A/N: I began this story on Friday, as a birthday present for otterandterrier. But RL got busy, and I didn't have a chance to finish until today. Happy belated birthday, D! Hope you had a great day / weekend, and I really hope you enjoy this fic! It started out as one thing in my head, but it really turned into something unexpected that I haven't explored before.

Small Hours
for otterandterrier

Just past midnight, when the house was all tucked up and silent, he would walk and think about everything. Routinely, somewhat unconsciously, he would open each door just enough to see them, to be sure they were alright. It was different to know than to see. Seeing helped. It untwisted one of the knots in his stomach, at least.

He felt a strange pang, approaching Ginny's room. It had been last summer all over again. His mum had kept a careful watch on all of them - kept them busy. He suspected the distraction was good, to a point. But now, he just wanted more time with Hermione. She made him feel things no one else could or ever had, and now that he knew she wanted to be with him, it was more frustrating than it had ever been before, to feel alone.

They'd talked a bit, even had a short afternoon by the lake... which he had unfortunately spent mostly crying into her neck. But there was a kind of peace, late at night, that made him feel less vulnerable now. He wondered if it had been the fault of his night watches, outside their tent when they'd been afraid to turn their backs completely. Being there, able to hear her steady breathing behind him as she'd slept-

He cracked open Ginny's door and blinked to adjust to the dark. The window curtains were pulled shut, blocking out moon and star light, and only the faintest black shapes of figures and furniture were visible to him. But he knew one thing for sure - Hermione wasn't there.

He held his breath and closed the door, firmly willing himself to remain calm. It was nothing. She could be anywhere.

He moved around the corner to the loo, finding the door open and only silence ringing from inside. Ignoring the pounding of his heart, he descended the stairs, alert to every sound. The kitchen was empty, but a glowing light caught his eye, through the window over the sink. He turned to the front door, anxiety vanishing when he opened it softly and found her sitting on the front steps, back toward him, a jar of bluebell flames in her hands.

"Hey," he breathed, realising how relieved he sounded with just one word... but not minding at all if she noticed.

As she turned to face him, over her shoulder, her soft eyes told him she had noticed, after all. He smiled, and she returned it.

"What are you doing up?" she whispered, as he moved across the worn wood of the landing, toward her.

"Same question to you," he replied, as he stepped down two stairs and sat beside her.

She pressed her lips together as he raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the mesmerising light in her hands.

"Asked you first," she challenged, and he pondered his answer, opting for the simple truth.

"Just couldn't sleep."

"Me either. Are you having-" she started, but she stopped herself and shook her head.

"What?" he prodded, before realising. "Nightmares? Sometimes."

"I'm sorry," she said a bit hoarsely. "I shouldn't have asked. You don't have to tell-"

"It's me," he interrupted, feeling oddly exposed in the dark, alone with her. "You can ask whatever you want."

She stared into his eyes, as if looking for something specific... possibly unknown. He couldn't blame her for the shy, reserved way she spoke. It felt like things had changed. So much around them certainly had. And, of course, they had, too. They weren't just bickering around the way they felt about each other anymore.

But the ease and closeness of their friendship, which had been the solid foundation for everything else, had now been overshadowed by the new part.

She sighed, and, surprisingly, tears welled in her eyes.

"I'm afraid that if you talk to me about it, I won't know what to say."

He melted at her words, with a strong and sudden urge to grab her and hold her against him… He narrowly resisted.

"You don't have to say anything."

She let out a hitching breath, and he suspected she felt at least somewhat relieved.

"I have to confess something," she continued, glancing away and discreetly brushing her fingers beneath her eyes to dry them. "I've heard you, the last few nights, coming by Ginny's room. But I thought you might want to be alone. Until tonight, I..."

She paused and gave him an apologetic grimace.

"I came out here so you'd find me when you realised I wasn't in bed."

"Really?"

She nodded, and he felt himself go a bit fuzzy. She missed him, too.

"You scared me," he said, smiling so she would know he wasn't upset, "but I don't want to be alone."

"I'm sorry!" she gasped, eyes widening. "I didn't think of that…"

He waved a hand to dismiss her worry.

"I knew it was stupid and paranoid. I'm glad you're here, Hermione."

Her lips parted, and she tightened her grip on her bluebell jar. He waited with nearly held breath as he sensed she was on the verge of saying something important. But the moment passed like smoke dissipating in the open air, and she licked her lips, resting the jar in her lap.

"Want to go inside for tea? It's a bit chilly out here," she said casually.

"Okay."

They stood, and he followed her through to the kitchen. She placed her glowing jar on the table and went to the cupboard for tea. He grabbed up a spoon for the sugar and watched as she set the kettle to boil, hovering over the sink.

"So," she began, turning to face him as they waited, "what do you usually do down here at night then?"

She paused, frozen, after speaking, as if tentatively regretting asking something that might be too personal, but he wanted her to stop being so careful, so he answered quickly.

"Mostly I just wander around and think. Last night I almost woke you up, honestly."

She smiled slowly.

"You wanted company?"

"Well," he corrected, "you, specifically."

She flushed a bit and reached for the kettle, pouring out two cups and levitating them to the table where she sat, pulling out the chair next to hers, for him. He grinned as he joined her, pleased that she wanted him beside her and not all the way across the table...

He spooned generous heaps of sugar into his tea, distracted for a moment with noticing her noticing him, a tiny, secret smile turning up the corners of her lips.

She cleared her throat and sipped her tea as he leaned back in his chair, chewing his slightly chapped lips. She glanced absently around the room, and he followed her eyeline just before she spoke.

"I'm rubbish at chess."

"Well, you have to leave something for me to be better at..." he teased.

The poor Wizard's Chess set sat abandoned in a dark corner of the room, covered in several layers of dust. He hadn't played in so long that he wondered, for a moment, if he was still any good...

"Teach me?" she asked quietly, taking another quiet sip of her tea.

"Chess?" he verified, somewhat incredulously. "You've played with me before."

"Yeah, for the five minutes it took you to destroy me..."

He laughed and sat up straighter in his chair, running a hand over his stubbly face.

"You really want to play?"

"Yes," she said, adopting a familiarly demanding tone that made him shiver with happiness, "but you've got to explain how you're so good at it first, so I've got at least a tiny chance of losing with dignity."

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, his eyes were burning slightly... and playing chess with Hermione sounded absolutely brilliant.

"Deal," he said, lazily swishing his wand in the vague direction of the chess set, cleaning the dust away as he stood and picked up Hermione's bluebell jar. She followed him to the small table in the darkest corner and sat across from him, on the edge of her seat.

Ready for a lesson.

He suppressed a fond grin at the sight, but she raised an eyebrow, noticing.

"Want a quill to take notes?" he teased. She rolled her eyes and lightly kicked him in the shin.

"Oh, go on," she urged, gesturing at the board with her chin.

Grinning fully now, he righted a few pieces and reset the board, sniffing as a bit of leftover dust floated into the air.

"Right. You get first move, so play a piece, and then I'll explain what I'd do next and why."

She nodded and moved a pawn.

For the next five minutes, he carefully explained his moves to her, until he'd reached a point at which he would normally have built an extensive strategy to win in as few remaining moves as possible. He paused, considered his options for a moment, then looked up at her expectant face.

"Right. I can castle kingside pretty easily now. Then, all I have to do is align my bishop here…" He mocked the moves to show her, then hovered over his knight. "That puts my knight in a perfect position to attack your queen's only defense."

When he met her eyes again, she blinked twice at him.

"Ron. That's five moves ahead! How do you know what I'll do for the next five moves?!"

He ran a hand across his jaw and smiled at her.

"I don't... at least not for sure."

"So, you're taking a risk."

"Sort of. But even if I make it to the second or third move, it'll still put me ahead. See?" He attempted to show her the path his pieces could take. "As long as you don't notice and move your knight, then I'm safe. And I have to assume you won't figure out what I'm doing before the third or fourth move…"

She huffed and shook her head at him, baffled.

"There's literally no way I'll ever win a game against you, do you realise that?"

He smiled and gazed across at her, suddenly noticing how happy he felt. He couldn't put it into words, but he knew it meant something important. As tired as he had been before, he wasn't tired now. He wanted to spend every night like this...

Flushing slightly at the intensity of his own thoughts, he leaned back a bit in his chair and watched as she studied the chessboard again, eyes darting.

"You sure you aren't leaving things out to confuse me on purpose?" she asked, still staring down at the board.

"Yeah," he laughed. "I definitely wouldn't mind losing to you."

She glanced up and met his eyes again, and he'd forgotten the game entirely. Her softened features both sped up his pulse and made his hands tremble. For a moment, he lost the ability to think clearly.

"If I make a fire," he finally started in a raspy voice, "will you come sit with me?"

"Of course," she whispered.

He stood and she followed, quietly making their way to the sitting room. He flicked his wand at the small log and kindling in the hearth before collapsing next to her on the sofa. He noticed her blinking quite slowly and felt a tad guilty for asking her to stay up.

"I just don't feel like going back to bed yet," he explained, "but if you're tired, you don't have to-"

"As long as you want me here, I'm staying," she said firmly, avoiding his eyes as she watched the low, dancing flames, straight ahead.

His heart beat too quickly for a few seconds, before the crackling of the fire and the soft sounds of her breathing lulled him to a peaceful silence.

They remained that way for an unknown length of time, passing minutes in a sort of calm existence that didn't need time or place. Only them. But she leaned her head against the back of the sofa, and after a while, her long blinks turned to a light slumber. He watched her for a while, feeling only mildly guilty at gaining so much from the sight of her so close to him. And, eventually, with the dying fire and comfort of being together, he closed his own eyes and tilted his head back, falling into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

For the next few nights, they met in the kitchen without comment, expecting each other without having to plan. Ron continued to teach her more intricate details of chess, and she had started sugaring his tea for him, sniffing with an attempt to hide her embarrassment the first time he'd thanked her for it.

On the fourth night, she seemed more alert, as they sat in front of the fire, his thigh nearly touching hers.

"Read to me?" she asked, breaking the silence with her gentle, tentative voice.

He yawned before looking over at her, surprised as her words sank in.

"Mmm? Really?"

She shrugged as he watched her blushing.

She meant it. She actually wanted him to read to her. A shiver ran through him, and he smiled.

"Alright," he said softly. "What'd'you reckon I should read?"

She shrugged again, eyes fixed forward, away from him.

"Anything."

His tiny fire was fading, a deep orange glow casting across her tired face. He stretched his left arm along the back of the sofa, lifting his hand surprisingly to her face, the tips of his index and middle fingers touching feather light to her cheek.

Her lips parted as she stared into the embers.

He brushed his fingers down and around to the back of her neck, and her eyes slipped shut as his thumb rubbed a circle in front of her ear.

Licking his lips, he removed his hand, suddenly feeling self conscious. She opened her eyes but didn't look his way as he cleared his throat and slouched.

"Why'd you never try something like that before?" she asked weakly.

"Dunno. I'm a coward."

"You didn't seem to have a problem before, snogging in public when- well," she concluded, "you know..."

He considered her words without looking at her, sensing her shyness to ask. But suddenly, he understood. She meant Lavender - had been so nervous to mention it. But she couldn't possibly think... Honestly, he'd not considered any of this before. Of course he knew it was fucking different. But...

"Not the bloody same thing..." he mumbled, as he tried to think of something more important to say.

"Why not?"

He had to turn to her then. If she had any doubts of how he felt, enough to have to ask...

"Really?" he questioned, slightly horrified. "Bloody hell, you know it's different, don't you?"

She sighed slowly.

"I know."

"Yeah?" he asked, hopefully.

She nodded once and turned back to the fire. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

"When I snogged… her," he continued, voice hollow and distant, "I didn't care what it meant, because I didn't have anything to lose. But you..." He paused for a steadying breath. "If you knew everything I feel about you-" He laughed through his nose, cutting himself off.

Hermione pressed her lips together as he blushed.

"Perhaps you might give me an example?"

He swallowed.

"Thought you wanted me to read."

"Maybe later..."

He shivered, noticing as she noticed.

"Ron," she huffed frustratedly, "I kissed you already, you git."

"You-" he paused, shaking his head slowly... "You honestly want me to tell you? I'm a boy, if you haven't figured it out," -she snorted- "and I'm eighteen. Do you know what eighteen year old blokes think about the girls they fancy?"

Her eyes went perfectly wide.

"You-you've never said that before."

"That I fancy you?" he clarified, clearing his throat. "Thought that was a bit obvious by now…"

She opened her mouth, searching for words that wouldn't come.

"It's just bloody different now," he continued, "starting things up when we aren't-"

"In the middle of a war?" she suggested, with an undertone of sadness that vaguely confused him.

"No," he said sincerely, wondering how he could possibly explain.

Then he recalled her words about Lavender. Did Hermione honestly think it might have some kind of important impact for him to flaunt to world what he had? What he showed the world had almost always been a lie, a guarded representation of the things he could arrange to appear good about himself. But the secrets, the fears and the doubts... his heart, the most important parts of who he was... Those were only for her, and Harry. Those were special, and he wanted her to understand.

"Snogging in public is for everybody else. Snogging in private is only for the person you're..." He trailed off, wondering how she would have reacted had he done it right then - told her he was in love with her.

"So, you're saying it would be easier if Harry was watching?"

He almost countered her absurd question, before he caught her lips turning up.

"It's three in the morning," he said in a low voice. "No one's awake but us. It's..."

He wasn't sure what he'd been about to say, but he could feel it.

Her teasing smile melted away, but it was replaced by a look of determination.

"I'm not sure you know what teenage girls think about the blokes they fancy, either..." she said.

His eyebrows shot up, and she licked her lips.

"Fair point."

He couldn't possibly be waiting for more of an invitation than that, could he?

But there was such weight in the air, warmth from the fire making him sleepy, while her parted lips made his heartbeat triple. Flashes of his life ran through his cluttered mind, of days and weeks and months and years, all with her. He had known, in some deep part of his soul, that he belonged with her. That if she only wanted him, he'd never need anything else. And as he considered how much it meant, to kiss her in the dark, with words left to say that made him dizzy, he realised that he wasn't aligning his fate and his heart to her now. He'd done that already. And so had she.

It hadn't been the moment she'd kissed him.

It hadn't been her tears over Lavender Brown.

It hadn't been the night she'd held his hand while she'd cried, unable to sleep from nightmares of Bellatrix's voice, permanently echoing inside her head.

It had been in the dark, all alone, as she'd called out his name, begging him to stay. It had been her fear and desperation, not for anyone else to see. Only for him. Nothing hidden, her heart had been open and pleading. And he'd ignored her.

But they were here, now. In the dark. All alone.

"Ron?" she questioned softly.

And she'd called out his name.

He lifted his hand to the side of her neck again, thumb fitting perfectly up the curve of her jaw. She exhaled, a sound of obvious relief, as he moved closer, eyes closing just as his lips met hers.