KING

DISCLAIMER: The Characters, Places, and all other Things that you know for a fact belong to J.K. Rowling really do belong to her. No profit was made from this story. The only thing I got out of this story was the fun of writing it. Hope you enjoy reading it.

Ron Weasley woke up in his room at the Burrow. It was just past dawn, but his brain wouldn't let him rest anymore. In a few days, he would be leaving his home again, but this time, he would not be going off to meet his best friends and share adventures with them. He had been accepted into Auror training. That meant he would have to go through the most rigorous study program in the wizarding world for another three years. Three years without his best friends -- no wonder he couldn't bear to sleep anymore.

He sat up, and spent a few minutes watching the sun climb across the sky. Or was it a few hours? He didn't really know. He was too preoccupied with the thought that for the first time since they met, he wouldn't be with Harry and Hermione. The two of them would be going back to Hogwarts -- Harry was going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Hermione would be the new Charms professor. Even his sister, Ginny, would also be going back to Hogwarts to finish her seventh year. He was on his own now. It felt strange to walk down a different path from the one they were taking. But then again, it was as it should be, for they were adults now.

Looking back, he realized that from his very first train ride aboard the Hogwarts Express, his life had been filled with one adventure after another, ever since he met a scrawny, scar-headed kid named Harry Potter and a bushy-haired know-it-all named Hermione Granger. Together, they had faced many dangers, their friendship became stronger through many tests, and they fought in a war that ended with the defeat of Voldemort.

And, as if those things weren't enough, they even managed to survive their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s together, mostly because Hermione would rather have faced Voldemort on her own than let him and Harry neglect their studies. He had Hermione to thank for, er, nagging him to study -- otherwise, he never would have got the O.W.L.s he needed to take the N.E.W.T. classes that would qualify him for Auror training. He also had Harry to thank for teaching him defensive spells in fifth year, when they had formed the D.A. He relied on that knowledge all throughout the war, as well as during the practical tests he took when he applied for Auror training.

His thoughts naturally shifted to Harry. He would have made a fine Auror, but somehow, it seemed to be asking too much of him to spend the rest of his life fighting dark forces. Surely after Voldemort's defeat, Harry deserved some peace and happiness. He was glad that his best friend would be living and working at Hogwarts, the one place that Harry had always considered as his home. Ron was also happy about the fact that Harry and Ginny had finally become a couple. It was something that he had always believed in, something that he had always felt to be right. After Ginny finished school, she and Harry would be free to plan their future together, and both of them had made it clear that there WILL be a future for them. He was glad his best friend was finally putting his life back together again.

Ron himself had almost everything he could have wished for -- he had become Quidditch Captain and Head Boy, just as he saw himself in the Mirror of Erised in his first year. And now, he was on his way to becoming an Auror, something he had wanted since his fourth year. But still, he wasn't as completely happy as he thought he would be. Although he had worked hard to earn every single thing he wanted, he felt that the one thing he lacked in his life was something he didn't deserve to have. If it had been a matter of studying and taking a test for it, or winning it through strategy, or earning enough house points so it can be awarded to him, he would not have hesitated to give his best effort for it. But this one elusive thing could not be won by any of those methods -- it all came down to who he was and what he had to offer. And in his heart, he knew that he just wasn't good enough.

He knew he just wasn't good enough for Hermione Granger.

He'd known it all along. He was too poor, too immature, and too stupid to be her equal. She always had to help him, always had to scold him and nag him to do what he was supposed to do. How could she ever care for him at all? She could have any wizard she chose -- simply because she was brilliant, and understanding, and compassionate. Her beauty wasn't the kind that made one look twice, then forget. Hers was the kind that crept into one's mind and became unforgettable. It was only by pure luck that she was too preoccupied with his and Harry's safety all throughout the war against Voldemort to pay attention to any other boy while they were at school.

So that's it, then. That's why he was so restless -- in less than a week, he wouldn't be seeing much of her for three years. Oh, well, at least he'd get to hear about her from Harry and Ginny. They wouldn't disappoint him if he ever asked them for news about her.

Tonight, the four of them were supposed to meet at Hermione's cottage in Hogsmeade for a housewarming party. It would nearly be his last chance to spend some time with her, apart from his farewell dinner on Sunday. He sighed. He had to make the most of the time left to him.

He went downstairs for breakfast, and found Harry and Ginny sitting together. Whatever they were talking about must have involved him, because they suddenly stopped when he entered the room.

"Good morning," Ginny greeted him brightly -- too brightly to suit him, so he instantly put his guard up.

"Morning," he answered back. "What's up with you two? Did I interrupt you from doing something you're not supposed to be doing here? You should be thanking me for that, by the way."

"You have a dirty mind, Weasley! But then again, that's probably because you are a Weasley." Harry's joke earned him a slap upside the head from both redheads.

"Oh, shut up, Harry! And stop laughing, Ron! We have to tell you something important," Ginny huffed.

Ron groaned. "Don't tell I'm about to become an uncle again!" He, like the rest of the family, had been practically paralyzed when Bill brought home a very pregnant Fleur, with the announcement that they had already been married for the past two months. For half an hour, he had been convinced that his mum had had a nervous breakdown, as her tears would have been enough to drown all the gnomes in their garden. It took the birth of the child to heal the breach in the family. He didn't want to go through that again. He had been too hurt with Percy's behaviour back in his fifth year for things between them to ever go back to the way they were before. It had been somewhat of a relief when Percy had to move to Germany for his new post as liaison to the German magical ambassador.

Ginny's voice broke through his reverie. "NO, you prat! Will you just shut up and open your ears for a minute?"

"All right, all right... this better be good. Something important, is it? Go on, then."

"Well... it's important, but it's not that easy to say, since you probably won't take it well."

"Why don't you just spit it out and let me worry about whether I can take it or not?"

"Okay, but don't get all boiling mad at me. I warned you. It's just that, Harry and I, well, we were thinking--" Ginny paused, took a deep breath and continued as fast as she could, "--maybe you should go to Hermione's by yourself tonight, you know, to say good-bye properly, and all that."

"WHAT? Just what do you mean, 'say good-bye properly?' Is this some kind of trick you two want to play on me?"

"You know what we mean, Ron. Just -- tell her how you feel about her so you'll know once and for all how she feels about you," Harry answered.

"That's right, you're going off to Auror training soon, and this is the perfect time to settle everything before you move on."

"What are you on about? What do you mean, 'how I feel about her' and 'settle everything before I move on?' Sure, I'm going to miss her, but--"

"Oh, come off it, Ron. You've been in love with her since second year," Harry interrupted.

"WHAT?" He was horrified. How did Harry know he was hopelessly in love with Hermione? "But... how..." he spluttered.

"Ron, everyone at school knows how you feel about her, even the first years," Ginny spoke in exactly the same way a grown-up would when talking to a six-year old.

"Besides, if it was me, I wouldn't go around belching up slugs for just any girl," Harry said in an irritatingly smug voice.

Ron frowned. Since when did his best mate become a smug bastard? Oh, yeah -- when he started going out with his dear, sweet little sister -- who was about as dear as a doxy, and could sometimes be as sweet as Dolores Umbridge.

"Aw, that's sweet, Harry," Ginny cooed.

"Well,... that doesn't mean I want to belch up slugs for you -- I'd rather kill a basilisk. It's more dangerous, and it makes me look dashing, don't you think?" Harry cooed back. Ginny giggled, and the two of them started kissing.

Ron felt he was in serious danger of vomiting flobberworms this time. "Hey! I want to be able to eat my meals at this table without any disgusting mental images floating about in my head!"

Ginny broke away from Harry's lips to say, "c'mon, Ron. Why don't you just admit it? You'd love to be able to snog Hermione all over the Burrow anytime you wanted, wouldn't you?"

His silence answered Ginny's question.

Ginny always did look irritatingly superior whenever she knew she was right. "So then, Harry and I'll just keep out of the way, while you go over to her house tonight and --"

"Let the inevitable happen," Harry finished smugly again, which, for some reason, earned him another cuff upside the head from Ginny, who hissed something that sounded suspiciously like, "that's supposed to be a secret, you idiot!" to which Harry hissed back something that sounded very much like, "only a clueless git like him would be surprised -- even Crabbe and Goyle got the point before we all left school!"

He couldn't help frowning again. They were setting him up to make a fool of himself in front of Hermione. They shouldn't be able to get away with this. It was just too easy. But then again, he found himself agreeing with every word they said. He was just going to tell them so when he remembered something.

"Hang on, what do I tell her when she asks about you two? I don't want to be blamed for not doing everything I possibly could to drag you over there, and ruining all her preparations. After all, she's been planning to throw this little party ever since she started taking housekeeping lessons from mum." He remembered how Hermione had gone a few times to the Burrow the past week to learn housekeeping and cooking spells from his mum. They were always in the kitchen, talking about Lord knows what, and his reception if he happened to wander inside varied wildly -- most of the time, he would be practically thrown out on his arse, but at other times he would be stifled with pies and cakes and all sorts of food, and watched carefully as he ate. He tried to be as polite as possible, but some of Hermione's early efforts were quite... dreadful. He congratulated himself for having enough self-restraint to keep from blurting out that his cooking was better than hers. But, he had to admit, she was a fast learner. Before the week was out, he sometimes couldn't distinguish which was his mum's cooking and which was Hermione's.

"Oh, don't worry about that, we'll send her an owl and a housewarming gift," Harry answered.

A gift. Argh! Why can't he remember things like that? "Bloody hell, I didn't know we were supposed to get her something!"

"Relax, Ron, you don't have to bring her anything. Just get your arse over there -- preferably covered in leather -- or maybe a loincloth," Ginny sniggered. Harry guffawed.

"Hey! That's not funny, you two!"

"To borrow your own words, it's a 'disgusting mental image,' all right, but it's funny," Harry gasped.

Ron was sorely tempted to reach out and knock their heads together, just as he did with Fred and George when they slipped a Nosebleed Nougat into Hermione's pudding last Christmas. Instead, he mumbled something about getting her a gift, and ran upstairs to his room.

He took out the bottle of strawberry wine that had been set aside for him when he was born. He loved the tradition that went behind it. Each time a child was born to them, his parents made the wine, to be given to each of their sons (and Ginny next year) when they left school, to celebrate their victories with. He grinned broadly as he remembered how his mum had thrown Fred and George's bottles out the kitchen window -- luckily, there was an unbreakable charm on the bottles, so the twins were able to gather everyone round to toast the success of their joke shop. His mum had given his bottle to him a few weeks ago, and he had planned on opening it during his last dinner at home on Sunday. But on second thought, it seemed to be the perfect housewarming gift for Hermione.

Then he went out of the house and walked over to the field just outside Ottery St. Catchpole to gather enough wildflowers to make a bouquet. For some odd reason, Hermione loved these flowers. He remembered the times she would practically twist his, Harry and Ginny's arms to walk in that field the previous summer, and how she would make little wreaths for her and Ginny to wear. The flowers he picked today were almost the last that would bloom before the summer ended. It would be a fitting farewell to her. It would stand for everything he wanted to tell her -- how much he cared for her, and how much he wished her to have a happy life. He charmed the flowers to retain their freshness, then tied them together with a scarlet and gold ribbon that he transfigured from a bit of twine.

Afterwards, he felt a strong urge to visit Bill and the twins, who were in London. He would see them on Sunday during their family dinner, but it would be the last time for quite a while. So he apparated to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley to visit the twins, who affectionately thumped him on the back again and again, misty-eyed. They wouldn't let him go until they stuffed his pockets with Extendable Ears, Portable Swamps, and just about every other item on the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes inventory, including their new invention, All-seeing Eyes.

Then he went to Bill and Fleur's flat for lunch. After a lot of effort, Bill finally succeeded in hooking one arm about Ron's neck and ruffling his hair. Ron watched the delighted look on his brother's face and let him think that he had slipped past the defenses of a would-be Auror. But when Fleur brought out his nephew for him to play with, he felt a pleasant ache in his heart. Bill was lucky -- he had found his other half, and he was complete. Ron realized that he had always known in his heart who his other half was, and that he would never be complete without her. All at once, he found new courage to tell Hermione he loved her, even to endure the knowledge that she might never love him back, and to move on, if he had to.

His last stop was to visit his father at the Ministry of Magic. Ron only got to spend twenty minutes with him, which was a minor miracle, as the newly-elected Minister usually didn't have that much time to spare, even if the visitor was his own son. He smiled as he remembered what he had said back in fifth year -- 'we've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister of Magic.' How was he supposed to know that his words were prophetic? His father looked fondly at him -- not down, as he usually did whenever he gazed on his children, but on a level. Ron had outgrown all his brothers, and was the only one who was as tall as his dad -- well, his dad finally admitted that Ron was half an inch taller, and muscular, to boot. The tears stood in his eyes to hear his dad tell him how proud he was of his youngest son.

He apparated back to the Burrow at tea time. He went up to his room straight off and started digging through his meager wardrobe for halfway decent clothes to wear that evening, but all he could come up with was a long-sleeved, maroon button-down shirt and khaki trousers. He sighed -- wearing maroon wasn't exactly how he would have wanted to show up at the doorstep of the woman he was desperately in love with. But after showering and getting dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror and discovered that it wasn't so bad after all. He went downstairs bearing his gifts, and said good-bye to his mum, who looked at him shrewdly but refrained from making any comment.

He appeared with a small pop in front of Hermione's cottage and stood outside for a few moments. He had been with her when she bought the house about a month ago from a dotty old wizard who had sold it at a ridiculously cheap price because he was going off to live with his son, and wanted to "help out such a nice-looking couple, being newlyweds and all." They had both been too stunned to contradict the old man, and so they ended up signing the deed as "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley." Afterwards, they made a pact never to tell anyone what had happened.

He remembered how he had thrown himself into the frenzy of helping Hermione get settled into her new home. They laughed and argued as they got everything organized according to Hermione's master plan. Whenever he could, he brought her something he had made and charmed with his own hands -- a vase he fashioned from oak leaves and a picture frame from dried twigs, and bookends in the shape of knight chess pieces that groaned loudly whenever she put too many books between them. She was happier than a child at Christmas whenever she got something from him. But he wasn't satisfied. The only reason why he tried so hard to make those things for her was because he couldn't afford to buy her anything at the time. He carefully avoided the shops in the village whenever he visited her, as it was too depressing to see something that he thought she should have, but wouldn't be able to give her.

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart before knocking softly. It was a good thing he did, because when Hermione opened the door, it took only half his strength to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest. She was wearing a white slipover dress with a sunflower print and short, flap sleeves that seemed to float like butterfly wings, and white slippers -- no, sandals, which also had tiny sunflowers decorating its thin straps. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun, with soft little curls trailing just in front of her ears and at the nape of her neck. Never had she looked more beautiful.

He nearly dropped what he was holding when she stepped up to him, stood on tiptoe, and threw her arms around him. "It's so good to see you," she said in a buoyant, happy voice.

He tried as well as he could to put his arms around her, inwardly cursing his luck that she had to hug him outside where all her neighbours could see them, and while his hands were full. If only they had been inside and her body was the only thing he was holding...

"I hope I'm not too early," he forced out in reply, inwardly cursing again when she let go of him.

"Of course not! As if you, or Harry and Ginny, needed to make an appointment before visiting!"

"Well, speaking of Harry and Ginny, they're sorry but they couldn't--"

"Yeah, I know. Hedwig came with their note just a few minutes ago."

"So, it's just the two of us, then."

"Erm, yeah. That's all right, isn't it?"

"Of course it is! As if we didn't spend all that time by ourselves while Harry and Ginny went off snogging in the Owlery, or some other bloody uncomfortable place around Hogwarts!" She giggled a bit at his joke, and then fell silent. He tried to speak several times, but each time, his voice caught in his throat, and he gave it up. Bloody hell, were they going to stand outside all night?

Suddenly, she grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him inside. "Sorry, I thought you'd just come in. I didn't think you needed an invitation." Her fingers were trembling slightly as she pulled him along.

He finally found his voice again when they were inside the house and the door closed softly behind them. "Well, you were sort of blocking the door, you know."

She raised her eyebrow and looked at him haughtily. Gods, she looked so sexy whenever she did that. "Oh, and a big, tough wizard like you couldn't brush me out of the way?"

"I'd be a big, tough, rude wizard if I did."

"Well, you were a tough, rude wizard when we were at school."

"Ha, ha, very funny. But you were funnier as Miss McGonagall Junior, 'specially during sixth year, when you--"

"Just how badly do you want to be hexed?"

He leaned forward and flashed a lopsided grin. "Oh, I don't know, maybe you'd like to tell me just how badly you want to hurt me." He suddenly realized just how rude he had been. That was probably why she looked down, bit her lower lip and blushed. "Er, sorry, I -- I didn't mean to say --"

"Oh, don't be silly, Ron. I can take a joke. It's not like we're eleven, and the slightest thing you say would make me cry --"

His eyes widened as he remembered exactly what he said about her when they were eleven -- 'it's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly.'

She must have realized what he was thinking. "I -- I didn't mean to say --" Her voice trailed off.

He had to stop the evening from becoming a total disaster. "Look, let's start over, shall we?" He flashed his best smile. She smiled back. "I brought something for you," he continued, holding out the wine and the flowers.

Her face lit up. "Wildflowers! Oh, they're lovely!" She took the bouquet, held it to her chest and sniffed at the flowers eagerly. "Thank you, Ron," she breathed. Then, she seemed to notice for the first time the bottle he was holding out to her. She instantly recognized what it was. "That's not -- you're not giving me -- but -- but that's yours -- I couldn't possibly -- what will your mum and dad say -- it -- it's too much -- and it's too special, and --" Her lip trembled.

He was a bit taken aback by her reaction. "It's mine to do with as I please, and I want you to have it. You'll have more victories to celebrate, I'm sure of it." For a moment he was afraid that she would cry right then -- her eyes shone dangerously bright, and she blinked furiously fast several times.

He was overjoyed that his simple gifts meant so much to her -- that is, until he noticed a glint of tinsel from one of the armchairs. He took one step forward and discovered a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, and a bottle of -- what was it called? Shamp something. Oh, right... champagne. His heart dropped to the floor.

"They're from Harry and Ginny," Hermione said.

"Oh," he answered. His voice had turned flat and dull. For the third time, he inwardly cursed his luck. He was outclassed again. He was a fool to think that he had given her something special, when all the while she had real flowers and real wine.

He looked back towards her, probably with a trace of bitterness in his face, because just as their eyes met, she hugged the bouquet he'd given her fiercely, and walked off to arrange the wildflowers using the vase he made. He watched her put the flowers down in the centre of the dining table. Then she walked back towards him, grasped his arm, and led him away from the sofa. She took the bottle he was holding and set it down beside two wine glasses placed separately on the right side of the table.

He looked at the table -- it probably had four places before Harry and Ginny's note arrived, but now, it was set for two. There was a single candlestick and a slim taper lit with a blue flame. All his favourite foods were there -- nothing fancy, just the everyday fare he loved while they were at school or while they were at the Burrow during the summer, but served on beautiful platters with flower patterns and crystal dishes that winked in the candlelight.

He pulled out a chair for her and waited until she was seated before sitting down himself. It was only then that he noticed how comfortable and inviting her house was, now that she had put the finishing touches to it. For the first time, he appreciated the time and thought she put into every detail. He almost laughed as he remembered how often he argued with her about what went where during the previous weeks when he was helping her move in.

The sofa and armchairs reminded him of the Gryffindor common room with their cozy, lived-in air. The hall table, which he had moved around at least a dozen times while she made up her mind where to put it, was finally standing in its own little nook, proudly showcasing the bookends he gave her. Between the bookends was a copy of... what else, but Hogwarts, A History. There was also a shiny Muggle contraption on top of the table that she called... easy player? Oh, yeah... CD player, charmed to run by magic. The bookcase lining one of the walls was filled with books that he instinctively knew she had read at least twice. There was a stool beside the bookcase that bore traces of having been stepped on recently -- it was probably what she used to reach those musty volumes on the top shelf. She sometimes forgot she was a witch and could summon whatever book she needed -- he loved that little quirk of hers. He thought idly that if he was living in this house, she wouldn't need that stool. Bloody hell, where did that thought come from?

He blinked almost violently to get rid of the fantasy that invaded his mind. Being unable to look at her for fear of betraying his thoughts, he turned his eyes to the other side of the room. The fireplace was lit with one of Hermione's bluebell flames that gave off a soft, glowing light and a pleasant warmth. He remembered having to clean the damn chimney three times before she was satisfied. There were several picture frames on top of the mantelpiece, and judging from the way some of the images were moving while others stayed still, they were holding a combination of wizard and Muggle photographs.

He couldn't help smiling inwardly when he saw a puffskein fur rug and several throw pillows lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. The rug had belonged to the old wizard who originally owned the house. He had insisted on leaving it behind as a gift, proclaiming it was "something no newlywed couple should be without." Who would have thought the old codger was right? As Ron looked at it, he realized it was the perfect spot to while away the winter evenings. He pictured Hermione and himself lying down on that rug at Christmas, their arms around each other, talking quietly, making plans for the future, kissing...

"Ron?" Her voice broke into his reverie.

"Yeah?" he answered in the best casual voice he could manage.

"Aren't you hungry?" She sounded a bit hurt.

He looked down at his plate. She had piled it with a big helping of shepherd's pie. He had taken up his fork while he was daydreaming, but he knew he wouldn't be able to eat a bite, as he was mesmerized by her nearness. He swallowed hard and tried to think of an excuse that was as close to the truth as possible, but without letting her know that he was going to pieces because of her.

"It looks very good, and I'm sure it's delicious, but I... I..." Oh, God. He couldn't even finish his sentence.

"Are you thinking about having to leave next week for Auror training?" she asked, putting a hand on his arm.

Damn it, why did she do that? His eyes were drawn to the small, delicate hand resting on his forearm. He could feel its warmth seeping into his skin through his shirt, feeding the fever in his blood. He was finding it harder to breathe each second.

"Well,... yeah, I guess I am." At least, she gave him an excuse for the wretched, haunted look that must have been reflected in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. You'll do just fine. After all, you got top marks on the character and aptitude tests. And, they were impressed when you showed them how good you were at defense." She continued to try and soothe the pain he couldn't hide, not knowing she herself was the cause of it.

"Tests are one thing; it's another thing to be a good Auror."

"I'm sure you can handle anything they throw at you."

"Wish I had your confidence."

"Ron, get this through your thick head: I believe in you because you're you. Harry and Ginny and the rest of your family do, too. Look at what you did during the war -- you saved my life, and Harry's, and Remus'. You stepped in front of a curse that Voldemort taught his Death Eaters, and it almost killed you." He remembered that her hand was still on his forearm when she squeezed it as she spoke.

Why was she trying to make him out as some sort of hero? He knew the truth, and he said it out loud. "That's because you're worth ten of me. Any idiot can take a curse..."

"But only someone who's truly noble would do it without counting his own losses."

There, she did it again. He wouldn't be able to take this much longer. "I didn't have much to lose..." He didn't have her love, so he really didn't have much of anything.

"You didn't think so, but what about... us? The ones you would have left behind? If w-we had lost you, we'd have lost..." She whispered one more word beneath her breath, a word he almost didn't catch, but when she looked away, he felt rather than understood what the word was: "...everything."

He tried not to read too much into what she had just said, or what he thought he heard her say. It could just be his imagination playing tricks on him. Maybe it was because he loved her so much that he imagined she might be in love with him as well.

He watched as she cast a charm on the food so it would remain fresh and warm. "In case you change your mind about having dinner," she explained.

"But, you didn't eat anything either," he pointed out.

"Yes, well, I don't like eating by myself. We'll have dinner later."

He stood up when she did. He helped her carry the unused plates and glasses back to the kitchen. She started clearing up. "Maybe you'd like some dessert -- I made treacle pudding. Or how about some sweets?" She pointed to a wooden bowl on the kitchen counter brimming with chocolate frogs, sugar quills and peppermint creams.

"Thanks. Anything I can do to help -- wash dishes, maybe?" he asked as he popped a peppermint cream into his mouth. It wriggled and bounced inside his mouth, distorting his face as he chewed and swallowed it.

"No, just make yourself at home," she answered as she handed him another sweet. "Here, you know you can't eat just one of those." She knew him too well.

He walked to the fireplace to look at the photographs on the mantelpiece. He smiled as he noticed they were arranged in chronological order. The first photograph was of her and her parents when she was about six or seven years old. Her hair was even bushier back then and her front teeth were rather large, but she looked so adorable as she sat between her mum and dad. The next photograph was of her at age eight or nine, wearing a white dress and receiving some sort of award from school. The next one was of her holding up her Hogwarts letter. Following that was a wizard photograph of her, Harry and himself from first year, laughing and waving wildly. There was also one from their second and third years.

He ground to a halt in front of her photograph from fourth year. It was taken on the night of the Yule Ball. She was sitting in her usual chair in the common room, wearing her periwinkle-blue robes, her hair straight and glossy in its elegant bun. Her face glowed and her eyes twinkled in the firelight, giving her a look of subdued excitement, as though she wanted to hide the fact that she couldn't wait for the ball to begin. If he only knew then what he knew now, he could have been her partner that night. It would have been the happiest night of his life. He sighed, and turned to look at the next photograph.

To his surprise, it was of him holding up the Quidditch Cup and being carried by nearly all of Gryffindor when they won in fifth year. He didn't have a copy of this. He opened his mouth to ask her where she got the photograph, but suddenly closed it again upon catching sight of the next one. It was of him and her at the Burrow, taken during the summer before sixth year, some time before Harry arrived. The two of them were having a picnic under one of the trees in the garden. He was wiping off a spot of dirt on her nose. They laughed, and then she turned to get something from the picnic basket. As she did, he gave her a look that was unmistakably one of love and longing. It was gone in a second, but the camera had captured it nevertheless. He watched as their photographic selves repeated the scene again and again.

So she already knew, he thought bitterly. She knew, and she didn't even tell him. Why didn't she say anything? He would have understood that she could never care for him more than as a friend. He would have respected her feelings. He would have tried to forget her and move on. Instead, he had to live with the feeling of being lost and confused whenever she was near him. He turned away from the photographs. She was still in the kitchen. He fought the sudden impulse to just leave her house and never come back. After all, his objective was to confess his feelings for her so he would find out what she felt about him, and he wouldn't leave until he had done it. To compose his thoughts, he turned to look at the next photograph. He looked at it once, twice, then shook his head almost violently to make sure he wasn't imagining things, and looked at it again.

The photograph that had him doubting his sanity was mounted on the frame he had given her. It was of him, her, Harry and Ginny during sixth year, when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup again. He and Harry held the Cup between them, while Ginny, who was already a Chaser by then, was standing beside Harry, their arms around each other. Hermione was standing beside him. He watched as his photographic self wrapped an arm around her waist. She leaned into him, then waved her wand and conjured a sign that she held to her chest. At first, he thought it read, "Weasley is our king." That stupid song the Slytherins composed to torture him had become an anthem of sorts for Gryffindor, especially since he became team captain that year. But what made him blink and shake his head was the fact that upon closer inspection, the sign didn't read "Weasley is our king." It read, "Weasley is my king."

He leaned on the mantelpiece, trembling almost uncontrollably. He was seeing what he desperately wanted to see, he was sure of it. Even after he looked at the photograph three times, and still saw "Weasley is my king," he tried to convince himself that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He unwrapped the peppermint cream he was holding, and popped it into his mouth. The hopping sweet calmed him down a bit, that is, until he felt someone's gaze drilling holes into his back.

When he turned around, he discovered Hermione standing in the middle of the room, watching his reaction to the photographs. Her face was a little pale, but she had a determined look in her eyes. "Ron, would you turn on the CD player? I think I'd like some music. My favourite song is already loaded -- just push the 'play' button." She spoke in a high-pitched, nervous key.

He moved towards the CD player. A little red light showed him where the "play" button was. Hang on, she could have turned the thing on with her wand. Why did she want him to do it himself?

"Ron?" Her voice broke into his thoughts. She was giving him an odd look.

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled. He pushed the "play" button, and a soft, smooth melody filled the room. Then the words of the song came floating in the air.

Your love is king

His head shot up, and he accidentally swallowed the peppermint cream in his mouth. He thumped his chest twice, and the sweet slid down to his stomach, hopping all the way.

Crown you in my heart

He turned to look at her. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were turned away from him.

Your love is king,
Never need to part

He was by her side so fast he seemed to have apparated there without knowing it. He reached out and gently cradled her face in his hands. Their eyes met.

Your kisses ring
Round and round and round my head

At that moment, he decided to let her know once and for all how much he loved her. He stooped and kissed her softly, tenderly, giving her every chance to pull away if she didn't want him.

Touching the very part of me
It's making my soul sing

She kissed him back timidly. Something inside him gave way -- he kissed her again and again, showering her with caresses, pressing his mouth against hers a little more firmly each time.

Tearing the very heart of me
I'm crying out for more

She reached up and grabbed his shirt sleeves, her fingers fisting into the cloth. He moved one hand from her face, his fingers trailing lightly across her cheek, before settling to the nape of her neck. She whimpered into his mouth.

Your love is king
Crown you in my heart
Your love is king
You're the ruler of my heart

He coaxed her mouth open with his. Their tongues slid against each other in a fluid rhythm. He deepened his kisses until both of them were trembling.

Your kisses ring
Round and round and round my head
Touching the very part of me
It's making my soul sing
I'm crying out for more
Your love is king

He removed his other hand from her cheek to unfasten her hair clasp. Her head fell back, and a cascade of shining curls came tumbling down. He caught her with the hand that was still resting on the nape of her neck and pulled her to him with his free hand. His arm circled her waist firmly, pressing her so closely against him that her breasts were squeezed tightly against his chest. He felt her heart hammering wildly under his own and her nipples stiffening in the wake of the tremors of their rapid breathing. He crushed his lips against hers, making her gasp at the fierceness of his attack. Then she kissed him back -- he felt her meet his kisses with as much force and passion as she had to give. He continued kissing her intensely, until her entire body suddenly went slack.

"Hermione?" he whispered in her ear. She didn't move or answer.

"Oh, God, Hermione, what's wrong?!" he cried. Did he -- did he somehow strangle her while he was -- practically assaulting her?

He steadied her upper body with one arm, placed the other arm under her knees, and lifted her off the ground. He was going to lay her down on the sofa and try to revive her, when her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him, in a bemused way at first, and then, she seemed to realize he was carrying her. Her face turned scarlet and she tried to look away, but there was nowhere else for her to turn to. She made a soft little noise in her throat, threw her arms around his neck, and hid her face in the curve between his neck and shoulder.

"Hermione, are you okay? Did I -- did I hurt you?" He felt his voice grating in his throat. She shook her head, and her nose brushed against his neck. His arms and legs wobbled. Fearing he might drop her, he set her down. The movement dislodged her from his shoulder, effectively depriving her of a hiding place. He tried to make her look at him, but she ducked her head, hid against his chest, and held onto the front of his shirt.

"Hermione, please... look at me." She shook her head again. He stroked her back with both hands, trying his best to comfort her. She made another soft little noise and snuggled deeper into his chest. "Please tell me what's wrong... I know I've done something stupid..."

"N-no, you didn't-- I just-- fainted, that's all. It was just-- you-- you were kissing me so hard-- and it was-- too much, and I-- couldn't help it--" she whispered into his shirt.

Bloody hell. What a total prat he was. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. "I know I've hurt you... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I didn't know how to tell you... Hermione, please, I... I love you so much... won't you look at me?"

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "You... you love me..." her voice trembled. "You -- really love me?"

"For years," he answered, as he wiped away the tears that had suddenly fallen from her eyes.

"But -- when --"

"Harry said, since second year. He may be right... I really wouldn't know. I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with you... well, maybe before Halloween, our first year, but that's it..."

"Oh." She hid against his chest again.

He sighed again and held her closer. So far, all he had managed to do was ruin their friendship. For no reason at all, he had kissed her so hard that she fainted, not to mention that his tongue almost went down her throat while he ravaged her mouth. Then, he had the unmitigated gall to tell her he loved her, as if that would justify what he just did to her. And still, she hadn't thrown him out of her house yet. That was a good sign. But what should he do now? He couldn't just -- do anything he wanted with her. He had to convince her that he wasn't just another horny bastard, whose only objective was to shag her, then leave as soon as the deed was done. But he didn't know how -- he just didn't have the words.

She seemed to have sensed his doubts and his fears, because why else would she say-- "I've been waiting for so long to hear you say that." Her whispered words echoed inside his chest. His whole world spun wildly out of control.

"H-hermione--"

"I love you, Ron."

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. She loved him. He closed his eyes to savour the moment. Then he started kissing any part of her that was within his reach: the top of her head, her temple, the point of her ear. She finally looked up, and he kissed away her tears.

He rested his forehead against hers. She reached up and ran her fingers over the short hairs at the back of his neck. Suddenly, everything he felt he couldn't put into words came tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, I made you wait all this time, when I should have said something, anything -- I had absolutely no idea what love really meant back when I was eleven, or thirteen, or even fifteen. To tell you the truth, I don't quite understand it, even now. I just know that I've never felt this way for anyone else before, and I'll never feel this way for anyone else again. And you -- you're just -- you're everything to me. It doesn't make any sense, I know, but--"

She pulled him closer and gave him the softest, sweetest kiss he had ever known. That was all it took to arouse him beyond imagination. He deepened the kiss until he was swallowing her moans. His mouth left hers and traced a hot, wet path down her neck. When he reached her pulse point, she gasped and tilted her head back. He licked and sucked her skin greedily, making her cry out his name.

Suddenly, he realized he had no right to bind her to him like this. If he took her, he'd damn well better be there beside her for the rest of his life. But he wouldn't be. He would be leaving in a few days. They would be apart, while he trained to be an Auror. After that, he would go on dangerous missions for any length of time, and he might not come back after one of them. It wouldn't be fair to her. He loved her too much to take advantage of her.

His mouth stopped plundering her soft flesh, and he held her to his heart. He was content to just hold her in his arms, but then she reached up and kissed him. He claimed her lips again with swift, gentle kisses before breaking away completely. The sense of loss was overwhelming. She whimpered in protest.

"We -- we have to stop," he gasped.

"Ron --"

"Can't you see? If I don't stop now, I'll never be able to stop until you're mine."

"But I am yours."

He felt himself starting to lose control. He had to try pushing her away. It was for her own good. "Hermione, please--"

"I love you, Ron. I trust you more than anyone else in the world. Show me you love me too. Please--"

She was holding out her arms to him, and her eyes -- he was drowning in them. Every self-denying impulse, every intention to act like a gentleman, came crashing down. He seized her in his arms and kissed her as though he could only draw breath through her lips. He kissed her until she almost fainted again -- she had to end the kiss for several moments as she panted heavily. As she struggled to breathe, he caught hold of the hem of her dress and started pulling it up -- exposing her thighs, her hips, her navel. He continued pulling her dress higher and higher, until she was forced to raise her arms to let him pull it over her head and toss it aside. Her underwear was a white lacy set that showed faint outlines of her rosy nipples and -- and --

She came closer, then reached out with trembling fingers to unbutton his shirt. He helped her undo the buttons. She pulled his shirt out from the waistband of his trousers and pushed it off his shoulders when all the buttons were unfastened. He unbuckled his belt, took off his shoes, socks and trousers, and stood before her in his boxers.

He took in every curve of her body, striving to commit to memory the sight, the scent, and the heat that radiated from her skin, before stooping down to taste. He felt her hands gliding along his shoulders and chest, her fingers trembling with the uncertainty of first contact. But then she seemed to grow bolder from the way his muscles flexed and tensed as her hands roamed over him. She traced his breastbone with her thumb, making him shiver with delight.

His mouth descended on her neck, tracing the same path he had pursued just moments ago. After nipping and laving the firm softness of one side of her neck, he drifted to the other side, his hunger for her growing stronger and more uncontrollable. At first, she had tilted her head back, and seemed content to let him have his fill of her. But now, her head moved forward, and he was uncertain about what it meant -- perhaps, he had rubbed her neck raw, and he didn't even know it. Suddenly, all doubt, as well as coherent thought, vanished as he felt her mouth latch onto his neck, mimicking the actions of his tongue and lips, paying him back for the delicious torture he must have made her experience. His hands, which were splayed across her back, started to tease and rub, eagerly exploring the sensitive areas of her body. She moaned against his skin, and the sound vibrated along his entire body, sending shockwaves up and down his spine.

Trembling with desire, he unclasped her bra, pulled off the straps from her shoulders, and tossed it after her dress. Her breasts fitted into his fingers perfectly. Each stroke of his thumbs across her nipples drew them tighter. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on. He captured one nipple with his mouth, with no other thought than to possess. He swung his head to the other nipple, then back again, trailing his tongue along the valley between her breasts at a comfortable rhythm, and making her writhe and arch against him. He felt her knees tremble, so he grasped her waist and lifted her. He almost dropped her when she wrapped her legs around his hips. He took a blind step forward, and stubbed the big toe of his right foot hard against the leg of the sofa. He hissed in pain and let go of his hold on her waist. Unfortunately, her legs slipped from his hips, and her left foot crashed down on top of his right foot, the heel of her sandal coming down hard on his bones.

"Ow! Bloody--"

"Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry! Are you all right?" she wailed.

"I'm fine," he lied, wincing. He was definitely going to have a bruise. Served him right, though. Maybe it was a sign that they shouldn't go through with this. He dropped down on one knee over the puffskein rug. Despite his pain, he noticed that the rug was as soft as it looked -- definitely comfortable enough to sleep on.

He touched his big toe and hissed in pain again. The faint outline of the heel of her sandal was becoming visible on the top of his foot. Hermione knelt down beside him on the rug, wand in hand. She touched the wand tip to his injuries and muttered a healing spell. The pain gradually disappeared.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Although she had taken off her sandals, she hadn't bothered to put her clothes back on. She was kneeling beside him, wearing only her knickers and a look of intense concentration as she healed him. Her skin glistened in the firelight. His arousal throbbed and stirred inside his boxers.

She ended the healing spell and looked up at him. "There, all better now," she whispered. She leaned towards him and kissed him on the cheek. He planted his other knee on the rug and pulled her body against his. They kissed tenderly at first, until their passion raged hotter than the fire on the hearth. Her wand dropped to the floor as she threw her arms around him. His boxers and her knickers came off in a wild tangle of arms, legs and kisses.

He laid her down on the rug and continued laving and caressing every inch of her body, intent on finishing what he had started earlier. He let his instincts and the sounds she was making guide the movements of his mouth and hands. He traveled a downward path to her centre, coaxing her to spread her legs for him. She did, whimpering as she admitted him. His tongue swirled over her sensitive core again and again. He vaguely heard her screaming his name over the pounding of his blood in his ears. He growled as he felt a series of spasms rock her body. He continued loving her with his mouth, inflicting on her what he knew must have been an agonizing pleasure. He moaned against her flesh repeatedly, when he discovered that a tremor ran through her body every time he did so. After a minute or two, he closed his lips around her core and tugged gently. Her body bent almost to a sitting position as the force of her orgasm hit her. She tugged at his hair with both hands.

"Ron -- please, I need you," she begged in a voice he no longer recognized. It was husky with a primal hunger that echoed his own desire. He eased himself inside her as slowly as he could, gritting his teeth from the effort of holding back the impulse to plunge recklessly in. She threw her head back, her mouth fell open, and she let out a soft purr that raised his body heat to a fever pitch. He moved deeper and deeper into her until he could go no further. Then, just as slowly, he pulled back until he had almost completely severed their connection. He entered her again, repeating his long, slow thrusts several times before starting to rock at a slightly faster pace. He ignored his own desperate need and tried to sense what she needed.

"Ron-- faster-- harder--" she moaned.

He complied. One of his hands slid between their joined bodies and caressed her intimately, building her pleasure until she splintered beneath him. They cried out together as her muscles clenched around him. With a low growl, he let himself go, bucking against her frantically, an almost unbearable tingling radiating from just below his stomach. After a few more thrusts, white-hot light coursed through his body, blinding him behind his eyelids. He shuddered violently and emptied himself into her. Finally, he collapsed on top of her, nerveless and spent.

He felt her fingers caressing his back. The soft movement of her fingers almost put him to sleep until he remembered he was probably crushing her with his weight. His entire body was still trembling, but with the last of his strength, he moved up to kiss her, then rolled off her and pulled her halfway on top of him. She wriggled a bit until she found a comfortable position alongside him, then sighed and snuggled into him. Her head rested on his right shoulder, while her right arm lay on top of his chest, her palm poised over his heart. His right arm drew her closer against him, while his left hand groped for something just beyond the rug. His fingers closed around her wand. He used it to summon a blanket from her bedroom and drape it over them. He sank his lips onto the top of her head, murmuring "I love you" into her hair, and then closed his eyes.

Sleep was starting to wash over him, when suddenly his stomach gave an almighty rumble. He could feel her trying desperately to hold back her laughter, before finally giving up and giggling like a little girl.

"'S not funny," he growled.

"Oh, yes, it is."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"I'm starving!"

"You always say that, even if you just ate an hour ago."

"Well, I'm hungry now, and I haven't eaten anything tonight. Feed us, won't you?" he whined.

"You big baby. Give me my wand."

"You're not going to hex a poor, hungry bloke, are you?"

She clicked her tongue impatiently. "No, I'm just going to summon your plate over here."

He handed back her wand. "Maybe you'd better summon everything. I'm really hungry."

She rolled her eyes, but summoned everything from the table, just as he asked her to. They started eating. In a matter of minutes, he had finished off two large helpings of shepherd's pie, pausing just long enough to feed her several mouthfuls, for no other reason than because he wanted to. Then he heaped his plate with sausages and mash, peas and gravy. He mixed the last three thoroughly and was about to stuff a forkful into his mouth, when he saw her looking at him with a slightly horrified expression on her face.

"Wha'?" he mumbled, his mouth still full of sausage.

"You're not going to eat that-- that-- slop, are you?"

"What're you calling slop? This--" he pointed to the mixture on his plate, "--is a culinary delight." He shoved a forkful into his mouth. "Mmm, your mash is as good as mum's. Here, try some."

"No, thanks."

"Aw, c'mon, Hermione, it's really good. I'm not kidding. Go on, try it." He waved a forkful in front of her. She shook her head. "Trust me," he said, his voice sounding more serious than he intended it to be. She looked into his eyes. Her face softened, and she nodded. He popped the forkful into her mouth.

Her eyes lit up. "Mmm, it is good!" He smiled and continued to feed her.

After they finished eating, he pretended to clear up, but as soon as she was caught off guard, he pounced on her and tickled her, before pinning her down on the rug and making love to her again. She squealed and giggled as they wrestled each other, and then, as he caressed her, she moaned and whimpered and screamed his name, making him soar with her to the edge of the world, which suddenly exploded before his eyes.

Afterwards, still naked, they went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Well, that is, Hermione wanted to put her clothes back on first, but he transfigured them into a book -- Hogwarts, A History, to be precise. For a few tense moments, he thought she would make him sprout antlers. She did look as though she would murder him, but then he caught her up in his arms and kissed her until she was breathless. After that, he might have suggested that they each wear a tea cozy and start to dance, and she would probably agree, but he didn't want to push his luck.

As he put away the plates they had washed, he realized just how much he was going to miss her. He wondered if he did the right thing, coming here and making love to her. He wondered if she would still be here, would still belong to him, when he came back. He didn't know how long he'd been staring at her, until--

"Ron? What is it?" She reached up and swept away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. She was looking at him with so much love written all over her face that it was almost unbearable.

He swallowed hard before he could speak. "I just -- I wanted to say -- I'm sorry, for being selfish."

"But, when have you ever been selfish?"

"Now, tonight, for -- for this, when I knew I'd be leaving, and I couldn't take you with me. For making you wait for me -- you -- you're going to wait for me, aren't you?" He tried, but failed miserably, to keep from sounding as desperate as he felt.

Her voice was so gentle, so reassuring. "Oh, Ron, of course I'll wait for you! What's three more years, when I've been waiting for the last seven for you to come around?"

"You -- what?"

She blushed. "Well,... it's true. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I... I've cried over that picture of us having a picnic at the Burrow, and -- and how many more times I've cried while listening to that song. Every night before I went to sleep, I wished I had the courage to just come up to you and tell you how much I loved you while we were at school."

His eyes were starting to blur with tears. "I -- I wanted to tell you, everyday since the Yule Ball, that you -- but I was never good enough for you, you know that --"

She placed a finger over his lips and leaned into him. "Shush, you big lunk. Don't ever say that again. Since first year you've stood up for me, fought for me, kept me safe, and made sure I didn't study to death. After all that, how can you not think you're the only one for me?" Her eyes shone as tears slid down her cheeks.

He took her in his arms and laughed and cried with her. Now, he understood that no matter what the future held for him, his home would always be wherever she was.

-- THE END --




A/N:

1. Acknowledgment: the song "Your Love is King" was sung by Sade. Lyrics by Sade, music by Sade and Stuart Matthewman.

2. Thanks to ZanyMuggle (aka Dave) -- you know what for. *huggles*

3. Double thanks to my friend Audrey, who let me borrow her idea for one of the scenes in this story.