Hey guys! This is my first Ron/Hermione fan fiction! Please review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Six am. Twenty-something year old Hermione was dreaming soundly, covered by a veil of sleep. She snored softly, rolling over. Hermione opened her eyes, her mind traveling on a road between sleep and being awake. Hermione's thoughts lingered for a moment in that space in between, then reality came crushing down on her, filling that empty space in her heart with pain. Ron should have been sleeping next to her, but he was gone.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione were all aurors, known as the "dream team." But six months before, Harry and Ron had gone on a mission that only required two people, leaving Hermione behind. At first, Hermione felt cheated, abandoned, and mad at Ron for deserting her. Besides that, they couldn't communicate, and she had no idea about when he was coming home. She and Ron had been dating for five years, and Hermione missed him terribly. She felt as if half of her heart was looking for Ron, crying for Ron, wishing Ron could be with her. The other half was just trying to keep on breathing.

With no job offers as an Auror, Hermione got a part time job doing paperwork for the ministry. The job had its highlights. Hermione got six extra hours of sleep!

Hermione's alarm clock began to scream. Her own personal rooster. She sent the alarm clock a murderous glare and got out of bed. It was raining outside. Huge clouds conquered the sky, the color of a fresh bruise. Hermione attempted to sort out the mess that was her hair. Attacking the tangles with a brush, Hermione stared into the mirror. Dark patches were gathered under her eyes, nails ragged from her biting them (she bit her nails when her boss yelled at her for coming to work three minutes late.) Hermione wriggled into her last-season grey blouse and navy blue skirt, finally struggling to put on a pair of nylons. She examined herself in the mirror.

"When did I start looking like my Mum?" She inquired.

Hermione ate some old orange juice and a particularly tasteless piece of burnt toast for breakfast. Suddenly there was a banging at Hermione's window. It was an owl. Hermione let the poor bird in. It was soaked from the storm, resembling a bird that had gone through a washing machine. In its beak was The Daily Prophet, the cover plastered with photos. Hermione tried to read a few articles, but the rain had turned the magazine into a soggy strip of unreadable gibberish. Hermione growled, her mood getting worse. She threw the newspaper on the towel and wondered if her owl would ever by dry again. It was only a few seconds later that Hermione glanced at the clock and almost had a heart attack. She had to be at work in seven and a half minutes. She bolted to a little pot that sat on the mantle of her fireplace, where she and Ron kept the floo powder. It was empty.

Hermione cursed quietly. She would have to take the car.

For some strange reason, Harry and Ron had insisted on keeping the flying car that they had driven during their second year at Hogwarts. The car had been dubbed "Old Reliable," which was kind of a joke, considering that starting it was an ordeal, and it was in no way reliable. It sat quietly in Ron and Hermione's garage. Hermione raced into the garage and violently jammed her keys into the car. It wouldn't start.

"C'mon," Hermione whispered, "Start! Don't give up on me now!"

The car sputtered to life, and backed out of the garage. Using the invisibility shield, Hermione was able to speed above the city where she worked at 80 miles an hour, pulling a parking space a few blocks away from the ministry building where she worked.

Hermione slammed the car door shut and began to run, cursing herself for wearing high heels. The wing whipped her hair around, and the rain mercilessly soaking through her blouse. She ran to work, rounding corners, dodging loose bricks in the cobble stone street. Finally reaching the Ministry building, Hermione slowed down a little. Her feet felt like they had just ran from Hogwarts to the moon, and were throbbing. Stupid 2-inch high heels! Hermione collected herself and walked to her office, aware that her make up was smeared and her clothes here soaked.

"Four minutes late, drenched, and quite sloppy-looking, if I do say so myself. My, my, Miss Granger, off to a rough morning, aren't we?" It was her boss. Draco Malfoy. He looked like the same sniveling weasel that he was at Hogwarts, only this time he actually had the power to fire her. Just going to work was torture.

"Hello Malfoy." Hermione met his cool gaze boldly. "Was there something you wanted?" Her voice was so sharp; she could have sliced right through Malfoy with it.

"Yes, in fact I do need something." His gaze was electrifying and terrible. Hermione felt like a bird about to be shot out of the air by some fearless hunter.

"Granger, get me some coffee. NOW. I like mine strong, with a dollop of whipped cream and a quarter cup of milk. Get going."

Hermione's eyes blazed angrily. She stomped away from Draco.
"So he wants coffee now, does he?" She grumbled as she made her way to the ministry cafeteria. "I suppose he will want me doing his laundry next."

She began to brew his coffee, mimicking Draco in a whinny high-pitch squeak.

"And a quarter cup of milk, Granger. A dollop of whipped cream, Granger."

She finished brewing his precious beverage, then paused for a moment, as an idea of her own began to form. Grinning wickedly, she picked up Draco's coffee and spat in it, a single clump of her own saliva now mixed in with the rest. Excellent. She couldn't wait until she could tell Ron about it; he would laugh until he cried.

Hermione made her way back to her office, where Malfoy was waiting impatiently. She thrust the piping hot cup at him.

"I hope you choke on it."

"Now, now, Granger!" Draco's voice was laced with fake shock. "We are terribly violently this morning, aren't we? Well, enough chit-chat, get to work."

Hermione sat down in her cubicle, filing paperwork. Her little office was dull, cream colored walls, a desk, and a file cabinet. The only charming feature about the small cubicle was a photo of her and Ron. In the picture they were on the beach, running on the shore and kissing, bright smiled flashing in the sun. Hermione looked at it for a moment, then got to work. Filing paperwork was mind-numbing activity, and required little brain. Hermione had it down to a science. First, you had to read the paperwork. Then you had to give the paper the stamp of approval. Then you had to file it in the correct cabinet.

Read-Stamp-File.

Read-Stamp-File.

Repeat-Until-Insane.

Hermione spent three hours filing paperwork on the subject of how toy brooms could be hazards to small children. She was delighted when the dull process was interrupted by Ginny, whose head popped up in the office fireplace.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Hello, Gin. How are you holding up?"

"Fine." Ginny's voice grew a tad sadder. "I miss Harry, though. How about you, how are you holding up?"

Hermione sighed. "I could really use Ron. Ugg, Gin, how can anyone expect us to be away from them for so long?"

"I really can't say. How's the boss treating you?"

"Who, Malfoy? He's dangling unemployment in front of my face. He made me get him coffee this morning. Like I was his maid or something!"

"Unbelievable."

"Don't I know it! This job is so awful. It takes all I've got to keep my eyes from glazing over."

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy striding towards her cubicle.

"Ginny, you have to go! It's the weasel! He's come to torture me!"

Ginny's face disappeared into the embers just as Malfoy strode up to Hermione's desk.

"Ah, Granger! How is the work coming?"

"I want to die."

"That's the office spirit." Draco replied sarcastically.

"Go away." Hermione snapped, her voice filled with poison.

"Come now, Granger. Why don't you help me out with a little project?"

"And what is this little project?"

"I need you to give me a foot massage."

"Bite me."

"Ah, but don't you see, Granger? You're employment is on the line! You can't afford to cross me." He removed his shoes, which gave off a toxic odor. Draco plopped down on Hermione's swivel chair. "Now, remove my socks."

Hermione looked as if she had been asked to jump off the Eiffel Tower. She gulped and closed her eyes, one hand clutching her nose. Draco's socks were crusty and damp, and smelled like sour milk and dead fish. Hermione shuddered, but managed to remove the revolting socks. Draco cleared his throat impatiently.

"My massage, Granger."

It was awful. Draco's skin was so tough, it was like massaging beef jerky. Hermione winced with every second that passed, desperately wanting to jump out of the window. When the ordeal was finally over, Draco put his socks and shoes back on, gave a nod of approval, and promptly left. Hermione crumbled to a heap in her cubicle, sobbing quietly. "God Ron, where are you? Why can't you come home to me?" The people in the surrounding cubicles stared. Hermione ran to the ladies room, twisting her ankle on the way, all because of those god-forsaken heels.

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. Her mascara was hopelessly smudged. After cleaning herself up, Hermione glanced at her watch and sighed happily. It was 4:25. She could go home. Hermione collected her things and raced to the car. She switched on the invisibility shield and flew home. It was still raining, big fat drops, pounding on the car. Hermione parked "Old Reliable" back into her garage, and then brewed herself a cup of earl grey tea. She took of those wretched high heels and threw them to a corner. She was just taking the last sip of her tea when the doorbell rang. Beep. Hermione wondered who it could be and went to answer the door. When she opened it, her heart jumped into her throat. It was Ron. Tears filled her eyes. She would rather have a single moment with him, then a lifetime without her true love. They embraced in the doorway, his lips on hers, his hands running through her messy hair, her eyes closed, his other hand wiping the happy tears that dripped from her eyes. It was bliss. Her heart, which had been swollen, hurt, lonely and miserable for the past six months, was finally beating again.

"I won't ever leave you again." He whispered tenderly in her ear.

"I love you, Ronald Weasley."

He carried her inside and they spent the whole day together. They cooked dinner together. Drank a whole bottle of butter beer together. Hermione was certain that if Ron Weasley didn't exist, she certainly wouldn't either.

It was the first day of their forever.