A Winters Tale 1

A robed figure made its way up the snowy path. It stopped at the door. The small house was unlit, and there was no smoke coming from the chimney. The figure looked cautiously around, to make sure no one had followed, and then quietly knocked.

The door opened. Gradually, two eyes appeared. "Ron," said Hermione, letting him in and shutting the door behind him. She breathed out. Her wand was in her hand, behind the door.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Of course! Of course. Come on in. Sit down." She pointed to the couch. He sat down. She sat on a wooden chair nearby, scrunching her fingers into her tangled hair.

Ron looked around. The windows were blacked, by a spell. The fireplace was empty, except for a charmed oil lantern, hung across it. Two more lit the rest of the cottage, one on the table, on the kitchen side of the room, and the other on a small end table between the entrances to the bathroom and bedroom.

Ron looked back at Hermione. "This is cozy," he said.

"Yes! I'm sorry-" Hermione held up her wand and snapped her fingers. A warm breeze issued from somewhere, and the temperature in the room went up a few degrees. "It was my nana's. Mom said I could use it... as long as I needed to."

Ron smiled.

"Any word from Harry?"

"No," said Ron, shaking his head. "Still no clues." His instincts wanted him to say, "we don't know if he's alive or dead," but he didn't.

After a moment, Hermione said, "Bloody thing to happen on Christmas..." She smiled and winced at the same time.

"Oh, that reminds me..." Ron fished into a pocket of his robe and removed a small package, rudely wrapped and bound with string. "Mom wanted you to have this."

Hermione took it and unwrapped a tightly wound up scarf, knitted in bright hues of orange, yellow and purple. She held it to her face, and then asked, "how is your family holding up?"

"Well, Ginny's been taking this... about as hard as you'd imagine."

"Yeah."

"But she's... she's tougher than she used to be, you know? She's really holding up well... well I think so. Mom's not doing great, but she's holding up. I think she and Ginny are both trying to put on a good face, each for the other. My brothers are doing what they can... by all means necessary. Dad and I haven't been home much. We've been working late late hours at the bureau, sleeping there half the time. It's just rough. These are rough times."

"I know."

"That also reminds me. We thought it would be best if you could stay holed-up out here for a few more days. Just to be safe."

"I can't stand it. I hate it. I've been here for two nights-"

"I know. But the bureau can't risk having all the country's most powerful wizards in one place, not with Him out-"

"Ron?"

"What?"

"Didn't Harry teach us anything?" She mouthed, "Voldemort," and Ron said it. "Don't live in fear," she added quietly. The lamps burned perfectly, as they would until dawn. Hermione sat in her chair. "How many days has it been?"

"Six. My dad got an owl from him dated Tuesday evening. That's bureau information, though. You can't go-"

"Ron, who am I going to tell?"

"You're right, sorry..."

Hermione buried her face in her hair.

"You still carrying a torch for him?" Ron asked.

"Yes," she answered simply. "And for you too, Ron. I've had two very extraordinary men in my life, up to this point. I've been lucky."

"I didn't mean it to sound that blunt."

"Oh I know! I'm glad you were willing to ask me that. I think it speaks well of our friendship, Ron. This is a time to be honest with each other. If there ever was such a time. This is it."

"I agree."

They listened silently through all twelve chimes of the clock. "Merry Christmas," said Ron. Hermione flipped her scarf around her neck, and waved the end gaily.

It reminded Ron. "I should get going," he said, and rose.

"No. Please stay. You can't have anywhere else to go tonight." She was asking. She wasn't pleading. If she had been pleading, Ron would have said yes automatically, but what was he supposed to do when she was asking?

He thought a moment. "Do you have a telephone?"

"Yes, in my bag." Hermione retrieved a cellular phone from her purse on the table between them. She flipped the lid open, and showed him where the "on" button was. "Felly-tone," she remarked. Both smiled at the in-joke. "Is it safe?" she suddenly asked.

"Yes. Something about the way your voice gets chopped up in the air. They can listen in, but it doesn't make any sense. Dad's been- Dad!" He had dialed the number successfully. "Dad, is that you?"

Mr. Weasley was obviously speaking too loudly, on the other end. "Ron?! Is this Ron?!"

"Dad, it's me."

"Ron, where are you?!"

"I'm with Hermione, dad. I'm going to stay here tonight."

"Okay. I love you, son!"

"I love you too, dad. Bye." He handed the phone back to Hermione, and she pushed the "off" button.

Hermione walked toward the kitchen side of the room. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No, I stopped at home about eight. Mum made dinner. I felt bad for not being able to stay, but I brought some to dad before I headed here."

Hermione opened a chest. It was one of those old-fashioned firewood boxes, the kind that can be loaded from outdoors. It appeared that Hermione had been using it as an icebox. She removed two Welleselyhops' Wizard Ale bottles, and returned, handing one to Ron. "Ejecta," she said, and the corks popped out. She fished two coasters from the drawer in the coffee table, and sat down next to Ron on the couch. She shivered a little, touching her new scarf, then reached for her wand to warm the room again.

"Shall we have a toast?"

"Let's have a toast," said Hermione.

Ron raised his bottle. "Here's to a merry Christmas," he said. "We can't be with our families, but at least we’re not alone. Never alone."

Their bottlenecks tinked. Ron took a chug. It tasted like a bright summer afternoon, with a hint of corn.

"Ron..." Hermione had leaned back against the quilt. Her eyes were dark. The lamp by the bathroom showed only the side of her cheek. Ron found himself staring. The scarf had fallen down across her breast. She touched his shoulder. He leaned in... and kissed her.

She met him. Her lips felt chapped. She seemed small, almost breakable, to Ron. She didn't retreat, after the kiss. Ron could still feel her breath on his face, could see her eyes almost shut. They kissed again, this time more forcefully.

They recovered for a second, and put their beers down on the floor and coffee table. Hermione had hardly touched hers.

Ron put a hand on Hermione's arm. The muscle felt like a soft layer of padding covering something vital. Her shoulder felt solid and too small at the same time.

As they leaned back, Hermione pressed a hand against the back of Ron's head, pushing his mouth to her. Something released in her, sending a tremor through her body.

Ron's hand found the lump of her breast, and squeezed it. His weight pressed down on her. She managed to scoot her knee up across his lap and bring her legs to either side of him. Her crotch was warm. Ron wanted her desperately. His hips made the motion of fucking. Hers followed. The end of his very erect penis came down beneath her pubic bone, and tried to push in. She broke off kissing for a breath, for the first time, and Ron came to notice something; she was crying.

"Are you all right?"

She said nothing, but nodded vigorously, through tears. Hermione stood up, and Ron took her hand. "Up," she whispered. Ron stood, and she led him into the bedroom.

The moon had come out outside, and although the windows were charmed, the moonlight was allowed in. Hermione stood in the shaft of dull light, beside the bed, wiping her tears. Ron unwrapped her scarf from her neck. He reached to her waist, and she put her arm up. The sweater came off, popping and crackling in her bunchy hair. She wore a black turtleneck underneath, which accentuated her breasts and the curvature of her stomach.

Ron wanted to kiss her. Hermione's mouth opened, but for some reason the kiss never came. She removed his robe, and then his coat. He kicked his boots off, then stepped on his socks. Hermione pulled his long-sleeve shirt off him. Their faces were close, their cheeks brushing. Ron put his hands on Hermione's waist, and began pulling her turtleneck up. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra as he did so. Both came off together, and Hermione stood before Ron with her full, small breasts pointing out at angles in the moonlight. They brushed his tee-shirt as she stood up on her tiptoes, unzipped her jeans and pulled them down. There she stood, wearing nothing but her panties, and socks.

Ron touched her breasts, and kissed her, and then couldn't resist, and pushed her down on the quilt of the bed and began making out with her. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, and held him to her. Ron struggled his pants off, kicking them onto the floor.

It was cold in the room. Hermione pulled up a corner of the sheets, and got them underneath, where the heat began to build up between them. Ron sucked against her earlobe, and Hermione arched. A thin sheen of sweat covered her breasts. She pulled the tee shirt off over his head, and threw it away. He kissed her neck, and then her lips, and then her neck again, his arms going up under her shoulders and squeezing her against his chest. One hand went down under her butt, kneading her against him. His hard cock rubbed up and down her pelvis.

"I love you, Ron," she breathed, as his hand came up underneath her panties and pulled them to one side. Hermione shifted her knees up on either side of him, and clawed her socks off. Her feet felt cold against Ron's calves. He pulled his shorts down. His penis pressed up into her exposed thigh and butt cheek, then against the side that didn't have her panties strung across it. She gave a start as Ron pushed against her pubic hair, slipped, and then popped up inside, entering her.

Ron could feel a wet spot on the bed, against his balls. He pushed into her. Hermione matched his strokes, grinding them together. Small noises escaped her. Her hand was against his butt, holding tightly. The bed was creaking, thumping as they went. Ron kissed Hermione's warm face. Hermione was gone.

With an effort to suppress it, he came, spasming as his body filled her up. He spurted several times, then fell limp atop her.

"Keep going," she begged in a raspy voice. Uncoordinatedly at first, he struggled to continue the rhythm. His cock felt cold and burning at the same time. He struggled into her, while his erection lasted.

Her breathing soon resumed its urgency. It grew labored, and she came with a neat little cry.

Ron fell out, still thrusting slightly, a few moments later. Hermione exhaled raggedly, wrapped her arms around him, and held him tightly. They slept soundly, off to the side of the bed beyond their collective wet spot.

---

In the morning, Ron found Hermione under a quilt in the main room. The snow had begun to fall outside.

"I love you," he said, surprised to hear himself speak.

Hermione smiled. She parted the quilt, and Ron climbed underneath. They cuddled for a few minutes.

"You slept late," she said.

His hands were on her breasts. "Oh no... I need to get going."

"Stay," she whispered.

"I can't," said Ron.

"I know that! I had to ask."

She drew the quilt tighter around them both. Ron bundled his arms around her and held her to him underneath. The snow fell outside.

"This is all... this is bigger than us," said Ron finally.

"Us?" asked Hermione, head down.

He kissed her neck. "Yeah, us." She bend around backward and kissed him.

Hermione helped him find his clothes, and dressed him. They kissed, and then kissed harder, as Ron's palm touched her little chestnut patch of pubic hair. One finger slipped inside her, but slipped out again soon, reluctantly. Ron knew he had to go, and Hermione knew she was being terrible. Irresponsible, even. She bade Ron to go, but kept kissing him, and he covered her with kisses, even as he backed toward the door, assenting. It was the hardest thing Ron ever did, leaving her there.

Ron walked back up the path and was soon gone. The storm mounted outside in his absence and his tracks disappeared, leaving Hermione with only a dull ache, the desire for him to return, and a wish that she had something to read.