A/N: Thank you so much for all of the love on the first chapter! I was so thrilled to see people excited about this story. Here's the second part, I hope you enjoy it! Please note that the rating has increased to M.

It occurred to her, as Ron's hand grazed over her upper arm, pulling her closer, that she'd already gone farther with him after three kisses than she had with anyone else. She supposed she should have been nervous, or compelled to take things slow, but she had no misgivings where Ron was concerned. In a way, she felt she had always known it would end up this way, that it was always going to be him. Everything and everyone else, all of the tension and miscommunication and charged moments, they were just stops along the way to this very moment.

Ron's hand moved up higher, so that his fingertips nudged their way under the lacy hem of her sleeve, and Hermione felt her stomach threaten to flip again. The very idea of his hands under her clothes, as minimal as it was right now, sent a thrill through her veins. She leaned in closer, parting her lips, finding his tongue eagerly slipping over hers. His hand kept moving up, over her shoulder and along the side of her neck until he had cradled her face against his palm.

He wasn't shaking anymore. His mouth pressed ardently against hers, almost hungrily, but there seemed to be an eagerness now rather than reservation, and Hermione welcomed it. Shifting onto her knees, she placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the grooves of his Splinching scar through his faded t-shirt. Suddenly she was desperate to see more of him, to assure herself that he was really there, and alive, and safe. They nearly lost everything when they showed up at Hogwarts, and nothing was perfect, not yet. But she still had him.

As she broke the kiss and opened her mouth to speak, his free hand came to her waist and guided her onto his lap, evoking from her lips a light, startled yelp.

"Sorry," he breathed, "I didn't mean - is this okay?"

"Yes," she nodded, ducking her head to kiss him again and almost going dizzy as his hand stroked up her bare thigh. "Ron," she managed around a kiss, "have you ever done this before?"

"This?" he asked, incredulous, gesturing vaguely at the close contact between them. "No."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do, and the answer's still no." He angled his face up toward hers again, but paused. "Did you think I had?"

Well, if she was really honest with herself… "No," she admitted. "I suppose I was just… checking."

"Right," he smiled as his mouth met hers again. His hand continued its agonizingly slow path up her leg, the pads of his fingers burning into her flesh, as his mouth dragged over her cheek and down her jaw. "Hermione," he muttered into the pulse point of her throat, "I've wanted this…" His lips brushed her skin. "For so long…"

"So have I," she found herself saying back.

Something was racing through her now, something other than adrenaline or desire, as his hand slid up higher so that his thumb locked into the crease of her hip. For so long, she had locked away her feelings, kept them tightly under wraps out of necessity, because Harry and the war had to come first, but the war was blessedly over. Everything she had pushed away now surged to the forefront, guiding her every movement, her every thought. Running a hand down his side, she bundled the fabric of his t-shirt in her fist, tugging up to reveal creamy, freckled skin and more than a few bruises and scrapes. Ron pulled his lips from her neck just long enough to reach behind his head and yank off his shirt, his mouth twisting into a sheepish grin.

"Er…" He touched the side of her neck lightly with a finger. "I might've left a mark."

"I don't care," she replied, letting her hands rest on his chest, noticing not for the first time the smattering of copper hair on his sternum.

Once, back in the tent, she had caught a glimpse of him emerging from the shower in just a towel (though she'd quickly pretended to be reading Tales of Beedle the Bard). He had been so, so dreadfully skinny then, every rib visible through his skin, his elbows sharp points, but a month of Fleur's hearty cooking and a warm place to sleep had done him a world of good. He was still slim - and she supposed he always would be - but his lean muscles had returned, and she let her hands roam over the ridges of his chest and down his abdomen - but then his lips were back on hers and his hand was back under the hem of her nightgown, and she forgot to keep thinking about the past.

"Hermione," he muttered again, his mouth forming her name against her lips, "if we're going to do - something - I need you to know-" He kissed her squarely on the lips again, like it was oxygen and he couldn't be without it for too long, and if she was honest, she felt the same- "I love you-" His voice had dropped an octave- "I've been so in love with you for years-"

"I know," she interrupted, "I know, and I love you too-"

The look that crossed his face, she'd never seen it before, never that much relief and disbelief and awe, but then he leaned forward and caught her lips with more passion than ever before.

And it was this exact moment that she realized that his thumb was touching her knickers, just below her hip bone, and she nodded into their kiss, hoping to convey to him that she welcomed any moves he made now. Beneath her thigh, she could feel the evidence of his own desire quite clearly (evidence that seemed rather thick and long, not that she had any frame of reference), and as she shifted to bring herself closer, he moaned softly into her mouth. She couldn't help herself, then: she rubbed against him, craving more of him, needing to know she had the same effect on him that he had on her. The mattress creaked with each movement, quiet yet rhythmic, and Ron groaned again, his teeth grazing her bottom lip.

"Wait," Hermione whispered, holding still for a moment. "I've just remembered. I share a wall with Fleur."

"Oh. Right."

Reluctantly, Hermione climbed off of him and fetched the stolen wand again, firing a whispered "Muffliato" at the door.

"I reckon you approve of that spell now?" Ron teased as Hermione set the wand on the edge of the bedside table.

"Well, it is useful sometimes, but if you think I shouldn't have used it-"

"No, no, come back here," he grinned, his hands on her waist to pull her back to the bed.

Rather than draw her onto his lap, he flipped her onto her back and crawled over her, his mouth on her neck and his weight pressing her into the bed. Her legs, almost instinctively, bent at either side of his torso and her nightgown pooled around her hips. This was growing serious, now. This was no longer just snogging, not when he was digging into her inner thigh and a pulsing warmth was building at her center. Ginny had not even attempted to return, and they had just transformed the room into a fortress. This was happening.

Her hands were on his back, drifting slowly down to the waistband of his pajama bottoms, her nails skipping along his bare skin. She thought, for a second, about dipping her hands inside, but his own hand had returned to her waist and was moving up, up, up-

"Oh," said Ron, startled as his hand cupped under her bare breast. "You're not wearing-"

"No," she confirmed, her stomach starting to shake again when his hand moved over her and his thumb glanced over her nipple. "Oh, do that again," she requested, not realizing she had spoken aloud until she felt him touching her.

His mouth landed on her collarbone, covering her skin in wet and sloppy kisses, her own ragged breath and the occasional creaking of the bed filling the room. The nightgown had hitched up by her ribs, inching higher with every movement of his hands, and she decided she'd never much liked the thing, and it was high time she stopped wearing it. Nudging Ron gently away, she sat up just enough to wiggle the gown up and over her head, tossing it to the floor where Ron's shirt lay.

When she opened her eyes again, Ron was blinking rapidly at her, swallowing thickly at the sight of all of her bare skin. "You," he said hoarsely as he kissed the curve of her shoulder and pinned her back to the bed, "you're so fucking beautiful-"

She had an impulse to disagree - she never thought her looks were anything write home about - but if Ron thought so, who was she to argue? She could never imagine anyone more attractive than him, and maybe that was why they worked so well together. They saw the best in each other.

Ron was shaking again. His breath fell erratically on her skin as he moved his attention further down her chest, carefully pressing his lips to the curve of her breast. Hermione couldn't help but watch him in mild disbelief, knowing this was her life, knowing that this had always been in the cards for them but still amazed that it was happening now, here, at long last. As she let her hands rest on his shoulders, she found she was trembling too, a gasp escaping her lips as he touched his tongue to her nipple. He moved slowly, gently, but still all coherent thought fled her mind and she was consumed only by him, his mouth, the vibrations of his throat as he moaned against her.

And yet she still wanted more. She wanted to run her hands over his skin the way he was doing to her now, to make him feel as brilliant as she did, so she reached again for the waistband of his trousers… only to find she couldn't quite reach. Of course. His height, which she loved about him - it made her feel safer somehow - was backfiring on her. She pressed her fingertips into his waist, squeezing until he looked up at her, and she beckoned wordlessly to him so that he rose up and crushed his lips to hers. Now, though so much of his skin pressing against so much of hers was making her head spin, she boldly pushed the waistband of his pajamas down his hips.

Hermione wanted to study him - something of a side effect of her unending curiosity - but he was already prone to self-consciousness and she didn't think gawking at him, even out of admiration, would go over well, so instead she wrapped her hand around his length and stroked down the velvety skin.

"Oh, fuck," Ron groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck, that's-"

"Am I doing this right?" asked Hermione worriedly.

"Too right," he nodded hastily, "if you don't stop, I-"

"Oh." Hermione paused, a blush rising in her cheeks as she removed her hand from him and he kicked the trousers to the floor. "Then just kiss me."

A smile crossed his lips as he leaned toward her again, his kiss somehow gentle and yet intense. The pulsing between her legs had grown strong and insistent, desperate to be sated, so she angled her hips up into his and ground against him. Messy, haphazard kisses passed between them, tongues clashing, anxious sighs and moans filling the air. There was so little between them now, just the flimsy cotton of her knickers, and as he bumped up between her legs, she decided she had never been more ready for this, for him.

"Do you know the charms?" asked Ron, whose face had gone a wonderfully familiar shade of scarlet. "Oh, what am I thinking, of course you do."

"I do," she said, meeting his lips in another kiss and then reaching for the stolen wand on the nightstand.

Ron kneeled between her open legs as she cast a spell first on herself, then on him. As the wand clattered to the floor, Ron hooked his fingers into her knickers and pulled them down, briefly moving to the side so he could draw them fully down her legs. The last barrier had finally gone, and, her heart thudding in her chest, she slid her legs apart as their hips aligned.

It seemed there wasn't a millimeter of their skin that wasn't touching, chests and stomachs now sticky with sweat and glued together, as Ron laid another soft kiss on her lips. He pulled away and as their eyes met, an unspoken agreement passed between them. His tip pressed between her folds, and even this light contact was enough to make her breath hitch in her throat.

"It's okay," Hermione told him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm okay."

Ron's throat bobbed as he nodded, and Hermione closed her eyes as he slid further inside. She wanted to memorize this sensation, they'd never have another first time of being truly joined together like this and she needed to burn it into her brain, this feeling that she could burst from the magnitude of it all.

She'd been conditioned throughout her adolescence, she realized, to expect that this would be painful. But now, it was more so that she was simply stretching, accommodating him, and he seemed to understand this, pausing once he had filled her to the hilt so that she could adjust. Clamping her knees at his sides, Hermione looked up at him, at his messy fringe and shining blue eyes and that cluster of freckles right by his nose, and picked her head up off the pillow to kiss him. God, she loved him, why did she deny herself this for so long? Why had she let petty things come in the way, why did she shut him out for weeks after his return, when this is what could have been? They had both admitted to wanting this for years, and now… now, they could have it.

Ron withdrew about half an inch and then pushed back in, then again, and again, until he had set a slow, gentle rhythm. Her arms around his neck, Hermione buried her face in his shoulder, placing an errant kiss or two on his skin. She couldn't catch her breath, not when he was flooding her senses like this and she was gladly drowning in him. Now that she had adapted to his size and to the presence of him inside her, she could appreciate this even more, and she sighed into his ear, her fingers threaded through his hair. His lips glanced over her forehead and over her temple, bestowing kisses wherever he could reach, an urgency behind his every action. Whether he realized it or not, he had picked up speed, but Hermione welcomed it, her own light sighs evolving into moans of pleasure, her mind wiped of all thoughts except him. The mattress whined beneath them as his thrusts grew erratic, and with a mumbled expletive, he spilled into her, his breath hot on her neck.

He didn't pull out right away, instead placing wet, warm kisses on the curve of her shoulder. Hermione lazily raked his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, more content than she had ever been in her life.

"I love you," she told him softly, wanting to be the first to say it this time.

"I love you too." He kissed up her neck and gave a playful nibble to her earlobe. "This-" He furrowed his brow and withdrew, turning onto his side to face her. "This is it for us, innit? We won't be stupid anymore?"

"I won't if you won't," she said with a smile.

"I promise to do my best."

Hermione rolled onto her hip and caught his smiling lips with hers, sighing into his mouth as his hand reached out to brush her hair away from her face.

"I suppose we should get dressed," she said, a bit rueful. If she had her way, she would have stayed with him, just like this, but the sound of the waves against the shore reminded her that despite the apparent solitude, there was a world outside of this tiny room, and they had to rejoin it eventually.

"Hmm," Ron mused, kissing her lightly again. "Unfortunately, yeah, you're probably right."

Rather than fetch Fleur's fussy little nightgown from the floor, Hermione claimed Ron's t-shirt for herself and slid back into her knickers, then shamelessly watched as Ron pulled on his pajama bottoms. She was allowed to admire him now in a way she never could before, and she relished it.

As she crawled beneath the rumpled sheets, which were now sweat-damp for a completely different and far more wonderful reason, Ron knelt on the bed beside her and kissed her warmly on the lips.

"Should we lift the charms?" asked Hermione, holding up a corner of the duvet so Ron could join her.

"Nah," he shrugged. "Let's stay by ourselves just a little longer."

As they laid down on the bed, Ron pulled her back flush against his chest, his arms securely around her waist, his lips ghosting a kiss on the back of her neck… and just like that, they drifted peacefully into sleep.

Thanks for reading! Please review :)