A/N: I really appreciate you guys and I hope you like this chapter. That's all.

I also really appreciate CallieSkye, who is never bothered by me and my "can I ask you a question about the UK?" messages and apart from that, is a wonderful pocket friend.

And I do hate to make promises I can't keep but I do hope to be expedient in writing and posting the remaining chapters of this fic - I will try my best to keep real life from interfering. But please don't be too mad at me if it does!

Hermione was faintly aware of a sharp bell-like sound, but that was inconsequential background noise, second fiddle to the soft skin beneath her palm and against her cheek, the heavy weight of an arm across her back, warm breath on the top of her head.

"Sorry," muttered Ron, his voice gravelly, momentarily lifting his arm off of her to silence his wand on the nightstand.

Hermione hugged herself closer to him, trying to ignore the beam of light shining in on them, clinging to the stillness that had settled over them during the night. Maybe you could come live here, he had said. Officially.

It sounded like such a huge step, especially at nineteen, but it didn't feel like leaping into the unknown the way it might have done if they were any other couple. She knew what it was like to live with him - they had shared a tent for months - so she already knew that his clothes rarely ever made it into the hamper and that he sometimes washed dishes the Muggle way just to give his restless hands something to do - and their future together, it was inevitable. She had meant her words to Harry the other night. Ron, very simply, was it for her.

"Do you have to get up?" Hermione asked.

"Not yet, I've got a couple minutes." His fingertips ghosted up and down the ridge between her shoulder blades, teasing her through the faded fabric of her borrowed-from-him shirt.

"That tickles," she admonished him around a sleepy smile, his hand shifting up to rest on her hair as soon as she spoke.

"Sorry," he said again, tone brighter this time. His face angled slowly toward hers, noses bumping before their lips connected. "Erm… you haven't changed your mind, have you? About-"

"No," she replied calmly. "Have you?"

"Never," he said with a quiet confidence. "I just had a thought, y'know, after a shag like that, you might've agreed to just about anything-"

"Like what else?"

"Like getting a dog," Ron suggested, and Hermione didn't have to look at him to know his mouth had stretched into a grin.

"A dog?" She felt his body shaking with silent laughter. "And how do you think that would make Crookshanks feel?"

A chuckle burst out of him. "We can discuss it with him."

Silly as they were, they were still plans, musings over the future, and it filled her with the sort of giddiness she only ever associated with him. This was real. It was going to happen. She just needed the next few months at Hogwarts to slip by as quickly and uneventfully as possible, and then she could finally press play on the new life that had been paused for months.

With an exasperated smile still on her lips, Hermione inched up Ron's body and tucked her face into the curve of his neck. If he had a few minutes her before he needed to leave for the shop, she was going to take advantage. The blankets were the perfect temperature, as they always tended to be when one had to vacate them, and Ron's thumb had submerged itself into her mess of curls, stroking gently against her scalp, and she thought, if she acknowledged every second as it passed, that this might linger on for just a little bit longer.

And then he sighed, a low, reluctant acceptance of reality.

"I should shower," he said, though he made no effort to move.

"Now?"

"Well - yeah. S'pose I'd better." He pressed a kiss to her temple and gently rolled her onto her back, away from him, as he extricated himself from the bed.

As he stood, he raised an arm to rake his fingers absently through his hair, and Hermione sat up to better admire him, the long lines of his form, the navy blue boxers sitting low on his hips.

"Maybe I'll join you," she said, only half-joking, but Ron turned to face her, eyes bright.

"Do you want to?"

And she did, but… "Well - the problem is, it's Harry's bathroom too."

"Right." He bent at the waist and caught her lips briefly with his. "So then maybe we should get our own flat."

When Ron returned from his solo shower, it took nearly all of Hermione's willpower to keep herself from tugging the towel away from his waist and bringing him back into bed, but she resisted; it wouldn't do for him to be late to work. Instead, they headed to the kitchen for breakfast with Harry and Ginny, the latter of whom had evidently found a way around the charms protecting her own bedroom. Hermione couldn't stop her mind from racing. If they lived here, they'd essentially also be living with Harry and Ginny… but then, practically speaking, perhaps it made sense to live here first, just for a while, to save some money before they became responsible for a lease. Though, Ron had been working for a few months, and she had savings she could easily convert from pounds into Galleons…

But the details almost didn't matter, not right now, anyway. Subtly, she shifted in her seat to angle toward him, lightly bumping her foot into his under the table. As he turned his head, she pressed her bare toes into his calf.

What? he mouthed to her, but she simply plastered an expression of innocence on her face and picked up her cup of tea.

They always used to have silent conversations, usually when they didn't want Harry to know what they were really thinking, but this felt like they had a delicious little secret between them, like something new had blossomed overnight and they were the only ones who knew.

He had a mouthful of toast and jam when she slid her foot down to the top of his, and his jaw stopped moving.

What are you doing? he asked soundlessly, trying his best to be exasperated and plainly failing.

Nothing, she replied, raising her brows in feigned confusion.

He gulped heavily, but his voice was steady as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. "We'll pick this back up tonight."

His breath on the shell of her ear sent a chill down her entire spine. Was it even possible to want someone this much, to constantly need him, to love him so much that he blurred out everything around them? Was it rational?

Did she even care if it wasn't?

"I've got to go," said Ron to the group, popping the last bit of his toast into his mouth. "But feel free to stop by and visit, we've got a special on Wildfire Whizzbangs all weekend."

"I should get home too," Hermione decided, "I'll walk out with you."

The April sun shone brightly into their eyes as they stepped onto the porch of Number Twelve, still shielded from Muggle eyes by the charms on the house.

"M'not gonna be able to concentrate today," he confessed, pulling her tightly against him. "You've got me thinking too many things."

"Like what?"

"Like everything." He pressed a kiss under her ear and hugged her closer, a hand on the small of her back. "I'll see you tonight, right?"

"As if you even have to ask."

•••

Hermione wasn't quite sure what had prompted her mother's newfound penchant for marathon shopping trips, but she found herself, a couple of hours after kissing Ron goodbye, in the front seat of the family car. Her parents had always been generous people, and they could generally afford anything they might want, but they didn't typically hemorrhage money on Hermione's wardrobe the way her mother seemed compelled to do. Although, given that most of what she owned had tumbled around in a beaded bag or a Hogwarts trunk for the better part of two years, maybe a few new things weren't entirely unwarranted.

And the more she thought on it, the more she knew that it really wasn't about new shoes or purses at all. As they wound through the busy streets of London, the words her mother had spoken over the Christmas holiday floated to the front of her mind: "We just want to be as much a part of it as we can."

They missed her, that much had been made clear, and she really didn't know what to expect when she told them she would be leaving them once again. Last summer, it would have been a non-starter: the house had been so full of tense silences and excessive politeness and had she even given an indication of wanting to move out, the damage might have been irreparable. But now…

Now, there was really only one way to find out.

"So," Hermione began as they braked for a red light. "Last night-"

"Oh, right, what did you and Ron do?"

"We just went out with Harry and Ginny to the Leaky Cauldron - but then…" She paused, contemplating how to frame the news, and decided, in a very Gryffindor fashion, that she'd rather beg forgiveness than permission. "I'm going to move out once I'm done at Hogwarts. And move in with Ron."

The light turned green, but this took a few seconds to process in Mary Granger's mind.

"You're going to move out?" she asked, finally shifting into gear when the car behind them honked impatiently.

"I'll have a full-time job as soon as I'm finished with school, and Ron and I have been together almost a year - and I've actually already lived with him before."

"Yes, I remember - well, no," Mary corrected herself, slowing the car to take a turn, "I don't, but I recall you telling me that."

"So it won't be that much of a change," Hermione said, opting to gloss over the mention of their stint in Australia.

"But it is a change - oh, hold on." She pulled the car out of traffic and put it into park, flicking on the hazard lights. "Sweetheart, listen. I don't want to tell you what to do, and you know we've always wanted you to be independent. But…" She hesitated as though bracing herself. "Are you sure that you're sure about this?"

"Yes," said Hermione quietly. "I'm positive."

"Because you can stay with us as long as you like."

"I know that - you're not meant to take it personally, Mum."

"Of course I'm not, but nineteen is still so young. Most girls your age are just starting at uni-" But then she stopped herself and turned to look at Hermione, really look at her. "But I suppose I have always known that you would never be like most girls."

"Was it the magic that tipped you off?" Hermione said before she could stop herself, realizing as the words escaped her lips that she sounded just like Ron.

"Might've been." Mary moved to put the car into drive, then froze. "Oh, now I don't know why we're going to Debenham's, you don't need clothes-" Understatement of the century, Hermione thought- "you'll need things for your flat! Dishes, and, and pots and pans-"

"We don't know where we're going to live yet-"

"Oh, but even so." Glancing over her shoulder to check traffic, she really did put the car into gear this time and waited for a break in the steady stream of vehicles. "You'll still need some things, come on, let's go."

Hermione watched her mother as she steered them through a roundabout, simultaneously baffled and pleased. She had half-expected a fight, to have to present a series of arguments defending why she was ready for this and why the world would keep turning even if she lived with her boyfriend before they were married. She hadn't expected near-immediate acceptance, let alone enthusiasm, but perhaps she hadn't given her parents enough credit. She wasn't doing this to them, after all. She was doing it for herself.

They were in the housewares section of Marks & Spencer, comparing fluffiness levels of the towels, when a thought occurred to Hermione. "I'll need to tell Dad," she mused, running her hand over a thick bath towel and thinking of Ron, earlier that morning, clad only in one that was likely older than he was.

"I'll talk to him," said Mary as she gathered a stack of bath towels into her arms.

Hermione almost protested on both counts - she could brave the discussion with her father, and she rather liked Ron in a threadbare towel that left little to the imagination - but her mum was just as stubborn as she was.

"He'll be fine," Mary added. "Not that our objections would stop you anyway, but he'll understand. I just think I can break the news a bit more gently than you did."

Hermione acquiesced: if it would keep any feelings of ill-will out of the development, then she was all in favor.

They had moved on to bath mats and shower curtains when Mary spoke again.

"I'm glad that it's Ron," she remarked, inspecting the rubber bottom of a mat. "I used to worry about you a bit, you know."

Hermione's head snapped over to face her. "Did you?"

"Not that I thought you'd go off the rails or anything - actually, I was worried about the opposite. You've always been a bit - erm-"

"You can say it-"

"Tightly wound." Mary paused as Hermione nodded her agreement. "You spent that whole summer before you started school reading all your textbooks, and I didn't want you thinking that was the only important thing. You have no idea how happy we were when you started writing home about your two new best friends, these boys, it was such a relief."

"For me too," Hermione admitted. She didn't much like thinking about her first two months at Hogwarts, which had been marked by intense loneliness and misguided attempts to fit in.

"Of course now I know better, I know who you are. But I worried you wouldn't end up with someone who really excites you, and balances you out - that you'd find someone safe, and unremarkable, and probably a bit bookish and boring, because you felt like you were expected to. But Ron… he unwinds you. He's so good for you."

"Yes." Hermione lifted her eyes from a garish yellow shower curtain to meet her mum's gaze. "He is."

•••

Lips on her neck, warm, wet, familiar, and a large, calloused hand on her waist; Hermione opened her eyes to register the strip of pale moonlight illuminating Ron's shaggy hair as his lips brushed up her jaw and then connected onto hers. She let her eyes drift shut again, humming her approval as he focused on the other side of her neck.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice a quiet rasp.

"Dunno," he muttered back as his hand shifted under her shirt. "Late." He kissed the column of her throat. "Just woke up and thought… you're leaving soon…"

With every touch of his lips on her skin, her mind ground slowly to alertness, her heart speeding up, blood pumping more and more urgently through her veins. As his mouth marked a path down her neck and onto her collarbone, his hands hitched her shirt (which was actually his) further up her torso until it had gathered under her arms. Suddenly the duvet was oppressively hot: Hermione pushed it away and a blast of cool air hit her bare chest just as Ron placed his lips onto her nipple. Everything around them was still, quiet, just shallow breaths and rustling sheets reverberating through the room, as though they might have been the only two people who existed.

Hermione arched her back, bringing herself closer, letting her hands fall haphazardly onto his shoulders. Warmth curled low in her stomach, settling firmly between her legs as his tongue grazed the underside of her breast. Cool air mingled with his hot breath on her skin, prompting gooseflesh to pop up over her body. Her fingers traced the coarse, winding grooves of his scars as he planted a kiss in the valley between her breasts and then traveled down, determined, a clear destination in mind. As his shoulders slipped out of her reach, her fingers fisted tightly around his hair, holding him close, his nose dragging below her navel.

On instinct, her hips popped up from the mattress so he could pull her knickers down her legs, and a second later, he pressed two gentle fingers against her center. In another instant, his tongue was on her and she forgot how to breathe, or think, or do anything but grind her hips into his hand and try not to rip his hair out by the roots. Heat rushed over her entire body and her legs began to quake; a low groan crept from the back of Ron's throat and the sound seemed to vibrate into her; her hands dropped to the mattress, clenching the sheets as she tightened around his fingers.

She felt his tongue trace the crease of her thigh as her breathing slowed, and she let herself stroke his hair away from his eyes. Though her limbs were like jelly, she managed to worm out of her shirt and as she tossed it to the floor, Ron looked up and their eyes locked. There was no need for words: he crawled up her body, dropping errant kisses along the way, and her hands found the waistband of his pants, pushing them down his hips. He settled on top of her, his hips cradled between her thighs, as she lifted her head from the pillow to catch his mouth, not minding that she could taste herself along with him. As they kissed, his tongue rolling over hers, she felt his tip slide between her folds, and all it took was a tilt of her hips for him to sink inside. At the contact, at being filled, complemented by him, she whined into his mouth, at once satisfied and desperate for more.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked in a breath.

"Nothing," she panted back, "it's perfect, don't stop."

He pushed into her again and found her lips with his, and it was almost impossible to tear herself away from him, all she wanted was to be closer, even with their skin nearly melting together as it was. His arms wound their way under her back, supporting her and holding her against him like he couldn't bear the thought of letting her go, and she clung back just as tightly. Her time left in London could be counted now in mere hours, during most of which Ron would be at Auror training, and if this was all they had left, she wasn't going to waste it.

With a shudder and a groan, Ron finished inside her, both their bodies going slack as he dropped his forehead on hers. Their lips touched, and then he reluctantly slid out of her, using an arm to draw the discarded duvet over their bodies.

"I love you," he mumbled, bestowing kisses onto her neck and shoulders. "And 'm sorry."

Hermione froze. "Sorry? Why?"

"Well, you were only here for a few days, and I was working so much, I feel like I was hardly around." He brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. "Usually it's good, y'know, a way to get through the day faster, but this went by way too fast."

"I know," Hermione agreed. "But you shouldn't be sorry." She struggled into a sitting position and grabbed the first wand she saw so she could cast a cleansing charm on herself, then laid back down with her head on Ron's chest. "You're doing what you're meant to be doing."

"With what, exactly? The Aurors? Or the shop?"

"Both," she said simply, allowing her hand to run slowly down the subtle ridges of his stomach. "And maybe one day you'll have to choose, when one stands out more to you, but until then, you don't have to."

"Yeah, I reckon - Hermione," he suddenly gasped as her fingers raked through the ginger hair below his navel. "Careful what you're starting down there."

"Oh!" Quickly she relocated her hand to his shoulder. "Sorry. And anyway, it'll be different when I'm back for good. Better. A lot better," she concluded thoughtfully.

"And it's just a few more months."

"Right."

And he was right. Just three months, just twelve weeks, ninety days, and she could handle that. She just had to take her NEWTs - more than that, she had to ace them, or the entire year was a waste - and she had to see through her commitment as Head Girl.

But that was just it. Hogwarts had been home for so long, and in some ways, it would always carry that comfort, that sense of belonging, but her life had simply evolved past it now. Maybe she hadn't been ready, last August, or even in December, to let it go. The place had changed her life, had shaped it, and for all it had taken away, it had given her so many things she held dear. Maybe she had needed to see it returned to some sort of status quo, like a confirmation that the wizarding world had settled, but now she knew she had a future beyond it.

"Hermione," he said knowingly, tightening his arm around her shoulder.

"What?"

"I can feel you thinking," he said fondly. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she responded, knowing she wasn't exactly convincing. "It's just that - it feels like something to get through, Hogwarts, like I have to endure it now. And I want to go back," she said, though her voice rang out hollow, "because otherwise I'll have wasted so much time, and I know once it's done I'll be glad I went. But - I mean, you were right, before. Sometimes it feels like going backwards."

Ron fell silent, rubbing the pads of his fingers over her upper arm. Outside, an ambulance sped past, its sirens intrusive upon their seclusion.

"I know," he said finally. "But sometimes I think, if I hadn't had to go back, even just for that one term - if I'd just started the Auror program like we wanted to - I don't think I'd have started working at the shop along with it, so - yeah, I dunno where I'm going with that," he half-chuckled. "Reckon I'm just saying that I get it."

And that, Hermione knew as she stretched up to kiss him goodnight, was all she really needed anyway.

•••

It was more effort than it was worth to link the Grangers' fireplace to the Floo Network, and so just as Hermione had arrived for the Easter hols, so she would depart - through the fireplace at the Burrow. Ron had been scheduled to work at the shop following Auror training that evening, as was typical of most evenings, and so Hermione had kissed him goodbye in the gray morning light and promised to write to him as soon as she was back.

Which was fine, actually. She knew she would miss him, but she had also finally fully absorbed that this wasn't forever. She had something tangible now in their future, and it would be there for her on the nights when she was surrounded by textbooks and parchment and wishing she was surrounded by him instead. And if she missed out on a few hours with him because he was working toward something, she understood that well enough.

And if it meant that she had to sit on the sofa at the Burrow, Crookshanks in her lap, and wait as Harry and Ginny finished sharing a rather physical goodbye, she supposed she could bear that as well.

It would be nice, though, she thought as she threaded her fingers into the thick fur on the cat's belly, if they displayed some sense of urgency. McGonagall's own fireplace back at Hogwarts was only open for a very limited window, and Molly would certainly feel compelled to fuss over them before they left.

"About five more minutes," Hermione said to Crookshanks, "and then we'll have to get in the Floo, all right?"

Harry and Ginny, glued together at the mouth, did not seem to pick up this subtle hint. And really, Hermione didn't begrudge them their happiness, but she was quite sure that she and Ron never reached these levels of public affection. She was on the point of doing what Harry had been doing to her for a year - shamelessly interrupting - but Molly beat her to the punch, brushing her hands on her apron as she burst into the sitting room. If she noticed Harry's sheepish expression, she didn't let on.

"Now, you behave yourself," said Molly to her only daughter, adjusting the collar of her robes, "and you make sure you study, because nothing about this Quidditch business is guaranteed - Hermione, dear, you'll make sure she studies, won't you?"

"Of course I will," said Hermione, smiling at the exasperation on Ginny's face and coaxing Crookshanks into his carrier. She stood, setting the carrier on the ground (Crookshanks yowled his disapproval), and accepted a warm hug from Molly. "Thank you so much for having me-"

"Oh, it's nothing, dear, you know you're welcome here anytime." She patted Hermione's cheek fondly and released her. "And Harry, stay for supper, won't you? I was going to send you and Ron some things, but as you're here-"

"Yeah, brilliant," Harry agreed at once, likely pleased to have evaded another meal of beans of toast. "Thank you."

All heads turned as the kitchen door rattled on its hinges and rapid footsteps pounded the tile floor; Harry's hand was halfway to his wand when Ron burst into the room.

"You're still here!" he said happily, smiling wide at Hermione. "I've only got a couple minutes, but I wanted to see you off."

As Molly very tactfully retreated to the kitchen to allow them privacy, Hermione hugged Ron quickly around the neck and leaned up for a kiss, laughing against his lips a bit when he couldn't seem to pull himself away.

From inside his carrier, Crookshanks let out a pitiful mew.

"I think that's our cue," commented Ginny, and she gave Harry one last hug before hauling her trunk into the fireplace and spinning away in a cloud of green flames.

Ron dipped his head and kissed Hermione again, slowly this time, his hands wrapping around hers.

"I love you." Squeezing his hands in her own, she pulled him closer and met his lips with hers. "You didn't have to come all the way here-"

"I love you too, and anyway, that's what Apparition's for," he shrugged. "And the shop's slow tonight, two minutes won't hurt."

Hermione became acutely aware of just how tightly they had locked onto each other's hands, each reluctant to let go, and she surely had at least another thirty seconds before McGonagall closed off her fireplace…

"I'm glad you did," she admitted. "But I'll see you soon, right?"

"Yeah, when's that last Quidditch match?"

"Fifteenth of May."

"Okay, I'll be there." She must have looked askance, because he hastened on. "I mean it, no trickery this time, I'll definitely be there."

"Good. And in the meantime…" She planted one last kiss on his lips and released his hands, instead picking up her trunk in one and Crookshanks in the other. "Start looking for a flat."

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