Honestly, Hermione

Chapter Seven: Better Than Wizard Chess

Ron squeezed Hermione's hand. "Well? Do I get the grand tour?"

She smiled back. "You just got it. This is it." She gestured to the three closed doors. "That's my storage room/spare room. It's big enough for a bedroll, but too small for anything else. That is the loo. Mind the corners; it's a bit cramped. And that's the kitchen. I rarely use it, but you might find something in there to cure a hangover tomorrow morning."

"What makes you think I'll have a hangover?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Honestly, Ron, I know what a bender looks like. I saw how many cream stouts you drank. And you had at least two shots of firewhiskey with your father. If you don't have a hangover, I'll cook you a nice scrambled egg breakfast in the morning." She grinned at him, knowingly. Then she changed the subject. "Let me get your bedding. You can have the bed."

Ron looked around the smallish room. "You mean the couch?"

"It's a futon, Ron. Don't be a git." She moved away from him, but he pulled her back. "Ron," she said again, losing her patience. She looked up at him, and rolled her eyes. "Ron, don't. It's too complicated, okay?" But she wasn't really asking. She was trying to put up a barrier between them, and she knew her coolness would have an effect on Ron's emotions. It always had. Now all she had to do was remain cool and detached, blocking the blushes, the memories, the kisses from her mind. Simple as that.

"It's always complicated, 'Mione," he answered with a grin. "I don't mind." And with that, he bent his head to kiss her.

Ron didn't see the stubborn glint in her eye. If he had, he wouldn't have tried to kiss her just then. As it was, he jerked back with surprise when his lips met nothing but air - air that went "pop!" He looked around wildly as Hermione reapparated across the room. Now her arms were crossed, and she was tapping her foot. At the confounded look on his face, she had to bite back a smile. "Sleep," she announced. "And maybe a bite for breakfast. That's all I'm offering tonight." His shoulders slumped, and she let her smile loose. He was so predictable, it was funny. "Now shall I get your bedding? And I'll show you how to use this Muggle invention so you can be comfortable." She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and summoned a set of fresh bed linen.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "How did you do that?" he asked. "I was holding you. How did you apparate out of my arms?" Normally, when a wizard apparated, so did anyone he was holding.

Hermione flashed him a grin. "Reckon I should tell you all my secrets, Ron? Sorry. I shan't. But I will make up your bed for you." With that, she tossed the sheets in the air and waved her wand at them. In a flash the futon had folded out into a properly made-up bed. She found simple housekeeping charms saved her a lot of time. "There you are, sir. I suppose a yellow checked duvet is a bit girlish, but it's just for one night. You can manage." She looked around the tidy flat, then at her guest. "Right. Well, I'm off then. Make yourself comfortable, Ron. I'll wake you in the morning before I leave." With that, she stepped around him and opened the door to the "spare room."

***

All of Ron's celebrating with Harry earlier that evening finally caught up with him. He watched dumbly as Hermione turned the couch into a cozily made-up bed, still trying to work out in his liquor-addled mind just how she apparated away from him. "Wait a tic, 'Mione," he suggested as she opened one of the three small doors in the flat. Much to his relief, she paused. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. "What say we just catch up. Talk a bit. What have you been doing these past seven years?" He moved slowly toward the bed. Taking out his wand, he said the spell Hermione used every morning, and the bed turned back into a couch. "See? Completely platonic. Just two old friends, catching up." He sat down. She was still frozen with her hand on the door handle. "Ah, go on, Hermione. I won't bite."

She bit her lip uncertainly, but her eyes were smiling. "I'm not so sure."

"Well, not unless provoked," he amended, winking. Then he watched with pleasure as Hermione's skin turned faintly pink. To his delight, she came and sat down. And shot back up.

"Coffee. Would you like some coffee, Ron? It'll help clear your mind."

Coffee? No matter how long he'd been away from Britain, Ron would never become a coffee drinker. "D'you have any tea?" She chuckled and opened the largest door. She flipped a switch and illuminated her small kitchen. No, he amended, her tiny kitchen. Ron sat back and enjoyed the view. Hermione was scrounging around in the high cupboards above her sink, and her sweater rode up over her hips and waist as she reached into the back of the cupboards. The flash of skin he saw made him think of more, and he began to plot his strategy for the night.

***

"I know it's quite backward, but I've always preferred steeping my tea the Muggle way," Hermione called back to Ron as her fingers finally brushed the edge of a box of tea leaves. Standing on tiptoe, she reached the box and brought it down to the counter. "Do you mind waiting for the water to boil?" No answer. "Ron?"

"You'd go to all that trouble for me?" he called back after she pulled her sweater back into place. "Honestly, 'Mione, you sure know how to make a fellow feel special. Boiling water without a touch of magic," he teased.

Hermione smiled to herself and turned on the gas range. She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to heat. Though it was a little awkward having Ron here, she didn't mind it. As long as he left off the snogging - or attempted snogging, as the case may be - she thought they could have a pleasant bit of a chat, and then they could go their separate ways. Maybe they could get back to being friends again.

"Right, Ron." She leaned on the doorway, looking at him. "I haven't been to the market in ages, but I can offer you a packet of crisps, and some soy milk, with your tea if you like. Or a Cadbury bar." She leaned back and opened her small refrigerator. "Oh! I forgot. I have some leftover curry from Sunday. And Chinese from yesterday." She looked back at her guest. "Looks like you caught me on a good day. Usually my flat's completely empty."

Before Ron could comment on the current state of "fullness" of Hermione's cupboards, the teakettle started to whistle, and she turned to attend it. She spooned some tea into the teapot, then lifted the kettle to add the boiling water. "Ow!" she cried, dropping the kettle back on the stove and shoving her hand under the faucet. In a second, cool water washed over her burned hand. "Damn," she whispered as tears came to her eyes. She always forgot to use a hot pad when she cooked - since she did it so seldom. Thus her pots and pans (make that, pot and pan) all had plastic handles that didn't conduct heat. She'd been meaning to replace her teakettle with an electric one, but as she told Ron, she hadn't been to the market recently. The result was, she'd burned her hand. Again.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. For some reason, it had been far easier for Hermione to bear up stoically while Ginny broke three bones in her hand than to ignore the searing pain of a common burn. She could barely bring herself to remove her hand from the cooling water to perform a healing spell, but she knew it was the best way to end the pain.

But before she could do it, her seared flesh cooled, and the burning sensation disappeared. Hermione slowly opened her eyes as Ron reached out to shut off the gushing water. She turned a bit, finding him right behind her, almost trapping her between himself and the edge of the kitchen sink. She blinked, sending two tears cascading down her red cheeks. He took the injured hand in his, but she flinched and jerked it back.

"Let me see, Hermione," he said softly, reaching for her hand again.

This time, she let him take it. To her surprise, it didn't hurt. When did Ron learn how to perform a healing charm on a burn that was wet? Hermione had only ever learned the dry spell. Madame Pomfrey had never taught Hermione to heal burns any other way, which was why Hermione had tiny scars on both her hands and forearms.

Never a good cook, she still sometimes made the attempt - just to prove that she could do it if she had to. Like flying. Still, the consequence of her dislike of the task was a careless splash, or a forgotten oven mitt. Her pre-Hogwarts childhood had ingrained the cool-water-on-a-burn reflex in her, and it wasn't too often that she could bring herself to give up the temporary respite of cold water or ice for the permanent (and instant) relief of a healing charm. It meant drying the burned skin, which for Hermione was an agonizing process. So how did Ron manage to know a proper healing charm that worked in running water?

She must have been giving him an inquisitive look, because when he looked up, he smiled at her and explained without her asking. "I'm an Auror, 'Mione. I can't always be running for the doctor. They taught us a few charms for healing on the go. Burns, sprains, bruises and broken bones. One of my men is working on a simple spell against fatigue, so we can work without sleep and without making any stupid mistakes, if we need to. It'll also act as a countercurse against a sleeping spell."

She was intrigued. She'd heard of some of the new spells and charms being developed to fight against Voldemort, but had never spent too much time researching them. Imagine Ron, of all people, being on the cutting edge! Her gaze took on a new cast as it filled with admiration for him. Their eyes met, and this time he looked away first, studying her hand.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her hand was fine. She was about to jerk it away when he looked up again. This time he was grinning. "You should really take better care of this hand, 'Mione. I believe that's the second time I've healed it today."

With her other hand, Hermione reached out and smacked him upside the head. "No, you git. Ginny crushed this hand. And you can see how well it's healed."

Ron grabbed that hand as well, effectively imprisoning her. This time he brough both her hands up, and appeared to be studying them intently. Hermione sighed. This was growing old. Fast. "Honestly, Ron -" she began, but she didn't finish. He bowed in a courtly manner over her left hand and kissed the top of it, right over the bones he'd healed earlier. Then he brought her right hand up to his lips and pressed a long, lingering kiss into her recently-burned palm, watching her eyes all the while.

Hermione drew a sharp breath, willing herself to look away, pull her hands away, anything. Instead she felt caught, mesmerized by Ron's darkening blue eyes on hers and the feel of his lips on her palm. He slowly ended the kiss, then closed her hand around where his lips had landed. Without blinking once, he straightened, and stepped closer. She could feel her heart beat faster, could sense her skin beginning to blush. Keeping his eyes on hers he lowered his head and brought his lips to her mouth.

When he finally kissed her, Hermione gave up. In a battle of words, she could best Ron every time. But history had proven that once words ceased and actions took over, Ron always won. Always. He brought her arms up around his neck, then slid his own hands down her sides and around her waist. Against her will, she moaned softly into his kiss, urging him forward. His arms tightened around her waist, pressing her body to his. In turn, she deepened the kiss and tangled her fingers in his thick red hair.

Ron's lips left hers, and Hermione felt the loss for a second before she felt him plant a trail of kissedacross her jaw and down her throat. He stopped at that very sensitive point on her neck, just at the hollow of her throat, and nibbled the skin there lightly. She arched her neck back.

"'Mione," he murmured against her neck.

"Ron," she whispered in response.

He returned to her lips, the electricity between them increasing from languid desire to sizzling passion. Their kisses became more demanding, and Ron pulled her back into the living room/bedroom. His fingers brushed her waist, then crept under her sweater. He could barely contain himself from yanking off the soft brown sweater. He propelled her toward the futon, which was still upright, and pressed her down onto it.

"Ron, wait," she gasped between kisses. "Let me - the futon - too narrow - bed -" she tried to say, but he pressed her back. She was lying on the narrow couch that could have been folded out into a slightly roomier double bed, and he was right over her, so close he could see the flecks of black in his passion-dark eyes. His lips found hers again, claiming her mouth with his own. Any lingering concerns were chased out of Hermione's mind by Ron's plundering lips and hands. And to be honest, she wasn't all that concerned. There were other, more pressing needs.

***

Hermione woke with the alarm blaring in her ear. At some point in the night, she'd managed to turn the futon into a bed, and now she was lying in a tangle of sheets and blankets and legs, all too aware of her nudity. She turned off the alarm clock and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Her slightly bleary gaze fell on Ron, who shared her pillow, and she smiled fondly. Brushing his hair back from his face, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. He shifted slightly, but didn't wake. This she remembered. It was next to impossible to wake Ron Weasley from a deep sleep. And seven years of pent-up passion hadn't allowed them to sleep much the previous night...

Hermione smiled. No matter that they hadn't talked a bit about their past, or what was going to happen now, she didn't regret last night. Perhaps she would later, but for now, it was just something that had happened. She kissed Ron on the forehead and crept from the bed.

The remorse came while she was still in the shower. They needed to talk. They needed to figure this whole thing out. Was it just a one night stand for Ron? An opportunity he couldn't pass up? She told herself it would be best if that was all it was. Then they could go back to their own lives and chalk last night up to a passing fling. But what if it wasn't? What would they do? He lived in America, currently in Washington, DC. She lived here, in London, and was going to work for the Ministry of Magic if her interview went well today. He was an Auror, she was a scholar. They really had nothing in common, and logic told her that they couldn't try to forge a relationship on nothing but sex. She wished she could reschedule her interview, but it was a bit late for that.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, Hermione had decided what to do. She left Ron a carefully worded note, hoped it wasn't too...needy, prayed he'd be there when she got back, then apparated to the Ministry.

***

Ron -

It was nice to see you again. Stay as long as you need. Please tell Harry and Ginny I'll be by later this afternoon to help them take Jamie home. Thanks. I'll talk to you later.

- Hermione

When Ron woke up, it was to an empty bed. "Bloody hell," he muttered. Hermione wasn't in bed. He sat up, trying to clear his head. "Bloody hell," he said aloud, wincing at his hangover. Then he saw the note Hermione had left, in her perfect handwriting, perched on the pillow beside him. He opened it and perused its contents. Shocked at its painfully nonchalant tone, he shouted, "Bloody hell!"