Author's Note: A million thank you's go out to all my reviewers! You own my soul.

…

You can keep it; it's not worth much. :)

P.S. I am so sorry it's taken so long to update. I could offer a thousand excuses, but all of them would be weak…so thanks for picking it up again where I left off. Hopefully this chapter will make up for the long wait.

In Daylights, In Sunsets

Ron was late, and it was all the fault of that pretentious, overbearing Waldo Crump. He'd only meant to stop at the Ministry for a few moments, but he'd been caught by Crump and treated to a well-rehearsed diatribe on Muggle restrictions that had only ended when he'd looked pointedly at his watch (You're late, it had informed him) and sighed loudly. Now, hurrying up the broken and crooked walk to the Burrow with a good bottle of Firewhiskey under his arm, he braced for the lecture he was about to face.

Stepping into the house was still coming home, no matter where he lived, he thought. "Mum, I'm here," he called out as he headed for the kitchen. Molly hurried out, her plump face rosy, her hair disheveled and a grin stretching her features. "You're late," she said first, then caught him up in a ferocious hug that filled his nostrils with her particular gingery, homey smell. "Welcome home," she said as she took the bottle from him and headed back to the kitchen. "Everyone else is out back. Feel free to help out—I think your brothers could use it."

Smiling at the wry tone in her voice, Ron eagerly stripped off his jacket and headed through the back door into the garden. There were Fred and George near the hedge, both wearing ridiculous vests in shades of purple and orange, laughing raucously at something Harry had said. Ginny stood near her father, her face relaxed and open as she chatted with him and watched Harry covertly. Charlie and Percy had busied themselves arranging the chairs around the table, which stood empty and begging to be covered in steaming and aromatic dishes. Last, Ron saw Bill, relaxed on the grass and talking animatedly to Hermione, whose cheeks were flushed and eyes alive in the light of evening.

She's beautiful was Ron's first thought, and it surprised him. All day, those eyes, that face had been pushing themselves into his consciousness, and he wasn't sure he was happy about that. He'd tried to ignore her all day, but she'd continued popping up at the most inconvenient times. He blamed it on too little sleep and too much butterbeer the night before. Strangely, though, he was beginning to feel that no amount of either would change the way she stayed in his thoughts, always at the edge of his mind, never quite disappearing completely. He was in love with her, he knew that now, but he hadn't decided just what to do about it. If this constant reminder of her, this nagging ache to be near her was love, then he wasn't sure he wanted it. And he still wasn't sure what to do next.

Caught up in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Bill had shifted closer to Hermione. He hardly realized he was staring when Bill reached out and tugged a loose lock of Hermione's hair, then somehow turned it into a quick, friendly stroke with one finger down her cheek. It surprised him, badly, when suddenly Harry (who, without his noticing, had come to stand next to him) said, "Ever heard of Cain and Abel, Ron?"

He cleared his throat, hearing the laugh in Harry's voice and trying to figure out if it was a trick question. He finally settled on a safe answer of "No. What's that?"

Harry, mirth written clearly on his features, answered cryptically, "Not what, who. But it's not important."

Just then, Molly came through the door and announced that the cooking was done, but she could use a couple of big, strong men to carry the dishes out of doors. Answering the call, her sons and Harry loaded up their arms with vats of steaming soups, bowls of vegetables, and platters of meats and breads. The table groaned under the weight of so much good food, and everyone complimented Molly until she was red in the face as they seated themselves. Ron listened with half an ear to the chatter as he pulled out a chair for Hermione, then sat down next to her. Strangely, though, a blush rose on her features as he pushed in her chair for her, and she looked bashfully down at her napkin. This wasn't right, he thought. Hermione wasn't bashful. "All right there, Hermione?" he said, and thankfully, his voice came out sounding relaxed and jovial, just as he'd intended.

"Oh, yes. Yes, thank you," she said, stuttering a bit. "And you? You look better than this morning."

"Well, I am wearing a shirt now," he said, and they both laughed with more than a little self-consciousness, but it eased the tension anyway. They turned their attentions to the meal, which was simply splendid. "Molly, my dear, you've really outdone yourself," Arthur said from the head of the table. Molly blushed prettily and began talking to Harry, who sat on her left. Talk at the table ranged from the twins' joke shop to Ginny's and Hermione's studies at university to Quidditch scores to work at the Ministry. In between, Fred and George inspired brief moments of hilarity by breaking out new, prototype joke products, such as a fake parrot that echoed everything Percy said (Ron was sure the twins would never get over their love of mocking Percy, especially since he'd returned to his family and apologized in Ron's sixth year) and light-up smoke that spelled bad words behind the heads of various people at the table. Once everyone had eaten their way into a lazy torpor, they retired to a cool section of lawn and talked as fireworks went off above their heads.

As evening spread its fingers across the grass and sky, the warmth of day faded. Noticing Hermione's shiver, Ron stood up, offering to get her a blanket or jacket from the house. "No, no," she said quickly, and stood up too. "Actually, I'd like a chance to stretch my legs. Walk with me?"

Companionably, he fell into step next to her, and they turned away from the group, beginning a slow and easy walk to the lake. They didn't notice the shrewd but teasing looks that followed them, or the whispers of "finally" that trailed after them.

Once they had walked over the crest of the far hill and out of earshot and eyesight, Ron began to feel a little uncomfortable again. He was alone with Hermione, and while that wasn't anything new, he felt keenly the things that had changed between them. Their relationship was shifting, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted that, or if he did, how far and how fast he wanted it to go. With thoughts spinning about in his head, he only had enough energy to muster up a few words. "Nice night," he said, hating the inanity of it, when there were so many things he'd like to say, so many questions he'd like to ask.

"Mmm, it is," Hermione said, and tilted her face up to the shrinking ball of light in the sky, which now barely touched the earth with an orangey glow. She took a deep breath. "Ron, there's something I wanted to…to ask you. I came by this morning to find out, well, to ask you…that is, I just wanted to know…" She stopped.

Ron felt himself gaining some confidence at her flustered appearance and fumbled words. Hermione was usually so articulate, so full of confidence and grace, that to see her ill at ease was definitely something new. "Go ahead, Hermione, spit it out," he said with an easy smile.

Hermione took another deep breath. "Well, I just…Ron, last night at the club, when I was dancing with you…did things seem a little different to you? I mean, we've danced before, but this was—I don't know, this just seemed…not the same. Do you know what I mean?"

He looked down at her, surprised. Of course it had felt different to him, but he hadn't realized she'd felt it too. He should have known that she would, he thought. Nothing as powerful as that dance could have changed things so drastically for him and had no effect on her. It must have been bothering her a great deal to make her bring it up to him, though, and now he wasn't sure how to answer.

His eyes still rested on her face, expectant and unsure, as they ambled over another hill and began walking along the lake's edge. Not sure how to begin, he settled for honesty. "Yeah, it did," he said openly, and took her elbow to help her step over a fallen log. "Last night…I don't know, it started out like just you and me, you know? You and me, just like we've always been. But then things changed, somehow. I don't know why, but it was like you were a different girl, but still the same. Like you were still my best friend, but more than that, too." Frustrated at his inability to say exactly what he was feeling, he missed the shock and comprehension on Hermione's face.

"That's how I felt too," she said quietly. "I wondered. You seemed so normal afterwards, I couldn't tell what you were feeling or thinking, and so I wondered."

They lapsed into an uneasy silence, in which words left unsaid were as loud as the buzzing of gnats in the cooling air. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver as a breeze from the lake washed across them. Ron, all concern, quickly turned to her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms, trying to warm them. "You're cold. Come on, we'll go back, we'll get you something warm…" He trailed off.

Hermione's face was tilted up to his, her gaze uncertain. Her eyes were touched with the last of day's light, and her hair twisted and twirled in the breeze, dancing across his fingers, which had somehow come to rest on her shoulders. Ron suddenly was overcome with a dizzying disoriented feeling, and his world narrowed to her face, to the slight tremble in her lips. Words fled his mind and thoughts scattered. He knew, suddenly, what he wanted to happen in their relationship. He knew he was in love with her. And he knew he wanted to kiss her.

Leaning down, he gently, so gently, touched his lips to hers. It was over almost before it started, could barely be called a kiss, but it left him with a deep desire to do it again. Before he could, though, Hermione's lips were on his, warm and sure, and she was straining on her tiptoes to reach him, her hands braced on his chest. Her eyes stayed on his for a few moments, then fluttered closed as she tilted her head to fit her lips to his more truly.

Looking back, Ron remembered everything about those kisses in exquisite detail: the way her hands rested on his waist, the way she sighed when he paused to rain kisses on her cheeks, eyes, nose. He would remember the way she leaned into him, her fingers resting lightly on his shoulders or cupping his cheek. He remembered perfectly the moment when he paused, opened his eyes, and looked at her face in the growing shadows that followed the sunset…and he would always remember that he had never wanted to stop.