I've wanted to write
a Ron/Hermione fic for a while now. Here it is.
Disclaimer: I didn't sell any books, I have no money and I am merely borrowing the omnipotent JK Rowling's characters, settings, etc to bring a small ray of sunshine to the lives of others.
Tonight is for us.
I have never really liked Professor Trelawney. Don't ask me why. Hermione's right when she says she's just an old fraud. She is.
Don't look at me like that. I know what you are thinking. I'm only sticking up for one of my best friends. Coz that's what she is. Harry's too angry these days to be a whole lot of support, so Hermione has taken over that role a bit. I know we fight a lot, but that's the point.
I actually enjoy the arguments. Most of them anyway
You don't have to tell anyone that though. I'd rather die than admit it to her. She'd never take me seriously again. But it's kinda nice when she's telling me off for not having done my work or for doing something wrong. It shows she cares.
Not that anything would ever happen between us anyway. That wouldn't be very fair to Harry. He's got enough on his plate. For now at least, I'm just happy being able to talk to her and walk with her and argue with her.
Alright, so I do like her. What are you going to do about it?
I'm sitting in the common room right now, trying not to watch her too closely. She's sitting on the couch next to mine, writing furiously, her hair falling down from behind her ear as she scribbles away. My fingers itch to smooth back that one lock, tuck it gently behind her ear, maybe plant a kiss on her forehead, or her nose, or. . .
Well, anyway. . .
I remember that I'm not looking at her and fix my eyes on the fire before us. Harry has just gone up to bed and everyone else is heading that way too.
To their own beds I mean.
And soon it's just me and Hermione, sitting together in silence, the only noises being the crackle of the dying fire and the scratching of her quill across the parchment.
I realize I'm looking at her again. It's hard to keep my eyes away. She's really very pretty, Hermione.
And as though they have a life of their own, my legs lift me up off my chair.
She looks up, surprised, and I can see a yearning in her eyes, asking me not to leave.
Or maybe I'm just imagining it.
My legs take me over to her couch and sit me beside her, not too close, but not that far away either. She smiles, and I'm sure I can detect some relief in her smile. She goes back to work, and I lift my book up slightly, pretending to read, but really just enjoying the sight of her working, a frown of concentration crossing her brow.
Did I just say brow?
As though she feels her eyes on me she glances up to meet my gaze and I quickly glance down at my book. But I can feel her eyes are still on me and I look back up, unable to ignore her.
I can't deny her anything, really.
And she's smiling slightly, not an overall grin, but just the hint of a smile, where the corner of her lips just crinkles into a dimple. It is a mysterious sort of smile, and I feel some sort of overwhelming joy explode in my chest, mingled with a fierce protection that doesn't want to see that smile ever disappear from her face.
She looks back down at her work.
I shift ever so slightly towards her, unsure of what I am doing. What about Harry? a voice in my head asks. What about the friendship you could be ruining?
Do you even know what you are doing? After all you've never kissed a girl before.
That gives me pause. Do I want to kiss her? Is that what I want to do?
Yes it is, I realize. Screw Harry. Screw what everyone else will think.
I want to kiss her and hold her in my arms and tell her how much I like her and how I want to be with her forever. I want to wake up in the morning in many years time and find her sleeping peacefully beside me. I want to be able to love her and protect her and. . .
I realize that she is looking at me again, and the smile has faded now. Her eyes have an odd look in them, as though she is measuring me up, deciding what she should say, what she should do.
"Hermione, I. . ." I begin, but she shakes her head, that smile returning. She places one finger to my lips to silence me, before removing it and replacing it with her own lips.
Warmth spreads through me from my mouth, and I can feel little sparks exploding in my chest.
She's a good kisser, really.
And when she pulls back she's smiling properly now, and I return the grin.
We can tell everyone some other time. Tonight is for us.
Thanks everyone who read this. I'd love it if you left a review.