A/N: Let's get into some real talk. That last chapter made me nervous. I was so scared that it hadn't come off like I hoped that I was terrified to check reviews... but I needn't have worried and was so so happy to see that everyone liked it! I know I'm a broken record, but it truly means the world.

As it turns out, I'm an extremely slow writer these days. Real Life(TM) has become increasingly more stressful and sometimes I get home from work and can't fathom making my brain continue to function in any sort of meaningful way. Weekends are kind of my only opportunity and so even though the ideas are rolling around in my brain, demanding to be put into words... it just takes time. The other side of that is that this chapter really got away from me to the point where it had to be split into two, so the next one should be along shortly. Thanks again for all the love, and on with it!

Leave it to Hermione to be punctual. Since the twenty-fifth of February, a thick, folded bit of parchment had sat on Ron's bedside table, clearly marked DO NOT READ UNTIL 1ST MARCH, and the suspense was absolutely killing him. Why had she had to send it four days early? He had been so excited to receive such a long letter from her, only to find that he wasn't allowed to read it yet - and knowing her, she would bewitch it so that he couldn't cheat - and each day leading up to his nineteenth birthday had dragged more slowly than the last. Now, though he had been at the shop late last night doing inventory (and George couldn't understand his sudden fondness for the storage room), he woke just after dawn and crept down to the kitchen, letter in hand. He'd fix beans on toast, he'd treat himself to a butterbeer, and then, finally, he'd read.

His mum had been big on birthdays growing up, always making up for a lack of funds for gifts with an outpouring of attention and affection, but he really didn't feel he needed any of that this year. What he wanted was to see Hermione, but there was only so much sneaking out that she could do, so he planned to treat this as though it were any other day. He wasn't five years old, he reminded himself as he used his wand to open a can of beans. He didn't need a fuss made over his birthday anymore.

Settling in at the table, Ron unfolded the parchment - there were several sheets, he noticed with glee - and sipped his butterbeer, delighted at the sight of so much of Hermione's penmanship.

Dear Ron,

Happy birthday! I love you so much. Every single day, I thank my lucky stars that you were born, and that we found our way to each other, and that you have chosen me to love. You're my best friend and my favorite person in the world, and there aren't words to properly describe what you mean to me. I know your last couple of birthdays haven't exactly been as good as you deserve, and I wish so badly that I could be there with you today.

But since I can't be there in person, I'll have to describe to you exactly what I'd do if I was...

It was detailed. It was graphic. It was creative. The butterbeer and beans on toast sat forgotten as he devoured her words, his entire body growing warmer the longer the letter stretched on. Ron was positive he had never gone so red in the face, not even at times when he had been actually having sex with her. It was just stunning, seeing handwriting that he had so long associated with things like History of Magic notes and prefect schedules, now forming words that made him eternally grateful he had chosen to read this alone. She had actually composed this letter herself, probably gone somewhere quiet - oh Merlin, had she written it in the library? - and settled in to write, confident in the effect it would have on him. And had it done the same to her? Had her skin flushed the way his was doing now? Was she reveling in her own secret knowledge of what he was reading right now?

And how was he going to last thirty more days until the Easter hols?

Then, Hermione had written, I'd run my tongue along your-

"Mornin'," came Harry's cheerful voice from the doorway as he padded into the kitchen. "Oi, happy birthday, mate."

"Y-yeah," Ron stammered back. "Thanks."

He turned his attention back to the parchment, trying to block out the sound of Harry bustling about in the kitchen for his own breakfast. Hermione's tongue, he reminded himself. She'd been doing some fantastic things with it in her letter, and he was quite keen to see how she concluded all of this, though he had a few theories of his own about how things might go.

"Are we going to the Burrow tonight?" Harry asked, noisily setting a tea kettle on the range.

"Dunno," Ron muttered back, half of his mind still on Hermione's tongue and the other half debating whether he could get away with hexing Harry.

"You all right?" asked Harry. "You look a little, I dunno, peaky."

Do not hex him, Ron told himself, closing his eyes in an effort to calm down. He's your best friend. Your sister loves him. He doesn't know.

"Nah, I'm okay, I-" Ron glanced at his forgotten breakfast. "I just need a shower."

Grabbing up the letter, he bolted from the room.

An hour later, he was standing in a lift at the Ministry with Harry, attempting futilely to shift his mind away from the images Hermione had burned into his imagination and into Auror mode, when Harry suddenly spoke.

"I don't know if I mentioned this," he said as the floors ticked by, "but I was talking to Kingsley the other day - I think you'd already left for the shop - and he was saying that they're still monitoring all of the mail in and out of Hogwarts."

Ron was sure his entire face had gone instantaneously maroon. "Wh-what?"

"Just as a safety measure," Harry added. "They said there's no harm in being cautious, so they're reading everything. They're being pretty thorough, too, checking for hidden codes, all of it."

"No," Ron muttered, almost to himself, his knees suddenly wobbly. "N-no, they can't be, they wouldn't-"

"They're not," Harry confessed, voice shaking with laughter, and Ron turned to see him looking like Christmas had come early. "But you should see your face."

Ron thumped his fist firmly against Harry's shoulder, which only made him laugh harder. "Git."

•••

NEWT revision had reached new levels of hysteria, and the impending holidays had done nothing to lessen the workload on seventh year students. With a trunk laden down with textbooks and Crookshanks tucked safely into his carrier, Hermione stepped into McGonagall's fireplace on the thirty-first of March and Flooed directly to the Burrow. The sounds and scents of a family dinner with the Weasleys greeted her before she could even regain her balance, but as the soot cleared, she saw Ron moving eagerly toward the fireplace. As she stepped into the sitting room, he took her trunk from her hands.

"Blimey, what've you got in here?" he asked, making a great show of sagging from its weight as Hermione placed Crookshanks' carrier gently on the floor. "Have you packed the whole library?"

"Feels like it," she replied, tilting her face up to accept a kiss from him as Crookshanks burst free and tore off up the stairs. The sitting room was uncharacteristically empty, save for George, who was perusing an upside-down Quibbler, and Harry, who leapt to his feet when Ginny swirled into view. "Where is everyone?"

"Charlie's staying with Bill and Fleur, but they should all be here soon - and Percy went to go pick up his new girlfriend," said Ron with a pointed raise of his brow. "So that'll be… interesting."

He set the trunk against the wall, brushing his hands off on his trousers, and draped a casual arm across Hermione's shoulders.

"You haven't met her?"

"No," said Ron as he steered Hermione into the kitchen, "and I think this is a weird occasion to introduce her to everyone. Never knows how to read a room, that Percy."

He reached out to snag a biscuit from a tray on the kitchen table as his mother placed a tray of cubed potatoes into the oven and straightened up.

"Oh, Hermione, dear, I thought that must be you and Ginny!" she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron and hurrying over to hug her. "How are you? How's school been going?"

"Oh, it's been fine, thanks-"

"And you," continued Mrs. Weasley, now stern as she turned to face her youngest son, "you had better be nice tonight."

He scowled in response. "I am nice! I'm always nice, I just think picking tonight in particular is really weird."

Because tonight, of course, was George's celebratory birthday dinner. George. Not the twins, not Fred and George, just George, and the absence was lost on no one. But Molly had insisted despite all protests to the contrary, claiming that she was going to celebrate her sons, and nobody truly had the heart to defy her once she had begun planning the dinner. Tellingly, though, she had planned it for the night before the twins' actual birthday, which left everyone to their own devices the next day. Ron and George had already planned to close the shop for the day in memoriam, so aside from Auror training, Hermione wasn't sure how he envisioned the rest of the day.

"I think it's nice that he wants her to meet the family," declared Mrs. Weasley, peeking into a bubbling pot on the range. "Now, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, can you please let everybody know?"

Deciding not to pursue an argument with his mum - usually a lost cause - Ron instead poked his head into the sitting room to make the requisite announcement, and then surreptitiously led Hermione up the stairs to his room.

The topmost bedroom of the Burrow was a time capsule, a relic of an adolescent Ron. The Chudley Cannons in the posters on the walls still flew in and out of the frame, dodging Bludgers and saving goals (something, Ron had once assured Hermione, they never actually did on the pitch), and Martin Miggs comics sat in tidy stacks in the corners. Everything was as he had left it that summer, when he had moved into Grimmauld Place with Harry, and Hermione hoped it always stayed this way. She liked the reminder of the boy she had grown up with, the one she had fallen for.

Ron kicked the door shut and then pulled Hermione flush against him, kissing her and walking her toward his old twin bed. Her knees hit the mattress and they collapsed upon it, the ancient bedsprings creaking loudly in protest. Ron's lips landed on her neck, copper stubble on his jaw tickling her skin, and laughter bubbled up out of her throat.

"Ron," she protested half-heartedly, barely making her case as she wound her arms around his neck. "Everyone's downstairs."

"I know." He lazily kissed a path back up to her lips. "But I've been thinking about that letter all month…"

"Have you?"

"You know I have." He rolled them onto their sides and kissed her again. "So come over tonight, then."

"I've got to make an appearance at home first," Hermione told him. "But after that, I will."

Her parents were expecting her after dinner, it was true. Since their heart-to-heart over Christmas, they had been more understanding of her desire for independence, but she did still live there, and she knew they would want at least a bit of her time while she was back from school.

Even so, she wasn't going to miss an opportunity to fall asleep next to Ron.

"What about tomorrow?" Hermione nudged Ron onto his back so she could nestle against his chest.

"You can come over anytime you want."

"No, I mean - what are your plans? After training's over, I mean, since the shop will be closed."

"You," he grinned. "You're my plans - oi!" For his remark had earned him a pinch on the chest. "I mean it, I just want to see you as much as I can, the shop's going to be so busy this weekend with all the kids home from Hogwarts."

"I know. I'm just saying, I understand if you want to see your family. That's all."

Lightly, Ron brushed a stray hair away from her forehead and placed a kiss there, letting his lips linger.

"Now, about that letter," he piped up after a few moments of easy silence, his voice filled with a new energy. "There were a few things on page four that I was very, very interested in-"

"Oh, only a few?"

"No, I'd like to act out the whole thing," he assured her, a laugh escaping him as he shifted on the bed to face her. "And we can get started now, we'll probably need most of the weekend-"

Hermione cut him off with a kiss.

All too soon, however, they were called down to dinner by Mr. Weasley, who greeted Hermione with an exuberant hug and a barrage of questions about the new Muggle video game console he had found at a secondhand shop in the village. As they headed into the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired young woman in conversation with Mrs. Weasley. Hermione studied the interaction, noting the openness, the warmth on Mrs. Weasley's face. Of course, she was always friendly and welcoming to anyone that her children brought home, and she had clearly learned her lesson after her past unwarranted skepticism about Fleur.

As they sat at the long wooden table, Hermione was introduced to Audrey, who had met Percy last year at a Ministry function, and then watched, slightly awed, as she was questioned throughout the entirety of the meal. Audrey took it all in stride, even the jibes about her experience being a Ravenclaw in a room full of Gryffindors, and George's deadpan question about when she would receive her Order of Merlin for putting up with Percy. And Hermione loved the Weasleys, but she couldn't imagine undergoing the same sort of scrutiny had she met Ron as an adult. For all intents and purposes, she had been indoctrinated into the family at the age of twelve, and none of them had been surprised when she and Ron had taken the logical next step. Nothing had really changed, and she was beyond grateful for that.

Shortly after pudding, Hermione left Ron in a chess match with Fleur - who was seriously giving him a run for his money - and slipped up the stairs to the loo. On the landing outside of Ginny's room, however, she found Audrey leaning against the wall, arms folded over her chest, eyes cast down at the worn carpet. Hermione paused, debating if she should just march on past without acknowledging her - perhaps she just wanted a moment of peace - but then Audrey's head popped up, her dark eyes wide.

"Oh! Hermione! Er - hi," she stammered out. "Erm - I was just-"

Hermione remembered her, vaguely, from Hogwarts. She had been a Ravenclaw prefect, in the year between Percy and the twins, and all night she had seemed so poised, so perfectly put together. But now, here, standing next to a painting of a hippogriff that Charlie had done as a child, she seemed to exude nothing but stress.

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione.

"Yes!" she answered, too quickly. "Fine. Just… regrouping."

"It must be a lot," Hermione sympathized, "meeting everyone all at once like this."

"Maybe a bit," Audrey admitted. "I'm not really used to big families, I'm an only child."

"So am I. But they're the best, honestly. Soon you won't remember what you did without them." Audrey cracked a smile, so Hermione kept going. "How long have you and Percy been dating?"

"Just a few months," she said. "But he's been wanting me to meet his family about as long. It must have been so different for you," she added, tilting her head curiously. "Percy said you and Ron have been together for forever."

Hermione opened her mouth to correct her, to say that no, it would be a year in May, but something stopped her. Percy wasn't oblivious to the goings-on during his years of estrangement, so he knew about Lavender, he wasn't making assumptions. And Hermione remembered the way she and Ron had danced at Bill and Fleur's wedding, her head tucked into the curve of his neck to block out everything else, and all the times in the tent when they communicated just with a look, and the way he had slept by her bed at Shell Cottage, and she thought that maybe Percy knew more they did. Ron had been it for her even then, he always had been.

"Basically," Hermione agreed.

"Sorry, I don't mean to keep you from wherever you're going - I'll go back downstairs."

Hermione watched her willowy frame depart, contemplating just what had transpired. She could barely recall a time before she had known Ron and his family, as if they had always been a part of her, and she had never imagined a life without them, either. And, as she proceeded up the stairs, she knew she would never have to.

•••

Hermione first became aware of a steadily thudding heartbeat, though she couldn't discern whether it was Ron's or her own. His arms were wrapped warmly around her, his forearm heavy across her stomach, his nose buried in her hair. As she gradually came to consciousness, she registered the bell-like noise issuing from her wand, which last night had returned to its rightful place on Ron's bedside table. Outside, the sun hadn't quite risen, and she knew Ron had Auror training that morning but felt, despite the insistent alarm, that she needed to bask in the moment just a little longer. Weeks of waking up alone had taught her not to take any time with him for granted.

Ron groaned, his arms tightening around her, and nuzzled further into her neck. When he let out a breath, Hermione suspected he had drifted off again, but then his lips brushed her shoulder, and his palm flattened against her torso.

"What time's'it?" he mumbled, hand now shifting onto her hip.

"Half six." Hermione mustered the strength to reach an arm out just enough to silence her wand.

"Don't get up yet," said Ron in a voice still low and thick from sleep. "Two more minutes."

"Just two."

Hermione turned her face toward his to meet his lips, letting her eyes slip shut again. As she turned onto her back to reach him more easily, he propped himself up onto his elbow and leaned in to deepen the kiss. His hand shifted up her bare torso and over her ribcage, and Hermione's mind flitted back to the sultry, sweaty goodness that had transpired here just hours ago. She had to be home soon, and Ron had training, but maybe she could stretch these two minutes into five, or ten… fifteen, even…

His body pressed against hers, his skin growing warmer by the instant under her fingertips. Against the logic fighting in her brain to be heard, she pulled him on top of her and found his lips left hers to kiss down the side of her neck. A shuddering sigh escaped her; she never wanted to leave, not when this was the alternative-

"Fuck." The expletive, though whispered, was no less fervent than if he had shouted it.

"What?"

"I just remembered," he said. "What today is."

Hermione's stomach sank. Looking at once dismayed and guilty, Ron dropped a kiss on her forehead and rolled onto his back.

"I'm sorry." The words felt trite and useless, but Hermione had never known what to say when it came to such topics as loss and grief. There simply weren't words strong enough to convey what she truly felt.

"It's not your fault," he replied. "I'm glad you're here, it - it helps. A lot."

Hermione turned and nestled herself into Ron's side, her cheek against his chest and her hand resting on his arm. Her physical presence, she hoped, would be more of a comfort for him than her words. Out of habit, she draped her leg over his and he pulled her closer until she was nearly on top of him. Once again, the resolute beats of their hearts seemed to merge together until Hermione could no longest discern whose was whose. Not that it mattered.

"Please come over tonight," said Ron in a low, brittle voice. "I'm usually done with training around five."

"Of course I will."

His own wand let out a sharp blast, so he extended an arm to silence it.

"Just two more minutes," he muttered, almost to himself. "Just a little bit more."

•••

The Grangers' dental practice had closed in honor of the holiday weekend, and so Hermione, upon arriving home from Grimmauld Place, was treated to an enormous breakfast and a lengthy but surprisingly comfortable conversation about her term at Hogwarts. It no longer felt like an interview the way it had over Christmas, but rather, a genuine interest in her life. There wasn't all that much to tell, as the lion's share of her free time was spent in the library revising for her NEWTs, but they were fascinated by the details of her Transfiguration classes and still baffled by the rules of Quidditch. "If the Snitch is worth one-hundred-fifty points," her father had wondered aloud, "then why bother with the rest of it?" Hermione had nearly been on the point of contacting Ron so he could explain the finer details before she recalled that he was in a training class at the Ministry.

Admittedly, she liked seeing these two sides of her life overlap a bit. Not so long ago, there had been a massive disconnect, and Hermione had been stretched between two essential elements of her life: her Muggle childhood, and her coming-of-age and future as a witch. The closer she could bring them, the better. She had grown up on the notion that she could have anything and everything that she wanted, as long as she worked for it, and she didn't see why this was any different.

Shortly after lunch, just as Hermione and her mum were preparing to head out for a bit of shopping, there came a peculiar scuffling noise from within the fireplace. Hermione hurried across the sitting room to investigate and arrived just in time to catch a tiny, soot-covered owl just before he hit the floor. Pigwidgeon, to his credit, seemed delighted to see her and proudly held out the scrap of parchment clamped in his beak. As he twittered around depositing soot onto the pristine carpet, Hermione unfolded her mail.

Hermione-

I'm going to go to the Burrow tonight after training, I reckoned I should see my mum and dad. But I'm still going to spend the night at Grimmauld Place and I still really want to see you so please come over anytime you want, and I'll see you when I get home.

Love you.

Ron

As she read, she found herself nodding along with his words. She'd have been more surprised if he hadn't gone to see his family on a day like today, one on which his parents would undoubtedly find solace in their children. And her own family, she realized as her mum bustled about in the kitchen, eagerly preparing for their outing, needed her too. It wasn't quite in the same way, naturally, they weren't mourning like the Weasleys were, but they were so pleased to have her back. As much as they understood that she would want to see Ron, she had to make room for them too.

So she tidied Pigwidgeon up, and cleared away the mess he had made on the carpet, and then departed with her mother, tucking Ron's note into the pocket of her jeans.

Around nine that night, she dragged herself through the front door of Number Twelve, her footsteps leading her down to the basement kitchen as if on autopilot. Throughout the course of the afternoon, she had become gradually laden down by shopping bags; her mum had clearly thought that entering a shop without making a purchase was a gross misuse of time. Hermione had tried to protest, whispering under her breath that her future employment would require her to wear robes, not the smart little blazer her mum had gushed over in Harrod's, but it had all fallen on deaf ears. After dropping off her new wardrobe back at home, she had explained that she had plans with Ron and Apparated directly to Grimmauld Place.

Harry was alone in the kitchen when she entered, his attention trained on a recent edition of Quidditch Quarterly, a plate of biscuits on the table in front of him.

"Hey," he greeted her with a upward nod of the chin.

"Hi," she replied. "Is Ron-"

"Not back yet," he stated, his voice softening a bit. "He and Ginny are both supposed to come back here tonight."

"Oh. All right."

"There's tea if you want some," he added, his own way of extending a friendly invitation.

"Thanks." Hermione fixed herself a cup and carried it over to the table, seating herself across from Harry. "Why aren't you there?"

He cringed and reached for the plate of biscuits, breaking one in half. "It feels like a family-only thing. Y'know?"

"But you are part of the family."

"And so are you," Harry countered, albeit gently. "I just keep thinking about fifth year, when Arthur - and before we knew he was gonna be okay, I just felt like I shouldn't be there with them, like I was an intruder - 'course, I also thought it was my fault back then." He crammed the biscuit into his mouth and chewed. "Now, this actually is my fault-"

"No," Hermione interrupted firmly. "It is not your fault, it's Tom Riddle's fault. It's not like you chose any of it."

"Logically, yeah, I know that, but - I don't know, it's hard not to wonder sometimes. And today's one of those days." He snapped off another piece of biscuit. "And when you get down to it, at this point, I'm just Ginny's boyfriend-"

"You're so much more than that to them, though-"

"And so are you," Harry repeated. "I mean - more than Ron's girlfriend. Think about Audrey, the other night," he said with a sudden burst of inspiration. "She's a perfectly nice person, but I don't think Molly was planning their wedding in her head the way she's been doing with you and Ron since fifth year."

"Stop-"

"I'm serious, though," Harry insisted, even as his mouth was curving into a smile. "Remember when you were both made prefect and they had that big party here, and Molly made that 'Congratulations Ron and Hermione' banner? You don't think she saved it so she could use it again for, oh I don't know… an engagement party?"

"Shut up-"

"I don't see you denying it-"

"I'm not," Hermione stated, watching the teasing grin melt off Harry's face.

"You… do you reckon you'll marry him?"

"I know I will." It was strange having this conversation with Harry, as she hadn't even really had it with Ron. They always spoke of their future together as though it was guaranteed, the bond between them already cemented. "It doesn't have to be soon, but I know it'll happen."

"It's so crazy," Harry mused, voice thick with disbelief. "How things worked out. That we'll both marry Weasleys."

She wasn't surprised to hear him say that, but before she could reply - and tell him that he'd proven his point, that they were all family, that they had been for years - there emerged two redheads from the stairs, and the subject at hand was dropped. Ron's long strides carried him quickly across the room to the kitchen table, where he dropped a kiss onto Hermione's temple and dropped into the chair beside her. Despite his clear exhaustion, a weary smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he picked up her mug and sampled her tea.

"Eugh," he said with an exaggerated grimace, "you've forgotten the sugar-"

"I haven't forgotten-" But he was leaning toward her, and she no longer cared to argue, instead fitting her lips against his.

"Can we just go to bed?" Ron requested, and when Hermione agreed, Harry let out a chuckle from across the table.

"Subtle, mate," he laughed as Ron, rolling his eyes, stood and offered his hand to Hermione. "Really subtle."

When they were behind the door of Ron's bedroom, Hermione fully expected to pick up where they had left off that morning. Instead, she found Ron's arms enveloping her, drawing her against his chest, one hand on the nape of her neck, the other arm across the small of her back.

"Are you okay?" she asked into his t-shirt.

"I love you," came the muffled response, for his face was in her hair. "I love you so much, please - please stay here."

"I will, of course I will - are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I just - I just really want you to stay."

And so she fell asleep in his arms that night, their two heartbeats merging yet again into one constant, steady beat.

•••

"I still can't believe you told him," Hermione said, leaning back in her chair and making her very best attempt at a stern expression.

"I didn't! He must have figured it out!" replied Ron from across the table, indignant though he bit his lip as though to tamp down laughter. "He's not exactly stupid, George, y'know?"

"Even so." Out of the corner of her eye, she detected Harry and Ginny weaving their way through the crowded pub, pint glasses clutched in their hands. "You didn't have to confirm it for him."

"He wasn't mad," Ron assured her, grinning broadly as Harry plunked a glass down in front of him. "More proud of me than anything."

"Who's proud of what now?" asked Ginny, dropping into her seat and sliding a glass of fizzy drink garnished with lime over to Hermione.

"Nothing," stated Hermione with a pointed look in Ron's direction.

"Oh." Harry smirked as he glanced between them. "That."

"You told him too?!"

"No, George did - I'll tell you later," Harry added to Ginny, who was poking him insistently on the leg.

"Oh my God," Hermione groaned, heat rushing to her face as she pitched dramatically forward, her forehead on her arms.

She had expected - assumed, really - that the details her very brief visit with Ron in the stockroom back in February would remain confidential, but she had, as usual, underestimated George Weasley. She supposed that none of them was naive, but she still hadn't expected, when she met up with Ron at the shop so they could walk to the Leaky together, for George to casually advise her that she was banned from the back offices until further notice.

"So anyway," Ginny began loudly, and Hermione internally thanked her for the change of subject, "Madame Hooch told me she's been talking to that recruiter from Holyhead about coming to the final match."

Hermione picked up her head in time to take in Ginny's glowing, excited smile.

"You didn't tell me that!" exclaimed Harry, who had immediately forgotten all about giving Hermione and Ron grief. "What'd she say?!"

"It sounds like she'll be there," Ginny began, and as she started in about missed opportunities on both sides, and Hufflepuff's Keeper being absolute pants at his job, Ron's hand crept over Hermione's and squeezed it atop the table.

Sorry, he mouthed to her, but she shook her head and laced her fingers through his to indicate that she wasn't actually angry with him. On the contrary, she wanted to soak up every single second that she had available with him, and she didn't want to spend those seconds in little bickering fights with him. The Easter holiday was racing by, slipping through her fingers like sand no matter how hard she clung to it. Time with Ron was precious, limited, particularly in light of his new schedule, and she was going to take whatever she could get.

"So then, she said if they like what they see at the match, they actually bring you out to Holyhead for a trial with the rest of the team," Ginny continued on, "to make sure you play well together, and if that goes well, then they start talking to you about a contract."

"Would you have to move to Wales, then?" Ron chimed in. "And live among the sheep?"

"There's not that many sheep there, Ron-"

"Yeah, there really are-"

"And probably not," Ginny interrupted again. "The season's only half the year, and that's what Apparating's for, anyway."

Hermione took a sip of her drink through a tiny black straw and surveyed the scene in the pub. The Leaky Cauldron was always packed to the brim on holiday weekends, but this had worked in their favor, as the place was too crowded for Harry - and subsequently, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny - to stand out. Tonight they could have been any other group of young adults, and Hermione knew that when Ron picked up their joined hands to brush his lips over her knuckles, that it would go largely unnoticed.

"You're working tomorrow, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, should be really busy, Saturdays always are. You can always come by and visit, though."

"And give George more ammunition? I'll see you at home."

If he noticed her little slip - that she had just referred to Grimmauld Place as home - he let it pass without commentary. But it had rolled off her tongue so easily, and the more that she thought about it, she really hadn't been inaccurate at all.

The clock was nearing midnight when they decided to call it a night and pay their bill. With the line at the Floo seemingly miles long, they chose to walk back to Grimmauld Place, the spring air cool and fresh on their flushed faces. Diagon Alley, even in this late hour, was alive with activity, in stark contrast to the dismal hopelessness it had displayed less than a year ago. Gringotts was in perfect condition: innocent passers-by would never know that eleven months ago, a dragon had burst through its ceiling. With the exception of Harry garnering his the occasional stare and furtive whisper now that they were out in the open, it was as if there had never been a war at all.

A year ago, none of it had seemed possible. They had been hiding out at Shell Cottage, devising painstaking plans for robbing a bank vault. The Weasleys had all been forced into hiding, and there seemed no end in sight. Darkness had pressed slowly in on them from all sides until they couldn't see a future past the next day, but now… now, Hermione saw all sorts of things in the future, brilliant, beautiful things that had previously only existed in her wildest dreams. She had reserved so many things for when the war was over, and now that it was, her path was illuminated with possibility.

She didn't bother with pretenses when they finally reached Grimmauld Place: rather, she cheerfully wished Harry and Ginny goodnight and led Ron by the hand up to his room. It was all she could do to close the door before his lips were on hers, and she leaned back against the wall, her arms around his neck to bring him close. His hand on her waist slipped up her shirt, his fingertips warm as they ran along the small of her back. The taste of his lips was addictive; even after nearly a year of being together, officially, she still couldn't get enough of him. She hoped it never faded. She hoped that fifty years from now, when their eyes locked, she still felt the same bold rush of affection that she always did. She didn't want anything about Ron to feel commonplace, when she'd never met anyone like him and knew she never would again.

"Should probably," he gasped between heated kisses, "silence the room…"

Impatiently Hermione waited as he stopped kissing her just long enough to cast the spell, then stood on her toes to catch his lips again. She let her hands drift along his sides, bunching up his shirt in her fists until she could pull it over his head. The thin shard of moonlight slanting in through the window cast him in stark relief, highlighting the freckles peppering his skin. She tried to slow herself down as she kissed him, but the only thought pounding through her foggy mind was how good his skin had always felt against hers, and she found herself wiggling out of her own shirt.

"D'y'wanna just shag right here?" Ron laughed against her lips, one large hand brushing the strap of her bra off her shoulder.

"How would we-"

"Like this," he said, and he lifted her up off her feet so that her legs swung around his waist. "Only with a lot less on, obviously-"

Hermione shook her head and kissed him, soft, quick. "Bed."

His muscles taut under her weight, he walked her over to the bed and laid her gently down, his blue eyes heavy-lidded as he crawled over her. Ducking his head down, he dropped a wet kiss on her torso before he set to work on the button of her denims, unhooking it and sliding the trousers down her legs. Almost as an afterthought, he shed his own, just as Hermione drew him back down to kiss her again. Her legs drifted to either side of him, and as his mouth traveled down her neck, teeth grazing over her skin, their hips ground lightly together and a soft moan escaped the back of his throat. The meager fabric between their bodies was nothing but a pointless barrier now, only holding them back from what they truly wanted.

His mouth was meandering down her chest, making its way to the subtle swell of her breasts, and his thumbs brushed over her nipples through the lacy fabric of her bra. Hermione released a shaky gasp, arching her back so he could undo the clasp on her bra. As it loosened around her, he pulled it away, his parted lips connecting to the underside of her breast, kissing and sucking the way months of experience had taught him she liked. Everything was growing hazy now, sweaty, blurry, as his hand smoothed down her stomach to her knickers. He carefully shifted aside the swatch of cotton between her legs and slipped a finger into her, then two, his teeth lightly grazing her nipple. She rocked her hips into his hand, bringing him as deep inside as she could, letting needy whimpers flow from her lips.

"R-Ron," she managed to choke out, her hand grabbing futilely at his shoulder, "I - I need - more-"

"Right," he breathed, removing his fingers from her so that he could fully rid her of her knickers.

In another instant, his pants had joined the rest of their clothes on the floor and he knelt between her legs, positioning himself at her entrance. Their eyes met as he pushed inside and she stretched to accommodate him, her heartbeat quickening with every second. As he moved inside her, he leaned down to press his lips to hers, his mouth absorbing her shuddering sigh.

"I want…" Hermione clamped her knees at his sides. "I want to go on top - but no, don't pull out, you feel too - too good-"

"Okay, hang on," he said, smiling a bit, still pulsing into her. "I'm gonna flip us." His arm slid under her back, he tipped to the side, and suddenly she was straddling him, their chests pressed together, faces millimeters apart. "You all right?"

"Better than," she replied, kissing him as her hair fell in curtains around their faces.

Planting a hand on each of his shoulders, she straightened up a bit, grinding herself against him. As she moved, she caught his eye again and was momentarily stunned by the expression of utter awe and adoration consuming his face. She always knew that he loved her, she never doubted it, but actually seeing it so clearly never failed to overwhelm her. One of his hands wrapped one of hers, steadying her, as the other gripped her hip.

"C'mere," he muttered, using her hand to pull her down to him. Their lips met, almost lazily. "I love you."

"I love you," said Hermione at once, "I love you so much."

He kissed her again, biting lightly on her lower lip, and she felt herself move faster atop him, needing more of him, always more. He kept his fingers laced through hers even as his other hand crept up her chest, curving over her breast, making her tremble. Her fingernails dug into his chest as she felt herself losing control, giving in to the demanding ache, and then he'd flipped her onto her back, checking again that she was okay before thrusting into her, his palms flat against the mattress, her legs locked around his waist as he spilled into her.

Their panting breaths were the only sound in the room - that, and the sloppy kisses that Ron bestowed on her shoulders and the curve of her neck. Hermione felt as though she could curl up and sleep for days, blissed-out and satisfied and completely spent. Ron slipped out of her and turned onto his side, his arm outstretched under his head, his other hand trailing up and down her stomach.

"We should get a bigger bed," he remarked, flattening his hand over her ribcage. "Since clearly we need the room."

"We?" Hermione repeated, liking the way it sounded.

"Yeah. We." He nodded and picked up his head just long enough to kiss her arm. "I've - er, I've kind of been thinking lately. Because when I'm not at the shop or at training, all I think about is you. And I miss you so much when you're not here. So I was thinking…" He rolled forward a bit to kiss her behind the ear and on her neck. "That when you're done at Hogwarts, maybe you could come live here. Officially."

Any and all fatigue Hermione might have been feeling quickly dissipated. "You want me to move in with you?"

"Or we could find our own flat, if you want," he added, more earnest than Hermione had ever seen him. "I've actually got some income now which makes a nice change of pace, and it's not like I have to live with Harry forever."

He used to ask her this question all the time, only half-serious, over the summer when their relationship was brand-new and Hermione had to Apparate over in the middle of the night to spend time with him. And her response had always been that her parents would never allow it, that they kept the closest of tabs on her and certainly would not condone living with her boyfriend, but now, as a new summer drew near, circumstances were wildly different. Hermione no longer had to walk on eggshells around her parents, or hide her magic, and by the time July rolled around, she would have her first real job.

And now, he was asking her because he really meant it. He wanted to mesh their lives together. He wanted this to be their bed, not his.

"You understand," she began, deadpan, "that it's not just me you'll be living with, right? Because Crookshanks and I are something of a packaged deal."

"I know," Ron grinned. "Just as long as he understands that I'm your favorite ginger-"

"Says who?"

Hermione expected some sort of mock horror from him, or to be tickled to within an inch of her life for her teasing, but instead he inched closer and kissed her, long and slow.

"So is that a yes?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, it's a yes-"

And there was very little talking for the rest of the night.

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