have suspected that he would be the romantic one in a relationship, but it hadn't really surprised her. He had the biggest heart of anyone she knew.

"Couldn't we just kiss now and pretend it's midnight?"

"We could, but where's the fun in that?"

Hermione leaned forward to catch his lips with hers anyway, then shifted around so that she could rest against his shoulder. There was only another hour or so remaining in 1998, so she was content to spend it just like this, watching the three of them squabble over Quidditch. It was a miracle that all of them were here, anyway, given the way that the year had unfolded. Twelve months ago, Hermione had thought that she would never be with Ron, and Harry had grown more obsessed with finding the Deathly Hallows and less interested in destroying Horcruxes by the day, and there were plenty of times when Hermione had all but completely given up. And yet here they were.

"You could play Seeker," Harry was saying to Ginny, "and use one of your reserve Chasers."

"But if there's a recruiter there, they'll be expecting me to play Chaser," said Ginny. "You really should have thought about this before you decided to go off saving the world again."

"You know what, you're right," Harry quipped back. "Let me just write to the Minister of Magic and tell him I've changed my mind."

"Why don't you try out for the Quidditch team?" Ron joked to Hermione, squeezing her knee with a large hand.

"Yeah, maybe I will," Hermione snapped back sarcastically. "And maybe you should adopt an acromantula for a pet."

And so the night wore on, the wine taking hold in their systems, their laughter filling the air, the crackling fireplace keeping them warm. It wouldn't always be easy like this. The coming year would bring more responsibility and more obstacles, but at least tonight they could be carefree in a way that the past seven years had rarely allowed. There was no insurmountable threat hanging over them, no life-threatening danger, just the rest of their lives ahead of them.

At the very moment that the clock on the mantle struck midnight, Ron pulled Hermione toward him, Harry and Ginny's presence be damned, and placed a soft kiss on her lips, the sort of kiss that told her he wanted a hundred more New Year's Eve nights just like this one. And then, because Harry and Ginny seemed to want to be alone, Hermione bade them goodnight and led Ron up to his own room.

"I'm suddenly not tired anymore," Hermione said coyly, gripping the sides of Ron's jumper and angling her face up to kiss him.

He happily obliged her, tightening his arms around her so that she popped up off off her feet. One by one, articles of clothing dropped to the floor, hands running along flushed skin, lips traveling to exactly the right places on each other's bodies. They fell onto the bed, shoving blankets out of the way, and soon Hermione was opening her legs and Ron was driving inside her. He wasn't trying to be gentle tonight and she didn't want him to be; she just wanted to feel him as much as she could. Their lives were on the brink of drastically changing, but before they did, she wanted to seize every second of what they already had.

When their bodies separated, Ron placing a soft, wet kiss on her lips, a lump grew in Hermione's throat. She used his wand to clean them both up a bit, and Ron fetched the rumpled duvet from the foot of the bed, arranging it lovingly around her. As she usually did, Hermione nestled against his side, her head on his chest.

"I love you." Ron sounded half-asleep as he touched his lips to her forehead. "I love you so much."

Being with Ron was so much more than Hermione had ever expected. It constantly amazed her that they could lose themselves in passion and lust and utter need for each other, and then in the next moment, he was incredibly tender and sweet; they still bickered and debated and drove everyone around them spare, but she also knew she could lie in his arms and tell him anything and everything on her mind. But as in love with him as she was, she didn't want to sacrifice herself to her relationship. She was always independent, and she was not the sort of person who cried because she missed her boyfriend.

"I - I love you too," Hermione replied, her voice hoarse, one determined tear dripping onto his bare chest.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, running a hand over her hair. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she sniffled, realizing as she did that it was hardly going to convince him to believe her.

"No, you're not. What's up?"

"I'm just being stupid."

"You've never been stupid in your life," said Ron. "Is everything okay?"

"I was just thinking about how much it's all going to change when I leave on Sunday," she confessed, studying a particularly concentrated patch of freckles on his chest. "I know we'll be fine but when I think about not seeing you every day-"

"Ooh, don't say things like that," Ron interrupted, "or I'm going to want to go back with you."

"But that's just the thing, we both have things we need to do now and so - so we should do them. And we shouldn't feel bad about it," Hermione stated, trying to convince herself as well as Ron. "I don't know why I'm acting like it's the end of the world, I'll survive without you."

"Thanks," Ron said dryly. "Look, not that I want you to be upset, but - I mean, we make each other happy, right? I know you make me happy."

"Right…"

"Right. So the fact that you feel this way, it doesn't make you - I know what you're worried about," he said confidently. "You don't want to be the sort of girl whose life revolves around her boyfriend. And I promise you, you're not." He touched his lips lightly to her hair. "And I wouldn't want you to be, either, that's not the person I fell in love with."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, her chin pushing into his chest. "So then why do I feel like this?"

"Well…" He was smiling; Hermione didn't have to look at him to know that. "I reckon I'm just that good in bed-"

"Oh, stop!" she laughed, poking him firmly on the shoulder.

"It's true though, right?" Ron tightened his arm around her shoulders and tipped her onto her back, placing a soft kiss on her neck. "I at least know what you like…" His mouth trailed over the column of her throat as he ran a hand up her side. "Like when I do this…" He cupped a hand over her breast; Hermione sighed at the contact.

"Ron," she breathed, winding her arms around his neck. He had a way of making her mind go blank in the very best way, and she welcomed it tonight.

"Hmm?" He nibbled on the skin covering her collarbone.

"No more talking."

•••

It didn't have to be a big deal, Hermione told herself as she stepped onto Platform 9 . Nevermind that she had - as much as she had tried to resist it - grown blissfully accustomed to seeing Ron every day, to falling asleep with the warmth of his skin on hers. Nevermind that she genuinely had never experienced Hogwarts without him; she could handle this. She was nineteen, she was Head Girl, and it wasn't as though she was never going to see Ron again. In the grand scheme of things, these weeks were almost negligible, bound to pass by in the blink of an eye.

And yet, now that the moment was upon them, an awful sense of dread fell over her at the unpleasant reality before them.

"This is weird," Ron commented, leaning back against a brick pillar and studying the scarlet train before him. "It's strange to be here and not be getting on the train."

"Good though, right?" asked Hermione from beside him.

"It is," he confirmed, sounding sheepish in his admission. "And you know, you could always apply to be an Auror too, you've got until the end of the day and we'd be lucky to have you-

"You know I don't want to be an Auror."

"Yeah, I know, I'm just joking with you." He turned, rather suddenly, and hugged her, one hand on her hair and the other splayed against her back. "I'm just really going to miss you."

"It's going to be fine," Hermione stated firmly into the woolen fabric of his cloak. "It's only a few weeks, that's nothing."

But if it were truly nothing, Hermione wouldn't have locked her arms around his waist like this, she wouldn't be trying to memorize the way his fingertips grazed over her hair, she wouldn't be wishing for a Time Turner to relive the moment over and over again. She would be treating this like any other day, but nothing about it felt normal.

"When's the next Hogsmeade trip again?"

"Thirteenth of February," said Hermione. "Almost Valentine's Day."

"We'd better book ourselves a room soon then, before they're all taken," Ron chuckled into her ear.

"Because that went so well the last time?"

"Sure it did-"

A long, sharp blast issued from the whistle of the train, signifying one minute until its departure. Hermione leaned back just enough to see the jocular expression slide off of Ron's face. She stood on tiptoe, pressing her lips against his, trying to pretend like it was just any other kiss, not their last for five weeks.

"I love you," muttered Ron against her lips. "And I'll write you every day, I discussed it with Pig and he's up for the task-"

"I love you too." Hermione kissed him again, finding him leaning into it. "I've got to go, I really can't miss the train."

"Mmhmm," Ron nodded absently, still keeping his lips on hers in a warm, languorous exchange. "Just one more."

As though through a fog, Hermione heard compartment doors slamming shut and the engine of the train rumbling to life. She had about thirty seconds left, and she wanted every single one of them with him… but being Head Girl, she really, really couldn't miss the train, and reluctantly she pulled away from him.

"Okay," Ron breathed, shifting a hand around to cup her face. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

"It'll be here before you know it."

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