Twenty-Two Months Later: Housewarming
Title: Twenty-Two Months Later: Housewarming (1/2)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows, previous chapters
Rating: Hard R for sex, nudity, and language
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, various others mentioned
Summary: We discover that “The First Time” means different things to different people
Notes: Yes. It’s Hard R again. I think I like it, though. I like to think of this chapter as more of a character study, more of a relationship study, where we start to see the differences between the H/G relationship and the R/Hr relationship. If you’re below the age of 18, or aren’t comfortable reading semi-graphic sex, why are you even here, didn’t you see my NC17 stuff? I get naughty, people! Ah, well, you’re still here, so I would suggest that you at least read to the point where Harry and Ginny leave, as I’ve tacked a lot of exposition onto the beginning. And just skip the second half completely, although you’ll be missing out on some fun character moments.
I don’t own these characters. JK Rowling does. Sorry, you can’t have them.
Eighteen Months (And A Few Minutes) Later / Previous Chapters / Housewarming (2/2)
Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter sat in an exhausted silence as the moon rose high above the small house in Tutshill. The last twelve hours (God, has it been twelve hours? Ron thought has he looked around for the clock, realizing that it hadn't yet been unpacked) had gone by in an agonizingly wearying blur of people, places, and things.
And things.
And... well... things.
Ron couldn't figure out which part had been the worst. Was it helping to pull Ginny's belongings, scattered through eighteen years of Burrow living, sorting her things from his things, from Bill's, Charlie's, Percy's, that had collected through the years? Was it helping George separate Ginny's things from his own? Finding little trinkets amid the clutter that only reminded him of the twin that he lost?
Maybe it was helping Hermione with her half of the move. Ron was grateful that she was so meticulous and orderly. It was difficult enough moving her from her parents' Muggle house in Oxford, trying to wrestle with beds, wardrobes, and boxes oh the boxes, with very limited use of magic. It would have been infinitely worse if it hadn't all been in one place by the time they got there.
Or it could have been the people. The moving in of Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley to the home in Gloucester probably could have gone faster than it did. They quickly discovered, however, that their initial call for assistance yielded an unexpectedly large turnout for two girls, one of whom would only be calling the small two-story home for a year or two before Hermione's new husband took her place. And, as the saying goes, too many potion-makers spoil the cauldron.
Charlotte and Daniel Granger were a great help, of course, as were the Weasleys. Arthur and Molly, as parents usually do, were assisting from minute one. Arthur spent much of his time at the Grangers' going through Hermione's boxes, looking at all the amazing can openers and bathroom scales that they contained. Molly was a little more helpful, but would still pause, sniff a tear, and insist on hugging the boys or seeing the girls' rings whenever she happened to have a moment. Four months after the engagements were announced, and she was still enthralled.
Percy and Penelope were there fairly soon after, but Percy popped out for an hour or two, as duty called (as it always did). George stayed long enough to help at the Burrow before heading back to the shop. Ron and Ginny were both taking the day off, so it was left to Verity, Lee, and himself to run the place this weekend.
Charlie politely declined the offer to move, as he was back in Romania, but Bill and Fleur were there. Bill helped as much as anyone, and Fleur (who was bulging at seven months with their first child) did her part by unpacking small boxes and assisting in the control of Hermione Caroline and Teddy. Both were at or around that two-year mark, and discovering that, yes, they weren't the only two year olds in the world. It was the first time the children had been in each other’s presence, and it was comfort and a relief to know that they got along quite well. Caroline, who was still sporting her mother's blond hair, took an avid interest in Teddy's own. It was still fluctuating madly, alternating between natural colors and bright pastels at a moment's notice.
"Dora's was the same way when she was that age," said Andromeda Tonks to Harry as they sat on the front step of the new house during a brief break in the action. "They do gain control over it, enough where their can hold their natural form. But to get to the level she was at, where he can change into whoever he chooses, he'll definitely need to be trained. If he wants to, that is..."
Soon after Andromeda's arrival, Neville and his grandmother came to help, with Luna and Xenophilius in tow. Dean, Seamus, and the Patil twins showed shortly before lunch ("You're just here for the food, aren't you?" said Ginny to Seamus, who just smiled and shrugged) and brought with them Lavender Brown's regrets.
"She's still not comfortable coming out in public," Parvati quietly told Ron of his ex-girlfriend, brutally mauled in the Battle of Hogwarts. "But she does ask you to send her an invitation to the wedding. She might be ready to make some appearance by then."
The ever-expanding group felt as though it doubled in size when Hagrid, pulling a weekend break from the Hogwarts grounds, showed around four, trying his best to help outside after he realized that getting into the house might prove difficult with the low ceilings.
"Thank God you picked a wizarding neighborhood," Harry said to Hermione as he watched the half-giant lumber across the front yard, carrying a couch over his shoulder. “Draws attention, doesn’t he?”
As the sun sank lower in the sky, and especially after George decided to close shop early and bring Verity and Lee with him, the moving party had become less "moving" and more "party." Groups were milling around on the lawn or in the living room, using unopened boxes as chairs whenever they found the actual chairs occupied. Molly surveyed the scene, made the calculation that these now two to three dozen witches and wizards had yet to give the two happy couples a proper celebration since their announcement in December, and quickly called to order an impromptu housewarming/engagement dinner. With the help of whoever decided to slip in and out of the kitchen, Molly whipped up one hell of a feast of cold sandwiches and hot soups to break in Hermione and Ginny's new kitchen. The sun was shining particularly warm for an April day, so it wasn't much of a burden for the guests to spread out, eating both inside and out.
Later than the four expected (or hoped) the party guests thinned out. For the last hour or so the group had been reduced to just six. Luna kept nodding off on Neville's shoulder (he didn't seem to be complaining, Ron noticed) so they also made their goodbyes, leaving a physically and socially wearied quartet in their wake.
"Oh, Lord," Ron groaned stiffly from the cushioned chair. "Remind me to never move again. Ever."
"Once I get the energy to get up," said Ginny from the couch, her head on Harry's shoulder. "I'll unpack a tea cozy. Put it on your head. No one will ever know you're there."
"Do you even have a tea cozy?" Harry asked. "And, if you do, do you even know where you packed it?"
"Hell, I don't even know where I packed my underwear," Ginny said, wearily looking gazing around the piles of cardboard boxes that still lined the living room. "Hermione, where are my knickers?"
"On your bum," said Hermione, sprawled on the carpet. "Otherwise, I have no idea."
"You're Hermione. I've seen all of your graphs."
Hermione snorted laughter. "You've figured out my well-crafted deception. In your bedroom, on your left, third box from the bottom. Marked 34B."
Harry laughed, and Ron smiled as he looked down at Hermione. There were many things that amazed Ron Weasley about the woman he had asked to marry only four months ago. The tables and flowcharts that she designed for herself and Ginny to ease the transition from their parents' homes to their new living accommodations were just the tip of the iceberg. As was the fact that she actually had them all memorized.
Ginny yawned, and then curled herself sleepily to Harry's side. "This whole friendship is a tangled web of lies," she said to Hermione with a small smile. "I don't know how we can live this charade much longer."
"It'll make the whole flatmate situation a lot more difficult," said Hermione, stretching, but otherwise refusing to move.
"I don't need to put up with it for long," said Ginny. "I forgot to tell you. I'm engaged."
"To who?"
"Harry Potter."
Hermione's mouth fell open in mock agitation. "You two-timing tramp," she gasped. "I thought we had something special."
"Yes, well, he gave me candy."
Hermione sighed. "All of those drunken truth or dare nights, all of those times you modeled your sexy lingerie for me... was that for nothing?"
"Anyone else get a really disturbing image in their head?" Ron said, raising his hand.
Harry looked at him, confused. "Not disturbing. Quite the opposite."
"Oh, yeah, that's right," Ron said. "I'm the only one in the room with a literal sister involved in all of this."
"That's right," said Harry, a small smile on his face. "I'm perfectly comfortable imagining the fake bisexual talk..."
“And who says it’s fake?” Ginny teased.
"Don't worry," Hermione said to Ron. "I'm sure Ginny would feel the same way if I started talking about you and Harry snogging."
"Ugh." Ginny's shudder mirrored those of her brother and her fiancé, and Hermione grinned wickedly.
"I'm having second thoughts about this living situation," said Ron. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with you two having all of this time and space to just yourselves. My sister's become a bad influence on you."
"Yeah, right," said Ginny. "Like it's going to be just our space. You two might as well set up a tent."
"Not tonight, though," Harry said, yawning. "Speaking of, Grimmauld Place beckons. I'm flatmateless tonight, right, flatmate?"
Ron felt the ball of nerves in his stomach momentarily tighten. He looked down to Hermione on the floor, who looked back up at him.
"You can stay if you want," she said quietly.
"Yeah," said Ron, his mouth suddenly becoming quite dry. "Yeah, you're flatmateless."
"Brilliant," Harry said as he and Ginny carefully pulled themselves to their feet. "I'm allowed to extend an invitation to Miss Weasley?"
"I love how you pretend Ron has any say in the matter," Ginny said, smirking at her brother, who made a face and gave her the fingers.
"What time should we be expecting you back?" asked Hermione to Ginny, who shrugged.
"Whenever," she said. "I might send an owl to Mum and Dad once I get to Grimmauld. They were talking about sneaking us all out for tea tomorrow, and we'll probably want to sleep in."
"I'll take care of it," said Ron. "As long as we have to play the deception card, it would probably be better to send it from here with Hermione's new owl. Harry and I at least have an excuse to be writing from here, since we were all here when they left. They might start giving you grief if you're writing from Harry's place."
"Wow," said Ginny. "Actually trying to keep me out of trouble without locking me in my room. You're right, Hermione, he's getting better."
"Well, they'll be giving me grief, too," admitted Ron. "If they pop in here in the morning to find just the two of us... Well, I can't say that they won't figure things out eventually. Hell, they probably have already figured things out. I just want to keep it out of their face as long as I can."
"I wasn't complaining, o brother of mine," Ginny said, bending down to the chair to kiss him on the cheek. "I appreciate it. Really."
"Good," he said. "Just don't do anything I wouldn't do, you hear?"
"Yes, Father," Ginny said, rolling her eyes and taking Hermione's hand, which she extended from the floor. "Have fun, you two."
"See you in the morning," Hermione said, apparently not having the energy to even get up, and squeezed Ginny's hand, then Harry's in farewell.
"Should I at least say we'll be good for supper?" called Ron as Ginny and Harry approached the front door. "Can you be back around five?"
Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance. "I think we should be able to pull ourselves together for that," said Harry. "See you then."
The couple stepped out the front door, and before it even closed behind them Ron and Hermione heard the distinctive pop as they Apparated to London, almost 200 kilometers away.
Ron looked down at Hermione, who glanced back at him with a weary, yet penetrating gaze, and he suddenly realized that they were alone. Really, truly alone for the first time since they started dating. No worries about people barging in, or discovering them in some awkward position. No worries about a bedroom door knocking, or someone rolling over in their sleep in a tent to see a hand below the equator or a flash of skin beneath a pulled-up pajama top. No one was even expected to arrive at the house until tomorrow evening. It felt like an eternity...
"I should probably get that owl taken care of," he said hoarsely.
"Okay," Hermione said, and he could tell in her voice that she was thinking the same thing that he was.
"Don't fall asleep on me, okay?"
Hermione shook her head sleepily, her bushy brown hair spreading out on the floor. She crossed her hands over her belly, covered in a dark green button-down shirt ("One of my grubbies," she had called it earlier in the day), and closed her eyes. She looks wonderful, he thought, and his stomach did a flip; he quickly stood up and walked to the kitchen.
Harry performed the Side-Along Apparition, since he was by far the most experienced of the pair. As Ginny wrapped her arms around him, smelled his scent in her nostrils, she had to fight back the nearly overwhelming urge to kiss him.
I wonder what it would be like to snog while you’re Apparating, she thought, but decided in the end that the risk for Splinching would be far too great if she threw off his Destination, Determination, Deliberation mantra. But that didn’t stop her from pressing her lips to his as soon as she felt her feet land on the front step of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. She leaned into him, pushing him against the door with the full length of her body, and he responded as well as he could with his tongue and with one hand while the other fought valiantly for the doorknob.
Even though ninety percent of her mind was on getting this man’s clothes off as quickly as possible, the other ten steeled itself for the onslaught that was to occur when they stepped through the door. It didn’t take her long, though, to remember that Alastor Moody’s defensive spells had faded to nothing at some point while they were on tour. And, more importantly, a much more agreeable Kreacher had finally conceded to take down the painting of Sirius’s mother, Walburga Black, soon after Harry had moved in after completing school.
“Permanent Sticking Charms are only permanent to wizards, Mistress Ginevra,” Kreacher had explained as he carried the screaming portrait to the attic, casting a permanent Mutatio Curse on the door on his way out. “House elves like Kreacher need to unstick things often.”
“I’m not used to the quiet,” Ginny said now, pulling herself away from Harry long enough to take a breath.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
Ginny nodded, and they were kissing again, bumbling through the darkened hallway. She tore off Harry’s shirt, and tossed it behind her to wherever. She felt his cool hands on her bare sides as he untucked her Weird Sisters t-shirt. Raising her arms, he pulled it off her and left it lie. She dove right back in.
“I thought you were tired,” Harry said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Second wind,” she breathed, taking a chunk of his hair in her tightened fist as he kissed and bit her neck and shoulder. “Looking forward to this all day. Wasn’t gonna sleep.”
Harry said something incomprehensible into her shoulder. Or he may have just groaned. Ginny heard the umbrella stand (no longer a troll leg, thankfully; that had gone into the attic with the painting and the house elf wall mounts) tip over.
“Fuck,” Harry groaned, and Ginny wasn’t sure if it was because he knocked it over, or because he was having trouble unsnapping her bra. Whatever the case, a few moments later she felt the tightness around her midsection ease, and she dropped her arms and let the blue lace brassiere (she had worn it because it was Harry’s favorite and she wanted to show off, but who can really plan these things, anyway?) fall to the floor.
“Kreacher’s going to go ballistic when he sees our mess,” Harry said.
“He’s not here, is he?”
“He should be at Hogwarts,” Harry said, looking around, and called out, “Are you here, Krea--?”
Ginny put her hand quickly over his mouth. “If you call for him, he’ll show up.”
“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I still have to get used to that.”
“I’m starting to like the little git, but I really don’t want an audience tonight.”
“Fair enough,” and his mouth was back on hers, one hand now squeezing a tiny breast while the other was on the small of her back, pulling her into him. Waves of electricity flew through her from her already rock-hard nipples, and she thrust her hips forward. She felt the small patch of wetness, there all day, growing larger and more moist in her knickers, which were starting to feel itchy, tight, needing to be removed as fast as possible.
Ginny felt herself launched forward as Harry fell back. She landed on top of him at a forty-five degree angle, and she heard a small thump and an exclamation of pain.
“I found the stairs,” Harry grunted, holding the back of his head.
“Oh, my God,” Ginny said, gasping and giggling and putting her hand atop his. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, hissing in pain. “Ow. Remind me to carpet this thing. Our kids are going to kill themselves.”
“Small steps,” said Ginny. “Marriage first. Then shagging. Then kids.”
Harry smiled and raised his hips. She could feel his erection against the seam of her jeans, and she moaned, her hand tightening on his. His tongue stuck out, quickly flicking her nipple. She grew goosebumps.
“Correction,” she said. “Shagging first. Then marriage. Then more shagging. Then kids.”
“Do you want to?” Harry asked as they ground against each other.
“Have sex?” Ginny asked in response.
Harry nodded.
“Right now?”
“Well, when we get to my room…”
Ginny’s clit throbbed. Eight years worth of thoughts, fantasies, desires flew through her mind, never knowing that it would lead to tonight, yet always believing.
She smiled.
“Race you to the top.”
A flutter of wings greeted Ron’s arrival as he turned on the kitchen light. The young tawny owl, the girls' housewarming present from Percy, stared at Ron from her cage, which sat on the table. Hermione hadn't been expecting to receive an owl, so had not been able to find a place for her yet.
"Hey, Artemisia," Ron said, pulling a quill from the drawer and a piece of parchment from a stack which someone had formed on a nearby counter. "Got a little job for you."
As he scribbled the note to his parents, a thought attacked him from what felt like nowhere.
They're going to be shagging tonight, it said.
A chill went down Ron's spine. That wave of instinct to protect his sister, bred through eighteen and a half years of stern practice, pushed forward. And he went on the counter-offensive.
It's her life, he pushed back. I have to let her live it.
This wasn't the first time the voice had attacked since Ron had spoken to Ginny in New York, since Harry had made his true intentions known just minutes after Ron had made his own to Hermione. Ron was glad to discover that it was weakening with each resultant strike. Maybe one of these days it would disappear completely.
He looked down at the note he had written to discover that a long black line had shot across the page. Sighing in frustration, he rolled it into a ball, tossed it in the rubbish bin, and took another parchment. As he re-dipped his quill, he discovered that his mind was still uneasy.
Harry and Ginny may be having sex tonight. When he and Harry first began to talktalk back in November, Ron had learned that they hadn't gone "all the way" by that point. Tonight may be their first, or it may have happened already, at some unknown point in time, on some occasion where they were alone long enough, that Ron couldn't calculate.
It's fine, he thought. I can handle that. I should be able to handle that.
But what is Hermione expecting tonight?
This wasn't the first time that Ron had had these thoughts today. Before, they had touched him only slightly, as he was too busy hauling, or sorting, or talking to his friends and family to think about much else. But as he stood in the silent kitchen, parchment dangling in one hand, he thought of the young woman lying prone on the floor in the next room. The image filled him with a nervous tension that he hadn't felt since his first Quidditch match.
And we all know how that turned out, he thought, before forcing himself to take a second shot at the note, his stomach suddenly regretting that second helping of onion soup.
He wanted to have sex with Hermione. Obviously. He loved her. Was going to marry her. If he was going to have a first time, an every time, it was going to be with her, and he wanted to make her as happy and as pleased as possible. And deeper down, on that more primal level, he simply wanted her. Wanted to feel what it would be like to be inside of her. And from the way that he felt her squirm, felt her press against him during some of their heavier petting sessions, he knew that she felt the same. But...
We've barely done anything, he thought. We've been together for almost two years, and we've barely had any...
There was the night two weeks after the battle, when she had snuck into his room. That was, for all intents and purposes, the most that they had ever done, the farthest along the path that they had ever traveled. And they had only been dating for a week or so. One would have expected it to happen again at some point in the two years since.
But, no. After that was the trip to Australia with the Minister of Magic along for the ride. Then was their final year at Hogwarts, where they had to wrestle with their newfound roles as, well, role models. Harry and Ginny had found ways around the scrutiny, the bulging, awed eyes of eleven-year-olds staring at all of them as if they were some kind of celebrities, but he and Hermione had been unable to escape nearly constant attention.
What could he expect, though? Harry and Ginny were the rebels. Unlike Hermione and, to a lesser extent, himself, they didn't have ethical issues with sneaking off to quiet bathrooms in the middle of the night.
Besides, lucky bastards had themselves an Invisibility Cloak. Ron had at one point been tempted to ask Harry what he thought James and Lily had done beneath that cloak. Or his grandparents. Or great-grandparents. Maybe the thought of what was essentially fooling around in his parents' bed might give Harry the heebie-jeebies enough to cut it out. In the end, though, Ron decided that reminding Harry of his parents, no matter the context, probably wasn't the nicest way to go, and left them to it.
After that it was a month of home (He at the Burrow, Hermione with her family in Oxford) before they left to go on tour. Hermione, interested in all of the sights, had barely given herself any time away from the main group, so they had not shared any guard posts like Harry and Ginny had on that now-infamous day in Peru. And the nights the two spent in the girls' tent forced their fun to be kept to a minimum. Maybe only two or three nights did they get up enough courage, enough hormones, to raise a t-shirt, or reach into a pair of underwear and quietly help each other out, Hermione pushing her mouth into his shoulder or biting her hand as she softly moaned with his advances.
The fact of the matter was that, in two years, Ron could only count five or six times when he and Hermione had done enough to bring him to an awkward, messy orgasm. He tried his best with Hermione during those times, fumbling fingers around completely new territory within her knickers. Despite everything with Lavender, his hands had only touched her breasts once or twice, and never found skin. Almost everything with Hermione was a new experience, and he hoped that her number was about the same as his. But he had heard enough stories about women, enough whispers in the Gryffindor dorm room, to know that they didn't always actually have one, and would tell the man that they did in order to get them to stop trying.
So, in the end, most of the sexual experiences between the couple happened in Ron’s own mind, his own bed after another night of frustration. He could only hope that Hermione was doing the same in her own to alleviate the tension, but he hadn’t built up enough courage to ask if she herself even masturbated.
"Out you come, girl," Ron said, rolling the parchment up and opening the cage. Artemisia, named after the first female Minister of Magic, hopped backward, giving Ron a distrustful glare.
"You're gonna have to get used to me one of these days," he said as she reluctantly climbed onto his arm. "You and Pig are going to be sharing delivery time. Too bad you’re the big one, you'll be taking most of the heavy loads."
The small tawny owl (Percy had bought her young, so she was maybe only half the size that she would eventually become) hopped down onto the table and stuck her leg out.
"I'll bring him around sometime," said Ron, tying the note to her leg. "You'll like him. He's a little hyper, but you'll like him. Now, take this to my Mum and Dad. That's Arthur and Molly Weasley at the Burrow in Devon. You'll learn the fastest route eventually, I'm sure. You'll probably be flying there more than anywhere else in the next few years."
The owl climbed back onto his arm and he walked her to the kitchen window.
"Try to get there by sunrise," he said. "Or you're going to get us in a lot of trouble. Oh, and..."
He turned toward the living room, then leaned into the owl and whispered,
"Wish me luck, right?"
Artemisia hooted softly, then flew out into the dark April night. Ron closed the window, turned around, took a deep breath, and walked back into the living room.
Hermione still lay on the floor, in the identical position where he had left her. Her eyes were closed, and her chest was rising and falling slightly. Thankfully she had chosen an area where the boxed paraphernalia was at a minimum, and Ron was able to find enough space to lie down beside her. Resting on his side, he laid one arm across her stomach and nudged himself up against her. He felt her stir, and she turned to look at him.
"Hi," he whispered.
"Hi," she whispered.
"You promised you weren't going to fall asleep," he said, smiling.
"Mmmm," she said, rolling over to face him. "I didn't fall asleep, did I?"
"You looked peaceful enough. Minimal snoring. Mumbling something about garden gnomes."
Hermione smiled back, her face now inches from his. "Liar."
His hand landed on her hip. Her hand landed on his cheek. And they were kissing. Softly. Their energy levels, while feeling like they were increasing by the moment, were still on their lowest setting, and the kisses were gentle, tongues barely touching through parted lips. Ron heard Hermione's breath through her nose, felt her hand slide from his cheek to the back of his neck. Hesitantly, he allowed himself to reach back further, running his hand along her spine through her shirt, feeling the brief plastic of her bra clasp before moving to the nape of her neck, and back down to the small of her back.
Too fast, part of him said.
Too slow, another part responded.
It had always been this way with them. If he and Lavender had been a rugby match, then he and Hermione were a dance. Two years of loving each other and hating each other that had followed seven years of liking each other and loathing each other. Always walking that tightrope where one false move, one false word, could have ended things for weeks at a time, maybe forever. It showed in their movements. In their touches. Wanting to please. Afraid to make that one wrong move. Afraid to miss the chance to make the right move.
Hermione's hand left his neck and moved down to his shirt. She paused at his waist, pondering, before sliding inside the plain gray fabric and to his back. Fingers sent sparks along his spine. The passion, the intensity of their kisses increased. She paused again, and eventually moved to the front of his shirt, running her palm along his bare chest. Ron decided that this was a signal; it was safe to proceed. He untucked her shirt, slipping his hand beneath, feeling her soft belly, and up, feeling the firm fabric beneath, cupping her breasts.
Always testing.
He felt her stop momentarily beside him, considering, and his heart froze. Did I go too far? Too fast?
She reached down to his waist, grabbing the hem of his shirt and awkwardly pulling it from his body. Both of her hands massaged his chest, and he could hear her breath increasing, could feel it through her nose on her cheek.
He wiggled his fingers, able to get two beneath her bra. Felt her soft nipple against his fingertip. She moaned quietly into his mouth, and he felt her twist beside him.
Always experimenting.
"Do..." Ron croaked, pulling away and looking into her eyes with what he hoped was confidence and manliness. "Do you want to go upstairs?"
Hermione's breath stopped. He stared at him. Into him. He felt her hand tighten against his shoulder. She inhaled deeply, and he could see her building up the courage that he himself had been building since he came back from the kitchen.
She closed her eyes. And nodded.
"Yes, I do," she said, exhaling as she spoke. "I want to."
"Okay," he said, amazed that only a few simple words could start an avalanche in his gut. He pulled his hand from beneath her bra, from beneath her shirt, and sat up, grabbing his t-shirt from where it had landed a foot away from his head. He looked at her briefly as she sat up, reaching around behind her and readjusting the straps beneath her shirt. She looked back. Smiled. The parts of her face that weren't already red (Dammit, why didn't I shave today? Ron thought at sight of the blotched skin around her lips, irritated from his scratching stubble) turned pink, and she pulled herself to her feet.
They walked up the stairs to Hermione's room in silence. Ron wondered if he should hold her hand. Or say something witty. Or something anything. But he was too nervous to make any move but left foot, right foot.
God, I hope I don't screw this up.
Eighteen Months (And A Few Minutes) Later / Previous Chapters / Housewarming (2/2)