I own nothing.

The end of this was inspired by the movie "Say Anything".

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In potions class, during maybe their second week at Hogwarts, he had the misfortune of sitting next to Hermione Granger. She had to pass him a piece of paper and their hands brushed against one another. He had considered wiping his hand off on his robes, but thought better of it in the end.

During second year, they were really friends. If their hands brushed one another, it didn't really affect him in any way. She did hug him once or twice, saying goodbye and thank you, but still, he never gave it a second thought. They were friends after all.

When he finally got off his lazy butt and told her he would help her with Buckbeak's case, third year, she threw herself at him. Her arms were wrapped around him pretty tightly and she had some tears. It was awkward to say the least. He suddenly felt like he was going to put his hands on the wrong part of her and he patted her back just a little. He was happy when she let go, but he had thought she was quite warm.

The Yule Ball. Suddenly, as he saw that git Krum holding her, he knew that he wanted to be holding her. Touching her back as they danced, holding her hand as they walked off the dance floor. He was jealous, plain and simple; he just wasn't quite ready to admit that yet.

They were side by side in the hospital wing for two nights after the episode at the Ministry of Magic. As she lay sleeping, he wanted so much to go sit next to her and to stroke her hair or rub her back, something to ease her pain, however slightly. He wanted to touch her in some way and he wasn't quite sure how he was going to restrain himself. Never before had the urge to touch her been so strong. And so he turned onto his side and began counting the tiles on the floor until he fell asleep.

Lavender. The whole time he was dating her, he knew why he was doing it and it certainly wasn't her intelligence. When he saw Hermione this year she had become even more beautiful. As soon as he had seen her on the train, he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let go.

He was restraining himself all year. When Lavender presented herself to him, he had to take the chance. He had so much energy pent up from holding himself back that he had to get it out somehow. He did like Lavender... at first. She was a nice girl and they were only sixteen after all, it's not like he was the first guy in history to date a girl when he actually liked someone else. Sometimes you have to take what you can get when you think you don't stand a chance with the one you really want.

When she was in his arms at the funeral, he wished he could say that this relieved some of the tension that had been building in his body, but he was so upset, he couldn't take this in anyway. He still felt slightly lost when it came to Hermione Granger.

The year hunting was a true test in self restraint. They shared a bedroom or a small tent for months. They were getting closer. He was getting the little touches he had always craved. She would hug him often, hold his hand, or let him hold her. But she was like a drug. He only wanted more now. He never thought that touching her would be so much harder than not being able to touch her.

Then it happened. She had kissed him. Even though it had been in the middle of a battle, he was thinking about nothing but the feeling of her body pressed against his. How every one of her curves seemed to mold perfectly with his body. The way her tongue felt as it played with his. The way their mouths moved in unison. If Harry hadn't had to interrupt, he was not sure how much more of it he could have taken without passing out from the sheer joy he felt.

When it was all over...all of it; when the loved ones were buried and the castle was beginning to get put back together and they were all at the Burrow together, they were finally able to have some real time alone. They were laying in his bed on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. People were in the house or just outside. Many had gone back to work this week and everyone knew to let others alone.

So Ron and Hermione were alone in his room. They were just lying together, and she was in his arms, facing him. He pulled his hand up to stroke her face and she noticed that his hand was shaking.

"Ron, are you alright?" she inquired.

"I'm fine" was his unsteady reply.

"You're shaking, put the blanket on," at this she moved her body to help him get the covers, but he stopped her and she looked at him, confused.

"I'm not cold," he said simply.

"Then why are you shaking?" She was trying to sound confused, but was truly worried.

He stared at her for a moment before he spoke. His voice was quiet and his face was showing nothing but tenderness. "I think I'm just happy."

There were no words. She was almost embarrassed; he was being so good to her. She looked down, biting her lip. Ron was nervous about what he had said, but when she finally looked up at him her eyes were a bit watery, but she was smiling.

"I'm happy too," with this she planted a soft kiss on his lips.