a/n: This story has gotten the most reviews in the shortest amount of time ever!! I'm so glad everybody likes it so much! :) Here's to all those years that led up to this installment! Enjoy, you guys:).

Making Up the Future

I inhale sharply. "Ron?"

Of course he had to be here.

He drops the blanket he was attempting the fold and flushes. "Did mum send you up to make the beds also?"

"Yeah...I guess she forgot you were already doing it. I can go tell her--"

"Hermione, s'okay. Just stay here. I'm pretty much finished."

I swallow, unsure of what to do; the sting of his words in the shed still weighing on my mind. "Yeah, okay."

I sit gingerly on the edge of a made bed and Ron gives up on the blanket he's still trying to fold. Within seconds he's sitting next to me, clearing his throat awkwardly.

We say, "So," simultaneously.

I clamp my mouth shut and gesture for him to speak first before I get myself into any other hypothetical conversations that I'll regret a day later. He seems flustered now too, the apples of his cheeks a dull red. He clears his throat loudly, and turns towards me slightly.

"I just wanted to, er...clear up a few things."

My heart sinks. This doesn't sound good at all and frankly, I'm bloody terrified of his next sentence.

"This morning in the she--"

"Stop," I choke out.

He looks bewildered, and the left half of his hair sticks up as he runs his fingers nervously through it. "Er--what?"

I shake my head. "Ron--"

"Hermione, just let me finish what I'm saying?"

I take a deep breath, fully intending to reject his wishes; not wanting to hear about the kiss-that-never-should-have-been. I figure that we should both (mainly me) spare our feelings the hurt that will surely come if Ron keeps talking. Then the door swings open.

A familiar bespectacled boy stops in his tracks, moaning, "Oh God, not again..."

I clear my throat awkwardly. "It's fine, you can come in, Harry."

I hear a Ginny-snort from the hallway and sure enough she emerges in the doorway, peering over Harry's shoulders.

"This is disappointing," she sighs. "I fully expected the beds to be unmade by now."

Ron and I both blush a deep crimson, and Harry gives a strangled, mumbled response before towing Ginny out of the room. Before the door has even so much as slammed shut, Ron has blurted out, "It was you."

My heart seems to still, the blood slowing in my veins as I try to process what he's said.

"It was you," he repeats, trying to straighten out his wrinkly Chudley Cannons T-shirt. "You're the 'stuff' that I was distracted with when...you know. I know you got mad because I didn't tell you, so--"

"Ron..."

"I don't want you to be mad at me...I want you to--"

"Ron."

"What?" he asks exasperatedly.

I sigh. If he's being honest now, even if he has no need to be, I suppose I should as well. Best friends...or whatever the hell we were now, don't lie to eachother.

"I wasn't mad because of that, I was just...slightly perturbed because of...well..."

He doesn't answer.

I take a deep breath and clear my throat. "It was the kiss."

His hand automatically flies to his hair.

I close my eyes. "I know you didn't want to kiss me because you felt guilty, alright? It all makes sense. Can we please drop this now?"

Ron's looking at me, half angered, half confused. "That's not true!"

I chew on my lower lip, feeling sufficiently embarrassed. "Of course it is."

"No, Hermione. It's not. Yeah, I wish I could've stopped thinking about you for at least a minute during the whole battle, but I didn't okay? That's over and done with."

I can't breathe properly.

He seems to realize the weight of his confession and stands up. "I think I'll go tell Mum I've finished." His bold voice he used a moment ago has shrunk and shriveled into a mumble and I twist my fingers together, wondering what to do or what to say.

He's crossing the room, he's by the door, his hand is turning the knob, and now he's pausing.

That little pause is the only push my brain needs. My voice springs to life, shaky and small; it cuts through the air like a knife.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you either."

His hand falls off the handle of the wooden door and he merely stands there, his face still turned the other way. When he finally speaks again, I have to strain my ears to hear him.

"This whole thing is more confusing than one of Snape's essays. What do you want me to do, Hermione?"

I stand up and cross the floor to him, my heart hammering in my chest. "I want you to...tell me what you want?" It comes out much less firm than I intended it to, ending with a questionable air surrounding it.

He rolls his eyes, and turns to face me, heaving out a long breath.

"Oh bloody hell, I might as well just say it, right?"

I nod jerkily, fear spreading through my veins.

"I want this."

"This?" I say uncertainly.

"I want to be able to not have to worry about Viktor Krum as my competition," he breathes, stepping an inch closer to me.

I feel my eyes fill with irrational tears.

"Now tell me what you want," he insists again.

He looks much more flustered than he sounds. His eyes are wide and sparkling with anxiety, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his face seems to be permanently pink.

I take a steadying breath that only proves to derail me more. "I want to know that...Lavender Brown will never be spoken of again."

"Done," he said lowly, his blue eyes boring into my own.

A smile flickers across his face and the spark it throws off ignites the air around us. I let out a shaky breath as he speaks.

"I want to sit next to you at the dinner table."

"Okay..." I said, allowing a tense giggle to escape my lips. "I want to...I want to talk to you without Harry or Ginny or anybody around."

"I want to be able to hold your hand."

He's completely serious, and I feel my cheeks heat up as I nod quickly.

"You can," I whisper.

His hands find mine. They're shaking, they're sweating, and yet my hands have never felt so perfect in someone else's grip as they do right now. It's never felt more right as it does in this moment.

"I want to help you with your chores," I say, biting my cheek.

He snorts nervously; we're both pretending that our hands aren't linked as the air gets thicker around us. I can't believe this is happening. "That won't be a problem. I want to be able to...be like we were on the Horcrux Hunt while we were alone in Grimmauld Place and Harry was gone and Kreacher made us those delicious cupcakes...only more."

We've gravitated even closer together, his face is inches away from my own.

"I want..."

I can't think of anything I want besides a kiss.

I think he knows this.

He draws in a jagged breath and studies me intently.

Time passes slowly; his lips are slightly parted.

My whole stomach feels like it's floating away.

"Er...Her--Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

Our voices are taut, strung with tension and pressure. He raises his eyebrows, asking some kind of question that I'm not even attempting to try and understand. I just smile, because that's all I seem to be able to do right now.

He laughs apprehensively.

And then, as if someone cut our restraints at the same time, we ltake a miniscule step towards one another.

Then another.

Then we spring.

We lunge at eachother, our lips meeting in a frenzy of suppressed emotion and plain desire. My mind begins to swirl dangerously and I give as much as I can into the kiss, knowing that Harry will probably walk in any moment.

"Bloody hell," he murmurs as he pulls his head slightly away to look at me. "I want..." --he pauses to kiss me fiercely again-- "to be able to do this...all the time."

I nod into another of his breath-taking kisses, agreeing ferverently with a muffled, "Me too."

He pulls away again, breathing heavily, his sweaty hands still clasping mine tightly. "Why can't we?"

I shrug uncomfortably. "I...dunno."

We're looking at eachother, both completely shocked and ill-eat-ease with what just happened. What's the next step? How would normal people proceed?

"Do you want...to...you know...try being together?"

He flushes, deeper than he already is and I grin, uncontrollable happiness breaking free. "Er...yeah. Yeah, try it out...in case it doesn't work."

"Right, right."

His hand tightens on mine and slowly he intertwines our fingers. "So...you and me?"

I nod. "Yes, Ron. You and me."

He leans in quickly for a swift peck on my cheek, pulling away with an embarrassed look on his face. "I'm glad," he murmurs.

"Me too," I say softly, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

With a long breath out he grins lopsidedly at me, tilting his head to one side. "Are you hungry? Because I'm starved...I think I smell lunch cooking."

I snicker softly, tugging on his hand. "I guess we should go eat."

"Yeah...hey, Hermione? Could we not tell my mum?"

"Ron!"

"I know, I know, I just want to eat my sandwich in peace..."

And with that, we step over the line and down the stairs, happier than we've been in a while.