Every bit of him ached.

He had known, even on that first night, that this might be an epically bad idea, but at the time he hadn't really cared. Not that he really did now.

That first night it had all been completely unselfish, he had only cared about what she needed, what she wanted. She'd asked him to stay-so he did-it was that simple. If she'd asked him to sleep outside on the sand, he'd have done it without hesitation. The fact that she'd seemed so content sleeping on his chest, tucked securely in the crook of his arm, began to fill that part of him that had been clawed out in Malfoy's cellar.

He had failed her, again, no matter how many times she tried to assure him otherwise, he knew he had, but it would be the last time. He had chanted it like a mantra inside his head as she slept. He had whispered it into her hair in the moments before his exhaustion overtook his vigil. He had proclaimed it as boldly as his hammering heart would allow as they walked on the shore after dinner. With each day that passed he grew more and more bold, they both did: it was no longer strange to take her hand as they walked along, to feel her head on his shoulder as they sat on the sofa, to pull her close as they drifted off to sleep.

But, as brave as they had both been, there was still a final step that they were both unwilling to take. It didn't upset him, didn't even make him doubt her feelings for him. He knew why he hadn't been able to do the things his heart, and his body if he were being completely honest, were screaming for him to do. He could not, would not, give her the chance to misunderstand his intentions. He knew her well enough- hell, he knew her better than he knew anyone, even Harry to know that she was carrying more of a burden than she would ever let anyone know. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he was only trying to comfort her, or worse, that he only wanted to be with her because he thought they wouldn't make it through this alive.

So he would wait. As long as he needed to. Gladly.

But

The problem was...the more time that passed, the more looks that she gave him, the more touches they exchanged, the more nights he held her as she slept...the more there was, the more he wanted.

When he had lain in this bed, alone, months ago, he had prayed to Merlin ceaselessly that he could just find her, just see her, just know she was alive, just hold her, just once.

But he should have known...with Hermione there was no just, it would always be more.

So now he was here, lying in the almost light of dawn with the woman than he loved more than his own life literally, he had proven that to her as well as himself

"You can have me! Keep me!'

In the end, his biggest fear, the one buried so deep that even Riddle's trinket couldn't suss it out, had begun to show itself in fifth year. He'd brushed it off at first-the dreams were just a rehash of the Department of Mysteries fiasco-usually with some twist: the brains grabbing Harry and Hermione; Death Eaters hurling Harry and Hermione toward the Veil, the two of them in all manner of mortal peril. The only common thread was that he couldn't save them...both.

He was sure other people had similar thoughts, in abstraction, but even at 16 he was painfully aware that his fear was in no way theoretical, there was a better than fair chance that one day-in a decreasingly distant future- he would have to make the one decision that he saw no possible way of making. And, because he was so sure that there was no satisfactory conclusion, he stuffed it far down to the very bottom of his growing list of dreads that were much too adult for one so young.

It had worked, more or less, for a while, but when the Felix had worn off and the awful reality of Bill's injuries and Dumbledore's death began to sink in, the old fears came clawing back, gaining in momentum until they were drowned out by that cursed locket. The first night he had spent in this bedroom, alone, when he'd left them, his dreams had been haunted again. This time, however, he couldn't save either of them. Every nightmare ended with them both dead in that bloody tent with him arriving too late.

Finding them again had been a miracle, and in the afterglow he had let himself believe that Merlin would never be so cruel as to give him such a choice. That all those times he had worried about it were probably pointless.

In a way he had been right. It had been blind of him to not see that his choice had been made. From the moment the Snatchers had grabbed them, he had one goal above all others, to make sure Hermione was safe. He hadn't had time to process it until much later, kneeling by her bedside as Fleur tended to her injuries. He supposed it should bother him more, knowing that, as much as he loved Harry, and as much as he knew he was the key to saving the wizarding world, that there was no world for him without her in it.

Would he have volunteered to take Harry's place as quickly as he had hers? Of course, but only if it could guarantee Hermione's safety as well. It should have been, perhaps, a more shocking revelation, but it didn't make him feel anything other than peaceful. He had finally unraveled the knot of his heart, layer after layer, until he could lay it out straight...he didn't just love her, hell, he had a big family full of people he loved, this was something else, something he didn't quite have a name for, maybe she would, she was always really good with fancy words.

Hermione made him feel things that he had never felt before. He knew it sounded right corny, like something out of one of those Celestina Warbeck songs his mum loved, but it was true. It was the indescribable simultaneous feeling of heaviness and lightness. As he lay there, he was conscious of both sensations: her body pressed into his, filing his heart to overflowing, her breath against the crook of his neck assuring him that he could in fact fly without a broom.

It was a delicious sort of torture, what she was doing to him, what he was doing to her, what they were doing to each other. He let his mind wander, pulling her ever so slightly closer, to what might happen if he just…let go. She wouldn't push him away if he dropped his head that ultimate last degree and brushed his lips against hers. She would open her eyes slowly, giving him that look, and every bit of his self control would vanish as he deepened the kiss, rolling her over to…

Fuck...nope..better stop that…

He didn't know a whole lot about romance, but he was pretty sure waking up to a massive stiffy wedged against your hip didn't qualify. More than once since they had begun sharing this bed he had been forced to reposition himself to avoid embarrassment. Good morning, Hermione, oh, sorry, I was just thinking about snogging you into the mattress and...well...whattayasay? I know we haven't really talked about it but I love you and I may actually go mental if I don't kiss you. He chuckled softly as he imagined her reaction. He cursed himself as he felt her stir, but any negative thought fled his mind when he found her eyes smiling back at him.

"Hi," her voice was so soft that if he hadn't been looking at her, he wouldn't have been sure he heard her.

"Hi...I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Oh, not at all...did you sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Enough?"

"Um-hmm," he wasn't exactly sure what he was agreeing to, he was currently quite lost in trying to decide if she was more beautiful when she was about to go to sleep, or when she just woke up.

"Good," she snuggled in to him, "do you mind if we stay put for a bit? I think it's still rather early."

"We can stay as long as you like...doesn't matter if it's early or not."

"As long as I like?"

Dear sweet Merlin! She had to know what it did to him when she said things like that!

"Yep. Not one minute before, and not one minute after...I'll barricade the door if I have to so no one disturbs us."

"Better make it a strong one, you know how ruthless Fleur can be when it's time for breakfast."

"I guess all the Weasley brothers have thing for strong women."

He had expected her to laugh, or roll her eyes, or maybe even swat him for such a cheeky comment, but instead she looked him very earnestly, "Really?"

He wasn't exactly sure, was she questioning the fact the she was strong or that he was madly in love with her? Because honestly, he couldn't see how she could doubt either point. As fun as the banter and the flirting were, he needed her to know that what he said was true.

"Do you seriously not know?" He removed his hand from her waist, bringing it to her cheek.

"Yes, I know...I guess..we haven't really talked about it, but when we are like this, it seems so simple, but then I am so used to second guessing," she sighed, searching for the words.

"I understand...It's a hard habit to break."

"I am trying...and you are making it easier that it has ever been," the color rose slightly in her cheeks, but she didn't look away, "I hope I am doing the same for you."

He nodded at her, a bit too overcome to speak for the moment, because the most wonderful part of all this was that all of the things that he thought he would never be able to tell her, not only could he, but she seemed to want to tell him the same things. All this time.

"You are, but sometimes," it was easier for him, but still not that easy.

"It just seems too good to be true?"

"Yeah."

"And you think, what if I say too much?"

"What if I say too little?"

"What if," but whatever words were coming after that were trapped as Ron pressed his lips to hers. All the "what ifs" and second guesses were snapped out like boggarts by a flurry of gentle kisses.

They sighed into each other, kisses and hands growing delicately bolder. As much as he had imagined this moment, played it over and over in his mind, a million scenarios of varying believability, the reality was infinitely better. She was really here, kissing him back, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. How had he ever held out this long? How had he lived this many years without...Bloody Hell! Her tongue! Was it possible for your heart to burst from just a kiss? Although he already knew, with Hermione it was never "just" anything.

If he thought he was going to go mental from wanting to kiss her, that was nothing compared to how actually kissing her was going to affect him. Speaking of affecting, you better slow down before you show her more of the Weasley charm than she's ready for. Slowly, Ron pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on hers, smiling as he realized that they were both panting slightly.

"Sorry...you were...saying?"

She did roll her eyes at him then, laughing as he pulled her into a tight hug. It was a relief to him that despite this new part of their relationship, the foundations were still the same. That they were still the Ron and Hermione that had, despite all their best efforts at mucking it up, come to love each other in every possible way. He realized that he had been afraid of losing that first love the non-kissing love, it was one of the reasons he had been so hesitant to admit his true feelings not only to her, but to himself as well.

He thought, for months, years if he were being honest, that kissing her would be crossing some highly guarded border into a strange land, but he was amazed at how natural it all felt. His feelings hadn't magically changed, he didn't love her more, or even in a different way, he wasn't in a strange land at all, he was home.