The Time In Between

Chapter 6: Best-Laid Plans

Light was just beginning to peak through the drawing room curtains when Hermione opened her eyes. Her heart felt heavy. She had not slept well, tossing and turning. Her dreams were dark and shadowy. Images of Ron and a girl without a face but with a high-pitched telling giggle. She felt as if someone had slipped her a Puking Pastille. Hermione turned over, to see that Ron was still sleeping.

At some point during the night, he had decided to take off his t-shirt and sleep on top of his sleeping bag instead of under it. She didn't blame him, it was hot in the room. She had cast a fan charm but it did nothing but push the steamy air around, offering very little relief. Hermione let her gaze trail over his body. She could feel heat rush to her cheeks as she took in his broad shoulders and muscular arms. His stomach was flat and she could make out a slight ripple of muscle. A narrow band of hair began below his belly button and made a march down, disappearing into the top of his pajama pants. Her face flamed even more at that realization. She had never seen so much of Ron exposed. Seeming him like this brought the physical attraction she felt for him to a whole new level. Like all girls her age, Hermione had fantasized endlessly about what it would be like to kiss him or just be in his arms. But now, a new stirring had begun within her. She allowed herself a moment to consider what it would be like to have the hard length of him pressed against her in the most intimate of ways, to let her hands run up and down his arms, and follow the dangerous path of ginger hair from his navel. It was with a start that Hermione realized Ron was awake and staring at her, a curious expression on his face.

"Good morning," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "Sleep well?"

"Horribly. You?

"Same."

Ron was watching her warily. When he woke-up, he was hoping that she would still be asleep. He loved watching her sleep. Her face was so peaceful. But more than anything, he loved the way she was sprawled out on her sleeping bag. Legs and arms akimbo, pajamas pushed up in all the right spots. It was so un-Hermione like. When he realized she was already awake he was slightly disappointed until he saw the look on her face. She hadn't realized he was awake yet and was studying him like a plant in Professor Sprout's greenhouse. Although it was not completely light in the room, he could see a blush working its way up from her neck and across her face. His heart skipped a beat-she was checking him out. Well, might as well give her the whole view, he thought.

Ron stood up, shaking out his sleeping bag and rolling it up. He looked over at her to see she was doing the same. Damn, he had forgotten that she had on those little pajamas he had seen her in at the Burrow. And here he thought he might have an advantage over her. He watched as she gathered her hair in her hands, slightly arching her back, her breasts thrust out as she put her hair up in that messy way girls seemed to be so fond of.

Merlin's beard, she was doing it to him again. Morning was already a tough time for a bloke, and here she was flaunting herself right in front of him. He turned away quickly, looking around for his socks which had also disappeared off of him during the night. By the time he turned around again, she had put a t-shirt over her camisole.

"Shall we go down to the kitchen, then?" she asked. Ron followed her out of the drawing room, noticing that she hadn't changed out of the shorts. He was wondering if she was wearing any knickers under them (he seriously doubted it, the material was so thin he was sure he would have seen them) when she stopped short at the kitchen door. He grabbed onto the doorframe to prevent himself from falling into her.

"Whats wrong?", he exclaimed. Hermione had gone as still as a statue. Ron moved past her, his eyes almost bugged out of his head as he took in the site of the kitchen. Kreacher had definitely been busy overnight. The copper pots were shining and the wooden table had been buffed to a gleam. The house-elf himself was working over the stove.