InsaneJournal

Believe that Magic Works (4/10) - R/Hr - PG-13
Title: Believe that Magic Works (4/10)
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Words: 4300
Rating: PG-13

Written for sugarandginger’s Definitive Ron/Hermione Year Seven Novella Challenge

As the Trio set off on their search for the Horcruxes, Ron finally accepts that he wants to look after his two best friends in completely different ways


Chapter 4 : A Muggle Invention
****
I tried to persuade Hermione to stay the night, but she kissed me on the cheek and promised to meet us at Grimmauld Place in the morning.

Harry had decided to ask Remus to take him to Azkaban, though we were far from sure that Remus had the necessary clout to organise the trip. Harry was not ready to throw around his status as the Chosen One; I was sure he'd have to at some point, but he wasn't feeling all that chosen at that moment, a second Horcrux having slipped through his fingers.

"He was avoiding me," Harry said suddenly, to the darkened room.

"Who?" I asked, turning on my side and trying to make out his face in the darkness.

"Dumbledore," he said. "All through fifth year, if he saw me, he avoided me. If he'd only come upstairs to the drawing room, he could have seen the locket."

"Well, we don't know he'd have seen it, Harry. And anyway, I know you thought the world of him, but we are basically assuming that he realised you were a Horcrux and was just waiting for Voldemort to get to you and rip it back out of you. I guess he just had to stay away from you until that happened."

"But he never avoided me before, what was different?" Harry's voice sounded very small in the dark.

"Well, You Know Who had his body back," I thought out loud. "He had your blood inside him; you didn't have that freaky protection that meant Quirrell couldn't touch you."

"That's it!" he shouted. "Ron, you're brilliant!"

"Could you tell Hermione that?" I asked.

He sat up and flicked his wand at the candle on my bedside table. "No, listen. When I came back from the graveyard, when I told Dumbledore that Voldemort had taken my blood, I didn't understand why he wasn't worried that Voldemort could touch me. In fact, he looked almost happy about it, for a moment.

"That must have meant he knew Voldemort could touch me, that Voldemort would try and take back the piece of his soul. So, that's when he started avoiding me, he had to wait for the Horcrux to be gone. Hermione is right!"

"Could you not tell Hermione that?" I joked.

"Seriously," he said. "He always knew I was a Horcrux, Ron, but there was nothing he could do about it while Voldemort didn't have a body... When he realised that Voldemort could touch me, he was excited, and right after Voldemort had possessed me at the Ministry, he decided to teach me about the Horcruxes – as soon as he knew I was safe!"

His eyes glowed in the candlelight and I grinned at him. "OK," I said. "I'm convinced. You are right and Hermione is right. Now, can we get some sleep?"

He grinned back and flopped onto his pillows once more. "We're right," he whispered. "We're going to do it, aren't we, Ron?"

"Of course," I whispered, pinching out the candle and trying hard not to worry about what Voldemort had done with the part of his soul that he'd ripped out of my best friend.

oOoOo

I was hoping for a little time alone with Hermione when we returned to Grimmauld Place in the morning, but she became alarmingly bouncy when Harry explained his new theory, so I don't think she'd have been able to hold still enough for a kiss.

Harry flooed Remus while Hermione whittered on about Harry's theory. I must admit I tuned her out and just watched her bouncing. Not like that. Well, yes, like that. But I love it when she gets excited about something, and at least all the Horcrux stuff is something I can get behind her on, not like some of her other causes.

Harry still had his head in the fire when she ground to a halt. I only noticed because her hypnotic lips had stopped moving and were tipped up at one side, as she glared at me. "You're not listening to me," she complained.

"I missed you," I said pulling her down on my lap and trying to kiss her.

"Ron," she said. "This is important."

"Hmmm," I said against her neck. "I went through it all with Harry last night, and it's just more back story, isn't it? I'll pay better attention when we actually find something."

"Hmmm," she said. "About last night."

"What?" I asked, sitting back and giving her my best innocent look.

"You were drunk," she said, wrinkling her nose at the memory of what she'd walked in on.

"Male bonding," I said solemnly.

She raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Look, we had a few drinks and tried to discuss our girlfriends without listening to each other too closely, in case we had to thump each other," I smirked at her and she laughed. "And Harry had a good time. He had a laugh; this is a good thing."

"Yes, it is," she said, leaning in to kiss me, "thank you for selflessly getting drunk to amuse Harry."

I buried my hands in her hair and pulled her closer, and there was a rattle from the fireplace as Harry stood up and Remus flooed in.

He looked rather hungover and I felt a bit guilty for getting him out of bed so early on New Year's Day, but, even a bit rumpled, he looked so much better dressed than he used to, thanks to Harry's makeover.

I looked down at my own clothes. Sleeves that reached my wrist bones, jeans that reached my shoes, matching buttons, no fading or fraying except where it was trendy.

Every time I took Hermione in my fashionably clad arms I thanked Harry for it, and I had, haltingly, assured him I would pay him back, but he had looked offended. "Pay me back?" he'd said. "What is a little money compared to what you do for me? You're my family, Ron."

And, you know what? I think I'd got over it. I would do anything for him; how could I not let him help me with something as unimportant as clothes?

Except when he caught me admiring myself in the mirror and made some crack about the Death Eaters being impressed with my new look, too, how we'd be unbeatable if I wore my black jeans. Git.

Hermione slithered out of my lap and we all sat at the kitchen table, Harry Summoning an extra mug and pouring Remus a strong black coffee.

"OK," Remus said. "What is so important that you need me at," he checked his watch and winced, "eight a.m. on January first?"

"You're lucky I got them to wait until now," I pointed out. "They were that close to flooing you at one o'clock this morning."

Remus blushed. "That would have been embarrassing for all of us."

"I need you to organise something for me," Harry said, trying not to grin at Remus's discomfort.

Remus nodded encouragingly.

"I need to speak to Mundungus Fletcher," Harry said, simply.

Remus blinked. "He's in Azkaban," he protested.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I know that," he said.

"People don't just wander into Azkaban you know, Harry," Remus said. "I really don't think I have the contacts to arrange something like that."

Hermione snorted. "Exactly who did you leave in your bed this morning?" she asked.

"Hermione!" I gasped and Harry bit his lip. I know she hadn't meant it like that, but I'd always thought that sleeping with a Metamorphmagus would be brilliant; she could look like anyone you wanted. I also knew I should never, ever, ever mention this to Hermione.

"Don't beat about the bush, Hermione," Remus muttered.

Hermione waved away our blushes. "I don't want Tonks to get into trouble at work, but this is important, Remus. We are very close to tracking down the object that Professor Dumbledore was looking for the night he was murdered. We have traced it as far as Mundungus and Harry must know what he did with it."

Remus sighed and rubbed his face. "OK. It being the crack of dawn on New Year's Day may work to our advantage. There will be almost no one at the Ministry today. I'll go and wake Tonks up – and you will owe me for that, Harry. Quest or no quest, Tonks does not enjoy being hungover. I'll go with her to the Ministry and try and set this up and I'll see you back here as soon as I can."

He raised a hand and stepped into the fire.

"Hermione!" Harry spluttered.

"What?" she asked, clearly baffled.

"'Who did you leave in your bed'? I can't believe you said that!" he shook his head in awe.

"Well, she's an Auror," Hermione explained, frowning.

"Yeah, and a Metamorphmagus – it sounded like you meant she could have morphed into whoever he wanted – like he'd fantasised about Scrimgeour, and Tonks could have impersonated the Minister of Magic and, as soon as she got dressed, she'd be able to organise everything for me!"

Hermione flushed scarlet. "No!" she moaned. "I never… Ron, you know I didn't mean that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I assured her and she smiled gratefully, but I was honest enough to add, "I know you didn't mean it like that, but I couldn't help hearing it like that."

She looked mortified. "You are both such… degenerates," she gasped. "I can't believe what filthy minds you have. You'd have thought that I'd have had some influence on you after seven years."

"This is probably us on our best behaviour, Hermione," Harry grinned. "Imagine what we'd be like without your influence."

She huffed. "I'm glad you let me rub off on you…" she caught sight of my delighted grin and flushed again. "Oh, for heaven's sakes, Ron," she snapped and stormed out of the room.

"I love it when she talks dirty," I said, leaning back in my chair and clasping my hands behind my head.

"Poor Hermione," Harry commiserated. "It's not her fault you see smut everywhere."

"She should realise she's hanging out with teenage boys, Harry. Maybe we shelter her from the bad stuff too much; maybe we should relax more around her?"

I smirked and Harry snorted.

It was nearly noon when Remus and Tonks flooed in with a Ministry Portkey and Tonks tripped over a kitchen chair.

Hermione had reappeared shortly beforehand, having obviously decided not to mention my and Harry's dirty minds, but she did blush beautifully when she saw Tonks, and I felt a jolt of rather guilty pleasure at knowing that she was thinking of the sexual possibilities of being a Metamorphmagus.

I watched her as Harry talked to Remus and Tonks and felt a jolt of guilt-free pleasure at knowing that we'd be alone together that afternoon.

Shaking myself, dragging my eyes away from Hermione and adjusting my jeans, I focussed on what Tonks was saying.

"…completely irregular, but I had Remus press charges against Mundungus for stealing from you. You really shouldn't be able to go out there and question him yourself, but there was no one senior in the Portkey Office and we did drop your name a bit."

Harry grimaced but let this go. "So, all three of us are going out there?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Tonks insisted. "Not just to stay vaguely within regulations, but I want to be there for both of you."

Then I felt really guilty. I'd been so caught up in the excitement of tracking down the locket – and of shocking Hermione – that I'd given no thought to where Harry was going.

Azkaban.

There were no Dementors there to affect him, but he wouldn't need them, would he? Not with the thought of Sirius spending twelve years there.

And Remus, too.

This'd kill both of them, but they'd both do the right thing and go out there.

"Harry," I said. "I… I forgot… you'd…"

"It's OK, Ron," he said. "It has to be done, right?"

"But I'm a shitty mate. We've been sniggering about… well… all morning," I sighed.

"No, don't worry. I'd rather have sniggered with my mate than thought about Azkaban, honestly."

I still felt guilty, but Hermione hugged him and told Tonks to take care of them both and the three of them stood around the Portkey and were whisked away when it activated.

Hermione sighed heavily and I opened my arms to her. "C'mon," I said, as she rested her head on my shoulder. "We'll have a bit of a wait – let's go upstairs and get comfy."

I could almost feel her rolling her eyes. "Well, yes, I do have some reading to do," she said, taking my hand and leading the way up the stairs.

oOoOo

We were together. We'd spoken about it. We were officially together, we were officially in love with each other, but Harry still came first, and no relationshippy stuff was to get in the way of that.

And I'd held her before, of course I had. But that was to comfort her, or to hug her and receive a goodnight kiss.

Oh, yes, we had kissed; we were comfortable holding and kissing each other. But Harry was always there, or she had her nose in a book, researching, or we were in a tent in the ruined garden at Godric's Hollow.

No opportunity for any, well, intimacy.

And it wasn't that I didn't know what to do, was it? But this was so different. To Lavender.

This was Hermione. Yeah, brilliant. Why did she even bother with me?

The thing was, with Lavender, well, it was just snogging, wasn't it? As much snogging as possible.

And no thinking. Except for thinking, "I wonder if she'll let me put my hand there?"

And no talking. Except for saying, "Sorry," when she slapped my hand away.

And sometimes there was thinking, "Now what?" when she didn't slap my hand away.

Just snogging.

And the longer I did almost nothing with Hermione, well, the more I didn't know what to do.

But this afternoon we were alone. Harry could be gone for hours and we had Grimmauld Place to ourselves.

We were sitting in the drawing room. She was curled up on the far end of the couch, a book open on her lap, her eyes focused on the fire crackling in the huge fireplace. She looked gorgeous.

I was watching the firelight playing on her face. That was the only benefit of being officially together. I was allowed to watch her openly.

But I was seventeen-years-old, for God's sake. I was seventeen, we were dating, and we were alone. This just wasn't fair.

"Hermione?" I whispered, deciding it was Time.

"Hmmmm?" she answered, still staring at the flames.

I shook my head and moved closer. She didn't seem to notice until I gently removed the book from her limp fingers and placed it on the floor.

"Ron?" she asked, turning towards me and starting at finding me so close.

While I knew that talking would be involved with Hermione, and I sometimes found my eyes glazing over as my thoughts drifted dangerously to how talking would be involved in everything I finally did with Hermione, I decided that I'd go for direct action to start off with.

So I leant down and gently kissed her.

Without giving her a chance to either pull back, or melt into the kiss, I sat back for the talking.

She blinked up at me, flushing slightly. "Ron, I'm not sure that that is a good idea," she said regretfully.

"Well, I am," I replied, smiling down at her.

"Oh, really?" She laughed but shook her head. "Be serious, Ron. Harry…"

"Isn't here," I interrupted. "Will not be made to feel uncomfortable; will not feel left out; will not walk in on us…."

"Isn't here," she agreed. "We are alone. I just don't think it would be responsible to go too far." She looked sternly at me.

I sighed. "Hermione," I said, moving closer still and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't want to go 'too far'; I want to hold you." I trailed the back of my fingers down her jaw line and touched her lips. "I want to kiss you."

Miraculously her stern look melted, as if the fire had flared up beside us. "Oh, Ron," she sighed. "I want you to, too. But…"

"No," I said seriously, scooping her up in my arms and depositing her in my lap. "No buts."

She laughed delightedly and I smiled down at her. Even sitting in my lap she still had to tip her head back to look me in the eye and she smiled as she slipped her arms around my neck. "Ron, we're…"

"Together," I interrupted again, pulling her closer and kissing the corner of her mouth. "Finally, together," I whispered in her ear and kissed her there. "Please, Hermione."

She smiled wryly and looked up at me, sighing against my lips as we came together.

I closed my eyes and spread my hands on her back, holding her tightly as our lips moved. Oh, this was wonderful. Her hands were in my hair as she strained up against me, and she was murmuring quietly and she was squirming most distractingly in my lap and I opened my mouth and gently ran my tongue along her lips.

Which opened.

"Hermione!" I groaned aloud and ran one hand up into her hair, deepening the kiss. Finally. Finally she was in my arms, and I was thrusting my tongue into her mouth, and she was welcoming it. I cupped the back of her head with one hand and ran the other up under the bottom of her jumper, splaying my fingers on her skin.

"Ron," she gasped, opening heavy-lidded eyes to look up at me. "We shouldn't go any further."

"Just let me touch you, Hermione," I muttered, running my fingers up her spine. "So soft… beautiful," I bent and kissed her neck and her head tipped back to let me.

"Oh, Ron," she whispered, leaning back against the hand in her hair. "I'm…"

"Crazy for me," I interrupted, kissing my way down her neck and carefully moving my hand around between our bodies.

She snorted inelegantly. "You're…"

"Wonderful?" I laughed against her skin, running my hand up just a bit higher, towards where the weight of her breasts pressed against my chest. "Brilliant?" I suggested, inching closer. "Adorable?"

She arched her back, surely giving me permission to go further. I pressed a kiss to her throat as my fingers brushed against the swell of her breast, and I reared back in surprise, looking down at her.

I frowned as my fingers explored some sort of material thing, covering her breast.

Her eyes opened and she looked up into my face. "What's wrong?" she asked, trying to pull away.

"What are you wearing?" I said, trying to pull up her jumper and investigate.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, sounding annoyed now, tugging her clothes down and climbing out of my lap.

I followed her as she scrambled to the far end of the couch. "C'mon, Hermione, what is it? Some sort of strange extra layer – that's just not fair on a bloke!" I grinned down at her grumpy face and tried to get hold of her jumper again.

"Stop it, Ron," she said, folding her arms under her breasts and glaring at me. "It's just a bra!"

"A what?" I asked, genuinely baffled.

"A… a bra," she said, much less certainly. "Surely you know what a bra is?"

I shook my head.

She looked exasperated.

"Must be some sort of Muggle thingy," I suggested.

"But," she looked positively frantic. "What do witches wear under their robes?"

I know I blushed. "Um, well, nothing, as far as I know."

She was sitting bolt upright now, gazing at me in fascination. "Or under their Muggle clothes?"

"Well, only younger witches even wear Muggle clothes Hermione, but you know we usually get Muggle stuff wrong. What is it? Can I see?"

She frowned in thought. I love how her nose crinkles up when she's concentrating. "I… I can't remember ever seeing a bra in Ginny's stuff – or Parvati's or…" she glared at me. "Lavender's?"

"Um, no, no 'bra'," I admitted, blushing. "Just… you know…" I mimed large breasts with both hands.

"And she let you…" she trailed off, uncertainly, and then briskly grabbed the hem of her jumper and pulled it over her head, letting her hair fall and partially cover her breasts.

I made a strangled noise. "Hermione, you don't have to do everything that Lavender did!"

"Oh, God," she said, in a low voice. "How much more did she do?"

"No!" I shouted. "Nothing more! Just without the," I gestured at the bra and fell silent, my eyes locked on the white cotton clinging to her breasts as she breathed quickly. "What's it for?" I asked, leaning closer and running hesitant fingers over the swell of her breast above the simple scalloped edge.



She tried to sound put out, but her eyes followed my fingers. "Oh, honestly, Ron, it, um, supports the breasts, covers them, um…"

"But where did you get it?" I breathed, cupping both breasts as my own breathing became heavier.

"My, my mum takes me shopping for Muggle clothes, doesn't she? It never occurred to us not to buy them." She leant back on her hands and watched me caressing her breasts.

"I like it," I said, groaning as I pushed her breasts together so they threatened to spill over the top of the material. "It's sort of mysterious."



"Me too," she moaned and suddenly giggled.

"What?" I said suspiciously.

"Harry," she giggled again.

"What about Harry?" I asked, more than a bit put out.

"Poor Harry," she said. "He's used to Muggle clothes and I just thought of him discovering that Ginny doesn't wear a bra, and he can't even talk to his best friend about it!"

I sat back and glared at her. "What is my Number One Rule, Hermione?" I demanded.

"Harry and Ginny Don't Do Stuff," she recited, laughing once more.

I tried to stay stern, but her breasts shook as she laughed and I moaned and leant over her, lowering my head to place a kiss between them.

I distantly heard her breath catch in her throat, but it was drowned by the sound of the blood pumping in my ears as I laid her down and pressed kisses wherever I could find skin.

It was brilliant. Her hands clutched at my hair and shoulders and mine cupped and squeezed her softness, not quite daring to slip my fingers under the material, but not caring. It was brilliant.

I don't know how long we lay there, but I'd lasted five months on snatched kisses and I was drowning in the smell and feel and taste of her.

Then Hermione put a hand on my head, stilling me. "Shush," she said. "Did you hear anything?"

"No," I whispered, lowering my face into her cleavage again.

"Ron," she complained, and then I heard it, heard someone downstairs, calling our names.

Hermione pushed me off of her and frantically grabbed her jumper as I buttoned my shirt. We both straightened our clothes and smoothed our hair as Harry burst into the room.

Our blushes were stopped dead in their tracks, however, when we saw how upset he was.

He didn't even notice that he'd interrupted anything as he came and sat on the coffee table before us.

His hands were clenched into fists and his face was white.

"Harry," Hermione said, leaning forward and taking one of his hands in hers. "What happened? Was it Mundungus? Or being there? Harry?"

Slowly his jaw relaxed and he looked at us.

"Hermione," he breathed.

"Harry?" I asked. "What happened?"

"We saw Sirius's cell," he said.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, moving to sit beside him and putting her arms around him.

He leant into her and swallowed shakily. "I cried. And Remus cried," he said. "Twelve years. Twelve years, then two years on the run, then a year trapped here," he raised his head and his eyes ran wildly around the room, "and then he died. What a waste."

"I know, Harry," I said, reaching for him, clasping my hand round his forearm and feeling his hand close around mine so tightly it was cutting off the blood flow.

"You shouldn't have gone," Hermione said quietly, but Harry shook his head.

"I had to go," he said. "Even apart from the locket, I had to go; I had to see it."

I nodded. "Did you see Mundungus?" I asked.

Harry's face blanched again. "I saw him," he said. "He was shit-scared; only too pleased to talk."

"And the locket?" I prompted.

Harry laughed harshly. "We saw it," he said. "Not only did we hold it in this very room, but we saw Mundungus getting rid of it."

"When, Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"We saw him in Hogsmeade, selling it to the barman from the Hog's Head."

"I thought he'd been banned from the Hog's Head?" I asked.

"That must be why they were meeting in the street," Hermione said.

"Well, that's not that bad, Harry," I said encouragingly. "We can go to Hogsmeade and find out what he did with it."

"That's not the worst of it," Harry said dully and Hermione and I looked at each other and grimaced, dreading the worst of it, but having no idea what was coming. "Remus told me who the barman is. I thought he looked a bit familiar. He's Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore's brother has had the locket all this time."

oOoOo