Coming Home

It doesn't take long to unpack. The flat is tiny, just a small studio with a kitchen and bathroom not much bigger than a potions cupboard, but Hermione likes it. There's a large bookshelf that she's already filled up, and the rest of her things are stored away neatly within a few hours. It's her own space, which is an improvement from the rooms she's let during the last three and a half years. Of course, it's greatest attribute is that it's located in London, which means she's finally back home after years abroad.

During her training and foreign assignments with Gringotts, she was sent all over the place. There were a few months in Egypt followed by several in New Zealand then India, Japan, Germany, and a half dozen others. She considers it wonderful experience, to see the world while learning her job, but she's missed home since shortly after she left. Well, home isn't necessarily the right word. She's missed Ron and Harry and being somewhere familiar where she belongs. The training was necessary, though, and she's now ready to work for the goblins at the British branch of Gringotts, who were reluctant to hire her due to her past history with the bank.

After she walks around her tiny flat once more, she makes a stop at the toilet then goes into the kitchen. The boys are coming over for dinner tonight to celebrate her return. No, not boys. Not anymore. They're men now, fully trained Aurors who look dashing in their work robes and have an aura of confidence and maturity about them that wasn't there when she left years ago. It feels like she missed so much when she looks at them, and she can't help but wonder how things might have been different if she'd chosen to work for the Ministry and stayed in England after finishing her NEWTs.

She doesn't think that she'd be as happy if she stayed, so it's probably worth it. She loves her job, loves cursebreaking and research and being able to figure out complicated puzzles that take time and patience. Working at the Ministry would have been fulfilling, of course, but she doesn't know if she'd have liked all the politics and prejudice. It's just really nice to work somewhere that doesn't care if she's Muggleborn, since the goblins generally don't like any wizard, regardless of blood.

As she puts the pasta on to boil, she loses herself in thoughts of the past. Her relationship with Ron had started off really well. They'd been so close after the hunt for Horcruxes that it had been a natural progression into being something more. The first kiss had become another and another pretty easily, and they were already the best of friends, so it had been simple to become boyfriend and girlfriend during that summer. They'd kept up a correspondence, at least sporadically when he had time away from Auror training, during the year she'd returned to Hogwarts alone, and lost their virginity together during the hols in Ron's bed while his mum was Christmas shopping. It had been fun. And then, once they weren't apart all the time, it hadn't been.

By the time she finished her NEWTs, Ron was in Auror training officially, and he was usually working ten to twelve hour days. She hardly saw him, and, when she did, he was tired or cranky, which became his most common emotions during those months. They fought more often than before, and it wasn't the bickering that led to passionate snogging. Instead, it was fighting that left them both glaring and upset, which wasn't enjoyable at all.

She adds spice to the sauce and sighs as she remembers those months, much more clearly than she'd realized. When she had received the offer from Gringotts that August, it was a chance of a lifetime, but she'd been hesitant about the constant travel. By then, the relationship was strained at best, and if she wanted to fix it, she knew leaving was the wrong first step.

Ron had taken the decision out of her hands, though, when he had broken up with her. There had been reasons about long hours at work and drifting apart and needing to focus on his training, but they'd sounded more like excuses back then. Excuses or not, though, it had been what she needed to make her choice, since there wasn't any reason to stay after that, and she'd been out of the country by the end of the month.

That should have been the end of it. She'd feared it would be the end, not just of the relationship, but of all the other parts of her life that they'd shared.

The problem is that she still loves Ron. Even after all these years apart, she thinks about him and misses him. For a while, a few months, she just waited to get over him, but when that didn't work, she started to write him letters. It couldn't hurt, and she didn't want to completely end contact with him despite their break-up. The funny thing is that he finally wrote her back. He never did when she was at Hogwarts, but his letters became almost regular during her years away. It hasn't been easy, rebuilding the friendship that she thought was lost after their relationship ended, but she feels closer to him now than she did before.

With a shake of her head, she finishes the sauce and pours it over the pasta. Harry and Ron helped her move in yesterday, so she's repaying them tonight with dinner. It's nothing fancy, just spaghetti and garlic bread, but it'll be nice to catch up with them both after so many years away. She's been home only a few times since she started working, and she's hardly seen Ron at all, who was usually busy with a case whenever she was in town. Tonight, though, he has a free night and there won't be any excuses not to have a good talk.

The food is ready with enough time for her to brush her hair and apply a coat of lip gloss to her lips. She doesn't fuss with make-up and the like, but lip gloss is easy and draws attention to her mouth. Not that she wants Ron's attention on her mouth. That's in the past, as she keeps having to remind herself since she found out that she was moving back to England. He's done nothing that indicates otherwise, so there's no reason to think it's not. He's probably moved on and just hasn't told her, which makes her frown at her mirror before she leaves the bathroom.

The studio isn't big, but there's enough room for a small dining table, her bed, a sofa, and a couple of chairs. She doesn't have a telly or lots of things to sit around, unless she counts books, so it's clutter free and comfortable. She hung photos on the wall earlier, various ones that she took during her travels, and she thinks that adds a nice personal touch. Another glance at the clock shows that the boys are, indeed, late. Only a few minutes, but still. What if they've forgotten? It's not as if she's been around for the last few years or anything.

Before she can become too anxious, there's a knock on the door. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, annoyed with herself for being so ridiculous. When she opens the door, she's surprised to just see Ron standing there. He's changed out of his work robes, she notices as she moves her gaze quickly over him. He's wearing black trousers and a blue shirt with buttons. Since when does Ron dress up in anything but denims or robes? The color of his shirt makes his eyes look bluer, and she feels a stirring in her belly that she has to ignore.

"Good evening, Ron. Please, come inside. Is Harry going to be late?" she asks as she steps aside to let him in. She's wearing denims and a comfortable T-shirt, which makes her feel slightly underdressed when Ron is wearing something so nice. Maybe she can grab a dress from her wardrobe and change.

"Hi Hermione." Ron smiles and ducks his head as he enters the flat. "Uh, well, actually, Harry can't make it tonight. We, um, finished a case, you see, so he's, uh, doing paperwork. Right. Working late. Can't be here. He's sorry, though. That he can't be here."

"Oh, okay." She isn't sure why that explanation has him stammering. The tips of his ears are red, too, which means he's nervous. It's just going to be her and Ron tonight, then. Oh. Goodness. She bites her lip and glances at the table where she has a bottle of wine and three glasses waiting. She glances at Ron and finds him staring at her, which is disconcerting because he's Ron, of course, but he's not the Ron she left years ago. This Ron is a man, filled out and masculine in a way that only comes from age and maturity. Ron before made her feel things that she didn't understand, but this Ron makes her feel things that she recognizes all too well.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" he asks, his lips curving slightly as he stares at her. "You look flushed."

She narrows her eyes because, really, that's uncalled for and maybe even a little rude. He has to know why she's flushed, which means he's obviously playing with her. And he's amused, too, which is just embarrassing. "I'm fine," she says, possibly more sharply than she expects. "I just need to finish getting dressed. Would you like a glass of wine while you wait?"

"You're already dressed," he points out, moving his gaze over her in a way that makes her feel very warm. He smirks. Smirks! Since when does Ron smirk? "You don't have to change on my account."

"I wasn't planning on it, Ronald. There's wine there if you want it." So there. She opens her wardrobe and reaches for the first dress that she sees. It's warm enough in the flat that the short sleeves will be appropriate. It's not very sexy, just a simple dress that is nice for warm summer days, but she doesn't want sexy. There's no need for sexy. If she keeps telling herself that, she might actually start to believe it soon.

The fact that Ron is flirting with her makes all her previous resolutions null and void. At least, she thinks he's flirting. It's not like how he used to flirt, when he'd blush and stammer a little or smile that goofy grin that made her heart flutter. It's mature flirting, like a man would do for a woman he wanted to...well, she can't think of such things right now. She grips the dress tightly in her hand and turns to enter the bathroom so she can change. Only, Ron is blocking the way.

"A dress?" He reaches out to touch it, and she looks down to see the wine colored material against his freckled skin. "Since when do you wear dresses for dinner with a friend?"

She looks up at him and is surprised by the intensity in his gaze. This is happening so fast that her mind can't keep up. Ron isn't supposed to be this forward. He broke up with her, after all. Maybe she's assuming too much. Just because he's giving her looks that make her heart race doesn't mean that he wants to try again. They're different now, older and more mature, and she isn't sure if they'd get along any better now than they did that summer when things fell apart.

"You still bite your lip when you're thinking," he says in a low voice that has her body telling her brain to shut up. He blinks and steps back, letting go of her dress as he rakes his fingers through his shaggy hair. "Sorry. I didn't mean to---that is, I wanted to, but I'm going to go slow. Bugger it all. Harry's fucking mad."

"Language," she scolds automatically before she arches a brow and purses her lips. "Wait, what about Harry?"

"He's not really working. He did stay late, but he's gone by now. He just wanted to give us some privacy, tonight, and I knew better than to let him, but I thought that you might still feel the same, so I wanted to find out. Don't, uh, hex us, okay?" He shifts and looks nervous, which almost makes her laugh considering he's bigger than her.

"There won't be any hexing. Yet," she assures him. "So, Harry cancelled because he thought we needed time alone? Why would he think that, Ronald?"

"Cor, stop calling me that," he mutters. "You know how I get when you do. Isn't fair, that."

She blushes when he reminds her, thinking back to those moments in the past when they'd talk after sex and confessions were made by both of them. "I guess that some things don't change."

He smiles sheepishly and looks more like her Ron. "Guess they don't." His smile fades and he shifts again. "You don't have to put on some pretty dress to make me want you, Hermione. Never needed that sort of stuff before, and you still don't. Bloody well can't remember a time when I haven't wanted you."

"I can," she says softly, thinking back to fourth year and sixth year when he had hurt her with words and actions. There was also---"You broke up with me, Ron. That summer, after I got my NEWTs, you're the one who ended things."

"I know." He sighs and shakes his head. "Think I'll have that glass of wine, after all." He turns and crosses the small flat to the table, where he opens the wine and pours them both a glass. He gulps half of his before he looks at her again. "It wasn't the right time for us. We were fighting all the fucking time. Yeah, I know, language. We were, though, and you weren't happy. I could see it, and there was nothing I could do to make you happy, except let you go so you could accept that job that you wanted."

She follows him to the table and puts her dress over the back of a chair before she sits down. "I wanted the job, but you were just as important," she tells him honestly. "I wouldn't have chosen the job over you."

"Which is why I ended things." Ron shrugs and sits down, stretching out his long legs beneath the table. "I'm not that sensitive, and I wasn't the most mature bloke back then, but I knew what needed done even if it'd have been easier to just let things continue. But we'd have both been unhappy and, I don't know, seemed like the best idea."

"You could have talked to me. We could have discussed everything and figured something out." She knows that he made the best choice, even if she's surprised to hear that it was intentional. Ron's right about never been that sensitive, especially about emotions, but he must have realized that they'd end up hating each other if they had kept on as they were back then. Instead of avoiding it, like she had done, he'd taken action.

He smiles and looks at her. "What, so you could make lists and we'd end up fighting about it and just go in circles?" He reaches across the corner of the table to take her hand. "You're happy, with your job and all, and I am, too. If we'd stayed together, we might have just been miserable and unhappy, or, even worse, not even be speaking by now."

"I didn't say it was the wrong choice," she points out, moving her fingers over his strong hand. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm surprised that you were able to think about it and make that decision. I tried but couldn't get past the fear of losing you in order to do anything."

"Won't take it the wrong way. Besides, it's not like I didn't impress myself by being so mature. The thing is, though, it didn't change how I feel. About you. I've tried to move on, cause I know we already had our chance, but there's only one you out there. No other woman can really compare. Bugger, that sounds stupid, doesn't it?" His smile is wry, and he looks like he's blushing.

"It doesn't sound stupid at all," she says firmly. She considers his words and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You know, there's no rule that we only get one chance in life, Ronald. There is such a thing as second chances."

"Is there?"

"So I've heard."

"Is this one of those times, when there might be?"

"Oh, honestly, Ronald."

"That's not an answer, Hermione."

She has to laugh. "Why isn't it? It seems to be an adequate answer. At least, it is to me." He starts to scowl at her, and she relents. "Fine. To answer your question, I think that this might be one of those times, if you agree."

"I agree." He grins and leans across the edge of the table to kiss her.

It's a chaste kiss, at first, but she soon feels the spark that's been between them for years. The kiss deepens, and she hears the chair scrape against the floor as Ron moves closer. She reaches up to touch his hair and whimpers softly when she feels his fingers tugging on her own hair. The tension she's felt since he arrived seems to snap as she pulls him closer. His hands are all over her then, as if he's received permission to touch, and she grips his shoulders when he stands and lifts her. They laugh when he stumbles and nearly drops her, but he holds her tightly and doesn't let go. Not this time.

Somehow, they end up on her bed, which is close to the table and more comfortable than the sofa. It's moving too fast, probably, but they're never really played by any set rules. This feels right, like maybe it's supposed to be this way if she believed in all that nonsense like fate and the like. It's not facts or logic, though, so it's not something she pays attention to generally. She has faith in Ron, in the two of them, and that's enough right now. She wants him, even if there are still questions and problems to get through in the future. He feels familiar, like he's never stopped touching her or kissing her, and she doesn't stop him when he squeezes her breast through her shirt.

"Fuck," he mutters when she returns the favor and squeezes him. He looks down at her, breathing heavily as he shifts and bucks forward against her hand. She tightens her grip and leans up to nip his bottom lip, biting it gently before she sucks it into her mouth.

She lets go of the bulge in his trousers and starts to unbutton his shirt. When she gets it finished, she pushes it off his shoulders and kisses his warm skin. She notices a flash of ink on his lower back, but she can't see what he has tattooed there since she last saw him naked. When she hears fabric ripping, she looks between them to see that he's torn her old T-shirt up the front.

"You have such amazing tits," he whispers in a husky tone before he buries his face between them. He licks and kisses the fabric of her bra, getting it wet then shoving it up to free her breasts to his hungry gaze. She wraps her legs around his waist and grinds up against him, trying to get friction where she needs it most. "I fucking love your tits. Wank to thoughts of fucking them, feeling them around my cock as I slide it back and forth."

"Not fair," she accuses with a moan as she scratches his back and rocks against him. He knows how much it arouses her when he talks this way, especially when he's describing things that he wants to do that he's never told her before.

"Always fair." He grins at her before he sucks her nipple into his mouth. She feels his fingers on her belly before he starts trying to unfasten her denims. She digs her fingernails into his back, dragging them down in the way she remembers him enjoying. He gasps against her breast and thrusts forward against her hard. That hasn't changed then. She smiles before she licks his neck and nibbles on his shoulder. He's panting now, rocking his hips against her as he moves his hand from her trousers to her breast. "Can't wait. Fuck. Want to be inside you. Can't stop. Too long."

He's moving more erratically, and she can recognize the signs even before he tenses and shudders against her. She holds him as he comes then wiggles a bit because, well, she still hasn't. "Ronald," she whines softly, shifting beneath him as warm puffs of breath caress her wet breast.

"Merlin, give me a minute to recover, woman." He lazily sucks on her nipple as he moves above her, resting some of his weight on his left arm. She presses towards him impatiently when she feels his hand on her belly again. The button on her denims is flicked open, after a slight fumble, and she hears the zip lower painfully slow. She's going to hex him if he doesn't hurry, she decides.

"Ronald!" Her voice is more urgent now, and he laughs against her breasts as he moves his hand into her knickers. She feels his middle finger brush against her clit, gasping as she arches up and wiggles, trying to get her denims out of the way. He teases her, obviously not in a hurry now that's already come.

"Patience," he warns in an amused tone. "You made me come in my shorts like I'm a teenager, so this is payback. Maybe I'll make you beg for it. Never could wait long enough before to manage that, but I can now."

"If you do, I'll kick your skinny arse out of bed and take care of it myself," she mutters crossly, though the effect is ruined when he rubs her clit and makes her moan. His mouth leaves her breasts, and it takes her a minute to realize what he plans. "Oh God."

"See, I remember," he tells her, catching her gaze with his for one intense moment before he leans down and licks the damp crotch of her knickers. "I remember what makes you scream and what arouses you the most. I remember how you taste, but you're even better than the memories." He tugs her knickers down and tosses them and her denims on the floor. He smiles at her as he crawls up her body and then licks her again, his tongue laving her wetness before he nibbles on her clit.

Oh, she's missed this. She loves having sex with Ron, always did even when other parts of their relationship were falling apart, but there's something about having his mouth on her that excites her more than most anything else. He's so good at it, knows exactly how to touch and suck and where to put his tongue and fingers. He should, after all the practice he eagerly did when they were younger.

"Touch your tits," he demands, looking at her as he pushes two fingers inside. His mouth and chin are wet, and she whimpers as he stares at her in that new way of his that makes her shiver with desire. She reaches up and touches herself, remembering how arousing he found it to watch. It's been years but, here like this, it feels like only yesterday. He starts licking her again, fucking her with his fingers as he sucks on her clit, and it doesn't take long before she gasps and shudders and comes harder than she has in years.

As she comes down from her high, she hears material rustle and then he's inside her. She tastes herself on his tongue when he kisses her, sucking on his tongue as he thrusts deep and fast. She can't believe that he's already hard again, but she can't complain. It feels right, having him buried inside her and his hands on her. She scratches his back, not caring if she's leaving marks, and they continue to kiss as she rolls her hips up to meet him.

He pulls out suddenly, and she watches him, admiring the way he moves and the changes in his body since he's become a man. When he pushes back inside, he puts her leg over his shoulder and enters her more deeply than before. She cries out, making a noise that she can't remember ever making before, and he grins down at her as he starts to move faster, sweat dripping onto her chest as he squeezes her breast and fucks her harder.

He doesn't last long after she comes a second time. She holds him as he shudders and feels him spill inside her. There's a moment of panic that penetrates her lust-addled mind, but she relaxes when she remembers that her potion and pills are current, so she's protected. She hasn't needed them since they broke up, but she continued the routine anyway, just in case she ever did. When he pulls out this time, he moves to lie beside her and kisses her again.

They lie there for awhile, sweaty and tired, just kissing and touching as they renew their knowledge of each other's bodies and learn the changes. He has two tattoos, she discovers. There's a book, of all things, on his lower back that makes him blush when she questions him about it, and a phoenix feather that is warm to the touch on his bicep, one that Harry also got, she learns, after they finished Auror training. Along with the tattoos, he has several scars on his chest, back and hip from missions gone awry.

Finally, her stomach growls, and they laugh as they get up and take turns using the toilet before they sit down for dinner. It's cold by now, but neither of them are complaining. She's wearing his shirt, barely buttoned, and he's got his newly-dried trousers back on, and they talk as they eat, talking about things they've written each other and all the things they never put into words. She doesn't know what the future holds for them, but it feels right, trying again, and that's all that really matters.

End