Author’s Notes: Written for a 30 minute challenge on 30minutechallenges on live journal.com. That would be why it sucks. You try writing a fic in thirty minutes.

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It took Ron seventeen years to find the importance of red bouncy balls. (<I>Giant</I> red bouncy balls, that was.) Life had come to a halting slowness that made his skin itch and crawl with the need to do something. But the bouncy ball, well . . . it was almost as entertaining as going out to hunt Death Eaters with Harry.

“What on <I>earth</I> are you doing?”

Ron looked up lazily and shielded his eyes against the sun to see Hermione standing, hands on her hips. (It wasn’t quite Hermione if she didn’t have hands on her hips, now was it?) He gave her a slow smile, deciding maybe Hermione would be more entertaining. “I’m bouncing my bouncy ball.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and plopped down next to him in her usual dramatic fashion. “Really, Ron, I could see that. I meant <I>why</I> are you doing it? And in the grass no less.”

“Yes, the grass did put a damper on things at first,” Ron conceded. “Then I put a spell on the grass to make it spongy. Feel it.”

Hermione’s hand moved, but she immediately pulled it back and sighed. “You’re such a child, Ron.”

“Hey! I’ve still got another year before I’m a legal adult. I plan on being as childish as possible until then,” Ron informed her. He looked at the ball in his hand and decided to start bouncing it in the air, catching it, throwing again.

“I’ll bet you haven’t even been searching for jobs, have you?” Hermione huffed and shifted next to him. “That’s-”

“Hermione.” Ron stopped throwing the ball and held his hand up, sighing. “I’m really not in the mood to get in an argument with you. What did you come here for?”

Hermione turned her head away from him and started idly playing with the grass. “I came to see Ginny,” she grumbled.

“Right. Got sidetracked by the red bouncy ball, eh?” Ron didn’t believe her for a second, and he didn’t let it show in his voice.

“No,” Hermione said stiffly. “I . . . I . . . I’m here . . . well, it’s really <I>none</I> of your business, now is it?”

Ron had a few witty replies to that, but the heat and the lazy afternoon kept him from saying any of them. “Look, Hermione. I know why you’re here.”

“Do you?” She turned back to arch an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, I do.” Ron stared stonily back, knowing she wouldn’t make this easy. “You want my bod.”

Hermione sputtered before he even finished and went on for another minute or so. “Wh-what? <I>How dare you</I>?” she hissed, looking around wildly as if someone might have heard him. “That’s preposterous! Not only that, but-but <I>bod</I> isn’t even a word!”

Ron ignored that last comment and smirked at her. He was pretty sure he was being sexy, but he’d never really practiced in the mirror or anything. Besides, he was almost ninety nine percent sure Hermione wanted him. “Sure. Say hello to Ginny for me.” He bounced his ball against the ground almost angrily, and it kept on bouncing till it had rolled across the field. “Damn’t, Hermione!”

“What? It wasn’t my fault,” Hermione shouted, waving her arms around. “It’s payback for-for saying . . .” She stopped short and crossed her arms, pouting as she leaned against the tree.

“For saying that you want me? That you’ve probably been thinking ‘bout me since that night?”

“Ron!”

Ron shrugged. “Look, Hermione . . . I’ll admit that I want . . .” He felt his ears heat up, and it struck him that he was losing control of the situation. He finished in a whisper, “You.”

Hermione kept her head bowed, but her tensed shoulders showed she heard. “Me? You want . . . me?”

“Yes. More than . . . than chocolate!” Ron declared.

Hermione jerked her head up, but instead of angry, she looked like she was pleased. “You . . . do?”

Ron opened his mouth to answer, but some part of him whispered that it would be better to just kiss her. So he leaned closer and kissed her with familiar lips. He meant for it to be soft, because well, that was the way things were done. But Hermione, ever the little spitfire, took control of the kiss. Her hand wrapped around his neck, pulling him tight, and her tongue ravaged his mouth like nothing he could have imagined. He’d always if she ever put forth all that passion into something other than school. To his delight, he found the answer was yes.

Hermione pulled away and started to undo the buttons on her shirt. “No games.”

“I never played any games,” he whispered raggedly, eyes enraptured at the sight of her chest heaving inside her bra. “But we could play games if you wanted.”

Hermione must have chosen to ignore that, because she didn’t slap him or even shout his name. “I mean . . . no skirting looks afterwards. No avoiding the other person. No not talking for three weeks. I couldn’t bear it.”

Ron looked up at her face as her voice trembled. Her eyes were shut, and she looked in either deep concentration or pain. He lifted one hand to caress her cheekbone. “Pretty soon we’ll have to face this.”

“No facing yet. Please.” She shuddered, and the breath released seem to relieve all her tension. “Take your shirt off.”

Ron nodded tersely and ripped the offending item over his head. The idea of taking Hermione out here, only a mile away from the Burrow, was exhilarating. Secrets always were exciting.

Hermione shimmied out of her pants, ever the blunt one. He followed her lead, realizing this was going to be quick and fast, so different from the last time.

She straddled him as soon as they were naked, and her small hips slid over his as she took him deep inside her. Considering they had both been virgins up until that time a month ago, he figured they were doing pretty well for themselves.

“Hold on,” he whispered gruffly, an idea occurring to him. He shifted until his hips were over the ground he’d enchanted to be springy. “Try it now.”

A smile sprang to her face as she bounced up on her knees. “It’s easier,” she whispered. Then her eyes shut, and a look of concentration contorted her features.

One of his hands went to her hips and helped her ride him. Not even a few minutes later, she suddenly arched in orgasm, and the fluttering of her muscles around his member sent him reeling into the same ecstasy.

The magic of the moment deteriorated quickly, and Hermione immediately started clothing herself again, looking shamed and pleasured at the same time.

“Hey. Hey, don’t do this.” Ron cupped her cheek and kissed her tenderly. “It . . . it just is, okay? We don’t have to feel guilty.”

“You’re my best friend,” she said raggedly. “What if-”

He covered her lips with his fingers. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t think right now.”

She nodded numbly, meeting his eyes. After he got dressed, they both walked back to the Burrow. (Ron picked up his bouncy ball as they left the field.)

In the house, Hermione immediately left to go upstairs and presumably talk to Ginny. Ron went into the kitchen in search of something to eat. As he reached into the cookie jar, he saw his mum standing with her hands on her hips.

“All right, Mum?”

“No, Ron. Not all right.” Mrs. Weasley’s lips turned into a fine line. “I went out to the north field today in search of flowers for the dinner table in celebration of Hermione’s visit.”

Ron turned to stone, staring at her in shocked disbelief.

“I had no idea you’d already set your mind to celebrate with her in your own time. Or I wouldn’t have bothered. Believe you, me, I wouldn’t have bothered!”