A/N: Dear friends! I am so sorry for taking ages to get this chapter up. Life got in the way.

I recently enjoyed watching the HP films being shown in the Syfy channel while in the US for work (I live in Germany half the year :P) and it sent me back to FFN after a loooong hiatus from reading and writing stories. I was overcome with gratitude that there are so many talented writers who share their ideas and stories with all of us FOR FREE! And that there are people who take the time to tell me if they like one of my stories, or share ideas for making them better. What a gift it is to have a world in which to dive deeper into all these characters we love so much.

Anyway, hoping that there are many more stories to come from both my brain and those of you who are so gifted at crating Romione goodness.

Ok, taking a seat now. Enjoy this chapter xx

"Honestly, is this necessary?" his girlfriend asked apprehensively, smoothing her skirt as they stepped into the ornate lobby. A few heads turned their direction. One wizard in particular, a spindly man with a thin moustache, stopped in his tracks and caused two witches to bump into him and nearly topple over. Already lined up along a barrier for the press were several journalists and onlookers. The very sight spiked Ron's anxiety. A podium had been placed on a small raised marble platform, donning three signs with their names on them. Two wizards Ron immediately recognized as security aids were standing nearby, wands unconcealed and faces stern.

"It's a little late to back out now," Harry replied before Ron could come up with something comforting to say. "Besides, Kingsley thinks this might put a cork in it for at least a little while."

"Give the people what they want," he heard Hermione mutter bitterly under her breath. Her hair had been perfectly done – not a wayward curl in sight. He reached down and squeezed her hand, his heart skipping a beat when she squeezed back. He wanted to kiss her. The morning rush to get ready for the interview at nine had eliminated their normal lie-in.

"S'pose they want us over there?" Harry asked, fidgeting with his tie. His gray suit was sharp and fit well, making Harry look several years older and much more dashing. Ron suspected the ladies would swoon when his photo graced the papers. He was far more formally dressed than Ron, who had just put on nicer trousers and a button down. Before they could take a step in that direction, the press manager for the Ministry of Magic cornered them with two assistants. One of them fluttered around, picking a loose hair off Hermione's shoulder and muttering a quick dewrinkling charm on the bottom of Harry's trousers. Ron gave her a warning look when she approached him, causing her to shirk back lightly.

Ron couldn't pay attention to a word that was being said to them. He was too preoccupied with the increasing number of people filling into the massive room, pausing on their way to work to catch a glimpse of their little group. He thought he overheard his and Hermione's names over the shouts of, "Harry Potter? Is that really him?"

"…we understand you agreed to ten minutes of questioning, but perhaps, we hoped you might-"

"No. Ten minutes," Ron interrupted sharply. Hermione stiffened next to him but let out a relieved breath, still clasping his hand. "We also reserve the right to ignore ridiculous questions. Can we get on with it?"

He heard Hermione whisper his name softly, calming him down. They met eyes and he saw the worry swimming in her orbs, her mouth draw tightly. He knew she was anxious. This was the first time they were going public since the war ended. She gently loosened her hand from his and reached up to smooth down a piece of his hair he hadn't allowed the restless assistant to touch. He smirked at Hermione, delighting in the crinkle in her nose as she offered him one back.

"Alright then, ten minutes it is," the witch said briskly, ushering them over to the growing semi-circle of journalists. "Hermione, darling, you'll just be there on the left. Harry, dear, in the middle, and Ronald-"

"Ron in the middle. I'll just stand here," Harry offered, reaching over to swap the little signs with their names boldly.

"B-but, I think it would be best…" the witch started, visibly uncomfortable.

"There. Perfect. Let's get going, shall we?" Harry asked assertively, rubbing his hands together.

The intricate miniature memorial to the Fallen Fifty was wheeled out by two wizards who placed it alongside them. The disgruntled witch moved on to give them the same long list of instructions that no one except Hermione had really listened to.

"She said we're to introduce ourselves, and thank the press for coming," she whispered to the boys, careful to avoid the magicked microphone sitting on the table. "They're each permitted to ask two questions and a follow-up if they want us to clarify. She advised us to repeat the question somehow in our response to avoid anything be taken out of context."

"Oh, that's rich. You'd think it'd be their job to –"

"Shh, I know. I'm just repeating what she said!"

"Sorry, I'm just nervous is all. Never done this before."

Both Hermione and Ron immediately turned to look Harry, who put his hands up in mock surprise. The three of them burst into laughter, which seemed to stir the crowd nearby. A few quills were already at the ready, magically poised above parchment.

"Are we allowed to smile? I mean, this is meant to be somber, right?" Ron asked under his breath.

"Yeah, grim and morbid. The world needs more of that, surely." Harry quipped.

"Maybe I'll cross my arms and scowl. Mum'll have that framed."

"I'll get some tears going in my 'startlingly green eyes', like Rita Skeeter taught me."

Ron had to hold in his retort as he caught a glimpse of the Minister of Magic making his way toward them across the large lobby. The group of spectators had swelled in number, amazed to find that the mysterious Golden Trio was speaking before the press for the first time. Taking his place up front, Minister Shacklebolt sent the three friends a warm smile and wink before addressing the crowd.

"Good morning, everyone. I warmly welcome you to the Ministry of Magic, and hope you appreciate the efforts we've made to ensure all of you feel fairly represented by a government that cares to uphold the rights of everyone." He paused, looking directly at the tall witch who represented the Daily Prophet. His determined voice echoed off the walls as he continued.

"We're grateful to have with us today three young people who exhibited incredible valor in taking down the dark forces that threatened our very world," he said, turning to face them. Ron felt his face redden as the heads turned their way. "While the battle that resulted in the demise of Tom Riddle, known to some as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was just over three months ago, these friends met as first-years at Hogwarts eight years ago and were consistently met with trials and challenges that would have easily overwhelmed any of us; however, they managed to not only triumph over defeat, but also stood up for one another and fought for anyone on the side of justice. We commend them for all they have done, and the graciousness with which they have offered to answer some of your questions today. I do request, as a personal favor, that you keep any inquiries to the subject of their remarkable bravery on this journey that none of them would have chosen." With that, he was ushered away by several ministry officials, and the witch gave them the cue that the madness was about to begin.

"Er," Harry began uncomfortably, leaning forward in his seat. "I'm Harry….Harry Potter." The microphone boomed much louder than they anticipated, and he backed up an inch. "And this here is Ron Weasley, and to his left is Hermione Granger." He paused, looking at them and shrugging. "We're…er…mostly here to thank those who sacrificed so much to do the right thing during the war, and also answer some questions. So, yeah." he finished. Ron had to hand it to him – Harry certainly leaned into his awkwardness.

Ron wasn't sure what the little gathered crowd had been expecting, but imagined it likely wasn't this. His dad had passed along the proposition, thought up by Kingsley himself, that the trio consider making a statement and show their faces to reporters directly. The reason, he explained over dinner, was so that wizarding Britain might be reassured by their confirmation of what happened and less inclined to speculate about the three of them in the aftermath of May's battle. But Ron had balked. "Are you fucking insane? Put ourselves in the line of fire, for the media that was manipulated by the enemy and spewed falsities about Harry for years? No bloody way." But it had been Hermione, shockingly, who seemed to entertain the idea the most. Her rationale, she said, was to offer words of gratitude to those who had fought or lost someone when Death Eaters took control of the ministry. An added benefit, she shared, would be looking the press in the eyes and asking for privacy, knowing that if it was overtly requested by three 'war heroes' who took the time to thank the public, they might be less inclined to invade their lives with absurd articles like the one written about her and George. Two days later, all was arranged.

"Janice Winter, of the Scripturient Sentinel," piped a brunette witch with short hair. Her arm waved in the air, the one journalist without a camera of any sort.

"Scripturient? Rolls right off the tongue," Ron muttered to Hermione.

"It means the violent desire to write," she whispered back, so quietly he just barely heard her.

"Sounds dangerous."

"How do you do?" Harry asked politely. The witch smiled at him, surprised, and continued.

"Can you share more about what happened in the months leading up to May 2 of this year?"

Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron, sizing up their reactions. They both stared at him blankly, realizing that they should have thought through what their answers might be to any of these questions. Harry was once again into the microphone.

"Well, you see, Albus Dumbledore, the best headmaster Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has ever seen-"

"With Professor Minerva McGonagall a close second," Hermione added quickly, causing a few chuckles and nods from the audience. Ron beamed at her as Harry continued.

"Dumbledore was unfairly made out to be some kind of madman. He was, in fact, one of the only people on earth who knew how to take down Voldemort," he said steadily, ignoring the wince from several people who weren't accustomed to hearing that name. "He shared some important information with me about him. When we learned that Voldemort –"

"Oh for Merlin's sakes, it's just a bloody name!" Ron snapped when the group of people reacted again. He felt a warm hand on his thigh, the pressure reminding him that he just did, in fact, curse in front of a crowd of people who were hanging on to every word. He covered her hand with his own, biting down on his tongue in an effort to remain quiet.

"When we found out that he had destroyed his soul by murdering people in some twisted effort to…"

And the questions went on and on. Ron's head spun from the fast pace of each hand darting up in the air, not even waiting to be called on before blurting out their name and question. Had ten minutes been up yet? Harry and Hermione had alternated answering, sometimes in tandem. They remained calm and composed, sounding levelheaded and sure of themselves. Why was he even here?

"Thaddeus Opal, The Morn Mirror!" Yelled a man in the back, turning a few heads. "Our readers are most concerned about how you're coping with everything."

Hermione leaned forward this time, clearing her throat delicately before responding. "That's very kind of them to be concerned, Mr. Opal. There are plenty of others who have lost-"

"But what about you?" The pudgy wizard pressed. "We've heard reports of you living with the Weasley family. It makes sense that Harry Potter should be there, seeing as he has no living relatives, but what about you? Were your parents killed as well?"

All three of them were clearly shocked by such a direct question, as there was a significant pause before anyone spoke. Ron took his chance.

"They're safe. Hermione acted brilliantly and ensured they were taken care of before –"

"They're safe, you say?" The wizard interrupted again, his quill skating across the notebook levitated by his head. "Then why not bring them out into the open, if the ministry claims that muggles are truly no longer in any danger from dark wizards?"

"It's not an issue of safety, I can assure you," Hermione responded, her hand on Ron's thigh balling into a fist. "It's just a matter of…logistics. Next question, please."

"What's next for you all? You've been through hell. Are you taking time off in order to figure out your career paths? Any desire to return to Hogwarts?"

"We're spending time with the people we care about and mourning the losses of –"

"Like your brother, Fred Weasley?" called a stout witch who had already asked two questions earlier. Ron grit his teeth. If they ask the bloody questions, why don't they wait to hear the full answer?

"Yes, like Fred Weasley, and the many others who fought valiantly. If you have time, you should certainly make sure you check out the model of the memorial that will be erected-" Hermione was once again cut off by a different wizard.

"What about his brother, George? Do you fancy him, Miss. Granger?"

Ron bolted upright from his chair, trying to see who had asked the question. He spotted heads turned towards a young wizard with slicked back hair. The imbecile was just a bloody spectator!

"We're not entertaining questions of that sort, thank you very much," Harry snapped, looking over at the ministry's press manager for reinforcement. "In fact, I believe the time's almost up-"

"So you don't deny it, Miss. Granger?"

Ron felt his blood boil. The fucking nerve! He reached over and swung the microphone his direction, causing a terrible noise as his voice boomed into the speaker. "Miss. Granger happens to be my girlfriend, thank you very much. I've been in love with her since I was about fourteen." He glanced over at the brunette seated next to him and expected to see her blushing furiously, but she just looked at him quite calmly. "Now, if you all don't mind, the three of us are going to go on and live boring, normal lives, and would appreciate some privacy."

He stood so swiftly his chair knocked over backwards, causing Hermione to squeak. He held out his hand and she took it gladly, allowing him to pull her up.

Harry hesitated, clearly not anticipating such an abrupt ending. With a quick glance over at his two friends, he stood as well but leaned down to make one last comment to the gathering before them. "Er, thank you all for coming. Have a lovely day."

Ron rolled his eyes, stepping off the elevated platform and headed towards the exits. Hermione was by his side in an instant, lacing her fingers between his. The click of her heels on the marbled floor was a welcome sound. Harry shuffled behind them, eventually breaking into a light jog to catch up with them. They made their way to the closest fireplaces and flooed in rapid succession back to the Burrow.

"Interested in nothing but rubbish, the tosspots!" Ron bellowed before taking a massive bite of the sandwich in his hand. The rest of his rant was unintelligible as his cheeks bulged with food. Harry grunted in agreement and backed out the door towards the garden, his hands loaded down with plated sandwiches for him and presumably Ginny.

"Be fair, Ron. Some of their questions were reasonable," she argued, wishing they could just change the subject. The rich tomato soup in front of her didn't rouse her appetite one bit. She picked up her spoon and stirred, feeling more exhausted than she had all summer. She hadn't realized how long she stared absentmindedly, as if in a trance.

"Oi!"

She jumped, startled, and dropped her spoon to the ground with a loud clatter. Ron bent over to pick it up, blue eyes glued to her as he moved closer.

"Sorry," he said softly, taking a seat next to her. "You alright?"

She nodded, forcing a smile on her face. He was shirtless, having unbuttoned the crisp white shirt as soon as they arrived back to the Burrow. He smelled of clean soap. She ducked her head, nuzzling her face against his shoulder. One strong arm came around her side and tucked her close, his thumb roaming back and forth over her shoulder. She nestled deeper, closing her eyes.

"Eat half that soup and we'll go have a lie-down," she heard him say, feeling the rumble of his chest against her head as he spoke.

"You make me sound like a tot," Hermione chuckled, reluctantly moving her head from his side. The bowl seemed to taunt her. She hadn't made a dent. "Want to feed me as well?" she teased.

He rose from the chair next to her and walked to the counter, pulling a clean spoon from the drawer. Hermione laughed heartily as he returned to his place next to her, raising an eyebrow as she hesitated to pick up the spoon.

"You asked for it, woman!"

She stared in shock as Ron dipped the utensil into her bowl, drawing it up towards her mouth with a hand underneath.

"Go on," he said, his face filled with mock earnestness.

"Ron, you are not feeding me," Hermione urged, suddenly fearful that he was going to dribble all over her clothes and stain one of the few nice outfits she had left. "And you better move your hand before you spill!"

"Not until you –"

Hermione, surprising even herself, leaned forward and wrapped her mouth around the offensive spoon and swallowed its contents. She turned her eyes to Ron who sat there in shock.

"That was…bloody hot."

She smacked his thigh jokingly, snatching the spoon from his hand and taking a few more bites. She felt self conscious with him sitting there watching so she ate quickly, wiping her mouth with her napkin and standing up.

He was still looking at her, but the astonished expression he donned earlier was replaced with a calm smile. She seated herself sideways in his lap, relishing the emptiness of the kitchen and playfulness between the two of them.

"Still want to go upstairs…?" She whispered into the shell of his ear. He shuddered lightly as she ran her fingers up his arms slowly, resting on his shoulders. Feeling emboldened, she took his earlobe between her teeth and lightly bit down, delighting in the way he tensed beneath her.

In a flash he stood up, taking her with him. Hermione shrieked his name as he carried them both up the winding stairs, clearly on a mission. When they arrived outside his door, she reached out to open it, giggling as he kicked it closed behind them.

"Been waiting to get you here along all day," he huffed, lowering her to the bed. Hermione kicked off her shoes as he reached into his back pocket and uttered a series of silencing and locking spells, encasing them in privacy.

"Get over here," she said coyly, patting the space beside her on the narrow bed. He unbuttoned his trousers as he made is way toward her, pushing them down completely before laying down on his back beside her in just his underwear.

She swung one leg over him to straddle his body, both of them gasping in pleasure as her clothed center met his. His arms pulled hers down and she rested her elbows on either side of his head, leaning down to kiss him fully on the lips. Her temperature shot up as she felt him shift beneath her, rolling his hips lightly.

"Ohmygod," she breathed against his lips, basking in the friction between their bodies. She tore herself away from him to pull her shirt off over her head before Ron beckoned her back down. The witch moaned as his warm skin made contact with hers, nothing left separating their chests aside from the thin fabric of her bra.

Ron's hands were moving up her thighs, bunching her skirt as they got closer and closer to where she most desperately wanted him to touch her.

"Gonna…need….to stop," Ron breathed, eyes still heavily lidded. Hermione cocked her head at him, unsure why he would possibly want to do such a thing. "S'not that I don't want to rip this skirt off you, but I kind of want to…I dunno…talk."

Talk? He wants to talk?

"Don't look so nervous, love," Ron chuckled, sliding his hands down from her thighs and reaching to tug on her arm, pulling her down beside him. Before laying down completely, she unzipped her rumpled skirt and let it drop to the floor before resting her head on the same pillow as him as he turned on his side, so close to one another that she could count the freckles on his face. His hand went automatically to rest on her waist.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, eyes searching his. He seemed relaxed, content – she was thrown off.

"You," he answered, scooting even closer. "You were brilliant today."

Hermione felt her face warm, feeling shy all of a sudden. She wanted to forget about today, not relive the discomfort.

"I was just answering their questions," she muttered, eyes fixated on a goose feather peeking through the pillowcase. "You were the one with the grand finale, after all."

"They're all barmy, every last one of them," Ron began, pausing to pull out the feather she had been staring at. "But I am beginning to feel like a shite boyfriend. We've really been through a lot, but you've been on the backburner. We haven't fully planned that Australia trip, or talked about what's next for you."

"Nor you!" Hermione quipped, growing a bit annoyed. Why the focus on her? He must have seen her eyes narrow because he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and rolling to his back. She propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at the ginger wizard who was perplexing her so.

"D'you ever find yourself…I dunno…getting sort of restless here?"

Hermione paused, biting her lip. Should she answer honestly? She knew the man lying out beside her quite well. She loved his tender affection that was reserved just for her, his fierce protection, his loyalty. But she knew his vice, and the risk of him getting insecure over her real answer kept her from responding right away.

"I do," she heard him say to her surprise. Her hand went out to touch his jaw, causing him turn his head to face her again. "Don't get me wrong, I knew I needed to be here after everything. But it just feels like we need to go on to the next thing."

"Ron," she whispered, meeting his eyes. They held so much intensity. "I had no idea you felt that way."

He held her gaze but reached his hand to the one she had on his face, stroking her wrist with his thumb.

"I suppose…well, I've felt a bit restless too, but I haven't wanted much to think of the future," she whispered, lowering head to rest on the pillow again. "It…it kind of scares me, to be honest. I don't know how things will go in Australia. And do we go back to Hogwarts?"

Ron shook his head looking her full in the face. "I'm not going back there."

"I miss it," Hermione allowed herself to confess sadly.

A smile broke out across his face, taking her off guard. "I know it."

For the next hour they talked through dreams, fears, plans, anxieties, and impending next steps. It was the most sobering yet hopeful conversation Hermione remembered having in a long, long time.

Ron looked down at the dozing girl in his arms, her head heavy on his chest and mess of curls tickling his arm as she moved up and down each time he inhaled and exhaled.

They were positively knackered.

It was decided, then – she would go to Hogwarts and wrap up her seventh year after their trip to Melbourne next week, and he would take Harry up on the idea of doing the Auror's training. He needed to talk with his mum, and Hermione needed to organize the trip and speak with McGonagall about a late start.

They were going to be all right.

He leaned down and planted his lips on the crown of her head, his heart beating madly in his chest at the idea of spending the rest of his life with her.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! xx violet