Scattered

Hermione wandered into the brewing room. She wasn't surprised to see Penny there, staring intently into a cauldron, her lips moving slowly as she counted turns around with her ladle. As Hermione watched, however, she saw Penny grimace.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Penny jumped a little, startled, but she kept stirring, once, twice, and then a third time before taking a deep breath and stepping back from the cauldron, settling herself on a stool. As Hermione watched, she fumbled for a small plate of crackers on the table nearby.

"Penny?"

"I'm sorry," the other girl said, her eyes closed in concentration. After a few moments more of chewing she seemed to be breathing easier. "Morning sickness," she explained with a rueful smile, rolling her eyes a little.

Hermione laughed. "It's not just for morning anymore?" she teased; it was just past noon.

"I don't know who named it that," Penny agreed. "I always feel worst in the early afternoon. Mornings I'm fine."

"You should rest during the mid-day, then," Hermione said, perching on an adjacent stool.

Penny sighed, finishing her snack. "I wish I could, but you know how it is with potions. Timing is everything."

"Can I do anything to help?" Hermione offered sympathetically.

Penny gave her a steady, careful look. "Actually... yes." She climbed down from the stool and headed towards the door. "Let's go someplace more comfortable and talk about it."

The two young women settled into armchairs in the library a few moments later. Hermione smiled, looking around. She still felt a warm wave of excitement, relief and joy when she thought of this room. While they were at the safehouse she'd forced herself to accept that she might never be able to read magical texts again, but it hadn't been easy. There was still so much to learn. Now, at Liath Cuan, she'd found a treasure trove of volumes. While not as numerous as those at Hogwarts, the volumes in the castle's library were frequently more obscure and, contrarily, more useful.

"I love this room," Penny said, picking up on her thoughts.

"So do I."

"Some of these books have been a huge help to me already, but I'm not the researcher you are," Penny said, honestly. "I just know if you start working on this as well, we'll succeed."

"What is it you're working on, Pen?" Hermione asked, catching her friend's excitement.

"Wolfsbane Potion," Penny said simply.

Hermione gasped in surprise. Wolfsbane was the most difficult potion to create successfully, bar none. No student ever would have attempted it; only a handful of apothecaries throughout England could offer it. Severus Snape had been the most talented potionsmaster of his generation, and that's why Remus Lupin had relied on his skill to ease his monthly transformations.

Which was precisely why, Hermione realized, Penny was trying to brew it now.

Snape was no longer a source for the Wolfsbane Lupin needed to function. He couldn't risk leaving his own safehouse's area to seek out one of the few magical apothecaries that stocked his cure, not with the werewolf community firmly on Voldemort's side. So far, she knew, Charlie had been obtaining it for him through the black market. But it wasn't safe -- and it wasn't a permanent solution. Hermione remembered both Bill and Charlie telling her that the only real, long-term hope they had of solving Lupin's dilemma was for someone in the Order to prove capable of brewing the potion.

"Do you think you can do it?" Hermione finally asked in a near-whisper.

Penny didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Hermione frowned, feeling anxious and unsure. "I have to confess that while I always got good marks in Potions, of course, I worked very hard at it, I've never felt as if I had a particular, well, aptitude for the subject."

"I think you're underestimating yourself," Penny said with a fond smile. "But even if you weren't, it doesn't matter. I've been brewing potions since the day we started Hogwarts, both in class and out. It was always my favorite class, and I know I can do this," she said determinedly. "But... I am tired," she admitted with a sigh. "Molly said my body's going to demand rest whether I want it or not, and I hate to admit it, but I'm beginning to believe that she's right. Now, if I knew you were there to back me up, and to help with some of the research --"

"Of course I will," Hermione assured her, reaching out to take one of Penny's hands in her own, giving it a squeeze. "I want to."

"Remus Lupin's a good man," Penny said.

"He's one of the best men I know. We'll find a way."

* * * * *

The rain continued to fall throughout the afternoon and Hermione abandoned her chair to curl up under the bedcovers. She only had a few more pages of Penny's notes to read through, and the day was damp and gray. As a child, she'd loved days like these. While other children feared inclement weather ruining their fun, Hermione saw every cloudy day as a chance to camp out in bed in her pajamas, with some tea and biscuits and a nice long, lovely book to read.

It felt good to be doing something productive again, too. Ever since Neville's funeral a few days ago she'd felt... aimless. Oh, it was wonderful having Ginny back, of course, and they'd spent hours together just catching up. Hermione had told her friend as much as she could bear to hear about a love life that prominently featured her own brother. Ginny was very happy for them both; even though Hermione knew she missed Harry and worried about him, she never spoke of it directly, or referred to their aborted relationship. And after all, as far as Harry's quest was concerned, there was nothing for any of them to say -- no news, no plans, no idea about what was going to happen. Hermione was glad to be safe, and glad to have a home again, but she couldn't help feeling just a little bit lost, still, without any direction to follow. Helping Penny was just what she needed: a project, a task, and a way to do something for a dear friend, someone still in danger and who needed her help.

She was on the last page when Ron appeared with a small "pop", Apparating to his habitual place just inside the door. She smiled at him in greeting and then turned back to her reading. On the periphery of her attention she heard him move towards the bed, kicking off his shoes and mumbling something about the rain ruining a perfectly good opportunity for Quidditch.

"Your hair is wet," she said distractedly.

He shrugged and stretched out beside her. She reached for her wand and, still without taking her eyes from the page, muttered a drying spell in his general direction.

"Thanks, love," he said.

"Hmmm," she mumbled.

"What are you reading that's so utterly fascinating?" Ron asked. "Though, I should undoubtedly know better than to ask..."

Hermione let her eyes linger over the final conclusions Penny had outlined, mulling over the basic steps of the experiment in her mind. "Penny's notes."

"On?"

She smiled and set the notes carefully aside on the nightstand, finally giving Ron her full attention. She had learned from experience that she was no match for Ron in a persistent mood.

"Penny's trying to brew Wolfsbane," she told him. "For Remus."

Ron's eyes widened slightly and he let out a low whistle. "That's biting off a lot, isn't it? No pun intended, of course."

"Of course."

"I may not have paid all that much attention in Potions," Ron said, and Hermione rolled her eyes and snickered, "but even I know it's well-nigh impossible for anyone but a potions expert like that git Snape was."

Hermione nodded. "No, you're right. It is. But Penny's really good at potion brewing. I think she's got a shot."

"And you're helping?"

"And I'm helping."

Ron turned onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, grinning down at her. "Well, it's about time you found some work to do."

Hermione sputtered at him indignantly. "What?! Are you actually implying that I'm laz--hhmmph..."

The rest of her sentence was abruptly cut off by Ron's lips, warm and smooth against hers. He teased her with his tongue, just lightly, and she could sense that he was still smiling at her. When they finally parted she gave him a frown, even if he had just made her toes tingle with that one. Smug prat, she thought.

"You're not lazy," he said. "You're not capable of being lazy. It's ridiculous to even use the word in your presence, unless it's to describe me."

"Well," she huffed.

He laughed. "I've just been waiting for you to find something to do, Hermione, because I know it's driving you crazy, not having anything to do. Now, me? We both know I could lie around all day, play Quidditch with the boys, eat at regular intervals, and spend the rest of my time admiring you."

"Oh, as long as it wouldn't interrupt your busy schedule of loafing," Hermione said, fighting off a grin of her own.

"No, never. I can loaf and admire you at the same time. Except, you know, when circumstances require a bit more... activity..."

Hermione laughed softly and ran her fingers through his spiky red hair. Ron still couldn't flirt without turning the scarlet shade of embarrassed red he was now, the tips of his ears burning and his cheeks flushed. He accused her of being shy about their relationship in public, but he was the one that was most likely to get hesitant in private. And she loved him for it, because she knew it was all about his respect for her, about how much he loved her, and about how he never wanted to offend her, or upset her, or take her for granted.

She reached up and pulled him closer to her, kissing his ear, his cheek, his lips. She met his eyes fondly. "I do love you," she said.

He smiled. "I love you."

She continued stroking his hair and the familiar curves and lines of his face. It seemed to her, then, as if nothing mattered outside of the four tall posters of their bed. Everything she would ever need he would help her to find, and it would never make any difference what else happened, out there, as long as they could come back here to each other.

"Ron," she whispered. "Ron."

"What is it?"

"I think it's time." He frowned slightly, confused. She smoothed the lines from his forehead. "You've been... so wonderful, and patient. I asked a lot of you, and you never once complained."

"Hermione --"

"It meant so much to me," she said softly. "Thank you."

He tried to speak once and couldn't; he coughed and finally said, gruffly, "You don't have to thank me."

"I want to."

"I'd do anything for you," he said.

She smiled and pulled his head down and kissed him deeply. He responded in kind, his body moving to cover hers and a soft, low moan echoing from his throat.

"I want to," she said again, her lips moving against his. "Now."

She sat up and he followed her; she tugged at the t-shirt he was wearing, her fingers finding the hem and pulling it up, her lips leaving his just long enough to pull it off entirely, over his head. His hair stood up in crazy directions as a result and she laughed. He laughed with her as she smoothed it down with her lips and her hands, and he covered her neck in kisses.

Still smiling, she began to undo the top button on her blouse. He stopped her gently.

"Don't," he said quietly. "Let... let me."

His hands shook as he maneuvered the small buttons undone. She trailed her fingers in light, loving circles at the nape of his neck. When the final button was loose he gently peeled each side of the shirt away, almost as if he were unwrapping her like a present. She remained still, letting him remove the clothes from her body completely, only arching her back slightly as he undid the hook on her bra, and her hips as he tugged at her jeans.

When he was finished he knelt beside her on the bed, himself clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. She reached for him, pulling him down beside her. He lay down on his side and trailed a finger up and down her arm, the lightest of touches, sending shivers through her body.

"Ron..."

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his fingers now skating across her cheekbones. "Especially when your skin turns just a little bit darker, there at your neck..." He kissed her softly at the base of her throat. "...and you look at me like that..."

"You're not so bad yourself," she said, and she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his shorts, tugging them lower. He smiled and shifted to help her.

They came together, then, his warm, strong body pressed against hers, and Hermione couldn't seem to stop the tremble in her arms, or the rushing beat of her heart. This wasn't entirely new to them; they'd kissed and touched and felt and seen and explored each other, spent hours in this bed together, loving each other. But there had always been the knowledge that they would stop, before; that they had agreed to wait. That they both knew they would only go so far, and within those limits, that they would learn each other's bodies. She'd learned how it felt to feel him pressed up against her, how it felt when he touched her, how he looked when she touched him. How his heart beat faster, and how she gasped when he caressed her.

It wasn't entirely new, but it was so much more, and Hermione wondered for just a brief, fleeting moment if she'd been right to ask him to wait all this time. If they shouldn't have been together like this sooner, if her reasons for waiting had been frivolous ones.

"I'm sorry we waited so long," she breathed into his neck.

"No," he said roughly. "Don't ever... and, you were right," he added, his mouth trailing down her chest and his hands gripping her hips. "Now is right."

It was right, she knew, and she gave up worrying, gave up second-guessing herself, gave up everything but the feel of his skin under her hands and her mouth, and the feel of him as he covered her mouth with his and slipped inside her. She lost track of time; hours and days and weeks could have gone by, but all she knew was him, moving within her. She cried out and wrapped her arms around him, and almost through a haze she could hear his voice chanting in her ear, "love you... love you... love you..."

* * * * *

"I love this bed," Ron said, reaching up with his free hand to stuff the pillow more securely beneath his head.

Hermione laughed as she pulled the light sheet up over them. She curved her body into his side, his arm tucked around her, and rested her head on his chest. Outside it was still raining; she glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel and saw that it was still early afternoon. Reluctantly, she disrupted their self-built cocoon and stretched behind her for her wand. She muttered a locking charm on the door and returned to Ron's arms as quickly as possible.

"It's the middle of the day," she said in explanation. "While it's unlikely that anyone will come barging in here at two in the morning, mid-afternoon doesn't feel like as sure a thing."

Ron grunted peaceably in response.

"What did you do this morning?" she asked through a small yawn. She turned more onto her side, her arm thrown across his chest and her mouth at his shoulder.

"Actually, I asked Dad at breakfast if I could come and talk to him. In private."

"About George?" she asked.

She felt him nod. "Yeah."

Hermione sighed, hearing his tone. "It didn't go as you hoped?"

"No -- well, I mean, in a way, I guess. Dad didn't try to dodge me or anything, you know, like Gin and I were worried he would. He was upfront with me."

"It just wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"No." For a long moment Ron was quiet and Hermione didn't interrupt his thoughts, knowing he would tell her in his own way. She kissed the cluster of freckles at his shoulder and dropped her outstretched hand to his waist, holding him tightly. He buried his lips in her hair in response, taking a long, deep breath before continuing. "There's really nothing more than we already knew, but I asked Dad what's been done to try to find him. You know? Just because I needed to know. So, I guess one of the Aurors has been to the safehouse where George was supposed to go, and it hasn't been touched. He went to Lavender Brown's parents, and they said George picked her up and left, but that's the last they know. But he can't go to the Patils' because the whole area's been taken over by Death Eaters."

"That's what Charlie told us," Hermione said.

"Yeah. Well, Dad said they've also tried sending George a Patronus as a message. But it didn't work."

Hermione kissed him again. "What happened?"

"There was no response at all. And I guess - Dad says that could mean a lot of things. He could be dead," Ron said flatly. "He could be hurt, maybe badly. Or... we don't really know what else it could be."

"Ron, I'm so sorry."

"Dad says the Aurors are keeping their ears open, but right now there's nothing we can really do, not while there's so many of us in danger yet. He said we'd try, when the time came.... God, Hermione, I felt like a heel for even asking him all those questions. Like he's supposed to have an easier time of it than I am? Like there's anything he could do that he hasn't already?"

She shushed him softly. "No, Ron, your father knows you aren't criticizing him or anyone else. George is your brother, and you love him and you needed to know. That's all."

"That's what Dad said, when I kind of lost it a little, and apologized for coming to him with this...."

"See?"

Ron chuckled softly and turned towards her, leaning down to brush his lips across hers. "Yes, you're right as always."

"Of course," she said, returning his kiss.

"Anyhow, after that, that's when I thought I'd go find Justin and Ernie or even that fellow we met yesterday -- Jamie McFusty? Hamish's nephew? -- for a bit of Quidditch. But it's pissing rain. I don't mind a little mist, but nobody plays in weather like this just for fun."

"Hmmm," she murmured in return, nuzzling at his jaw, feeling the rough scratchiness there against her lips.

"So I came looking for you."

"I'm awfully glad it was raining, then," she told him.

Their lips met in a long, deep kiss. Ron's hand was moving languidly over her body, up over the curve of her hip, into the dip of her waist, cupping her breast.

"It's still raining," he said, his breath caressing her ear.

"So it is."