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Despite lying in a soft bed, Ron could not sleep. He should have been used to it by now, they’d been at Shell Cottage for weeks. Long enough for him to have gotten used to the mattress and the soothing sounds of the sea floating in through the window. But what should have brought peace instead grated on him.
Harry’s snoring was worse than usual that night. It reminded Ron of how easy it was for Harry to rest, and why shouldn’t it be? Harry had spent the entire time they’d been away in the forest with Hermione, while Ron had been here before, warm and safe. The memory made his stomach twist.
Worse still was the thought of tomorrow. By this time tomorrow night, they would have either done the impossible in Gringotts, or they might not come back at all. Ron stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding, every creak of the shutters were like a clock ticking down, time running out.
Hermione had been on his mind all evening. Things had shifted once they reached Shell Cottage. The glances they shared across the table, the brush of her hand when she had passed him a cup of tea, the way the smiles she gave him had subtly changed. They hadn’t talked about it, not when so much was at stake, but the tension between them had been building for weeks.
He let out a sigh and flung the quilt from his body. His feet hit the cold floorboards before his mind caught up to question what he was doing, and then his legs were moving. The floorboards creaked as he moved down the hall toward Bill and Fleur’s second guest room. He didn’t have a plan, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Hermione lying there alone, not tonight, not with what was coming. He’d just reached for the door knob when a voice from the shadows made him flinch.
“Going somewhere?”
Bill stepped forward, the scars on his face reflecting silver in the moonlight that illuminated the hallway through sheer curtains. For a moment, Ron felt like he was seven years old again, and Bill had caught him sneaking biscuits from the kitchen.
“I–” He cleared his scratchy throat, ears blazing. “I was just checking on her.”
His brother raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, a wry smile on his lips. “Funny thing is, I think you might actually believe that.”
“I do! It's not like that. She–”
Bill raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Mum’s not here to drag you back by your ears. She’d have my hide if she knew I let you go in there at this hour, no matter the reason. But…” Bill dropped the earlier snark in his voice. “You’re not a kid anymore, are you? You’re an eighteen year old man. You can make your own calls. Especially now.”
Ron stared as if Bill had said something confusing. Like the words hadn’t landed right away. “Eighteen?” He said it almost to himself. “Am I?”
Bill frowned. “It’s nearly April. So you’d have just turned…” he trailed off, the reality of why his brother didn’t even know that he’d turned another year older hanging between them.
“Oh.” Ron hummed. “Bloody hell.”
Bill pursed his lips together into a pitying frown. Even when Ron had stayed with him and Fleur briefly over Christmas, he had kept his experiences tight to his chest. Bill wondered if he would ever truly know what his brother had sacrificed supporting Harry in his quest.
He nodded at Ron and turned halfway before hesitating and turning back. “Ron just… be careful.”
Ron frowned. “Careful with what?”
Bill’s eyebrow rose again in that infuriatingly older-brother way. “You know what I mean.”
It hit Ron a second later, and his face reddened to match his ears. “Merlin’s sake Bill, I told you, it’s not like that!”
Bill only gave a soft chuckle as he headed back to his own room, opening the door. “If you say so. Leave the first grandchild to me, yeah?”
And then he was gone, latch clicking shut, leaving Ron mortified and alone in the hallway, crimson from the neck up.
“What a dick.” Ron muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face before rapping softly on the door with his knuckles.
“Come in,” Hermione’s voice called.
He pushed the door open and entered, shutting it quickly behind him. Hermione was awake against her pillows, her hair still in the two plaits that Fleur had braided after she had convinced her to have a bath. There were shadows under her eyes but when she saw him her countenance lifted.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” She asked him.
Ron shook his head, and Hermione lifted the corner of her quilt in quiet invitation. On a different night the gesture would have seemed simple enough, especially with the soft, friendly smile on her face. But after Bill’s meddling in the hall, Ron’s heart threatened to leap from his chest, his mind working overtime to dismiss meaning that surely wasn’t really there.
Hermione scooted to the middle of the bed as Ron crawled in stiffly beside her.
“Ron, your face,” she whispered, “why is it so red?”
He groaned. “Bill caught me in the hallway… thought I was sneaking in here to… y'know.“
She raised an eyebrow. “Were you?”
Ron bolted halfway upright, his eyes as wide as galleons. “What? No!”
Hermione gave a short chuckle, more breath than laugh, but her own cheeks reddened to match his.
A joke? Maybe. But something about it felt like more. And now he couldn’t stop wondering: What if it wasn’t?
Ron squinted at her as he lay back down, silence filling the room. Every nerve in his body felt stacked on top of the next, vibrating. He tried to lie still, but the mattress dipped toward him, pulling her closer.
He heard her shift next to him, then, without warning, her fingers touched his arm. Lightly, almost carelessly, her fingers rested on one of the scars on his bicep. He braced for her to pull away at any moment, but she didn’t.
Ron’s stomach clenched.
Is this on purpose?
He received an immediate answer when she began tracing along the edge of the raised scar, back and forth, as if she was memorizing it.
Not a joke?
Hermione shuffled her legs so that they were tangled with his, stealing the warmth of his body, causing Ron to pass away. Or so it felt.
Is this on purpose??
Her fingers trailed down his arm, tracing the tentacle scars, until she found his hand. She guided his hand to her waist while pulling her entire body flush with his.
Not a joke??
Ron gulped hard and allowed himself to look down. The first thing he noticed was that his chest was moving. Still breathing. That was good. Second? Hermione’s large brown eyes looking up at him. The look on her face was one he had seen on her a million times. The questioning look she had when she was interested in a subject.
Is this on purpose???
They were both breathing as if they had been running, as if it was difficult to get oxygen to the brain. Hermione bit her lip, then leaned up until her lips were brushing against his.
Not a joke???
At first they didn’t kiss. Just breathed into each other, their lips barely touching, until Hermione parted hers and took Ron’s bottom lip gently between her teeth.
This is on purpose. This is not a joke.
The dam burst. Ron’s frozen hand at her waist moved to the back of her head, allowing her dark curls to thread between his fingers as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss messily, pressing his tongue against hers.
Hermione gripped his hair, pulling him closer, willing herself to be devoured by the man she’d heard break a silencing charm screaming for her safety.
Their teeth crashed together, and she smiled into his mouth, her short laugh muffled by his kiss. Ron groaned in mortification, but it only made her kiss him harder.
Hermione swung a leg over his hips, pressing him flat to the mattress, kissing him like she couldn’t get close enough.
“Hermione-” he gasped.
She broke the kiss and buried her face into the crook of his neck. “I want to be with you,” she whispered. “Please….”
She didn’t need to explain further. Ron could hear it in her voice - they might not have a future. They were alive now. Tomorrow wasn’t promised.
His throat clenched, and he swallowed, pushing down the emotional lump rising in his throat. He simply nodded before nuzzling against her, kissing her curls at her forehead until he had lured her lips back to his.
Ron’s hips jolted helplessly beneath her as he hardened, causing a bolt of panic to shoot through him– until Hermione shifted deliberately, grinding down to get a better feel of him.
She must have liked what she found, because she sat up straighter, straddling him as she writhed purposefully on his clothed lap. Ron’s head fell back, totally blissed out as she rode him.
“Hermione,” Ron exhaled, “I don’t know what I’m doing…”
Hermione froze and Ron panicked. He couldn’t help but to wonder if that had been the wrong thing to say. He steeled himself and peeked one eye open, bracing for a look of pity, or one of disappointment. Instead, her eyes sparkled with tears.
“Oh, Ron!” She threw her arms back around him and kissed him with twice the passion as before.
“Hermione–” Ron managed between kisses. “You didn’t honestly think–”
She didn’t respond with words but instead sat back up. She gave him a coy look that would live in the front of his brain for as long as he lived, and in one motion shucked off the borrowed nightgown over her head and tossed it aside.
Ron’s stomach flipped. Hermione had been wearing nothing but a pair of knickers underneath. For a heartbeat he could only gape, all thoughts knocked out of his head. She just straddled him, nearly bare, daring him to move.
He couldn’t. His hands felt like they were made of lead and they remained useless at his sides no matter how much his brain wanted them to move. Hermione smiled at his apparent terror, then reached down and pried one of his hands from the bed and guided it upward.
She pressed his palm against her breast, and the needy sound escaped from her throat nearly made Ron’s vision nearly black out. A sound that caused his panic to instantly evaporate, replaced by something half-feral. His fingers tightened, kneading and exploring as she rocked against him. He brought his other hand up too, terrified it might miss the best feeling he had ever known.
Then instinct took hold. He gripped her waist and rolled, the blankets twisting as he pressed her beneath him. Ron hovered above her, his eyes wide and hungry.
Surprise flashed across her face, then she dragged him down into another wild kiss as Ron rutted against her.
They fumbled with what was left between them, Ron shoved his bottoms down awkwardly to the tops of his thighs, and Hermione tugged them the rest of the way. He groaned into her mouth as her hands brushed against him then froze when she wrapped her fingers around him, sliding her hand up and down his warm, velvety length.
“Bloody hell!” he hissed, breaking the kiss. “Wait. Hermione, wait.”
Her eyes widened as she released him, clearly worried that she had done something wrong, that she had hurt him, that he had changed his mind, that he didn’t really want her after all…
Ron kissed her quickly. “No– I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s okay, Ron. I’m ready for this, I–”
“No, I mean…” His words came out in a jumbled rush. “Merlin, this is awkward… but I’ve got this book. Don’t look at me like that! It’s not that kind of book. It just said… it’ll hurt less if I… do things first. To get you ready.”
Hermione’s smile reached her eyes. “Ronald Weasley… are you trying to tell me you studied for this?”
He groaned, grinning all the same. “Of course you’d call it that. So… can I?”
She nodded and Ron exhaled, steadying himself, then hooked his fingers in the waistband of her knickers, sliding them down her legs as she lifted her hips.
She flushed as he stared. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen
“Just… tell me if I’m rubbish,” he muttered.
“You won’t be.”
His hand slid up her thigh, hesitated, then cupped her, his thumb brushing over her lips. Her gasp made his heart seize in his chest. He’d done that. She wanted him.
Still fumbling, he stroked her softly, unsure of where to press or how to move. His fingers pet through her soft, dampening curls gently but uncertainly.
Hermione caught his wrist and guided his hand. “Here,” she whispered, guiding his touch to where she needed it. She closed her eyes as he circled her clit, her hips jerking against his hand.
“Bloody hell,” Ron exhaled, watching her come apart under his hand. His confidence grew with each gasp, every stifled moan, the way she shifted between spreading her legs wider for him and clamping his hand tightly between her thighs.
Gathering all of the Gryffindor bravery he had, he cautiously slid a finger inside of her. Her nails dug into his shoulder.
“Ron…” she panted. “Please. I’m ready…”
He nodded, shifting above her, pressing his forehead to hers as he forced himself to breathe. His body burned as he dragged the head of his cock through her folds, inelegantly attempting to line himself up, failing more than once before Hermione reached down and guided him to her very center.
“Merlin… Hermione.” Their eyes locked and she nodded.
Ron pushed forward, just a little.
She gasped, stifling a cry, her toes curling and fingertips biting into his arms.
Ron jerked back instantly, panic flooding him. He’d had enough of that sound for a lifetime, Hermione in pain, and he wasn’t keen to be the cause. His stomach dropped.
“No–no, I can’t Hermione, I can’t–”
She reached up and cupped his face in both hands. “Ron. Look at me.”
He couldn’t look away if he wanted to.
“It hurts a little, but that’s expected. You’re not hurting me like that. You could never.”
Her words calmed him and he swallowed hard, nodding.
“Please don’t stop.”
Ron only stared down at her, breathing heavy, overthinking.
“Ron. Please make love to me.”
That did it. He leaned down and kissed her. Her forehead first, then her nose, then sweetly on her lips as eased forward again. He moved slowly at first, shallow thrusts as he watched her reaction for any discomfort. Gradually the tension in her body melted away, and she began raising her hips to meet him, urging him on. He clung to her form, steadily sinking deeper with each thrust until he felt himself bottom out.
It wasn’t steady. His rhythm faltered, his knees slipping a few times on the sheets, the blanket below them twisting. But the sounds she made spurred him on, erasing everything in his mind except for more, mine, closer, Hermione.
An errant thought surfaced, a line from his book, and he reached between them, to where their hips were connected, and slid down to the spot she had shown him.
Hermione cried out in pleasure, back arching, and Ron couldn't help but grin.
First try that time.
Hermione clung to him, legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper as she chased her release. Ron groaned helplessly, hips faltering in their tempo as he began to spiral out of control.
Her arm flew over her face, teeth sinking into her own wrist to muffle her cry as she came. He was close and this was going to tip him over the edge. He wanted to come, he wanted to fill her, to give in completely.
Somewhere from the back of his brain, a voice echoed in his mind. ‘Ron just… be careful.’
His whole body jolted. At the last possible second he pulled out, spilling hotly across her stomach instead. He collapsed beside her, gasping for air, every muscle shaking.
“Hermione,” he panted, half dazed, “you… finished, right? I mean… that’s was it, right?”
Hermione gave him a tired but satisfied smile. “Yes, Ron. That was it”
Ron sighed in relief, relaxing back into the pillow. He tugged gently at her shoulder, coaxing her against him.
“Ron, I’m a mess!” she protested faintly, motioning to the streaks of his cum cooling across her midsection. “Let me grab my wand and clean up before it gets all over you.”
“S’alright,” Ron said, pulling her in anyway. “Usually ends up all over my stomach, anyways. This was way better.”
Hermione laughed quietly and tucked herself against him, and for a while they lay in silence as their heartbeats slowed, the sea wind rattling the shutters.
Tomorrow would come, with all of its danger. But tonight, they had this.