cleverness | oh, kiss me with your eyelashes tonight

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oh, kiss me with your eyelashes tonight

Maybe Rapture was a mistake.

Hermione Granger was a girl who often looked back on the past for any number of reasons. Although the saying was certainly trite and quite possibly overused, there was truth in the claim that history always repeated itself. While humans had made impossible amounts of progress in the past couple of millennia, human nature sometimes seemed incapable of changing much at all. And it was that same nature of Hermione's own that had her reflecting upon the foolishness of heading down the Rapture. That had her realizing, more than ever, how much more helpless all of them were, not only in deciding where they walked or where they stayed on the island, but even defending one another against threats that wouldn't have been much at all, just months ago. With Rapture still teeming with activity, Hermione practically swearing that she could feel it rumbling still beneath her feet, her heart raced as she and Ron stepped back inside their hut. Her hand tightly gripped his own.

"Harry?" she called out as soon as they entered, never letting go of Ron's grip as the pad of her thumb ran lightly against his hand. After a couple seconds of silence, she turned to Ron with an anxious look, brow furrowed as she leaned in to rest her forehead against his shoulder, feeling her hair drip water down the small of her back. "He hasn't returned yet. Merlin, what if something happens to him?"

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Harry wasn't back yet.

They'd seen him down there at one point, but had gotten separated, him off doing something else entirely while they explored. They should have known better than to split up, especially somewhere as bloody creepy as Rapture. As it was, Ron barely remembered the walk back; they'd made it out alright and he wanted to get as far away from that place as possible. Who knew if one of those things would try and follow them out?

"There are loads of other people down there though, aren't there? With swords and guns, I'd reckon," Ron said, though he was mostly convincing himself of the fact. He was still almost shaking, his own hair still a bit wet and plastered to his forehead. His hand still gripped Hermione's, and it made him feel almost grounded, in a way.

"Do you think we should go back?"

Perhaps the worst part of it was that Ron sounded as unsure as Hermione felt. Whether it was a result of having been in Gryffindor house or otherwise, fear was an emotion and a reaction that Hermone had always been intensely aware of, a part of herself that she tried her best to work past every single day. Of course, fear itself could never be fully eradicated, and needed to remain in order for courage to exist at all— but it was always so much harder to be brave when either Harry or Ron sounded shaken. With her heart feeling very much as though it was beating around her neck, Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, then led the both of them further inside, sitting on top of the mattress in case her legs might actually give out under her.

"There should be plenty of others there who are... better suited to exploring Rapture, even without magic," Hermione nodded resolutely, toeing off her shoes and curling her legs under her on the bed. "And Harry wouldn't be foolish enough to wander out on his own, not here." Pressing her lips together, she sounded pained when she shook her head at last.

"No, I don't think we should head back just yet. If we do, we'll probably end up missing him somehow. But if he isn't back in the next hour or so, maybe we should talk to the ITF," she suggested, brows knit in worry as she looked up at Ron again. "Hopefully Harry has his radio transceiver on him."

"Right," Ron said with a nod, though he frowned, worried, "We'll wait, and if he's not back soon, then we'll go. And then kill him for being so bloody stupid."

The three of them had been though enough to know just how dangerous things could get. And without even a working wand between them, it wasn't as if they had much to defend themselves with. Being in Rapture had been another one of those times when Ron had wished for just a little magic. Sometimes, Ron still carried his wand around with him; he knew it wouldn't work, but somehow having it made him feel a bit safer.

Not that he was about to tell Harry or Hermione that. He already knew it was ridiculous.

"I should go get a towel, you're soaked," he said after a moment. It wouldn't do anybody any good for the two of them sit round and catch cold.

"...I'm not sure that we can really hold him accountable for that," Hermione replied quietly from where she sat, noticing the furrow in Ron's brow and fighting off the temptation to smooth it away. She could see it better than most people, how deeply Ron cared, how much concern he directed at all of his friends and family— even if he didn't always voice his thoughts. No doubt that the only reason he'd gone so willingly down to Rapture in the first place was because he knew that he wouldn't be able to keep Hermione away, and having no choice in that regard, he simply couldn't leave her side.

It was the type of thing that one easily took for granted, but after the past couple of years, Hermione severely doubted that any of them would for some time to come.

Allowing herself a small smile, Hermione leaned over the side of the bed, wringing more water out of her hair. (He did tend to notice those details.)

"I could've dried myself off more properly in the Compound, but I suppose both of us were in a rush to get back," she pondered aloud, shifting over on the bed to make more room for Ron. "You're still dripping yourself, Ron."

"Well, we thought Harry might've come back, didn't we?" Ron said. Honestly, he'd been in such a rush to get back as well that he hadn't thought that it'd likely make more sense to dry off at the compound. This whole day had been mad, come to think of it.

Realizing that she was right-- she was always right-- Ron started wringing out his own hair a bit, but still quickly stepped into the next room and returned with a towel. He handed it to Hermione as he sat down next to her on the mattress, and started pulling off his trainers.

"Did you?" Hermione asked, a touch of doubt in her voice as her eyes narrowed. As much as she'd rushed back in hopes of finding Harry in the hut, a part of Hermione knew that of the three of them, Harry was always the one prone to taking the most risks. The one who went the furthest on behalf of people who never so much as asked for his help. "Did you really think that Harry would be sensible enough to return before either of us?" She smiled lightly to herself, shaking her head once— before settling further on the bed, lightly toweling her hair before letting it hang over her shoulders.

Glancing over at Ron, Hermione's gaze lingered about his neck before she could manage to examine his expression. With a soft huff, almost a laugh, Hermione reached out for Ron's own towel and started to help dry him off. "Honestly, Ron, it's like you didn't even bother to use a towel at all before you headed out. Your clothes are all soaked through."

"Someone could've dragged him out," Ron said, with a slight grin and a shrug of his shoulders. Besides, even if Harry wasn't worried about the inevitable lecture he'd get from Hermione from being reckless down there, the fact that Sirius might find a way to hex him even without a wand for it might've been enough to keep him from taking it too far.

At least he hoped.

"Don't worry about it, I'll just change," he added, and pulled his shirt over his head. It'd be easier in the long run, anyway. Mostly, he'd pulled it off without thinking much of it, because there was something else on his mind just then. He frowned again.

"You don't think the council'll make you go back down there, do you?"

"Usually, that's our job," Hermione pointed out softly, though she nodded her head in concession. The wonderful thing about Harry, the thing that made all the world turn towards him in times of need, was his heart. Ferocity and gentleness alike found him in turns, to the point where Harry Potter was never a boy very alone, and hadn't been since the first day he started at Hogwarts. There would always be people who would try to look after him. Even in the impending battle against Voldemort, Hermione couldn't imagine that Harry would end up being alone for it.

She let her eyes shut for a few moments to rid herself of the thought.

Blinking, she peered over at Ron, a slight intake of breath passing through her lips as she noticed that he'd taken off his shirt. It wasn't the first time that he'd done so in front of her (once, he'd been shy about having her in his bedroom altogether, but several months spent searching for horcruxes rid all of them of a bit of modesty), but without being rushed, something about it felt different to Hermione. She was probably thinking too much.

"I, erm," she stammered, losing her train of thought. "No, the Council never made me go down to Rapture in the first place, it just felt like my duty to at least, to at least get a sense of what was down there." Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Hermione turned and unzipped her own cardigan, which was similarly damp, and draped it over the headboard of the bed.

He blinked a few times when she came out of her cardigan, averting his eyes for a moment as he tried not to stare. It was mental; he'd seen her in a top with no sleeves loads of times, but most of those times had been before the two of them were properly together. Somehow, that made it all feel a bit different. The sort of different that meant he could nearly hear his own heart beat.

That was, until she told him that she'd only wanted to go down there because she was curious.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you could've gotten yourself killed," Ron said. It wasn't that he thought she couldn't take care of herself-- blimey, but sometimes he was sure she was better at spells than both him and Harry put together-- but going down there when she had no idea what was lurking about was mad. It was forbidden forest full of Hagrid's pet spiders mad.

Maybe it was knowing what all had happened back home, how many people they'd all lost in the end, that made him immediately think the worst, but the idea of something happening to her... he couldn't handle it.

Seeing the worried look on his face, Hermione shuffled across the mattress, propping herself up on both knees until she could reach for his hands, gently lacing their fingers, almost imploringly. Over the years, the two of them had never been quite as tactile as Hermione ever was with Harry. The latter was always a constant to Hermione, a brother who enveloped her in comfort and who she knew would never stray, never pick up a whim that drove the two of them apart. With Ron, it'd always been different. In certain moments, she'd grab for his hand, but even the very brush of skin against skin left her feeling shocked. Like lightning had just struck, leaving her unable to think, sometimes incapable of breathing. That reaction had relaxed, for the most part, since the two of them started acknowledging feelings for one another. Of course, it'd taken Ron months to admit to it, months during which she was sure he was filled with doubts, but there was a point.

A point which, once passed, had the both of them knowing that they'd spend their lives together, one way or another.

Since then, his hands had only ever been a comfort.

"I know," she sighed. "I know, it's mad, that we're on an island that's so... peaceful, yet at the very first hint of danger, I can't help but look into it. Sometimes I don't feel right, being here. As though I'm afraid that if I relax too much, maybe somehow I'll suddenly wake up and find that time's passed without me. That I'll get drawn in by..." She bit her lower lip, her thumb tracing along the contour of his hand.

"By everything being almost too good to be true. Harry's safe here, he can lead a normal life. And the two of us, I don't want anything to happen to this, either."

"None of us feel right being here," he said, glancing down at their intertwined fingers, "None of us are supposed to be here, Hermione. This place isn't right and everyone knows it."

He knew what she meant though, because he felt the same way most of the time. As great as it was to know the war was over and to have all of that behind them, the island was just too quiet sometimes. Not that Ron missed it or anything, but for him so far, there hadn't even been school to fill up the hours. There was that small bit of him that missed it all, that missed all of that danger. But it didn't mean he'd gone looking for it on the island, at least not now. Not after he'd found out.

Ron's frown deepened and his brow knit.

"I get what you mean, but... Hermione, we already lost Fred. And Sirus and Remus and Tonks..." he trailed off, not able to finish the sentence, and his grip on her hands tightened a bit, as if he thought she was going to go somewhere if he didn't.

Edited 2011-07-16 07:59 (UTC)

Her eyes slid to a close at the list of names. When she'd first arrived on the island, even though Hermione had quickly learned of all of the losses that were to come, it hadn't seemed quite real. Until she saw the moment with her own eyes, or until she felt the buzz of energy in the air, there still stood that chance that she could return to their world and help avoid the losses. But seeing it in dreams too vivid to be drawn simply with the brush of imagination had driven the fact home.

Fred, Remus, Tonks. And it wasn't hard to tell by Ron's expression that he was worried about losing more people still. Squeezing his hands back in return, Hermione ducked her head to try and make eye contact with him. There was nothing that would make the deaths better. But they could still cherish what they had.

"I'm not going down there again," Hermione said quietly, searching the faded blue of his eyes. "We'll find some other way to get back. One that isn't so dangerous, I promise you."

Hermione was usually the one telling him he'd gone mad because of something he'd done; it felt weird from this end of things.

"I know it's stupid," Ron said, already feeling ridiculous that he was glad she'd said she wouldn't go back.

He did want to get home as much as Hermione did-- he was sure she knew that even without him saying so-- but he didn't think it'd really be worth it if they ended up getting themselves killed in the process. That'd be just the thing, wouldn't it? Survive run-in after run-in with He Who Must Not Be Named only to be done in by some nutter with a Muggle weapony thing.

She shook her head immediately, eye still searching his expression as her hand reached out to brush over his cheek and under his jawline. "No. No, Ron, it's not stupid at all. I don't think that being careful about things that show up on this island is a bad idea. So please, don't... don't worry," she sighed quietly, one hand still holding onto his as she sat fully down on the bed, watching and waiting for him to sit as well. It felt too tense with him standing around, as though he expected that he'd need to jump forward any moment to protect her.

Not that Hermione didn't appreciate the concern, but the last thing that she wanted was for it to take control of their lives. Fear of a name was bad enough without letting it bleed into every other hour of the day.

"I love you," she added softly, voice carried on a breath.

He was still on edge, still stuck thinking about the thing that'd attacked them, even if Hermione'd said she wasn't going to go back there. It'd be easy to think that after as many times as it'd happened to him, to Harry and Hermione, that nearly dying would get easier, but it was always just as mental, and it always set his teeth on edge.

Though, the more Hermione went on, the less he felt like someone had repeatedly hit him in the gut with a bludger, until she added the last bit under her breath.

The brilliant thing about it was that Ron didn't even have to think before he answered her. It wasn't because it was the sort of thing they said to each other all the time-- at least not in the way he was sure Hermione meant it just then-- but because it was something he knew he really meant. He'd known it for a while now, but it'd been when he'd heard her voice come out of the Deluminator that it'd really, actually sunk in. And maybe it was only because of how mad the day had been, but he was reminded of that, of that whisper of her voice he'd heard last Christmas morning that'd brought him back.

"I love you too, Hermione," Ron said, and he didn't have to think about the words before he said them or about whether or not Hermione'd lecture him about whether or not he should sit on the mattress in his wet trousers, or about whether or not he should kiss her right then.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world, Hermione lost herself in the kiss. One wouldn't have expected Ron Weasley to be so gentle, and yet he was, right down to the soft brush of his breath against her lips, as though he knew exactly how to drop those five words against her skin. I love you too, Hermione. She could hardly breathe for fear of losing that very moment, the sensation of his warmth and the mere closeness of him, that which had her eyes growing hot at the corners. Slowly and gently, she returned the kiss, eyes slowly falling shut as her hand traced down the side of Ron's neck and her thumb crushed against his clavicle.

That was when she realized.

Interrupting the ease of the kiss, Hermione allowed her fingers to skate down and across Ron's chest, not sure if there was an appropriate place to rest her hand. She'd thought about it, of course— one couldn't turn eighteen without such curiosities arising to a certain degree— but as the reality of the moment was anything but what she'd imagined, Hermione could only feel her breath lightly trembling against her lip as she traced her fingers down his side. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips more insistently against Ron's, feeling her heart practically beat against her ribcage like a drum, only with the light flutter of feathers against bars as well to contend with.

"Ron," she breathed as she continued to press kisses against his lips, soft. The temptation to smile and laugh hadn't been completely buried, but if anything could serve as a comfort to her right then, it was that Hermione and Ron had always learned side-by-side, and neither judged the other for any stumbles along the way.

This was no exception.

It'd all been sort of spur of the moment, hadn't it? While the newness of snogging Hermione still hadn't completely worn off, not even after months and months, he never had to really think about it much anymore. It'd become somehow both normal and brilliant at the same time and he didn't think he'd ever get sick of it. Her mouth was warm and soft and familiar, and his hand was at her jawline, pad of his thumb moving slightly against the skin there.

In the midst of all of it, he didn't realize that he'd never put on a new shirt until Hermione'd put her hands on his chest. His breath caught for a second in his throat-- mostly because it was both new and amazing at the same time-- and while he could have gone on kissing her, he reckoned it was probably best if he went to find a t-shirt or something.

Not that this wasn't bloody-well fantastic, and that he hadn't thought about all this before-- he had, almost daily, but it wasn't as if he could have told Hermione that-- but she'd never exactly said that she wanted to go beyond snogging at all. Sirius had told him that she'd let him know when it was time for all that, and it hadn't exactly been in Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, so he'd figured it'd probably be best to wait on it.

It took a bit of effort on his part-- more than a bit, actually-- to pull away for a second.

"Maybe... I should go find a t-shirt?" he asked her, a huff of a pleased laugh punctuating the question. He looked down at her hand on his side for a moment, and when he looked back up at her, it was in a way that suggested that he'd be alright with it if she just asked him to stay there instead.

Edited 2011-07-18 04:57 (UTC)

In an instant, the tension broke, as it so often did between the two of them. Hermione would always find it comforting to know that the two of them could swerve from tears to laughter and anywhere else in between in no more time than it took to say the other's name. It was reassuring, in its own sort of way, that no matter how livid one might feel at the other, that there stood the likely chance that they'd come back together again. Nothing terrified Hermione more than the thought that Ron might somehow be lost for good, and if Hermione ever did something to contribute to that, she knew she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself. Not even a year ago, when he'd Disapparated away from Harry and her, in spite of knowing that the Horcrux was perhaps the most to blame, Hermione still hadn't been able to keep herself from wondering at night. Where had things gone wrong? What could she have done better? What had she done to make him think that she and Harry were involved romantically, of all things? The last part had somehow hurt the most, not only due to the momentary lack of trust between the three of them (which stood so stark and severe against their normal interaction), but because it was something she might have easily fixed.

And if she had missed the opportunity for this, the relationship they had now, the warmth that lingered in her heart at the mere sight of him, she would never have forgiven herself.

That thought emboldened her then, mischief seeping into her expression in a way it didn't normally, eyes glittering playfully in the dim light of dusk as she shook her head with such a slight motion that it might not have been noticeable at all, if not for the sway of the few strands of hair that had already started to dry before the rest.

"No," she shook her head, shifting slightly further back on the bed and propping herself up with an elbow, her free hand wrapping coyly around the back of Ron's neck, playing with the soft strands of hair at the nape. "No, you're fine." She leaned up to nip very lightly at his lower lip, before deepening the kiss, a soft sigh passing quickly between her teeth as she felt her shoulders relax and her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Oh. Alright," Ron said, his expression breaking into a wide grin, "Blimey."

He'd hoped she'd say what she just had, but had been more prepared to have to stand to get dressed, really. But that was the thing about Hermione-- one of the more amazing things, he thought-- one second she was set on following every rule in the bleeding book, but then moments like this one came along. Ron could feel his own face flush, and it was a good thing Hermione likely couldn't see them at the moment, because he was pretty sure his hears had gone all red.

He leaned in to return the kiss in earnest, settling farther back on the mattress as well. He shifted his weight to prop himself up on his own elbow, leaned slightly over her as they kissed. Maybe it was barmy to think about how someone tasted, but the part of his brain still working right then couldn't help but think about how great Hermione both tasted and smelled. A bit like books and perfume and something else he couldn't put his finger on, but was sure drove him a bit mad when they were this close.

So, did this mean she wanted to do more than just snog? Bloody hell, it would have been easier if he could just ask, but he should probably already know this. Well, she'd told him it was alright for him to still be there without a shirt, so maybe that'd been the same thing as her saying so. Ron could hear his heart beating in his ears as he did so, but after a moment's hesitation, he brought up one hand to her chest where he tentatively cupped her.

Laughter threatened to spill over, mixed by nerves and encouraged by the way that Ron kept on talking, needing to document his every thought, as though it wasn't already made clear by the smile that he pressed against her lips and the soft brush of his hand by her side. The more she thought about it, the increasingly difficult it became to bite the laughter back, until Hermione found herself pressing forward more to compensate, deepening the kiss and running her bare foot along his calf, subtly edging yet further up the mattress. It was all rather awkward, in truth, the sort of knocked elbows and halty breath that one would expect from youth, and the bumbling nature of the first stages of intimacy was very new to Hermione indeed. Books wouldn't help here. Overthinking just made it worse. There had been a few occasions over the years when Hermione realized just that, and usually threw aside all of her reservations as a result, but this moment was slightly different than breaking the rules to brew Polyjuice Potion in the girl's bathroom, or doing her absolute best to undermine a professor's authority. Here, she couldn't steadfastly press forward and ignore everything in the periphery.

Because every detail was just too clear. Upon catching her breath, her eyes skated over Ron's lashes, a lighter shade of gold than his hair. His skin was warm to the touch, noticeable even through the slight brush of her knuckles against his shoulder blade. And there was simply the scent of him as well, the one that always seemed to be the last detail she focused on in the evening, right before drifting off to sleep.

And as she couldn't get her mind to settle, couldn't slow her thoughts down if she tried, Hermione sought instead to fill her mind through her senses, tasting something lightly spiced as she brushed her tongue along his lower lip, feeling heat against her lips as she pressed a kiss against his cheek, before falling back gently against the mattress and moving a hand to rest on top of his. Not quite lacing their fingers, Hermione pressed herself into his palm, back arching as her eyes slid closed, lips lightly parting in a sharp intake of breath.

There was one last tremor through her hand before it all fell calm, Hermione shyly opening her eyes to gaze at him again, lips curving in a nervous smile.

Ron might've been new to this, but it was a fair bet that Hermione pressing herself against him meant that what he'd done was alright. Usually he was rubbish at reading people-- oftentimes even Hermione, mostly Hermione-- but this was loads easier. This wasn't exactly difficult to figure out, at least, so far. She edged farther up on the mattress and he followed, trying his best to do it in a way that'd mean he wouldn't have to stop kissing her, even for a second.

He didn't know what he'd expected Hermione to feel like, but she was soft under his hand in a way he hadn't really anticipated. Soft and brilliant just like every other part of Hermione he'd gotten to touch or kiss so far, but still completely new. Hermione's foot moved against his calf and even through his trousers, it seemed to send a shiver through every bit of him.

When he opened his eyes and looked down at her again, she was smiling up at him in a way that made him feel a bit dizzy somehow. He didn't realize at first that his own expression likely matched hers, both glad and nervous at the same time. His stomach felt a bit like a crumpled bit of parchment and like it was tied up in knots, but in a good way. He leaned in again and kissed the corner of her mouth, then the outline of her jaw, then her collarbone.

That was supposed to be good, right? He was sure he'd seen someone do that before while they were snogging someone.

His lips were warm as they pressed down the side of her neck, soft and hesitant kisses drawing a line down to her collarbone. Each spot against which Ron pressed his lips seemed to heat directly under the skin, the flush rising all the way to her cheeks; although she was still clothed, Hermione knew well that her thin camisole left very little to the imagination, and no matter how comfortable she was around her best friends, this was still a territory that she had barely begun exploring with Ron, and insecurities rose quickly to the surface, riddling her awareness and keeping her movements tentative, slightly unsure. (But make no mistake— she felt safe just being in his presence, from his warmth, without which sleeping had become a difficult task anymore.)

With Ron otherwise occupied, Hermione hesitantly pulled her foot back, dragging it along the sheets until her thigh, bare where her soft cotton shorts had hiked up with the movement, pressed against Ron's hip. Every small step she took— nails lightly dragging down along his spine, a thumb hooking inside the waistline of his trousers— sent her heart hammering even more strongly against her chest, until she heard it clashing with her staggered breath, each only coming as she reminded herself to break for air.

"Ron," she repeated again, hips rising off the mattress to close the space between the two of them. There were questions swirling in her mind, cacophonic, not a single one pulling away from the rest, not a single one easy to ask right then. Instead, she slid down just enough to guide him back down, her hand curled around his neck as she kissed him again, a soft noise muffled in the back of her throat.

Were Ron's mouth not occupied with kissing her, he might've said Hermione's name as well. As it was, she'd brought the two of them back into another kiss, covered his mouth with hers again, and all he could manage was a sort of low and pleased groan deep in his throat.

Every bit of him that she touched felt bloody amazing and Ron felt warm in a pleasant way that made him want more of it all. Of course, there was the question of just what "more" meant. She'd hooked a finger into the waist of his trousers... was that supposed to mean something? There wasn't exactly a good time to ask, not with how brilliant all of it was, not with how much he was trying not to muck any of this up. It wasn't as if he'd ever done any of this before-- except the snogging bits, of course-- so a lot of it was just guesswork, trying to work out what he'd done right from Hermione's reactions. Still, even the way he had his hand on her was careful. He really didn't want to muck this up, especially not if this was going to go where he thought it might be going.

As it was, when she arched her hips up into him, he found himself twisting a bit awkwardly, trying to be sure she didn't notice the evidence that a great deal of his blood had rushed from his head and settled in other places entirely.

The sheets were rucked under Hermione's thigh, the folds pressing against her skin, and somehow, it mattered. Hermione's hand desperately smoothed out the rumpled sheets, as though working towards perfection on every level as her lips continued to seek Ron's out, her tongue brushing along his lower lip, her voice soft and caught in her throat as she did her best to keep calm. Inevitably, the effort was futile, and even as Ron tried to turn away from the contact, Hermione's hands immediately traveled to the front of his trousers, slipping the button deftly and pulling down the zipper until she was able to coax his trousers down so that they hung loosely about his hips. Where caution might have otherwise been, adrenaline had Hermione's heart beating on high and her reservations torn to shreds as she gasped again, breaking the kiss suddenly as her fingers teased under his waistband, feeling his heated skin and feeling that hers could only be more so, every limb of her body feeling warm, almost uncomfortably so. Movements coming to a halt, Hermione only breathed heavily as her fingers wove through Ron's hair, her gaze blurred and aimed at some indistinct point in the distance as her hips stopped moving, long enough for Hermione to regain her composure.

"It's okay," she murmured, the words carried by a breath as Hermione's fingers slipped under Ron's trousers, immediately forcing her to bite back a bewildered laugh as they eased his waistline down just a touch further. Slowly enough that he could keep up. Quickly enough that she wouldn't be forced to overanalyze every last detail. Her free hand slipped down to her hip, brushing over the bone there before briefly brushing against her inner thigh, her eyes slightly clouded over as she blinked them open again, giving way to sensation rather than analyzing every last detail. Perhaps she was going too fast. Perhaps she wasn't considering all of the details at hand. But if there was anything Hermione knew, it was that she was ready for the next step.

If he was.

"Do you have..." Hermione breathed, feeling her face grow warm at the question, knowing full well how forward she was being. "A— you know."

Ron hadn't really known what to expect going into all this-- bloody hell, he hadn't expected any of this, really-- but Hermione suddenly opening up his trousers without much warning at all. Not that he wished she hadn't or anything mental like that, he just wouldn't have thought she'd be the one to press onward, with him doing his best to make sure he wasn't rushing her. But her hand was in his hair and on his trousers, so he reckoned it wasn't anything he needed to worry about much anymore.

Ron didn't realise that he'd started pressing his hips into her, breath growing a bit ragged as he struggled to think straight until she spoke.

"Have what?" Ron asked, his brain not working properly enough to work out what she'd meant at first. Was he supposed to have brought something along? After a few moments of feeling like an absolute pillock, it clicked. "Oh, right. Yeah, I've got..."

He and Bill had talked only a few days before and his brother had give him a few of the odd Muggle things and had explained what they were for. He'd thought it was a bit dodgy at first, but without magic, it was the only way, really. Ron sat up a bit to fumble through his pockets for one, offering a nervous smile once he procured one from the back pocket of his trousers.

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