Hermione cupped a freshly-made cup of tea in her hands, held it under her chin, and wondered if this was as far as she would ever go in getting a facial. The thought pleased her greatly.

Smirking with a damp face, she sat back in her plush armchair and stretched her legs out with immense satisfaction. She had a whole week of relaxation ahead of her, and by Merlin she'd earned it. She's never say it while in the same country as Ron, but she'd never been so glad to get out of a library. It seemed like she'd been cocooned inside a dusty space for weeks and all she had to show for it were sore shoulders and a cramped wrist.

But the vital research for the Ministry was done and Hermione had another glowing letter of recommendation tucked under her belt - not to mention the knowledge she was doing her part to help the Wizarding world rebuild itself. It took a surprisingly long time, yet somehow it went by more briskly than Hermione anticipated. Not that now was the time to dwell, she reminded herself, and picked up her paperback (just because she'd had enough of researching didn't mean she was about to abandon reading for pleasure) and got comfy, nursing her cup in her left hand. The sunshine-filled flat slowly drifted away as Hermione lost herself in another world, the print enchanting her just as much as pretty charms and wicked hexes. The only intrusion was an occasional turn of the page, cautious sips of tea, the pretty tinkle of a windcharm that Ginny had made as a housewarming present, soothing in the background.

Which was suddenly broken by a loud angry BANG of apparition.

"Pissing hell, tell them where to -" Red Auror robes and even redder hair. Hermione felt the familiar tug in her stomach. "I've had enough! But they're not getting rid of me that easily, oh no -"A black rucksack was thrown onto the sofa, followed by a battered-looking Foe Glass and Time Turner. Whirling scarlet robes were tossed off to a puddle on the floor and Hermione was greeted by a long, lean back with a white shirt sticking sweatily to it. Ron was furious.

Hermione put her book to her chest. "Hi there."

Ron whipped around. "Bloody hell, didn't see you there. Sorry. Hey - you finished your project?" Flushed unnaturally with shaking clenched fists, Hermione knew he was doing his best to be polite.

"Yes. What's the matter, Ron?" She put her book down, looked at him imploringly.

"I, oh Hermione, I'm - I want to KICK something, those arseholes at work again, treating me like a kid -"

"Those stupid supervisors again? Don't let them get to you, sweetheart."

"I know but, they bloody humiliated me, and I -"

Hermione held her hand out.

"Listen, I know you're right - I'm sorry but I'm too angry, I need to cool off. Run a bath or something. Sorry, I -"

"Of course," Hermione got to her feet. "Go on up, smash something - I'll be up in a few minutes so you can vent."

His eyes softened. "Thanks." He turned and left. She heard him stomp up the stairs, a few crashing sounds by a mumbled 'reparo', and then the sound of running taps. She smiled in spite of herself at a few of the curses - it always made her laugh when Ron said 'dirty wankers', for some odd reason.

But looking at the sad scarlet pool of robes on the floor, the smile was soon replaced by a sigh. Ron was finding it tough at Auror training, as was Harry - sadly in another team at the moment - though people were a little more wary of the Man Who Defeated, and less openly jealous and unfriendly because of it. Hermione couldn't wait for the day where Ron would come home glowing with pride acknowledged, as he so rightly deserved - but for now, she'd be here to reassure him that he was the best, bravest man she'd ever known.

After all, he'd done similar for her - only last week when she came home at ten o'clock at night, exhausted and frustrated, only to greet Ron in a 'Kiss the Cook' pinny, serving steaming dishes of spag boll lit by mismatched candles scattered about the kitchen. Though she'd be sticking to tea, seen as she couldn't cook worth a toss - not compared to Ron anyway, who seemed to be a reluctant Molly-prodigy in that department.

Venturing into the sweet-smelling room in question, she peered into a cupboard above the kettle. Best use the big cup for this little crisis. After fishing out the teabags and switching the kettle on - Muggle tea always tasted nicer somehow, Hermione always found - she made sure the tea was ridiculously strong as Ron liked it, with only as pinch of milk. To each's own, she supposed.

The taps upstairs were suddenly creaked off, followed by soft splashes and a contented low sigh. Hermione's cue.

She padded up the stairs quietly and slipped into the ajar bathroom door - a good sign, at least Ron was genuine when he said he wanted her to follow. She always wanted to be allowed in.

The tiny window overlooking Diagon Alley was fogged up. Ron was lying back, eyes closed, in a bubble-free gigantic bath. He was naked. Well, of course he would be - but Hermione never got used to it. He seemed oddly vulnerable, with droplets on his eyelashes and his hair much darker and shiny. She could look at him forever.

"Sorry about that," Ron's voice echoed around the tiles. Hermione started. "I didn't mean to be shirty with you."

"You weren't, don't be silly. Made you some tea." She set it down carefully on the lip of the tub, the steam off the cup blending with the steam from the bath.

"Thank you."

She knelt awkwardly at the foot of the tub, next to his resting head. "Go on, tell me." Tentatively, she started stroking his hair. An appreciative noise.

"Just because I'm half their age, they bloody decide to forget that I've had ten times more 'field experience' than those wankers - oh, sorry love -"

"It's okay," she rubbed his scalp gently. "I don't mind. They're jealous."

Ron snorted. What she could see of his face at the sloped angle, she saw his eyebrows furrow together and the blue of his eyes became obscured by his ginger eyelashes. It was an old expression that Hermione had seen Ron's father wear. It had always pained her to see it more and more frequently throughout the war, on a face normally so enigmatic. "Stupid thing to be jealous of."

Hermione sighed. "It is, but it's wise to be respectful of something like that. Someone like you." Bending to kiss his freckly, slippery forehead, her mouth and chin came back wet, but she didn't care. He was staring at her seriously, dark blue eyes so striking next to all that pale skin.

"Someone like you, too."

She smiled down at him. "But of course." His face cracked into a grin and Hermione almost felt relieved. Sometimes a cold, familiar feeling sliding down her spine told her that things like open-mouthed, toothy smiles didn't exist anymore, but being with Ron always made that insecurity scurrying off into some dark recess of her brain with its tail between its legs. "Your hair really is filthy you know, it's a good job I didn't hug when you came in if this is any indication." She clucked her tongue and sifted her hand through his crown to demonstrate.

"You can't fool me, you're gagging for it really." Ron winked exaggeratedly and Hermione couldn't help but giggle. How was it fair that he could still make her blush?

"Your tea's getting cold." He hastened to crane his neck and sip. "Mmm. Can I wash your hair for you?"

Ron suddenly looked a little shy for some reason. "Um… yeah, alright. Nice tea, by the way. Good and strong."

"You don't mind, do you?" They had washed each other before after all, though not quite in this manner. It had always been laughing and teasing and bubbles flying everywhere.

"No, I'd - that'd be… nice." Again with the shy smile. Hermione felt warm and fluttery, not just from the heat of the bath.

Twisting around, she plucked a tall purple bottle from amid the swirling, multicoloured potions sitting cluttered together on a spindly shelf. She scooped some out with her fingers and blushed as she was reminded of doing the same in a different situation, with a different bottle. Which was probably being shy somewhere under their bed.

The goop felt cool and lovely in her hands; she spread it all around her palms, then plunged her hands into his soaking hair. Ron moaned and his shoulders seemed to relax even further. Hermione took care to rub everywhere - his fringe, all through the thick locks on the back of his head, the shorter ones on his nape, she even rubbed behind his ears and caught the subtle scent of hibiscus. Somehow her sleeves got sopping wet in the process, even though she'd rolled them up. Ron's smile was blissful. Hermione liked how worshipful it seemed.

"Time to rinse." Why was she whispering?

Ron's head slipped under the surface of the water, shook around wildly, then rose, hands pushing his hair out his face. Turning around to face her, his shoulders seemed so broad and handsome. "You joining me?"

She really needed to quit with the blushing. Feeling shy all of a sudden, she unbuttoned her blouse and stood to shimmy out of her skirt. His eyes followed her fingers as they stripped her of her undergarments.

"Ah!" Her toes squirmed for a moment, getting used to the heat of the water. Then she dipped into to her calves, then she was crouching in, then she'd dipped her head in to soak her hair - she liked the feeling of her hair lying in flat rivers over her shoulders too much. Then Ron shifted to accommodate her, tucking her half lying on top of him, head resting on his shoulder, hand on her waist, legs tangled together.

"This is lovely." She traced his damp collarbone gently.

"Yeah." A kiss to her temple.

She could feel everything intimately, and it sent a lovely hum of pleasure through her. But for now she just wanted this, this closeness.

"You're too good to me, you know." Lips kissed her nose almost unbearably gently. "I don't deserve you."

She hummed, and tilted her face up, to find him gazing at her with eyes too blue to be real. "You've got that backwards." Hermione tilted her chin up meaningfully and sighed as he kissed her.