Hermione Granger was in a rather silly mood. And judging from the nearly empty wine bottle on the nightstand beside her, the reason was quite clear.

“I love Harry!”
“Of course you do, dear.”

If there was anything to be said about her own inebriated state, it was that Hermione had not had nearly as much as the young man lying on the bed next to her. Smugly she took satisfaction in the fact that she never lost control, even when faced with the most intriguing of possibilities. Her mind had started to drift slowly when the feeling of Ron’s lips against hers made Hermione sigh and relax into his arms.

“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” She smiled, “I’m too liquored to think.”
“Liar. We both know I drank half the bottle. And we both know I’m not nearly as drunk as your drunken self thinks I am. So what are you thinking about, love?”
”You’re drunker than you think, Ronald.”
“Maybe so, but I still care deeply about what my beautiful wife has to say.”

She giggled, swatting at Ron’s arm as she reached once more for her wine glass, tossing back the contents. It had only been since Christmas at the Burrow, six days ago, that Ron had begun to refer to her as ‘his wife’, and Hermione still wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. Originally it had been embarrassing, her cheeks flaring up with redness as Molly Weasley looked at her with a smug smile and the twins had chuckled from their dark corner of mayhem and chaos.

On nights like tonight though, as they lay above the comforter waiting for the New Year to come in, Hermione quite liked it.

“I am thinking about you, Ron Weasley.”
“What about me, ‘Mione?” He mumbled into her lips.
“How glad I am that you’re here, and we’re spending tonight here, together, alone.”
“It sounds almost scandalous.”
‘Well, we are living in sin you know! If my parents actually knew that you LIVED here with me….”

Ron pulled away from Hermione, and her chocolate eyes pouted as he sat upright and then leant back on his hands. He was, in her eyes anyways, the absolute picture of perfection; red hair sticking up at odd angles from snogging earlier, dark blue shirt bringing out the intensity of his eyes, smile a little more lopsided and off-kilter than normal from the wine they had consumed.

“You do know that your parents have probably figured it out by now, right?”
“Nonsense, Ron. I’ve been very careful to make sure they know you live at the Burrow still.”
“Which is why, love, they sent my Christmas present here, side along with yours?”

There was a cheeky smile flashing across his dimpled cheeks, Hermione sitting up to square off, brows wrinkled in deep thought. To her, it had never been a big deal moving in with Ron, or Ron moving in with her, or whichever it was. When she was sixteen, the thought of ever doing such was almost more scandalous than the actual act. Yet while the war had changed her whole opinion of love and life and what was important, Hermione was never quite sure what her parents would think.

She was not ashamed to be living with Ron out of marriage, for there was no place else on the planet she would rather be at any given moment. Falling asleep in his arms, and waking up in them was the best feeling in the world. Somehow though, Hermione couldn’t quite imagine herself rationalizing that to her parents.

“Oh.”
“C’mon Hermione.” Ron drawled, “There’s nothing wrong with us living together. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m just worried what they’re thinking, Ron!”
“Why do you suddenly care what they think? It’s never mattered to you before!”
“Exactly! Have you ever once stopped to think that I’ve never cared what they think before? That I’ve never listened to them before? They wanted so many things for me, Ron, and I’ve gone against every single one of them!”

This was not the time nor the place for this to come out, but Hermione realized a little too late that she had drunk just enough alcohol to be able to push those concerns to the back of her head for the time being. It was never as if she had even intended to speak these things- things she had long thought and worried and fretted about on cold nights when she lie awake staring at the ceiling. They were her own private, personal worries about her parents and her ‘other’ life and what they thought about her for nearly turning her back on that life.

“I followed Harry and you to the bloody Horcruxes, Ron! I followed you into the final battle with their please for me not to ringing in my ears. I told them I didn’t want to go to a normal university and get a normal education because I wanted to stay here, because this is where I belong. Again, this year I had to tell them I wouldn’t be home for Christmas, Ron!”
“I told you we didn’t need to-”
“I know!” She nearly shouted, “I wanted to spend the time with your family. But my parents hate enough that I’m not like them, I don’t want them to think I’m some…. tart, Ron!”

She was being quite hysterical, and Hermione knew it. But it suddenly felt so good to get all of it out; to share her fears about her family with the one person she knew would never judge her. His expression was suddenly very serious, Ron’s hands reaching out to cup her face as he leant inwards resting his forehead against hers.


“You are NOT a tart, Hermione. You are beautiful and intelligent and sexy and your parents are so proud of you for everything you’ve done.”

She sniffled slightly, brushing the back of her hand roughly against her teary eyes, blinking furiously.

“Do you mean it?”
“Of course I do! You’re the apple of their eyes, ‘Mione. You can’t do wrong. Even if it is shagging your boyfriend on a regular basis.”
“Ron!” Hermione admonished, reaching out to smack his arm.
“What? C’mon, love. It’s New Years! We’re supposed to be having a lovely romantic time together.”
“And what would you call this?”

There was a level of seduction in Hermione’s voice as she leant forward to gently press her lips against Ron’s. No matter how many times she had kissed him, Hermione never got tired of the shiver that ran down her spine as Ron’s strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her closer to him. They had been friends for seven years, and lovers for four now, and when they were like this it felt like they were not two people but just one.

Ron ran his hands over the smooth curve of her stomach, nibbling softly on Hermione’s ear as she sighed in contentment, letting her hands run through his messy red hair. If they never got out of bed again, Hermione wouldn’t complain.

“Let’s get married.”

She had barely heard it, Ron’s lips mumbling as they trailed over her collarbone. But Hermione had heard it, and somewhere inside her barely logical brain it registered enough to make her eyes snap open and body tense up. Confused, Ron detached his lips from her skin to prop himself up on an elbow above his brown-haired angel, blue eyes smouldering in the candlelight.

‘What’s wrong?”
“What did you just say?” She whispered.
“I said let’s get married.”
“Why?”


The question seemed to hang inbetween the two, blue meeting chocolate in a furious battle of two souls, each trying to seek out the answer they wanted.

“I love you.”
“Why.” Hermione demanded again.
“Is loving you not enough?” Ron shrugged, “I’ve wanted to marry you for a long time now, ‘Mione. And if we were getting married, it would be okay to tell your parents about us living together. It… it makes sense.”
“No…. no it doesn’t, Ron.”

She could barely bear to look at his face as it crumpled, eyes suddenly conveying the hurt Hermione knew she had caused.

“Ron….”
“No. It’s okay, Hermione. I understand.”
“No, you don’t.” She whispered, “I want more than anything to marry you, Ron. But I can’t say yes tonight, when we’re like this, and we’re both still a little drunk.”
“Okay.”

Ron, to his credit, took is so much better than Hermione thought he would. The moment she turned him down, Hermione braced herself for a quarrel, a blowout, an all out row. It was truly a testament to how much Ron had grown up from their school days when he nodded solemnly and lay down, pulling Hermione to his chest once more and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“We missed new years, love.”
“Ron…”
“Shhhhh. It doesn’t matter, Hermione. Let’s just enjoy being together, alright?”

She nodded softly, nuzzling into Ron’s arms as she let her eyelids drop shut in the dying light. It was the last thing Hermione remembered before rolling over and moaning into the sunlight that sprayed across the bed, rolling over to search for Ron’s warm body to curl into. Yet she was surprised when no body could be found, opening her eyes just a fraction.

“Ron?”

No sound was returned, from anywhere in the flat, and Hermione sighed, groggily stretching out beneath the covers. Vaguely, she recalled last night’s events and surveyed the garments flung round the room, and the two empty wine bottles on the nightstand. Something in her brain suddenly turned on, and Hermione could have sworn they only drank one.

Sliding on Ron’s shirt, Hermione padded out of the bedroom and into the hallway, checking each opened door for any sign of Ron. Yet as she came to the kitchen and the full night’s events had returned to her, there was a panicking sensation in her stomach, making her wonder just what she had done.

“Ron? Are you home?” She called out.

Silence once more met the brunette and she frowned in displeasure, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and walking towards the sink. She really needed an advil if she was going to be able to effectively rational the situation. Hermione had almost passed the refrigerator when a messily scribbled note stuck to the surface with a magnet caught her attention.

Hermione,
I’m not drunk anymore. Although, I wasn’t nearly as drunk as you were. You’re really quite irrational when you’re liquored, aren’t you?
Regardless, I still love you.
And if you’ll have me, I still want to marry you.
I’ll be back soon with breakfast. Have a lie in, and we’ll talk when I get home.
I do love you.
-R