A/N: I'm updating again, can you believe it? (And the next chapter's half done already, but let's pretend I didn't tell you that.) Thank you once again for all the support and for your thoughts and insights, you guys are the best! On with it!

If Dean Thomas had been expecting to live in the lap of luxury during his final term at Hogwarts, with a dormitory for three all to himself, he was sorely, sorely mistaken. In the evenings leading up to the match against Ravenclaw, Hermione watched on as Ginny and her Quidditch team trooped up the stairs and into the eighth year boys' dorm. "It's easier here than in the locker room," was Ginny's reasoning the first time she settled herself onto what had once been Harry's bed, a thick playbook in her lap. "And it's less crowded than the common room."

It wasn't, really: it hadn't been that large of a room when occupied by three eighteen-year-olds, and when the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with Hermione and Dean (who was an excellent sport about the whole thing), had crammed themselves inside, there was hardly a free patch of carpet.

Hermione always wound up attending these meetings, partly in support of Ginny, partly because it was better than being alone, but mostly because she couldn't stand the thought that anyone else might make themselves comfortable on Ron's bed, even for an hour or two, even inadvertently. It wasn't really his anymore - the elves had certainly seen to that - but Hermione still felt she needed it to be hers and hers alone. She almost didn't care that it was irrational, possibly even petty. Ron had been gone for weeks, and she had made her peace with that, but sitting on the bed that had once been his was one of her only ways to feel physically close to him.

And it occurred to her, as she leaned against the headboard and watched Ginny levitate a parchment covered in wriggling Xs and Os so that her team could see, that she had never spent a whole night in this bed. She had always left, feeling the obligation of her role as Head Girl pulling her away with a sort of unavoidable magnetism. Maybe the war had established in her the belief that what could go wrong, would - not to mention the article in the Daily Prophet after her birthday that still made her cringe - but she had always expected that she would be needed, and that she certainly shouldn't be located in her boyfriend's bed when the moment arose. Of course, it never had. Even with him right there in Gryffindor Tower, she had chosen to spend every night alone, and now that he was countless miles away, she would do anything to have him there.

Except she wouldn't, really, because she wasn't going to jeopardize either of his jobs, or her schooling, or inadvertently render him miserable by bringing him back to the castle, but the things she was willing to do were rapidly increasing in number. Last weekend had been a tease. It had reminded her just what she was missing, and more, just how much she missed it. She missed Ron's voice - she had been wondering, since she kissed him goodbye on High Street, if she could devise a way to speak with him nightly - she missed his hands, she missed the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed… but none of that came across in a letter, as much as they might try.

"Now, remember," Ginny was saying, "Ravenclaw might have the best Seeker in the school, but we've got the best team overall. Keep their Seeker distracted - Peakes, that's on you - and keep our score high and theirs low, and we'll have no problems."

She really was good at this. With a book in her lap, Hermione had watched as Ginny had talked them through plays and strategies, their attention rapt the entire time. What she hadn't told them was that a recruiter from the Holyhead Harpies would once again be in the stands, lest they be distracted by such a presence. And if Ginny was nervous, she was hiding it well, her ever-present confidence exuding from every pore as she dismissed her team and began to pack up her things. Lying on his stomach on his own bed, Dean had let the whole thing carry on with an amused resignation as he half-heartedly completed his Potions essay. Hermione sensed that he was experiencing the same doubts she was; his own relationship had been long-distance for months now.

As the team filed out, Ginny slowly gathered her belongings. Hermione had the distinct impression that she wasn't terribly keen on leaving the dorm either.

"So, Harry'll be here at eleven tomorrow," said Ginny, shuffling her stack of parchment. "He said he'll meet you by the gates, if that's okay."

"It's fine," Hermione sniffed. "That sounds good."

In the tense silence that followed, Ginny rearranged her parchment again, clearly stalling. The voices of the team in the hallway slowly faded, leaving the scratching of Dean's quill to fill the room.

"Ron'd be there if he could," Ginny supplied finally. "I'm sure he feels awful-"

"I know," Hermione cut her off. "It isn't his fault."

Another silence ensued. Dean looked up from his own work, eyes darting between the two, then seemed to decide it was best to let them be.

"I'm not mad at him," Hermione felt compelled to add. "I'm just disappointed that the scheduling didn't work out."

And if she was honest, really, truly honest with herself, she had allowed her own jealousy of Ginny to spiral a bit out of control over these past six days. Harry would be there. And even if Ginny was playing in the match most of the time, she would still see him. At times, when Hermione was feeling especially bitter, she wondered if Harry hadn't been done some sort of favor by whomever at the Ministry controlled Auror training (even if her rational side knew that the Ministry likely couldn't have cared less about Hogwarts Quidditch). She constantly found herself wishing that things were different, and yet she felt powerless to enact any sort of real change. All she could do was wait, and she had never been a very patient person.

"Anyway," said Dean as the room grew evermore quiet, "as much as you lot are always welcome to visit, I sort of wanted to sleep - Seamus is coming to the match, so-"

"Right," Hermione said at once. "Yes, we'll go, come on, Ginny."

With one last look at the initials carved into the bed frame, Hermione hauled herself up and made her way to the door.

•••

The following morning arrived with heavy clouds and intermittent rain, which spattered erratically on the castle windows. While Ginny burst out of bed the instant her alarm sounded and dressed in her Quidditch robes at near-lightning speed, bouncing round the dormitory like a Cornish pixie, Hermione felt as though her own limbs were made of lead as she pulled on her uniform and wove her hair into a long plait at the back of her neck. She knew she should probably show some enthusiasm and be supportive of Ginny, but it was difficult to muster much excitement for the day ahead. She kept imagining meeting Harry at the gates - just Harry - and the fact that she loved him like a brother didn't assuage the heavy pit of disappointment in her stomach.

Breakfast at the Gryffindor table before a match was always an anxiety-ridden affair, and this morning was no different. Most of the team picked at their food, their faces varying ashen shades, before Ginny stood, palms on the table, and demanded that everyone join her in the locker room. They had no choice but to follow her out as the mail owls swooped in overhead. Hermione wasn't expecting a letter - she had just sent one to Ron the day before - and as others opened parcels and unfurled scrolls of parchment, she finished her porridge alone. The ceiling above her head showed iron-grey clouds and thick, misty fog; it was not ideal weather for spectating a match, but Hermione proceeded out to the stadium regardless. Outside, the air was damp and near-freezing, the type that chilled a person to the bone. It would have been the perfect excuse to curl up under a blanket with Ron, nestle against him for warmth... but as it was, she supposed she would just have to use a warming charm.

At the castle gates, visitors were beginning to stream onto the grounds between the winged-boar statues. Weaving her way past throngs of parents and hyperactive younger siblings, Hermione made her way to the very edge of the castle grounds, where the path to and from Hogsmeade met the threshold of the gates, and prepared to wait. Rising on tiptoe, she scanned the crowd for any sign of Harry's untidy black hair. He couldn't be long now: he had never been the most punctual of people, but certainly he wouldn't be late on a day like this. Squinting at the stragglers at the back of the crowd, she pondered if he had somehow been delayed. Poor Harry, she thought sympathetically. All he wanted was to watch his girlfriend play Quidditch, and he was probably being hounded for autographs-

A hand fell on Hermione's shoulder, and she spun around to see Harry, and beside him - Ron?! It couldn't be, and yet there he stood, an enormous grin on his face, gut-wrenchingly gorgeous, the deep crimson of his jumper peeking out from under a dark cloak. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat, then resume a rapid tattoo against her ribs, and as he leaned down to kiss her, she stepped back.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, voice shrill. "Don't you have your training?"

"No," he smiled, "I don't-"

"Did you change it?!"

"No," he laughed again, "it was never - it's next weekend - I wanted to surprise you," he said, "and I reckon it worked."

"Oh!" Relief flooded through her in one swift rush: he was here. And he had always meant to be here. She flung her arms around his neck, making him laugh into her ear, his hands on her waist to pull her close. "Oh, you scared me-"

But she cut herself off, finding his smiling lips for a kiss. For a second, the din around them subsided into the background; she forgot Harry was not-so-patiently waiting for them to join him in the Quidditch stadium, or that crowds of visitors still milled around them. Ron was here, now peppering kisses onto her lips in rapid succession, and the past week of yearning for him melted into oblivion.

"I scared you?" he asked, grinning, his nose brushing against hers.

"Yes!" Hermione snuck another kiss. "I thought-"

Her words were interrupted by a jubilant roar from the stadium, and she realized, with a shade of disappointment, that the match was beginning imminently, and they were expected to actually watch it. Harry led the way, partly out of his own urgency but partly because Hermione kept tugging Ron down to kiss her as they were walking. It kept resulting in his mouth landing somewhere near her lips, but not quite - her nose, the corner of her mouth, her chin - which just made him laugh and stop in his tracks so he could kiss her properly. Hermione hadn't felt this giddy in months, if ever, and at the moment, she didn't care what anyone else thought about it. Ron was here, he'd surprised her, and now that she had recovered from the shock of it, she was going to take advantage of every second.

As they weren't exactly timely in their arrival to the stadium, the only seats left in the Gryffindor section were in the very top row of the stands. They climbed the wooden steps, ignoring the curious gaze of the younger students, and settled onto the bench just in time to see Ginny and the Ravenclaw Captain shaking hands in the center of the pitch. As fourteen athletes soared into the air, transforming into blurs of scarlet and gold, blue and bronze, Harry jumped to his feet to see over the tops of the spectators in front of them. After a second, Ron and Hermione stood as well, the former leaning back against the wooden railing.

"Ooh, don't do that," Hermione requested anxiously. "What if it breaks?"

"I can do magic," was Ron's airy response. "I'll make it."

To Ron's right, Harry was making quick work of screaming himself hoarse in support of Ginny, his fists flying into the air as she scored the first goal of the game. Hermione watched Ron's reaction, the grin that spread over his face as he applauded his sister, but something about him had stiffened somewhat, and her eyes kept darting over to him as he leaned back against the railing again. Unsurprisingly, she found him infinitely more riveting than match unfolding in the air in front of her, and she could sense that he hadn't fully relaxed.

"Is it strange for you?" Hermione asked him. "Being back here?"

Ron crinkled his nose in response. "Not really."

She glanced at the castle, looming large in the distance, and wasn't sure if she believed him or not. But he'd tolerated four whole months, and even managed to make the best of it at times, and it had to be jarring, now, to watch a team he'd been on for two and a half years play without him.

"Do you wish that was still you out there?" she continued, smiling to try to coax out one of his own.

"Nah," he replied, his blue eyes flitting back and forth as he tracked the athletes in the air.

Gryffindor scored again - Demelza this time - and while Harry was jumping around yelling and hugging students he'd never met before, Ron was decidedly subdued. Quiet, even.

And Ron, in all the years Hermione had known him, had never been quiet during a Quidditch match. Even when he didn't like either team that was playing, he still became invested, still shouted at the wireless as though it might impact the outcome, but now, even with his sister Captaining the Gryffindor team, he simply clapped for her.

"Hey," said Hermione quietly, maneuvering her hand into his. "Are you okay?"

"Mmhmm."

But he wasn't looking at her, instead cringing as the Gryffindor Keeper - his successor - narrowly allowed Ravenclaw to score. Harry cursed loudly.

"Did you really think I changed it?" Ron asked, his voice strangely even. "The training?"

"Well-" Hermione paused, puzzled. "Yes - you'd said it was this weekend-"

"And so that was your first thought?"

"What do you - what else would I have thought?"

"So you really thought," he began, his eyes determinedly trained on the pitch, "when I showed up here today, that I'd gotten myself out of Auror training so I could come to a Quidditch match?"

The crowd around them in the stadium had become a large, humming mass of energy, but once again, it grew distant, receding into the background. Hermione's forehead puckered as she squinted at Ron, desperate to understand.

"I don't know what else you want me to have thought," she said finally.

"Okay," Ron nodded, and Ravenclaw scored again.

Why had she even asked, upon seeing him, what had happened? She always had to know everything, the what and the why and the how, and she was always looking gift horses in the mouth. She should have just kissed him, and told him how thrilled she was to see him, and he wouldn't be standing next to her like this, lightly gnawing on the inside of his lip and staring blankly at the pitch.

"Ron, what's wrong?" she asked after several moments of thick, excruciating silence had passed and his hand had fallen slack around hers. "What did I do?"

Lips pulled between his teeth, he let out a long, distressed breath through his nose. "I'm - I've been trying to be... better, lately. Responsible. And do what I'm supposed to do, not just what I want to do." His throat bobbed; out on the pitch, Ginny narrowly avoided being knocked off her broom by a Bludger. "But you can't see that."

"I didn't mean anything by it," she was quick to tell him. "It was just the first logical conclusion."

"Not that I was planning on surprising you the whole time?"

"Well - no - my first instinct isn't to assume you've lied to me," she said, desperate to banish the resignation, the hurt, from his face.

Because whatever he'd said, she could see it, the way he had grown up during the war. It was in every letter he wrote her, in the pride he took in the shop and all the effort he poured into Auror training. She knew he wasn't the fifteen-year-old who played Hangman with Harry during class and then asked to borrow her notes, but what was more, she had adored him back then too.

Only, she hadn't shown him. The way things were right now, it was hard to have the chance. She only had her words, inked onto parchment and flown across the country, but when it came to Ron, actions always spoke louder.

"But it's not really a lie," he said, "just a white lie - I wanted you to know the truth the whole time."

"I've just gone so long thinking-"

"I know you have."

A drizzling, spitting sort of rain had begun to fall. Hermione knew that the tendrils of her hair that had escaped her plait were frizzing wildly around her head, but she only focused on Ron. Droplets clung to the ends of his hair, darkening the strands into auburn, but he only had eyes for the match before them.

"Please," said Hermione, "you're making more of this than it is. You know I don't think that about you."

He nodded, stoic, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips. "All right."

She took his hand again, giving it a squeeze until he turned to look at her, and in that instant, a roar of triumph erupted from the Ravenclaw end of the stadium: Ravenclaw's Seeker soared through the sky, the Snitch clutched in his fist.

"Fuck." Harry was shoving anxiously past them in his haste to reach the aisle. "Ron, I'll see you at home."

As Harry flew down the steps, no doubt on his way to comfort Ginny, Ron's shoulders sagged.

"I've probably got to go, haven't I."

It was not a question, but a somber declaration, and Hermione hated that he was right. All visitors, as she knew from the official Hogwarts rule book that she had received upon becoming a prefect, had to be out of castle bounds within fifteen minutes of the end of the match.

Even if the match itself had barely lasted fifteen minutes.

"Just - wait a few minutes," Hermione pleaded. "I don't want to leave like this."

"It's okay," he said, and once again, she wasn't sure she believed him. "You're right, I'm probably overthinking it."

Disappointed Gryffindor students were milling past them now, trudging back to the castle, where they would no doubt commiserate in the common room. Hermione ignored them, ignored their curious eyes, their friendly invitations and greetings to Ron. She stood on her toes to bring herself closer to Ron, longing to return to the way things had been when he had first arrived and they couldn't keep their hands and lips and eyes off each other.

"I'm really glad you came," she told him, moving in to press her lips to his. He returned the kiss, short, sweet, and then sprinkled a couple kisses along her cheek. "You have to know, I was so happy to see you."

"I know, I - yeah," he replied with the corner of his mouth twitching upward, "me too."

The stands were emptying now, leaving them even more exposed to prying eyes, so Hermione led Ron reluctantly by the hand to the stairs, moving slowly, gripping his fingers so tightly that she threatened to cut off his circulation. But she didn't care, really, that she was clinging to him or that she was considering sentencing Ravenclaw's Seeker to a week's detention for being too efficient.

Nothing about this was fair. The match had been unprecedentedly brief, and they had spent half of it in a terse not-quite-argument. Now he had to leave, and she probably wouldn't see him until the Easter hols in April. She would miss his birthday. And that old party line of doing what they had to do, what they were supposed to do, it wasn't enough anymore. It wasn't easing the ache or making the distance more tolerable. It didn't change the fact that she wished, every single night, that the things they needed would align.

When they reached the winged boar statues, Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around Ron's neck. The rain had picked up, soaking resolutely into their cloaks, but she still would have stood there all day if it meant he didn't have to leave.

"I love you," she whispered, closing her eyes to block out everything else.

"I love you too."

His lips found hers again, but it felt like they had just barely touched before they broke apart. She wanted to ask him to stay, to say that they'd find a way for him to sneak back out if she could just get a little more time with him… but instead she just hugged him one last time and watched as he disappeared into the growing horde of people leaving the grounds.

As he faded from sight, she found herself directionless. Ginny was certainly with Harry, who understood better than anyone the pain of a Quidditch loss. Though the fifteen post-match minutes were rapidly dwindling, Harry was Harry, and he wasn't going to leave until he was good and ready. He had his own ways, anyway, Hermione mused as she gazed at the still-open gates. McGonagall had a soft spot for both him and Quidditch, and would let him use her Floo. And there was always Kreacher, who would Apparate him anywhere he pleased.

Something switched in Hermione's exhausted, overactive brain. Kreacher…

The gates began to swing shut, their timeworn hinges groaning as they moved. Mere seconds remained for the decision to be made, and really, it was one of the easiest she had ever faced. Quickly scanning the grounds, she found herself experiencing a blessed moment of solitude, and seized the opportunity, bolting through the gates just before they slammed together.

She'd done it. And there was no turning back now even if she wanted to. Without so much as even a backward glance at the castle, she clutched her wand and turned on the spot, concentrating hard on the front porch of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. She wasted no time entering the house upon landing, but immediately found the entryway cold and dark.

"Ron?" she called, peering into the drawing room as she hurried down the hall. "Ron, it's me, I need to talk to you."

But the basement kitchen was empty, and her footsteps pounding up the staircase to his bedroom made the only sound in the house. She flung open the door to his room, and while the sight of his rumpled, unmade bed and overflowing hamper in the corner was achingly familiar, it also confirmed that Ron had not come home.

Hermione leaned against the wall, resisting the powerful urge to bury herself in Ron's blankets and never leave, and tried to think logically. She was already on borrowed time, and she couldn't waste any more of it Apparating around London. It was unlikely that he would go to the Burrow; she knew he and Harry typically went there on Sundays, for dinner. Most Saturdays were spent at the joke shop with George, and a hot wave of guilt surged through Hermione as she realized Ron had asked for the past two weekends off just for her.

With one last look around the room, Hermione shut the door and headed back downstairs.

Diagon Alley was bright and sunny, albeit cold, in stark contrast to the humid drizzle of Hogwarts. The shop still stood out like a beacon among the other storefronts, though as time had passed since the war, more and more businesses had been resurrected. As she entered, a bell on the door jangled and George, behind the counter, looked up from organizing a display of Puking Pastilles.

"Hermione - hey-"

"Is Ron here?" she asked. "He wasn't at home-"

"Yeah, he's in the stockroom," he nodded, beckoning her behind the counter. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"You're one to talk," she spat back, which only made him laugh as he opened up the doorway to the back offices for her.

"First door on the right."

The doors on the left, the offices, were tightly shut, but the door to the stockroom was ajar, so Hermione pushed tentatively through.

Ron had his back to her, and she observed as his strong arms hoisted boxes of Fanged Flyers onto a shelf above his head. He had shed his cloak, but still wore the same crimson jumper from earlier, which hitched up as he raised his arms to reveal a sliver of pale skin above his trousers.

"Hi," she called across the room, the simple greeting reverberating off the walls.

At the sound of her voice, Ron spun around so quickly that he nearly lost balance.

"What're you doing here?" he exclaimed, crossing the room to meet her. "Is everything okay?"

"I have to talk to you," she said, shutting the door behind herself. "I couldn't let you leave the way you did, not when - Ron, you've got it all wrong."

His mouth hung halfway open. "Er-"

"I did think that you switched the day of your training so that you could see me," she stated. "But not because I think you're irresponsible, because I don't. If I did, I never would have encouraged you to take both jobs."

"Hermione-"

"I'm not done," she said, freezing him in his tracks. "It was my first thought because you - for as long as I've known you, you've always put the people you love first, before anything else. And that is not a bad thing," she concluded firmly. "It's a wonderful thing. It's one of the things I love most about you."

Ron's features relaxed then into a soft, warm smile. "Really?"

"Yes! Look where you are right now, on what was obviously supposed to be a day off for you, look at everything you've done for George, and Harry - and I'm sorry," she added, stepping forward to take his hands. "I'm sorry I haven't done a good job showing you how amazing I think you are."

"C'mere," he muttered, using her hands to pull her close and claiming her lips with his. As they kissed, hungrily, Ron walked her backwards, letting go of her hands so he could push her cloak off of her shoulders. It dropped to the floor just as the back of Hermione's thighs met the edge of a crate of Chocolate Frogs. "You snuck out of Hogwarts," he marveled in disbelief, kissing the corner of her mouth and her jaw.

"I did."

"You snuck out for me," he repeated, breathless.

"Of course I did."

Strong hands closed on her waist, boosting her up to sit atop the crate. Immediately her legs locked around his hips, drawing him to her, and their lips met again.

"How much time do you have?" he asked, lips brushing hers.

"I'm already not supposed to be here," she reminded him. "So if you have something in mind…"

He responded by reaching for the buttons on her cardigan and kissing her again, tongue plunging into her mouth. Hermione couldn't believe she had even considered settling for the chaste kisses they had shared at the match, or that she had resisted his invitations to Apparate home with him last weekend. He was kissing her now like his life depended on it, and she felt the same just now, like oxygen was nothing compared to him.

Her fingers slid up the coarse wool of his jumper and over the nape of his neck, sinking into his still-wet hair. She hadn't been this close to him in weeks, and the scent of his hair combined with the rain and the taste of his tongue was dizzying, and she could hardly draw breath. He dragged his lips down over her jaw and onto the pulse point of her throat, teeth nipping at her skin. She let out a long, ragged sigh, leaning back to allow him better access.

"This is mental," he mumbled against her neck, though his words didn't stop him unbuttoning her blouse. "Completely mental."

"I don't care if you don't."

Ron paused, momentarily pensive, and then straightened up enough to pull his wand from his back pocket and cast a locking spell at the door.

"Nah, I definitely don't," he said, just before his lips landed on hers again.

More than anything, Hermione wanted to savour this, to relish in every single touch and kiss and not worry about the fact that she was supposed to be hundreds of miles away, and she still didn't completely have a plan for how to get back, but real life still loomed in the background, even as Ron's hand snaked inside her blouse.

"Take this off," she instructed, pulling futilely on his jumper, trying to work it up his lean torso.

He grinned and happily did as told, grasping the wool behind his neck to worm out of it. As he tossed it carelessly away, Hermione let her eyes take in the sight of him, his freckled skin and the scars crossing his arms and his shoulder. She had missed him so much, she just wanted to drink him in, but then his lips were on her neck again and her mind went blissfully blank.

His hands found the elastic holding her plait together and loosened it so that her hair fell in untamed waves around her face, and her blouse was pushed gently over her shoulders as his mouth moved down, breath warm on her skin. She could feel every single beat of her heart as he kissed over the top of her breasts, lips gentle and soft and yet somehow searing hot.

"Ooh, the front-opening kind," he chuckled, easily unhooking the clasp between her breasts so that her bra fell open. "It's like you planned this."

"I wish I had."

Ron dropped a kiss where the clasp had just been and then pushed the cotton fabric to the sides so as to press his tongue to one of her nipples. Hermione bit her lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatened at the back of her throat. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders as he shifted his attention to her other breast; every single one of her senses had been heightened and she could hardly bear the demanding, pulsing heat between her legs. Sitting up a bit straighter, she reached for the waist of his trousers, hands setting to work on his belt, as he kissed her full on the mouth again.

"Fuck," he gasped as she reached into his pants and wrapped her hand around him.

Up and down she stroked as he groaned into her mouth, using her free hand to shove his trousers and pants just below his hips. Even a second now seemed far too long to wait, and he clearly agreed as he moved a hand under her skirt and pulled her knickers down her thighs. Inching closer to the edge of the crate, Hermione shifted her legs even further apart, and in one swift motion Ron sank into her.

"Oh God," she sighed, locking her ankles at the small of his back, unable to believe this was happening, finally, after all these weeks away.

Ron's lips were glued to hers as he started to move inside her, slowly at first, as though he too was scared to disturb the moment lest he shatter it.

"I love you," he mumbled against her lips, one hand secure at her back to hold her close, the other edging under her skirt again.

"I love you too."

She tore her mouth from his to lay kisses on his shoulder as his thumb sought out the point where their bodies had joined, causing her legs to shudder. He had been right before, this was completely mental - they were in the stockroom of the joke shop, of all places, with love potions and Acid Pops all around them - but he was making her feel too brilliant for her to really bother caring. They moved faster together, falling into a rhythm, lips fusing against sweaty skin, and soon Hermione was biting down on his neck to keep from crying out, her release cresting and crashing over her. He wasn't far behind, pumping into her and groaning her name into her hair, and then they stilled, chests heaving, hearts pounding.

With an impossibly gentle kiss to her lips, Ron withdrew and cast a couple of simple cleansing spells upon them. As he pulled his trousers back up, Hermione moved her clothing back into place, knowing she should feel far more urgency than she actually did.

"You've probably got to go soon, haven't you," said Ron, an air of resignation in his voice as he retrieved her knickers from the floor.

"I was never supposed to be here at all," she reminded him. "I still don't even know how I'm going to get back in."

"I'm sure you'll find a way."

Hermione didn't blame him for sounding unconcerned, and as he kissed her again, his chest still bare, she detected the word just behind his lips that she knew he would never say: stay. It wouldn't be fair of him to ask, not when they both knew she had to be back in Gryffindor tower within the hour. She didn't want to tell him no, and he didn't want to hear it, so she just kept kissing him, unhurried, as though she could freeze time by sheer force of will.

But she couldn't, and in the end - once Ron had finally relented and gotten fully dressed - they found Harry back at Grimmauld Place. Dismayed by the match as he still was, he didn't ask questions, and instead summoned Kreacher, who grudgingly Apparated Hermione back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor.

When she returned to her dorm, she found a morose Ginny lying on her four-poster, still in her Quidditch robes.

"I'm sorry about the match-" Hermione began, but Ginny dismissed her with an airy wave of her hand.

"Don't be. We can beat Hufflepuff in May, I just have to focus on that now." She sat up, her ponytail all in disarray. "Where've you been, anyway?"

"Oh." She could tell the truth, she realized, without sharing all of the details. "Just doing what I wanted to do for once."

"Good," Ginny nodded her approval. "You should do that more often."

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