Morning

Morning

I'm not used to sharing a bed, let alone with him.

So when my alarm clock sounds and I feel the weight of his body press against mine as he reaches to shut it off, it catches me by surprise.

"Morning 'Mione," Ron mumbles, his face pressed against my shoulder.

"Morning," I roll over onto my left side, nearly nose to nose with him.

"D'you have to go to work?" he asks, pushing a lock of dark hair behind my ear. "Because I'm off today, and I was thinking that we could...you know..."

He waggles his eyebrows and grins and moves in to kiss me. I welcome it and only attempt to push him away when he tugs at my pyjama top, a warm hand sliding underneath the cotton fabric and across the expanse of my chest.

"Mmmfff---can't----not now---have to---work!!" I protest weakly, thoroughly enjoying this distraction he's provided. He kisses my neck and I giggle, my left hand navigating the tangled jungle of red that is his hair.

"Seriously, we can't do this!" I laugh, holding him above me at arm's length. He stares down at me and smiles wider. I sigh as he laughs, knowing exactly what dirty thoughts are running through his mind. Ron moves closer, one of my arms pinned above my head, but I roll away from him, sliding out of the bed relatively unharmed. I pull my top over my head and toss it onto a nearby chair, then pull a bra out of a dresser drawer. He winks at me in our images in the mirror as I clasp it closed.

I make a face at his reflection, pulling a smart grey skirt above my knickers and stockings.

"Prat."

"I know I am," he says as he climbs out of the bed, picking up his pyjama bottoms from off the floor where they had been carelessly tossed the night before. Casually tossing them onto the unmade bed, he walks over to where I'm standing, almost fully dressed, in front of the mirror and wraps his arms around my waist.

He's in nothing but a pair of snitch-covered boxer shorts and he rests his head on my shoulder, watching me button my grey sweater over a white shirt, his big blue eyes watching my hands as they touch each button and smooth out the few wrinkles in my skirt. For a split-second I think about letting him peel away my clothing and having my merry way with him, but the thought is gone almost as soon as it enters my brain.

"I've got to go," I say, gently prying his hands from my body and walking out of the bedroom. My purse is still on the kitchen table, and I use the scrubbed oak surface to balance myself as I slip my high-heeled shoes onto my feet.

He follows me, in a robe this time, and playfully swats at my arse as I put on my second shoe.

"I'll meet you for lunch, then?" Ron whispers the words into my ear, deliciously low and sexy, and the hand he has placed at the base of my spine has sent a shiver of excitement running through my entire body.

"Maybe you will," I kiss him deeply, catching him off guard, and grin up at him through my bangs when I pull away. "Maybe you won't."

"Tease," he smirks as he lets me go.

I waggle my eyebrows at him before I step into the fireplace, the Floo Powder I've tossed into it sending my---our---apartment into a green psychedelic pattern.

~*~*~

As I sit in my classroom at the Artemisia Lufkin Centre for Underprivileged Youths and my students grumble over tests and homework and the angst-ridden teenage drama of their lives, I am watching the clock over the doorway.

Each ticking sound that it makes brings me closer to him.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Ron.

Ron.

Ron.

Ron.