Looking back on it, she could never remember the sounds they made. Muffled moans, screams of ecstasy – they could have been humming nursery rhymes for all she knew. No, the noises never registered. The feeling of his skin on hers was all that mattered, of his lips crushing her own, making their mark along some odd little place, like her rib cage or lower back or anywhere…
The feelings, the sensations – for once, intuition was all that mattered to Hermione. She'd often lay in bed afterwards, wide awake while Ron dozed, amazed that they were so calm now when moments before she'd been screaming his name, astonished by how he could make her feel that way time after time after time – about the way she made him feel! She couldn't hear her voice screaming his name in her memory, but she could feel the rawness in her throat and even hours later, when she woke up in the morning – always first – she could taste his name on her lips.
There were little things, little moments. He might rise in the morning, naked, and she might take pleasure in viewing him from behind. He might show off a silly little grin when faced with her naked form in a non-sexual situation – such as when she changed or got out of the shower. Sometimes he was couth enough to simply smile, but oftentimes he had to touch her, and on more than one occasion they'd found themselves in bed together when they'd had somewhere important to go. She found that when faced with Ron, randy or romantic, silly or sensual, she forgot about things like deadlines and schedules.
He had this ability to bring out a different side in her – a side that wasn't Hermione-like at all.
She liked that they could stay in bed and talk all night, two best friends as well as two lovers. One moment he might kiss her collarbone, her lips, her heart, her thighs, the space between… Moments later, though, they could just recline and talk about anything, from spells to friends, from their relationship to their favorite songs. And even when they weren't in bed together, their friendship was just as marked as their love. They might stroll around holding hands, occasionally kissing, but their conversations were peppered with witty banter and the sharing of secrets that only people who are both lovers as well as the best of friends can exchange.
Was it because they'd been together – friends, at least – for ages? Hermione wasn't sure. She often wondered what it would be like had she met Ron at a pub just a few months ago. Would they have fallen in love quickly? Would it have taken years? Or would they have barely sent one another a passing glass, optioning for a stiff drink and some other bloke and bird instead?
They'd marry one day, she knew, but she'd never imagine their wedding. It seemed pointless to do so when she was so sure that it would happen. When he asked her the question, everyone else said finally but Hermione just said yes. It was perfect, that moment – just like every moment with Ron was.
Though she was normally meticulous, Hermione didn't worry much over their wedding. The guest list was easy enough to come up with, and the venue – the Burrow – was obvious. She picked out her wedding dress on a whim. They didn't even bother registering for gifts.
Looking back on it, it was all so happenstance, perhaps even dangerous. Ginny had spent months planning her wedding. Harry had practiced his proposal hundreds of times. Even Luna, a few years later, struggled to find the perfect place for her wedding, and Neville told Harry dozens of times he thought Hannah might have cold feet. But with Ron and Hermione, there'd never been a doubt, a moment of hesitation, or a struggle. They'd spent years struggling to not be together, and so perhaps that's why when they finally were, things feel into place so seamlessly.
Looking back on it, it wasn't as perfect as they had originally thought it was. They made sounds in bed, whether they ever heard them or not – sometimes sensual, occasionally ridiculous. They missed job interviews and had been late to weddings and sometimes forgot about important events. But they didn't care, in the long run. For once, neither of them worried about the future, about a war, about what would happen next. Because for once, life didn't need planning – destiny already had a plan for them. And so it wasn't painful, looking back, and it wasn't painful moving forward, either. It was perfection, it was bliss, it was little moments. It was love – it was Ron and Hermione.