A/N: It took me a little while but I have finally written a second entry in this series. The element here is snow.

Once again, fluffy little piece. Snow, Muggle London, more snow, and yes, some smut too. I hope you enjoy and if you do (or don't), please leave a review.

Happy holidays to all!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this


As the familiar tugging around his navel abated, Ron felt the ground under his feet. Home at last. He looked quickly at his wrist and the watch his parents had given him what felt like an eternity ago, even if it had been only seven years. The hour hand was creeping dangerously toward five. No wonder he was knackered. He had been up for almost twenty-four straight hours. But he felt some satisfaction knowing that there were two fewer dark wizards roaming the streets.

As he walked toward the building housing the small flat he shared with Hermione, he noticed the crackling noise under his boots: snow. He hadn't even noticed it was snowing. Snow was not unheard of in London but there was at least two inches already on the ground, which was a much rarer occurrence. He thought of snow at Hogwarts, so much farther north and, with a goofy grin on his face, remembered how Hermione had been able to make paths in it with a flick of her wand. Hermione. He knew his warm wife was waiting for him, sleeping peacefully in their bed, and that thought pushed the snow out of his brain.

He quietly let himself in the flat and made his way toward their bedroom. He smiled as he saw her outline in the bed. He quickly undressed, letting his clothes lie wherever they fell. When he was down to his boxer shorts, he pulled the covers and had a silent eye-staring contest with Crookshanks. The squash-faced feline took some liberties whenever Ron was not there at bed time. The cat finally settled at the foot of the bed, far from where he knew Ron's feet could have kicked him, something which, as tempting as it was, Ron would never do. Oddly enough, he liked the idea that Crookshanks was with Hermione when she was home alone.

As he lay down on the bed and pulled the covers over him, he felt Hermione turn toward him instinctively. He heard her mutter something about house elves and marmalade and wondered what she was dreaming about. She nestled against his chest and he protectively wrapped his arm against her warm body, before giving into sleep himself.


Hermione woke up slowly around six, like she did every morning, whether she had to go to work or not, as was the case that morning. She felt Ron's familiar shape and warmth next to her and sighed with contentment. It had been six years since they had started sharing a bed, two of them as husband and wife, but she still felt all the same excitement she had felt that first time she had awoken with him by her side. She then wondered what time he had come home. She looked at him for a moment, mesmerised by the steady rise and fall of his chest. She ran her fingers lightly across his cheek, noticing he needed to shave, and was rewarded by a smile and a low sound resembling her name. Ron then turned on his side and she heard light snores. She smiled tenderly at his sleeping form and decided not to interrupt what looked like deep slumber. She gave him a light butterfly kiss on the cheek before quietly getting out of bed.

As she made her way to the loo, she took a peek at the window to gauge the weather. The sky was still dark but she could definitely see snow on the ground. She had always enjoyed snow, as it reminded her of holiday times spent skiing with her parents or nice visits to Hogsmeade. And there was this unique memory of Ron making snow appear with his wand and then brushing it off her shoulders. It had been one of the first times he had casually touched her and she remembered it affectionately. Maybe she could convince Ron to have a nice walk in the snow, she mused.


A few hours later, Ron woke up slowly. He had never been a morning person but had learnt with time that there were things he just had to do. His arm automatically stretched to the space next to him in the bed and he was chagrined to feel it empty and cold. Hermione must have been up early, even on a Saturday, thwarting any plans he might have had for a quick morning shag. Well, now that would definitely have been a good reason to wake up early. He looked at his watch and saw it was nine o'clock. He had had over four hours of sleep, he thought sardonically. Enough to conquer the world! Or at least breakfast, and maybe, if he was lucky, Hermione.

He stretched his long legs and finally made his way out of the bed, shuddering as he came in contact with the chill of the room. He grabbed his orange dressing gown -the one Hermione implored him to get rid of but secretly enjoyed wearing while he was away on missions- and made his way to the loo to attend to pressing morning needs.

As he came in the kitchen to grab breakfast, he saw his wife sitting at the table, already dressed and enjoying the last of her usual breakfast of toasts with orange marmalade and English breakfast tea. She was deep into a thick tome, probably researching something for work or just doing a bit of light reading as she would call it.

Ron couldn't help the crooked grin that came to light his face. He just adored the woman, had for a number of years and probably would for decades to come. He walked toward her. Hermione didn't take her eyes off her book but a slow smile appeared on her lips as he came closer and gave them a quick peck.

"Morning, love," he told her still feeling a bit groggy.

"Good morning," she replied joyously.

She finally tore her eyes from the book and ran the back on her hand against his scruffy cheek.

"I know: I need to shave."

"Actually, it gives you a nice, dangerous look."

He raised his eyebrow questioningly.

"Pity it's abrasive against my skin," she said wistfully.

"Well, let me eat first and I promise I'll shave," he told her as he took her hand that was still lingering over his cheek, and kissed it softly. He was pleased to see her hold her breath for a second.

"What time did you get home?" she asked him.

"Around five. You were sleeping, dreaming of house elves and marmalade, and the beast was guarding you," he answered as he made himself a cup of strong tea and plopped four sugar lumps in it.

"Would you like some tea with your sugar?" she asked him sweetly, perpetually amazed by his untameable sweet tooth. "And Crookshanks is not a beast. He is a very clever cat," she defended.

"Right," Ron replied humorously not wanting to let her know how the bloody cat always looked at him as if planning his early demise.

Ron stirred his tea and toasted four slices of bread. He stole the jar of marmalade that was still sitting in front of her and slathered some liberally on one of the toasts. He sighed happily as he bit into the toast and recognised his mother's homemade marmalade.

Hermione couldn't help the grin that lit her face as she saw him eat. There was a special joy in him that only surfaced when he ate food he liked. Most of the time, it involved his mother's food but she had seen that sensorial elation after Hogwarts meals and... in the middle of their lovemaking. She felt heated all of sudden in all kinds of places. She had to face the fact that she was aroused by watching Ron eat. Before she had time to dwell too much on this, he took her out of her thoughts:

"Any plans for today?"

"Well," said Hermione. "I had this idea that maybe we could go for a walk in Muggle London. Have you seen the snow outside? St. James Park is fantastic under the snow."

He hadn't looked at the window yet and saw there was now a fair amount of the white powder covering the landscape. While he had other ideas for how to spend the day with her, most of them not involving clothes, part of him was always ready for snow.

"That's a bloody brilliant idea," he told her, his mouth still full of toast and marmalade.

"I'm glad you think so. Now, could you get ready? The faster you are ready, the faster we can get to St James Park, and the faster we can be back here and just enjoy ourselves," she said in barely a whisper.

She was happy to see him swallow hard.

"I love how you mind works. Did I mention how brilliant I think you are?"

"About ten times a day but you I don't tire of hearing it," she said while a light pink blush crept on her cheeks.

"All right. Gimme ten minutes for a shower and we can go to that park."

Ron shoved a full toast in his mouth at once as he made his way toward the bathroom. He took the fastest shower he could. He took the time to brush his teeth but decided to forgo shaving, despite his earlier reassurance to Hermione that he would do so.

He was back in the sitting room, fully dressed and ready for a walk in the snow (and maybe a snowball fight). Hermione was trying to fit her impressive mane under a wool hat and was failing at it as several loose curls escaped. She held him her hand and they Disapparated.


They landed in a discrete spot next to one of the park entrances. There were a few other pedestrians in the park but it was still quiet. Ron and Hermione walked companionably until Ron grabbed some snow off a bench and made it into a snowball. As she saw what he was doing, she admonished him:

"Don't. Even. Think. Of. It. Ron Weasley."

He gave her a wide mischievous grin before whispering to her:

"Too late."

And he threw the ball straight at her and it landed on her chest. Before she had time to react, he was making another snowball and aiming at her again. This one landed on her back as she turned around to shield herself. He wanted a snowball fight? Fine. She would show him. She quickly gathered snow and threw a nicely-aimed ball at him. It hit him in the stomach. She saw the look on his face change from one of amusement to one of challenge. He gathered more snow and she started running, hiding behind a bench. He missed her on his next shot and that seemed to make him more determined. She didn't miss him and hit him on the back of his head, knocking off the wool hat he had been wearing. She couldn't help the fit of laughter that seized her as she saw him rake his hand through his hair to remove the snow.

"You. Will. Pay," was all he said before he zoomed on her. She tried to outrun him but that was futile. His long legs helped him catch her quickly and he tackled her down to a snow-covered patch of grass. She was laughing the entire time, as he took some snow off the grass and smeared it over her coat, and then her neck.

"Stop, it's cold," she protested between two fits of laughter.

She then grabbed more snow and rubbed it on his face. He caught her hands and locked them above her as she was still racked with laughter.

He looked at her and saw she had laughed so much tears had appeared at the corner of her closed eyes. She was lying in the snow, her hat gone and her hair splayed against the white powder. Her face was gleeful, positively relaxed.

She opened her eyes and saw him tower over her, pinning her. She realised she couldn't escape and she didn't want to. Then she looked at him and saw the hunger in his eyes, a primal lust.

"Ron," she started but didn't have time to finish as his lips abruptly came crashing on hers, silencing her.

The urgency in his kiss almost made her melt. His gloved hands came to frame her face, making her shiver as the skin of her cheeks felt the cold and wet leather. Her lips nevertheless remained attached to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer, to the point he was almost smashing her with his much heavier body. She didn't care. The kiss had blown on the embers of the fire that had been slowly building in her since she had laid eyes on him eating that morning. And now, every lick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth was stoking the flames.

He kissed her with abandon, enjoying the taste that was so much her, sweet and tangy. As one of his knee prodded between her legs, she opened them welcomingly and he settled there, their pelvises delightfully flush through the many layers of clothes.

He kept kissing her wildly, his lips sometimes veering to her jawbone or the top of her neck. He didn't even realise that he had his wet gloves against her sensitive and smooth skin. They were fully clad, bundled in heavy coats and scarves and gloves, but the way his body was covering hers, the way hers was trying to instinctively mould itself to his, the way both were undulating rhythmically in perfect unison all reminded him of a much more intimate scene, involving much fewer layers.

He was about to ask her to Disapparate back home when a loud whistling noise made them jump apart. Hermione tried to sit up too quickly and ended up bumping her head against Ron's lips, splitting his bottom one open. She heard him swear loudly but before she had time to even look at his lip or apologise, she heard a loud cough behind them.

Hermione saw two Bobbies perched atop horses looking at Ron and her sternly.

"Miss, it really is not the proper place for this kind of display," the first one said.

He looked young and deadly serious.

"It's a public park with children around," the other one added. He was older, in his forties, and looked thoroughly amused by the situation.

Hermione felt her face heat up despite the snow surrounding them. Ron was massaging his bloody lip and under the cover of his hand, he asked her:

"Who are these people? And what's with their bloody hats?"

"Muggle law enforcement," she replied under her breath.

"And you, young lad, need to watch your language. I have no clue who that Merlin bloke is but I don't suppose he would appreciate you talking about his testicles in such a manner," the older Bobby told Ron with an amused smirk on his face.

"Now, just get yourself together before we have to issue a citation for indecent exposure," the older Bobby pursued with barely suppressed mirth.

"Yes, Sir," was Hermione's short answer as she stood up along with Ron. The blush had still not left her face.

Hermione was mortified. That was the problem with Ron. The minute he kissed her, her brain seemed to suddenly abandon all rational thoughts. But at the same time, it had been extremely enjoyable. The heat in her cheeks increased again. She took Ron by the arm, rather forcefully, and led him back on the walking path. He protested at first, asking her where she was taking him. She didn't relent and just dragged him along, far from the Bobbies. She thought she heard the older one laughing before commenting about how "Ginger was in trouble with his bird."

"What the fuck are you doing, Hermione?"

"Shush," she ordered him briskly.

She spotted the perfect spot behind a wide tree. She took both of them there, hiding them away from everyone else, and made them Disapparate on the spot.


Ron felt the familiar pulling around his navel and was glad to feel firm ground under his feet when they Apparated back directly in their sitting room.

Before he had time to say anything, she was taking her gloves and scarf out and talking:

"I can't believe what we just did. We were almost caught having sex in public."

"Herm...," he started, wanting to remind her they had still been fully clad, with many layers, and that all they had done was heavy snogging, in a Muggle Park, in the snow.

"Do you realise how mortifying that was?" she interrupted him while savagely undoing the buttons of her coat before taking it off. He wondered whether she would continue taking her clothes off after the coat. "I've never been so embarrassed."

"Why is it embarrassing?" he retorted, while getting out of his own jacket. "We were snogging and you're my wife. Isn't a man allowed to snog his wife in the Muggle world?"

She ignored him but he was happy to see she was pulling her jumper over her head, probably overheated from the roaring fire in the fireplace. His eyes automatically descended toward the way the t-shirt she wore underneath beautifully espoused her breasts. And he found out that he really wanted to do more than snogging. He was actually in the mood to thoroughly shag his wife.

Impervious to the way his mind had veered, Hermione continued her tirade.

"And these were Muggle police," she lamented.

"Hermione," he started again.

"This is so..."

Ron wanted to tell her to shut up but he thought action would work best in this situation. He took her face in his hands again (he had removed his gloves while she had been blabbering) and made her look at him before resuming the snog that had started in the snow.

At once, all of Hermione's agitation seemed to melt away as her mind was filled with Ron: his lips softly on hers, his tongue searching hers, his fingers gently caressing her cheeks. She opened her mouth willingly and teased his tongue with hers. She peppered little kisses around his lips, tasting peppermint from his toothpaste and ... was it blood?

She pulled away.

"Ron, you're still bleeding!" she exclaimed.

"So?"

"You need to heal it," she told him as her fingers came to gently rest on his lips.

"You can kiss it better," he told her and was rewarded by a smile.

He took his wand from his back pocket and healed his lip quickly. He was about to put it down on the table next to him when she suddenly asked him:

"Can you make it snow?"

He waved his wand and a few flurries starting appearing out of nowhere and lazily made their way down. He saw her looking at the snowflakes with amusement and what looked like amazement.

She didn't say anything when he put his wand down this time. He gathered her in his arms, lightly brushing her voluminous hair to remove a few wayward flurries. They fell around them, a few perching themselves in their hair and melting instantly.

Ron then took her mouth in a very gentle kiss, his lips barely touching hers, while his fingertips went on tracing the outline of her face, enjoying the smooth skin. He drew her with him until he felt the sofa against the back of his legs. He sat on the sofa and pulled her down with him. She was now sitting on his lap, her legs bent at the knee straddling him on each side.

His hands grasped her waist possessively to bring her upper body flush with his. He mentally cursed the layers of clothing that stood as many obstacles between his skin and hers. He scrunched the cotton of her t-shirt up, sighing with enjoyment when his fingertips found smooth and creamy skin underneath.

She was looking at him, shuddering with satisfaction at the feel of his fingers on her bare stomach. She saw how his eyes had closed in silent contentment. She examined his face in the firelight. The freckles were still there but much more subdued than they had been when he had been eleven. She noticed the stubble that, despite his promise to the contrary, had not been tended to. She ran her hand against his cheek, tenderly. He probably had not shaved in several days, enough for his stubble to be softer under the touch. She joined her lips to her hand, kissing him almost chastely, barely a whisper, and she felt the corner of his lips twitch upward in appreciation.

She followed the line of his cheek to his neck with her lips, lighter than a butterfly. She slowly unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing, revealing more pale and freckled skin, stretched over taut muscles. She noticed a few snowflakes falling on his bare chest. She stuck her tongue out to lap one off his nipple and was rewarded by a low moan. She continued the trail with the tip of her tongue down his stomach, stopping just above his navel.

Ron opened his eyes slowly. Hermione possessed such a talented tongue, be it as a vehicle to express the many thoughts populating her brilliant brain or to drive him into complete madness and ecstasy.

He took his hands off of her waist and started sliding them higher underneath her t-shirt, gently prodding the underside of her breast, before climbing higher and enclosing each bra-clad mound in his large hands. He opened his hands and rubbed softly the insides of his palms against the fabric, feeling her nipples harden under his touch, as if ready to spring into action. He saw her close her eyes and moan pleasurably.

Ron was deliberate with his caresses but eliciting much enjoyment. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking the spectacle she was offering as if it were some rare ambrosia. She felt powerful, feminine, treasured, and he was the only one who could bring this in her.

He removed his hands from her breasts, much to her chagrin, and started lifting her t-shirt over her head. She aided him by raising her arms, expediting the discarding of the garment. She also evened the score by taking his unbuttoned shirt completely off of him.

His hands roamed along her bare back, trying to blindly connect the five moles he knew to be along her spine. He had committed to memory her entire body: from these exquisite five moles to the funny shape of her navel, or to the light dimples she had just above her magnificent arse.

His long fingers fought a quickly won battle with the clasp of her bra and they were now both completely bare from the waist up. She leaned against him, rubbing her breast eagerly against his chest while her lips landed on his. She nipped lightly at his plump bottom lip. He opened his mouth and a well-known choreography started again between their tongues, both fighting for dominance.

Hermione then hiked her pelvis higher until she settled herself on the hard ridge where the fabric of his jeans strained over a blatant bulge. She rubbed herself against his erection, each additional bit of friction another degree of bliss. She heard him moan in her mouth and felt him thrust against her, through the layers of their jeans.

He wanted her now, wanted to be sheathed fully in that marvellous heat and silkiness of hers, wanted to make her scream and abandon all reasons, wanted to empty himself in her. His mouth stayed attached to hers while his hands went to the top of her jeans, opening them slowly. She stopped her rhythmic undulation for a moment and he seized the opportunity to slide his fingers in the front of her knickers, letting them slither to her wet core. He started rubbing the little bundle of nerves hidden beneath. She resumed her gyrations and his fingers moved in unison with her pelvis, creating a delightful, almost unbearable friction. It didn't take long before he felt her shudder under his fingers and she cried her release against his mouth

He finally let go of her lips, to better admire the result of his work. She was beautifully flushed, her hair a wild mess around her head, her eyes closed and her mouth barely opened. She slowly opened her eyes and saw him staring at her, pride, lust, and adoration all evident in his eyes.

She felt a few flakes fall on her shoulders and saw him run his long fingers against them, slowly brushing the snow away, like he had done all these years ago, except she had not been bare-chested then. Another thing had changed: while she had been uncertain whether her feelings for him had been requited back then, she had absolutely no doubt they were now.

She got off his lap and put her index finger against his lips to quell the protest he was about to utter. Any word he might have wanted to speak died in his throat as she started slowly strip off the rest of the clothes she had been wearing until she stood completely naked in front of him. She then went on working on him, attacking his belt and the zip of his jeans. He slightly lifted his bum to let her slide his trousers and pants off of him.

The moment Ron was as nude as her; Hermione went back to straddling him, before slowly impaling herself on him, her eyes never leaving his. She heard him groan his approval as his hands went to possessively fondle her backside. She started pumping her hips slowly and increased the pace as she heard him moan louder.

Ron thrust methodically into her. She was surrounding him in warmth and silk, and riding him into complete abandon. He responded in kind to each of her moves while fully enjoying the sight she was offering him. Her breasts were bouncing hypnotically each time he pushed in her. Her eyes were still locked on his and she was biting her bottom lip, fully focused on the act. The rhythm became frenetic and then erratic as he felt her constrict around him and control escaped him. He just let go and spilled inside of her, before gathering her tightly into his arms.

As their breath returned to normal, they lay down together, in front of the fire, watching the snow Ron had magically created fall down around them and melt quickly.

"I've always loved the snow you make. It reminds me of snow globes," she told him softly.

"Snow globes?" he asked.

"Muggle thing. It is a traditional souvenir shop product. It's usually a miniature replica of a monument in a globe filled with water and white flakes. When you shake it, it looks like it is snowing. I used to collect them when I was younger."

"Really? And you gave me a hard time about my chocolate frog card collection?" he replied with humour as he kissed her nose lightly and gathered her closer to him.

He might have known her and loved her for more than ten years, she still could surprise him.


A few days later, Hermione gave Ron a special present. It was a St. James Park snow globe. Upon closer inspection, Ron saw a few elements she had magically added: Two Bobbies on horses, and a young couple lying on the grass, the man with red hair and the woman with bushy brown hair, kissing as snow fell on them.


A/N First, I must apologize for not updating sooner but I must admit writing sex scenes is more difficult.

Second, I am not sure Hermione collects snow globes but that sounded like a fun fact. Also, I really loved the idea of Ron making snow appear with just his wand in Half-Blood Prince. That would be such a great thing to be able to do.

I hope you enjoyed. I have an idea for another entry here but it will probably be another month before I publish it.

Thank you for reading!