A Stolen Kiss

By Deskevo

Summary: 'You don't know what you're talking about! Just because I don't do it in public-!'

'Harry's snogged Cho Chang, and Hermione snogged Victor Krum, it's only youwho acts like it's something disgusting Ron.'

Have you ever considered that maybe there is a reason for Ron's argument? Maybe he is hiding a deep dark secret that he doesn't want anyone to know.

A missing moment based on the desire that Ron and Hermione's first kiss should have been with each other, even if both parties didn't quite know about it.

The Gryffindor common room was all but empty, and had been so for several hours now, to the point where only one lone figure remained, sprawled out on the hearthrug in front of a rapidly dying fire. Ron Weasley gave a tired groan and rubbed his sore eyes, trying to bring the piece of parchment before him back into focus.

He shifted his arm to check the time on his watch. Three o'clock? He could have sworn it had only been two when he checked five minutes ago. Ron frowned down at the piece of parchment lying on the rug below him. He had only written twelve words in that last hour, and his writing was getting messier and messier so that not even he could make out what he had just written. He must have drifted off whilst writing.

Ron grumbled to himself as he crossed out his hour-long work and rewrote the offending sentence to what he thought it had said. He turned to the Transfiguration textbook lying open next to him and ran a figure down the page, looking for the next part of his essay. No one in their right mind would be doing homework at this time of night, thought Ron bitterly, especially considering it was Christmas holiday, but as both Hermione and McGonagall had quite angrily reminded him, if he had just handed the essay in on time he wouldn't have to be.

So he hadn't handed in one little piece of homework. Was that really so bad? According to Hermione, that was just one small step short of openly declaring yourself a Death Eater, and, most unfortunately, McGonagall seemed to take a similar stance. After a stern talking to about lack of commitment and general laziness, McGonagall had given him a small extension and had told him if it wasn't handed in by tomorrow morning he would not be allowed to attend the Yule Ball. This was why he was now struggling to finish the stupid essay before it was due at nine o'clock.

Actually, the real reason he was struggling to complete it at this ungodly hour was because, in classic Ron Weasley style, he had left it until the last minute, preferring instead to spend his days lazing about with Harry. Hey, he'd take fun over homework any day.

Ron seriously considered whether it was even worth doing the essay. So what if he wasn't able to go to the ball. It wasn't as if he really wanted to go anyway. He felt sure that he alone, of all the Gryffindor fourth years, was looking forward to the Ball the least, with the exception of maybe Harry. It was bad enough that he had already made a complete fool of himself and the blasted thing hadn't even started yet. He had tried to ask out a Veela, someone who wouldn't even look at him if he were dirt on her shoes, his attempt to ask Hermione was a dismal failure, and in the end Harry had to find him a date. It was pathetic. And, just to top it all off, he didn't even have a decent set of dress robes.

The thought of Hermione brought a strange sick feeling to the pit of his stomach. He didn't understand why he felt so disappointed when she'd told him she was already going with somebody else. It wasn't as if he wanted to take her to the Ball. Was it?

Ron could still remember the scorn in her voice when it dawned on him to ask her. 'Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!' Of course he had noticed Hermione was, in fact, a girl, but, truth be told, he had been trying his hardest to think of her as nothing but his best friend, a task made insanely difficult when said best friend bends over in front of you to get something out of her bag and you have to spend the rest of Potions counting the number of stones in the dungeon ceiling. Those were thoughts he just shouldn't be having about Hermione. Ron made a mental note to hunt down the person responsible for the Hogwarts uniform; those damn school robes just aren't concealing enough.

But he was letting his mind wander again. He had to get back to the task at hand. After another thirty minutes of solid work, which involved many crossings out and re-readings, Ron felt he had finally written enough on the essay. It wouldn't be brilliant, but it should at least enable him to go to the Yule Ball. He tapped his nose with his quill while trying to think of a way to write his conclusion. He wasn't helped by the fact that his brain was crawling along so slowly it could almost be going backwards.

Ron's train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a brief streak of orange in the corner of his eye. Crookshanks had just darted out of the stairway leading up to the girl's dormitory, clutching what looked like one of Hermione's good quills between his teeth. Oh, Hermione's going to be peeved by that, Ron thought, allowing himself a small chuckle, and sure enough the sound of slow stumbling footsteps emerged from the stairway, followed by a very worn looking Hermione.

'Crookshanks bring that back here,' she stifled a yawn and stared beadily around the room. 'I was using that.' If anything, Hermione sounded even more tired than Ron felt.

Ron had to admit that Crookshanks was fairly intelligent, well, for a cat anyway. It looked to Ron as though Crookshanks felt Hermione needed to stop working and get some sleep, and had taken matters into his own hands. Ron silently applauded the cat's actions; she really looked like she needed to sleep, although, in all fairness, he probably didn't look much better.

Ron wondered briefly what Hermione would have been working on at such a late hour. Possibly she was trying to work out what the screeching in Harry's egg meant (personally Ron was leaning toward the Percy in the shower theory), but in all likelihood it was something to do with that stupid S.P.E.W. campaign of hers.

Somewhere during his musings, Hermione finally seemed notice that Ron was in the room. Slowly, and with heavy feet, she dragged herself over towards the fireplace.

'Haven't you finished that essay yet?' she asked sleepily.

'Almost,' he replied, 'just got to finish off the conclusion. I don't suppose you want to look over it for me, do you?'

Hermione seemed not to be listening; instead she just stood there, staring into the glowing embers of the fireplace, while her whole body swayed dangerously.

Ron looked up at her, slightly alarmed. 'Hermione you look really tired,' he said quickly, 'you should be in bed. I'll find Crookshanks and get your quill back just as soon as I'm finished here,' he paused, waiting for a response. None came so he promted her again, 'Hermione?'

She shook her head and looked down at him. 'Hmm?'

'Bed.'

'Oh, okay, I-I'll see you in the morning, Ron. 'Night.'

''Night, Hermione,' Ron breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to his essay once more. But he had barely put quill to paper when he heard, and felt, a loud thump on the rug next to him. He spun his head sharply towards the source of the noise, and then back pedalled just as quickly, knocking over his ink and leaving a big, black stain slowly spreading through the rug. Ron hardly noticed.

Hermione's face was now lying mere inches from his own. It looked as though she had quite literally fallen asleep. She looked so peaceful. Her eyes were closed and her chest was rising and falling to slow rhythmic breathing. With a start, Ron realised he was staring down Hermione's pyjamaed form. Face Weasley, look at her face, he told himself, forcing his eyes back up from what had drawn them.

It was an odd feeling, lying on that rug, their bodies facing each other. Ron felt a strange stirring of… something deep within his chest. Ron just lay there looking at a Hermione's face, so close that, if he moved slightly, he was sure his long nose would bump against hers. But he didn't dare move, he didn't even dare breathe, he merely lay there, paralysed by the sight before him.

Ron watched Hermione for what felt like an eternity, noticing all sorts of little things about her that he had never picked up on before. The way her bushy brown hair seemed to perfectly frame her face while she slept, the way her nose twitched slightly as she breathed, the way her lips moved as she mumbled something in her sleep. Those lips that looked so pink and moist. I wonder what it would be like to kiss her? Okay, where had that come from? Ron had never wanted to kiss Hermione before; he hadn't ever wanted to kiss anyone. But the thought stuck with him, and the more he let it roll about inside his brain, the more it seemed like a good idea.

Ron shifted himself slightly. Slowly and carefully he began to inch his mouth closer to hers. He no longer felt tired at all, but was alert to every little sound, every tiny movement. Time seemed to creep by; hours must have passed since he started moving. Had he remembered to breathe yet? He was shaking from head to foot; beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. He was almost there; his heart was pounding like a drum in his ears. Surely she was able to hear that too. Was she going to wake up? What would she think? She'd probably slap his teeth out. He'd deserve it. But still, he couldn't stop himself. He was being drawn in as though under some powerful spell.

Ron felt his lips brush against Hermione's. He felt like a clumsy clod, but he finally threw all caution into the wind and pressed his lips against hers. He was kissing Hermione… He was kissing Hermione; the mantra continued over and over in his head, accompanied by a great soaring sensation from somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. He let his eyes drift shut and began to enjoy the moment. Then he felt something that caused his eyes to flick open in a mixture of surprise and fear; Hermione's lips were kissing him back!

In surprise, Ron jerked his head back, afraid that Hermione had finally awoken, but with a deep sigh of relief, saw that Hermione's eyes were still closed and her breathing was still regular. The only difference was now her lips were still moving, as though in an attempt to continue the kiss.

All of a sudden, Ron's brain seemed to switch back on and he sprung to his feet. Why in the name of Merlin had he just done that? He needed to get out of here. As quick as he could Ron gathered up his books and parchment and fled for the relative safety of his dormitory.

Ron flung himself onto his four-poster bed. Feeling slightly sick and extremely ashamed of himself, he buried his head under his pillow. He had just kissed Hermione without her permission. He could only pray that nobody ever found out. Hermione would flay him alive, Harry would take the mickey out of him for years, and Fred and George, well, if they ever found out he might as well throw himself off the Astronomy tower. No, he would have to take this secret to the grave and just pretend that nothing ever happened.

Still, it had been nice, for those brief few seconds, and maybe one day Hermione would let him kiss her for real. Ron grinned to himself as visions of the two of them together wormed their way into his head. Act as though nothing had ever happened, yeah right. He rolled over and grabbed his miniature Krum figurine off his bedside table and set it on his chest. In any case, Ron thought to himself, as he sleepily watched the figurine waddle it's way across his jumper, it's going to take something pretty drastic to wipe this smirk off of my face, I'll probably be grinning like an idiot for years.