A/N: A huge shout-out to my best friend Angela, who not only encouraged me to write from the first time I tentatively mentioned it, but went above and beyond the call of friendship and became a fantastic beta. Any mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: Borrowed from the genius of J. K. Rowling for fun, not profit. Lots and lots of fun . . . .

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger couldn't believe her good fortune. The Burrow had gone from over a dozen occupants at breakfast to merely two by early afternoon. Mr. Weasley and the twins were at work, Mrs. Weasley and the wedding party had left for their final fittings at Madame Malkin's, and the Delacours accompanied them for a tour of wizarding London. Even Harry had gone, shooting Ron a meaningful look as he volunteered to carry packages. That left her and Ron home alone. Together.

Or was it home together, alone?

Ron disappeared after lunch, leaving Hermione to clean up as the others Flooed to Diagon Alley. She tucked her wand away and surveyed the kitchen with a critical eye. Satisfied, she walked into the sitting room and eyed the staircase resolutely.

This was her last chance to tell Ron ... before they left for Godric's Hollow, to say that ... oh, she couldn't even think it, how was she going to find the words to say ...

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to tell him how she felt and find out if he felt the same way about her. Harry thought so, and Ginny said she knew so, but she thought she knew, too, and it turned out she'd never been more wrong in her life. She swallowed against the painful memories.

But they'd never talked about it, she didn't know why he suddenly turned against her, and she couldn't stand to be out there worrying about Voldemort and Harry and still wondering where she stood with Ron. She felt her resolve firming again. She was going to know, one way or the oth—

"What are you doing?"

Hermione jumped. Ron stood in front of her on the landing. She flushed, thinking how ridiculous she must have looked, muttering with her eyes closed.

"I was just coming up, actually. I—I want to talk to you."

" 'Bout what?" Ron brushed past her and headed for the kitchen.

He did that a lot these days, brushing his body with hers in a narrow space, touching her hand or arm to get her attention, casually leaning against her when he reached for something. Nothing overt, nothing obvious, just ... different. She heard the rattle of the cutlery drawer.

"You can't possibly be hungry, Ron, we just ate. And wipe up those crumbs, I just cleaned this kitchen!"

Ron did a quick Vanishing Charm on the counter and swallowed what looked like half a slice of cake. "I'm storing up, for later."

Hermione couldn't argue with that. Whatever they did for food, she was certain Mrs. Weasley's puddings wouldn't be on the menu.

"What did you want to talk about?" He stuffed in the rest of the cake.

Hermione looked at the empty platter.

"Honestly, Ron."

He grinned unrepentantly at her and she had to work at hiding her smile. She stepped closer.

"You should have waited until you finished before you Vanished the crumbs, you're getting them all over your shirt and the floor."

Ron opened his mouth to tell her she was the one who insisted he clear up already when she began dusting off his shirt. With her hands. He gasped in surprise, inhaled what felt like a whole bite's worth of cake, and coughed.

All over Hermione.

Well, all over her hair, really, a little cloud of soggy white flakes and bits of coconut raining down upon brown curls. And he couldn't stop coughing (or raining), seeing as how he had shoved so much cake in his mouth. To his horror, Hermione just stood there.

"Blimey, Hermione," he croaked, eyes watering. He coughed again, but thankfully the shower was over. "I'm bloody sorry, it was a total accident, don't worry, I'll Vanish them all this time—"

"NO!" she shrieked. She grabbed the sides of her head. "Ron, you'll Vanish my hair!"

Ron's laughter escaped before he could contain it. After years of watching her fight the thick, wild curls, the idea of a bald Hermione was simply too much. She stomped on his foot but didn't let go.

"Ouch! Okay, I'll Summon them this time." He grabbed the dishcloth from the sink and pointed his wand at the top of her head. "Accio crumbs." They rose from her hair into the waiting dishcloth, which he folded and shook out in the sink. Ron turned back around and felt his heart rate jump when his arm bumped hers and she didn't back away.

Was she standing this close before? Searching for a distraction, he noticed the corners of her mouth were twitching and she'd released her death grip on her hair.

"I really am sorry, Hermione."

"I know." She stepped closer still and smiled up at him, and Ron was suddenly glad he was backed against the sink since his legs no longer wanted to support him. Her gaze was focused on his mouth. "You have frosting on your mouth, by the way, did you know?"

But this was nothing like that first train ride, when she'd told him about the dirt on his nose. That first time, she hadn't been standing so close her chest just brushed his when she inhaled, or smelled this good, like parchment and warmth and Hermione. She hadn't been looking at him with soft, tender eyes, or raised her thumb to his face and—

Ron's mouth went dry as Hermione licked the frosting off her finger. Her hands were on his chest again and if he didn't know better, he'd think she wanted—

To be kissed. She went on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Hermione Granger was kissing him, Ron Weasley! He raised his head slightly to see this astonishing event for himself. Her cheeks were the lightest shade of pink and her mouth was curving into a smile. She looked absolutely beautiful, and Ron immediately decided that experiencing Hermione's kiss was much more important than seeing it. He slipped his hand behind her neck and lowered his head.

As much as he wanted to inhale the taste of her, explore the feel of her under his hands, Ron kept the kiss gentle, and sweet. Despite her initiative, he couldn't help the uneasy feeling that, like so many things he had wished for in his life, Hermione was going to slip out of his grasp, be forever just out of reach, and he didn't want to push her, or frighten her, or do anything that would make her pull away. But the pressure of her mouth increased and her hands slid from his chest up over his shoulders, linking behind his neck.

She did kiss him first. And since she was kissing him back ... He drew his tongue across the inside of her lower lip and she opened her mouth.

Immediately the pace of the kiss changed, intensified. Ron wound his fingers in her hair, tilting her head slightly as she responded to his touch. Hermione's new position had caused the hem of her shirt to rise, and he shifted his other hand so the whole of it was splayed against the warm, bare skin of her back. Suddenly, she went limp and dropped her arms.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I just can't—reach you," Hermione said breathlessly, and was rewarded by what she thought of as her smile, the one that curved his lips into the most delicious shape, and reached all the way to his eyes, and made her stomach and her heart turn over in opposite directions.

She blinked. She was sitting on the worktop next to the empty cake platter, and Ron was leaning in with a hand on either side of her. He looked very pleased with himself.

"Better?"

"Much." She brushed the fringe out of his eyes as the extra height allowed her to rest her forearms on his shoulders instead of barely being able to grasp the back of his neck. She slid both hands into his hair and pulled him to her. Hermione was nothing if not a quick study, and immediately deepened the kiss. His mouth was hot, and dizzying, and talented, and she'd wanted to do this for ages.

Ron broke the kiss, breathing hard. "So," he kissed her quickly ... twice ... three times ... before sliding her back a few inches. His confident look was gone, replaced with something more like—shyness? "So, you're okay with ... this?" He gestured between them.

Hermione looked straight into his blue, blue eyes and allowed her smile to stretch so widely it hurt. "Why do you think I wanted to talk with you?"

He smiled her smile again, and her insides flipped.

"Brilliant," he whispered against her mouth, and then neither one was talking.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on her senses: the feel of smooth, silky hair; the smell of fresh-cut grass; the taste of sweet buttercream frosting; the sound of Ron's voice humming in the back of his throat; the touch of large, calloused hands against her skin. She let her head fall back under the pressure of his mouth, wincing when it knocked against the upper cupboard.

"Easy." He cupped the back of her head protectively.

She was kissing him again, hard. Ron let himself sink into her kiss, sliding a hand up over her ribs, his thumb just brushing the underside of her bra. Hermione twisted her head sharply, gasping.

"Ron, I don't want to wait any longer, I want—" She swallowed hard as his thumb continued to tease. "I want to—let's go upstairs."

Yes! Wait. What?

He'd been dreaming about this for months—okay, years—Hermione was wrapped around him so tightly even Flitwick couldn't charm a feather between them, and he still had his hand on her breast, but ... If he'd learned anything from Lavender (well, except for that), it was he wanted his next girlfriend to be his friend, too; he wanted their relationship to be more than physical.

Hermione is our best friend, his libido assured him.

Yeah, but that was the problem, wasn't it? Ron dropped his hand. If he bungled this new part of their relationship, he was going to lose not only any chance of making her his girlfriend, he was going to lose her friendship. After last winter, Ron knew he couldn't risk having Hermione out of his life for good. He might have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but he was pretty sure going straight from their first kiss to their first time would qualify as "bungled."

So he took a deep breath, straightened her shirt, and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. Her breath was hot against his neck and she was trembling slightly, legs still clamped around his waist.

" 'Mione, love, I think we'd better—"

"No." She shifted against him.

Ron groaned involuntarily and she did it again.

"Dammit, Hermione!" He pulled her legs from behind his back and shoved.