Honestly, Hermione

Chapter Six: Home Again

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, embarrassed and upset. She realized immediately that Harry was not drunk - at all. She narrowed her eyes at her friend, regaining her composure and losing her barely reined-in temper. Both Ron and Harry recognized Hermione's quarreling stance from Hogwarts: balled fists planted firmly on hips, feet slightly apart, brows furrowed, shoulders squared. Harry was about to get the talking-to of his life. She took one step toward him, and Harry's grin began to fade. "Harry Potter, do you mean to tell me that you tricked us into this? You pretended to be intoxicated in the hopes of getting Ron and me into a compromising situation?"

"Ron and I," Harry corrected softly. He would have done better to keep silent.

Hermione's cinnamon eyes flashed. "No, you git, the correct phrase is 'Ron and me.' Take out Ron, and the sentence says, 'in the hopes of getting me into a compromising situation.' Not 'getting I into a compromising situation.'" Behind her, Ron chuckled. Hermione decided to ignore him for the time being.

***

Ron was more than a little bit impressed with his friend. In all the years he had known Hermione, he'd never been able to divert her attention so easily, nor so well. It was only after they'd become a couple and he'd kissed her in the middle of an argument that he discovered that seemingly only way to end a tirade. But with only a few simple words, Harry had managed to turn the tide of Hermione's anger - at least for the moment. They both knew that she couldn't bear to be corrected, and she took great pleasure in being right. Ron gave Harry an approving glance, which the smaller man caught. Harry returned the knowing look with a wink, only this time, Hermione intercepted it. She narrowed her eyes even more.

He was probably in this with Harry, she thought. Those two had never done anything without the other. She spun to include him in her wrath. "And you! How long have you been working out this little plan? No doubt you two have been owling each other back and forth for ages, plotting your strategies. No wonder you never had time to send two words to me, Ron. And now, you..."

But Ron had stopped listening. It was another tactic he'd learned during his short-lived romance with this lovely best friend. Instead he used the opportunity to feast his eyes on Hermione. Though she was not what one would call beautiful in the conventional sense, Ron had never known anyone more attractive. He was glad that she'd not changed her hair. She was a brilliant witch; she could have done it in a flash. But for Ron, Hermione just wouldn't be Hermione if she had permanently smooth, glossy locks. In the moonlight, Ron thought her hair glowed like an angelic halo. Her wild bushy hair was what he had loved best about her.

That and her eyes. Hermione had delicious eyes. No one had eyes like hers. They really were the color of toasted cinnamon, with just as much warmth, and not a little fire. They were so expressive - at least to Ron. He could read everything in her eyes. And wise like a cat's. She seemed to know everything. Ron could only remember correcting her once, and they'd both been surprised when he did. Of course, it was all book knowledge (which was why she'd never managed to beat him at wizard's chess - that required strategy), but it was more book knowledge than anyone else in the wizarding world had. Yes, Ron loved her eyes.

He loved her eyes, yes, but also her mind. He really did. Being with the smartest witch in Hogwarts was an ego boost, to be sure. And it was brilliant just listening to her. He'd learned more as a result of Hermione's tutoring than he'd learned from most of his Hogwarts professors. There was always something new in Hermione's brain. No matter how much her know-it-all-ness irritated him, he missed it when it was gone.

Ron blinked: the harangue wasn't over. Good. His thoughts turned...south...as he took in Hermione's wonderful form. He tried to be covert as he gazed at her thinner, but still lush, figure, looking through his eyelashes so that she would think he was feeling ashamed for whatever she was berating him about now. But he was definitely not ashamed. Quite the opposite, in fact. Hermione had the habit of thrusting her chest out when she was angry, and Ron very much enjoyed the sight of her small bosom straining against the fabric of her sweater. Seven years had not diminished his memory of her breasts, and he had to force his fingers to remain still at his sides, for they tingled with desire.

No, Hermione Granger was not your typical beauty. She was of an average height, and though her legs seemed long, that was an illusion of her low-riding, slightly flared, seemingly painted on jeans. But there was something else, something Ron was waiting for, something that transformed the rather Missish former Head Girl into the glorious sensual creature Ron remembered.

Ahh...there it was. The blush. Ron was the only person who could ever bring that particular faint, rosy blush of color to Hermione's normally pale English skin. It wasn't the blush of embarrassment, mortification, anger, or shame. No, this blush was the blush of understanding and desire. It was faint, just the earliest stirrings of desire, but Ron alone knew what it boded. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

***

"...And I just don't understand how you could do this to me, Ron," Hermione finished. She paused to catch her breath, ready to dive back in, when she caught his eye. He was only pretending to be ashamed! He was checking her out! She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks, then spreading to the roots of her hair, down her neck. "Ron!" she chided softly. He shouldn't be able to do this to her anymore. It had been seven bloody years! she thought. She had refused him then, and they'd gone their separate ways. Ron Weasley was nothing more than her friend!

That was what she told herself, at least. And she stubbornly ignored that other part of her mind, the part that would beg to differ. But it would not be silenced. "If Ron means so little to you, how come you haven't had so much as a date since he left?" it demanded to know.

I've been focusing on my studies, she thought. And anyway, that's not the point. He -

"Ahem."

Both Hermione and Ron were roused from their staring match and turned toward Harry. He tried to hide his smile, seeing his two best friends together again, and controlled himself admirably. He only raised an eyebrow knowingly and said, "If you don't mind, I would like to get back to my wife now. 'Mione, I can fly, but Ron really is pissed. Ride with us. I promise to fly slowly. Then you can say hello to Ginny and Jamie before you go."

Hermione made a childish face. She was supposed to be the sensible one in this trio, not Harry. But she had to admit he was right. She nodded. "Right, then. Let's go. And Harry, none of your Quidditch moves on this broom, or so help me, Ginny will be coming to hospital to visit you!"

Harry and Ron both laughed, and the three climbed on Ron's rental broom. In no time, they had landed at St. Mungo's and were in Ginny's room.

***

After saying their good-byes to Harry and Ginny and cooing over darling baby Jamie, Hermione and Ron stood outside St. Mungo's in the dark cool night. Without Harry there, the situation was awkward - to say the least. Hermione felt there was so much to say...but no way to say it. She wanted to ask Ron why he'd never written, why he'd never come back. If he'd really meant it when he said he still loved her and didn't hate her. She wanted to know what he'd been doing in America these past seven years. She wanted to tell him about her Arithmancy thesis, and about Harry and Ginny, and Voldemort's stranglehold on the European magical community, and Hagrid and Madame Maxime's son (who would be the first giant to enter Hogwarts since Hagrid himself), and her parents' pleas that Hermione do something "worthwhile" with her life (become a dentist?), and, and, and... But how could she tell him everything that had been going on these seven years? Ron was practically a stranger to her now. A handsome stranger, yes, but a stranger nonetheless.

Ron was certainly handsome. Of course, he'd been considered something of a catch when they were still at Hogwarts. Ron had taken after his brother Bill, and by seventh year was quite ruggedly handsome (if a bit tall and gangly). Tanned and toned from hours and hours outside practicing Quidditch (to no one's surprise, Ron had been the Gryffindor keeper since Oliver Wood graduated), he appeared in the daydreams of many a Hogwarts girl. In the seven years since they left Hogwarts, Hermione thought Ron had gotten even better-looking. Dressed in khakis and a close-fitting smoke-blue turtleneck sweater, Ron was delectable. Hermione told herself she wouldn't be human if she didn't notice. And his still-bright-red hair was longish, like it needed a cut. Hermione tried to banish from her near-flawless memory the way Ron's thick hair felt between her fingers when he'd kissed her behind the Leaky Cauldron.

She turned slightly away from him, blushing again. She hadn't blushed in seven years - not since Ron left. But today proved that she hadn't outgrown the habit, as she'd hoped, after all. All this blushing was quite irritating. So was this awkward silence. Why didn't he say anything?

She sighed. "Well, erm, it was nice seeing you again, Ron." After some hesitation, she hugged him stiffly, and turned to walk away.

"Nice seeing you too, 'Mione," he answered softly, after she was a few steps away. It had been nice. Almost too nice, Ron thought. But there she was, walking away from him. Again. He sighed and started walking in the other direction.

Hermione stopped walking first. She couldn't just leave it like this. Ron had been her friend, and then her lover. He'd asked her to marry him, for heaven's sake! The least she could do was make sure he had a place to sleep tonight. She turned around. "Ron!" she called. He turned around, too. In a moment they stood together again. "I..." Looking into his eyes, she lost her train of thought. Damn him anyway. She was a successful author of several academic articles, a PhD, and soon a household name. She would not be flustered by a pair of probing blue eyes. She squared her shoulders stubbornly. "I wanted to make sure you had a place to stay tonight."

He raised his eyebrows and grinned. Ron was willing to bet Hermione wanted more than that, but she'd never admit it. If anyone on this planet was more stubborn than Ron Weasley, it was Hermione Granger. He shrugged. "Probably at the Burrow. I think they'll have room for one more."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The Burrow? With all your brothers and their families? You'd be lucky to get a corner by the fire! Ron, I'm not dismissing your family, but the Burrow was crowded enough when we were children. I'm sure it hasn't gotten any bigger since you left." She shook her head and took over, the sensible Head Girl in her taking over. "No. You'll stay in my flat for tonight. It may not be much, but at least there's room. And it's nearer than the Burrow, so you'll be close to Ginny and Harry." This last bit of logic would have been fine were Ron a Muggle. Then, half an hour on the train would be a thousand times preferred to the three-hour car ride from the Burrow to St. Mungo's Hospital. But of course, Ron could apparate in an instant.

"I don't know, 'Mione. I don't want to impose."

"Don't be a git, Ron. Of course you're going to impose somewhere. You don't exactly live around the corner. Now come on. We can catch the last train if we hurry." Ron gestured to his rental broom, but Hermione dismissed the idea before he could say a word. "I am not flying home, Ron Weasley. And you're still pissed, though you hide it well. Now come on." With that, she grasped his arm and pulled her toward the barrier that hid St. Mungo's from the Muggle world.

***

Forty minutes later, Hermione unlocked her door. Ron smirked. Why didn't she just magically lock her door, if she was so concerned? he wondered. It would be infinitely simpler than the line of Muggle locks that preserved her flat from thieves. But he didn't say a word. Likely Hermione had a long-winded and painfully sensible reason for doing it this way.

She opened the door. "Well, here it is. My flat. Come in." She waved her wand at the room, and the Muggle lamps glowed. Ron stepped inside, and she followed, closing and locking the door behind them.

Hermione watched Ron's reaction closely, her mind ringing with her friend Kendra's scathing pronouncement on the place. Would Ron think it was "squalid" as well? Her heart dropped into her toes as he looked around. She didn't even try to explain her feelings away with logic. She knew it didn't make sense to crave Ron's approval of her flat, but she did. He looked around slowly, then turned to her. Hermione felt waves of relief wash over her. His blue eyes twinkled at her, and he reached out for her hand. "Home sweet home," he said with a smile. "My flat in Washington is just like this." He glanced at the library on one wall and amended, "Fewer books, though."

Her heart soared.