Summary: Ron and Hermione spend the summer of 1998 discovering themselves and each other underneath the open sky.

Rating is M for some sexy-time.

A/N: This is the first fan fiction I have ever written. Please be nice, but I do appreciate constructive criticism.

Ron Weasley opened his eyes, grimacing slightly as he adjusted to the bright sun rays shining down on him through the tree leaves. Hermione was lying partially on top of him, the right side of her head pressed against his chest while her left hand dropped over his shoulder. Their first time making love had rendered them both tired, and had fallen asleep within a few minutes of each other. She was still soundly sleeping, and Ron could feel her warm, moist, rhythmic breath against his skin. Her light brown curls barely covered the top of her back and shoulders and Ron's eyes drifted to the exposed, creamy skin below, finally to where the quilt concealed her just below the small of her back. He was sure that he had never awoken to a more beautiful sight.

She was leaving for Australia to find her parents tomorrow, and he knew this strange, beautiful, horrible, wonderful summer was coming to an end. She would be going to Hogwarts next month, and he would be leaving for recruit training only a few weeks later.

The afternoon had gone by in a blissfully sweet slowness that he had grown accustomed to over the past three months. It was a routine that he and Hermione had fallen into over the course of the summer, though initially not with the outright amorous intentions they had slowly but surely developed by early August.

The first time they had slept outside in each other's arms had started innocently enough.

It had only been a few days after Fred's funeral, and much of their time had been spent at Hogwarts, which had been designated the defacto site of the post-war headquarters. The first week after the battle had been the most emotionally and physically draining. There was the arduous task of identifying the dead and the funeral preparations that followed, and almost immediately Hermione had volunteered herself to lead the effort and Kingsley had accepted her as the right person for the position. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but her rationale was that someone had to do it and why not that person be her? Harry had shaken his head and looked at Hermione dourly when she told him. Harry, Ron and Neville had volunteered to assist the group of Aurors who had been assigned to find evidence as to where the Death Eaters had regrouped after fleeing the battle. Even with this daunting mission they did not envy Hermione's grim task.

Ron knew why she had done it. Hermione had no family in the wizarding world and had been blessed with both intellectual and emotional intelligence. She was intensely logical but she had an unrivaled empathetic side; she knew what to say to grieving family members and could understand their pain without compromising herself. Still, it had not been easy.

It was only the second day when she and Madame Pomfrey had been searching the rubble for bodies when they made the horrifying discovery. Hermione thought she had seen a frayed dress robe from underneath one of the rocks, so she pointed her wand at the heap and muttered "wingardium leviosa." Madame Pomfrey gasped while Hermione covered her mouth and tripped on a fallen column behind her, bracing herself with her left hand as she stumbled. She could see them from her position, three children – two boys and one girl who were no more than second years – crushed and mutilated, and had their hands bound and their throats slit. She had vomited before she was even able to get up, dry heaving over the column as tears welled her eyes.

Madame Pomfrey placed an unsteady hand on her back and whispered shakily, "Breathe, dear, just breathe…its okay."

Hermione shook her head as she dry heaved again. It was then that she realized she scarcely had eaten over the past two days.

Once she was able to collect herself, Hermione stood up, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and looked at the older woman. Her eyes were red with tears and she cleared her throat, looking at Hermione with a comforting, though distressed maternal gaze.

"I'm going to get some sheets and a potion that will stop the sickness. Those poor children…"

Hermione stood there. She had seen and experienced so much violence over the past year that she honestly believed nothing could stir a reaction in her like the one she had just experienced. Her mind began flowing with scenarios as to why those poor children had been killed in that manner. First years! What were they even doing there? Had they come back to fight? What kind of evil could possibly motivate such a horrendous act against such innocents? She scathingly laughed out loud and silently answered her own question. The evil we just defeated, she thought.

Hermione bit her bottom lip as she sat on the column. Trying to take her mind off of the children, she wiped her eyes with fabric from the top of her jumper and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears as she gazed toward the lake. It was a stunningly beautiful evening, and she looked at the vibrant array of colors that lay atop the sinking sun, set in the valley between the magnificent Scottish mountains. She was reminded of the hours she spent as a girl at Hogwarts in the shadow of such an evening, studying, writing letters to her parents – her parents. She truthfully had not thought about them since the Battle. She wondered if they were happy, blissfully unaware of the violence she had seen and hopefully had protected them from.

She felt herself to be on the verge of crying again when she felt his familiar hands on her shoulder.

"Madame Pomfrey told me what you saw," Ron said stoically.

Hermione nodded.

"Don't look. They're back there. No one needs to see them," Hermione whispered thickly.

Ron breathed heavily and sat next to her, placing a long arm over her small frame as she nestled into him. He kissed the top of her dusty, frizzy hair as she wept into his shirt, holding his side. He rubbed small circles into her back as she continued to sob quietly. Ron couldn't quite begin to find the words to comfort her, unsure of his own feelings as much as hers. Truthfully, Ron had always admired Hermione's compassion, and thought with contempt and embarrassment at his own immaturity regarding his mockery of S.P.E.W. all those years ago. He would have to apologize for that later, he noted, but then remembered vividly their kiss two nights ago. She may have forgiven me for that, he thought. Hermione clutched him harder and pressed her body so close to his that he could feel her heart beating. Ron sighed and closed his eyes, remembering how she had comforted him in the same manner when Fred had died during the battle. At that moment he realized he never wanted anyone else to comfort Hermione the way he was doing, or the way she had to him.

They embraced for several more moments before Hermione pulled away from him slowly as she heard Madame Pomfrey's footsteps reverberate in the hall. She got up and attempted to collect herself once more as Ron ran a hand through his overgrown red hair before wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He got up and walked next to Hermione, placing his hand in her hers. She looked up at him appreciatively and gripped him tightly.

Madame Pomfrey walked toward the rubble with three healers and Hermione watched as they placed sheets over the small bodies.

"I know what you two have been through," Madame Pomfrey said, her eyes at Ron and Hermione. "It's close to nightfall. You should get some rest. We'll take it from here."

Hermione shook her head as Madame Pomfrey handed her a canteen of water, a mouth cleansing potion and an elixir for her stomach.

"Please, we need to help. Their families…"

Madame Pomfrey sighed.

"Please, Ms. Granger. That won't be necessary. You have already done so much. Tomorrow you can help."

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but she knew the older woman was right. She nodded before taking the potion and elixir.

"If you need help, just let me know."

Hermione looked at Ron and he saw her expressionless face.

"Let's go outside," Ron whispered as he placed his hand in hers once more. She nodded vaguely and they began to walk towards the corridor. The sun was close to being fully set, and Ron guided her towards the grass, away from the destruction and violence of the once splendid castle. The serenity of the open grassland contrasted heavily with the chaos just a half mile up the hill. Ron whispered "lumos" and the tip of his wand lit up their path. They walked towards a large oak tree and stopped. Ron sat at its bulbous trunk and motioned for Hermione to do the same.

She lowered herself to the ground and pressed her back against the tree and looked at Ron. He had scratches on his face and there was a partially healed gash on his forehead, and his hair appeared slightly greasy. Hermione laughed, wondering how much of a disaster she looked like at the moment.

"You have dirt on your nose," she whispered huskily, licking her index finger and rubbing the offending mark.

Ron blushed and laughed softly, looking down with a smile on his face after she finished.

When he finally looked at her, he saw she was smiling too, bittersweetly, as her eyes slowly filled with tears. They looked at one another for what seemed minutes.

"Ron, I love you."

Her voice was soft and calm, and if she felt vulnerable, there was no trace of it in her voice.

"I love you too, Hermione. More than you could ever know."

He leaned closer, tilting his head slightly and he felt his own chapped lips touch hers. She pressed her mouth onto him, and Ron could feel the cuts on hers lips with his tongue. She placed her hand on his neck and brought him closer. It felt different than the kiss they had shared in the Room of Requirement. That one had been rushed and passionate, almost fearful. This was filled with vindication and appreciation. They had survived.

Hermione was the first to break away. She brought her head down to his shoulder, resting there for several moments. The evening light faded into darkness, and the only light came from Ron's wand, the hundreds of lightning bugs fluttering around the grass and the stars that shone brightly from the night's sky.

"I know you have to have a quilt or something in that bag of yours," Ron said with a laugh.

Hermione smiled mischievously.

"I do. Are you suggesting we sleep outside tonight, Ronald?"

The corners of his mouth draped slightly on each side and he raised his eyebrows.

"Possibly. It is a beautiful night."

Hermione summoned a large quilt and pillows and placed them underneath the tree. They decided on returning to Hogwarts for a meal, and when they returned back to the tree, they fell asleep in each others arms underneath the open air.

In June, when the rebuilding effort had gotten much more organized and required less of their time, Ron and Hermione both found that they had an appreciation for the outside: star gazing or admiring sunsets, afternoon picnics or morning nature walks near the Burrow or closer to Ottery St. Catchpole.

By July their "walks" turned into feverish snogging sessions in the tree grove a short walk the Burrow. Hermione had begun casting the same invisibility charms that she had when they had been on the run the previous year; whether it was snatchers or the wrath of Mrs. Weasley, Hermione had never been one to take chances when matters could be concealed. One week earlier, Mrs. Weasley had caught them snogging passionately on Ron's bed in nothing but their undergarments. It had been a wholly embarrassing moment for both, but escalated when Mrs. Weasley subsequently accused Ron of being a "disrespectful, randy pervert" who was taking advantage of a grief-stricken, vulnerable Hermione. At that, Ron glared at Hermione, knowing that he was getting the blame for the fact she had apparated into his room at 5 AM and practically seduced him. Mrs. Weasley had been so furious that she failed to notice a disheveled Harry, who had left around the same time for Ginny's room when Hermione had arrived, walk behind her and look on curiously at the scene. After Mrs. Weasley left, Harry burst into laughter and looked proud that he had not been as unfortunate as his two best friends. Hermione quickly gave him a one-fingered salute and huffed off to the shower, looking to be on the verge of tears.

Mr. Weasley, who had been awoken in the commotion, took Ron aside and had a "man-to-man" talk, telling him that while he understood that it must be difficult to be an 18-year-old boy sharing a house with his girlfriend, he had to keep it in his trousers while they were under his roof. He also threatened Ron that if he were to get Hermione pregnant, he would use his connections with the Ministry, personally track down the Grangers in Australia, restore their memories and tell Hermione's father that Ron had been the one to change their memories, and that he had run off with their daughter for months alone in a tent instead of being in school and later impregnated her out of wedlock. Ron had looked positively terrified before Mr. Weasley patted him on the back and handed him a butterbeer.

After that point, Hermione had barely been able to look at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley much less say anything to them. It had come to a pitch when Molly finally realized that as a responsible mother she would have to have a talk about contraception with Ginny and Hermione. She took them in the kitchen, sat them down and told them that while she didn't approve of sexual relations out of wedlock, especially in her home, she was going to be a good parent and give them the potion if they wanted it. Both Ginny and Hermione awkwardly obliged, and the conversation ended with Molly talking about Bill's conception much to Ginny's derision. Mrs. Weasley also made an off-handed comment to Hermione about the Weasley men and to beware of their charm and powers of persuasion. Hermione stifled a laugh and nodded seriously.

Still, Molly continued to keep an eye on them both and was making sure that any time spent alone was kept to a minimum. Their outside rendezvous continued under the premise that they technically weren't doing anything under the Weasley's roof, and that they actually could spend time together without any unwanted interruptions from various relatives and friends. Mrs. Weasley thought it healthy and encouraging that they were spending time outside of the house and Hogwarts, and presumably away from any beds.

By late July, under the ash trees, they had begun exploring the nuances of each others bodies. One particularly hot afternoon, they had been swimming in the pond before retiring back to their usual snogging ground. Things became rather heated and Ron had slid his hand in between Hermione's legs, gently exploring and rubbing the unfamiliar, fleshly flatness. When she grabbed his hand, Ron expected her to pull it away and sheepishly tell him she wasn't ready for that as she had done a few times earlier in the summer. Instead, she blushed, looked at him in the eye and whispered in a familiar bossy voice that she wanted to him to touch her while she guided his hand underneath the fabric of her bikini bottom.

Ron came in his swimming trunks with a strangled grunt.

Hermione had thought it was quite funny, giggling very un-Hermione like at the power that she had over him. Ron clearly did not find any humor in his prematurity and stood up and prepared to wash himself off in the pond. She smiled sympathetically and cast a cleansing charm and apologized for her lack of sensitivity that he so clearly possessed, before breaking into laughter at her own joke.

By the end of the week, Ron had become a master at pleasuring Hermione. He had listened intently when, the day after his premature episode, he had slid his hand into her jean shorts and nervously looked at her for direction. Hermione sucked in a breath and placed her hand over his, guiding his fingers into her cotton knickers and through her wet folds to her entrance. She closed her eyes and instructed Ron to slide his index finger in her.

"Just like that," she had whispered.

Ron did so, sliding his finger slowly in and out, wishing it was another part of his body. He felt his jeans become even tighter as she then took his hand, navigating him to the nub at the top of her lips. Hermione moaned softly and pressed his finger against it. Ron and heard about a girl's clitoris but he never imagined something so small was capable of causing so much pleasure.

She swallowed and Ron looked at her face for guidance. She opened her eyes and gazed at him.

"Rub it softly at first. Round, tight circles. You can explore a bit like we did earlier, but – but – here it feels the best,"

Ron nodded heartily, realizing this was the hottest lesson in anatomy he had ever received. He gazed at her, eyes closed, her wavy hair pressed against the bark of the tree. His free hand caressed her smooth thigh, and gently squeezed her bum.

"You're so beautiful, 'Mione," he said as he continued rubbing her clit.

Hermione moaned into his ear a few minutes later as she writhed against his hand.

"You feel so much better than my own hand," she whispered.

Ron came at her words, this time, moaning into her hair.

"Always the tone of surprise," she said, looking at him lovingly.

Ron had discovered that if he wanked in the two-to-four hours before he and Hermione would go off for one of their evening "nature walks" he could last through their sessions without embarrassing himself.

Hermione first touched him the day after she had given him his very hands-on female anatomy lesson. They had been snogging underneath the ash tree rather furiously and she at some point had begun straddled his lap and began grinding herself against him.

Ron groaned into her mouth and grabbed the sides of her hips. Hermione ended the kiss and looked at him curiously.

"You know, I don't think it's fair that you've been….touching me all week and I haven't got to do the same to you," she said softly.

Ron sighed.

"Hermione, you haven't gotten a chance to do that because I've been taking care of it before you've had a chance," he laughed self-deprecatingly.

"Well, you haven't today," Hermione said wryly as she slowly untucked his shirt from his jeans.

"Yet," he said with a groan.

Ron watched as Hermione undid his belt buckle and began unzipping his jeans. Part of him was unsure this was reality or one of his randy fantasies about her he had been entertaining since fourth year.

He helped her push his jeans to his ankles and Hermione blushed when she saw his tented Chudley Cannons boxers, somewhat proud that she had this effect over him.

She smiled at him and moved up to straddle him again, this time kissing him as her hand snaked down his taunt torso. Ron gasped in her mouth as he felt her small, soft hand glide underneath the elastic of his boxers and come in contact with his hard manhood. Ron felt his heart speed up and looked at Hermione, her beautiful face gazed down at his lap as she pulled him out of his underwear. He swallowed as she looked at his cock most eruditely, and in a manner that was distinctly Hermione, slowly, yet tentatively moved her hand up and down his length.

Ron closed his eyes and tried to stay calm. Yes, this was most certainly reality, he thought.

"Is this okay?" Hermione whispered.

"Perfect," he groaned.

Hermione continued to repeat the motion as Ron muttered her name, mixed in with an array of a few choice profanities.

It was only a minute and a half – though Ron was proud he had lasted that long – when he grunted her name and spilled himself over her hand.

Ron leaned against the tree and opened her eyes to see Hermione wiping his fluids off her hand with a paper towel and taking care of the rest with a flick of her wand.

She looked up at him with an awkward smile.

"Did you like it? I mean, of course I've never done anything like that, but if it wasn't good, you know, I can learn, I mean, we can learn together, and there are plenty of books on the subject matter –"

Ron cut her off with a laugh and put his hand up mid-air.

"When have you ever done anything in your life sub-standard, Hermione Granger? That was bloody brilliant."

Hermione gave a self-satisfied smile and stood up, clearing the quilt and wiping off the dirt from her jeans.

Ron smiled as he pulled up his boxers. Whether it was charms class or giving hand jobs, Hermione always wanted nothing more than to be the best. Her quest for perfection both irritated and turned him on to no end.

Ron stood up, and buckled his belt as he looked at Hermione. She ran a hand through her untamed hair and looked at him with a mix of a love and lust.

"Sometimes it's hard to believe you're not that little boy I met all those years ago," Hermione said as she moved closer to him, looking up at his face as she caressed his cheek.

"I would hope not, not after that," Ron smirked as he wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her close to him.

"You may have gotten taller, sexier and curvier, but you're still a bossy know-it-all," Ron said as he kissed her forehead.

"It's true, I am," Hermione said seriously as she pushed Ron against the ash tree, kissing him passionately. "And you can still be a prat."

"That's true too," Ron smiled as he pushed a ringlet of brunette hair out of Hermione's face. "I guess some things never change."

They spent the rest of the evening snogging underneath the ash tree before they curled against each other on the quilt, gazing up at the summer night sky.