AN: So, I know I promise more information inside, but frankly, it's a short story, so little happens inside that anything I say can spoil it. It's only some 4,000 words so if you can brave the 15 minutes it would take to read without much more info, I'd be grateful. I will add a note at the end with some further explanation.

None of this is mine, not even the idea, really. I wrote it because it was the only way to get it out of my head and I am sharing it in the hope that it makes someone happy. I hope you enjoy :)

Ron's Girl

I have been in love with Hermione Granger for longer than I care to admit.

It wasn't love at first sight, not by a long shot. It took us a while to get close, and then to become friends, and for that friendship to grow.

It was in Second Year that I began to feel more. It was just a crush then, making me blush whenever I was in a room with her and making me just a tad shy at times. I would entertain silly fantasies about us from time to time, and scribble our names on pieces of parchment that I would incinerate immediately.

By Third Year I was fairly certain that my crush was more serious than average. I would not forget her, I could not stop wanting her. I was a child of course, both of us were, but if anything, at least I had proof that whatever it was that I felt wasn't fleeting.

At the Yule Ball it was hard to pay attention to my own date - I was so focused on Hermione. She was breathtaking. I had always found her pretty, she had this subtle beauty about her - she couldn't be called gorgeous but I found her features soft and gentle, and her soul shone through making her appear lovely.

After the Department of Mysteries I knew for sure I loved her. After the ordeal was over and the dust settled I was more worried about her than anyone else. The possibility that she could have been lost forever kept me awake at night. My heart would convulse painfully every time I thought about how close I had come to not having her in my life.

And having her in my life was wonderful. She and I could talk, really talk, about anything. She would listen to me when I shared what bothered me and what excited me, and I would be enraptured by the way she talked on just about any topic. I couldn't say if I found what she said interesting because it was her speaking, or I fell more deeply in love with her because of what she said.

At some point it ceased to matter.

We shared many adventures together, the war changed us and made us grow up faster. It deepened our friendship, made it more solid. And underneath that friendship, my feelings remained constant. I was grateful, blessed, that she counted me as a friend and I could call her the same.

It just wasn't enough.

And then she started Dating Ron, and they seemed happy, and she was my best friend and Ron was… well, Ron… And I wanted to be happy for them.

But I couldn't help it.

Ron may be a very good person, and Merlin knows I love him, but he didn't deserve her, he couldn't appreciate her.

He didn't notice the way her hair was in the morning - tousled and wild and vibrant - made her look like a goddess. Or how much younger and fresh she looked when she got in from the cold with her cheeks pink and rosy.

He didn't seem to appreciate how artless she was, how her grace was understated. She never wore makeup and looked the more beautiful for it. She never dressed to impress, but she also looked better in jeans and a T-shirt than anyone is legally allowed to.

He took her genius for granted. She was not just bookish, like Ron thought, she was brilliant. Her mind had a away of storing and processing information that just took my breath away.

Though, I was used to not really breathing around her. She had a habit of constricting my chest and making it hard to think. Though I had been in love with her since Second Year, so I suppose I was accustomed to it. I had learned to live in a world without breath and if she one day caused me to go blue and keel over - well, it would have been worth it.

I was used to her seeing me as just a friend. It just wasn't enough. I wanted more. I needed more.

Sometimes I dreamt about sweeping her off her feet, showing her how someone who truly cares for her can treat her, showing her that Ron is wrong for her, taking her away to some faraway paradise and worshiping her body and her mind until she forgot he even existed. But these fantasies were bitter. Because more than anything, what I wanted was for her to be happy, and as much as Ron's attitude towards her left much to be desired, she seemed happy.

How could I make a move and ruin her happiness? I simply couldn't.

And so I stood aside and watched as she smiled at him when he walked into a room, and appeared blind to the way he ignored her latest passion, or tales of the latest book that fascinated her, and proceeded to talk about quidditch for hours.

It made me sick to my stomach when she would go to kiss him and he barely paid any attention. If she were to kiss me, all the world would melt away. Every time. Her lips looked so soft and delicious, I couldn't possibly imagine a reality in which they would press against my cheek, or my temple, or the crown of my head, and I wouldn't be lost in the sensation of them.

I tried not to think of them being intimate. I once made the mistake of extrapolating from Ron's general inattentiveness what he'd be like in bed with Hermione, and the mere idea that he would leave her unsated and unfulfilled as soon as he got himself off, or that he would think of quidditch while she did delicious things to him, made me so angry that the whole house shook and the windows burst. It was lucky I was alone and was able to repair the broken glass.

In moments like that - when I saw how undeserving he was of her, or when I got some more proof of how inattentive and unappreciative he was - it was hard to stop myself from speaking, to keep myself from telling her how unimaginably much she meant to me, to not beg her to leave him and let me love her the way she deserves to be loved.

I could never forgive myself if my silence caused her to suffer more than is necessary. But at the same time, I knew her kind, gentle heart. If I confessed my love for her and she didn't reciprocate, she would agonize over it. She would blame herself for hurting me and likely break her heart over my pain. And causing her pain of any kind was simply not an option.

So I was stuck in this limbo of indecision. It felt like no matter what I chose to do, the potential of hurting her was there and I wouldn't accept the risk of causing her pain. And if I had to be honest with myself, I was afraid that speaking to Hermione of my love would destroy our friendship. As much as being just friends was not enough, it was infinitely better than not having her in my file at all.

Having her in my life meant everything. If she were water, I would set myself on fire constantly just to have her douse me. If she were a raging storm, I would not search for shelter, but let her raindrops pelt me. Merlin, as dramatic as that sounded, it was the truth. I would never lie to her or trick her, but I would do whatever it took to have her in my life.

I would die for her.

Many times during the war I had to contemplate the idea of her perishing. It was excruciating to even consider, and it made me realize that one, I couldn't even begin to imagine a world without her in it, and two, if I were ever in a position where I could choose between saving her or saving myself, I would not hesitate even for a moment.

I lived for her and I'd die for her. And I obviously also oscillated for her, because as many times as I debated with myself, I never reached a firm decision about what to do.

To speak or to keep quiet. To be a good friend, or to try and be an excellent lover.

The choice was made for me in a way. Ron shared with me his plans to propose on New Year's. She would say yes, of course. What else could she say? If she truly loved him, she wouldn't even hesitate. And if she didn't, she would still care for him enough to not want to break his heart.

That's really what made me finally take up the courage to say something - the idea that Hermione could spend the rest of her life married to someone who didn't appreciate her because she didn't want to hurt him. She was altruistic enough to do something like that.

So I had to say something before then, give her an option. I reached the conclusion that if she did really love Ron, then the pain that I cause her will be erased by the happiness that he gave her. And if she didn't, well, perhaps I could be the one to make her happy. In any event my time had run out and I had to speak.

I was nervous, though. I was not sure how to start. How do you casually slip into a conversation with someone the fact that your soul is theirs and you've loved them for what amounts to 50% of your life?

"Oh, hi, Hermione! How have you been? Did you finish the book you got from Diagon Alley the other day? Because I am unspeakably in love with you and I'd love to discuss that book with you on a date!"

"Happy Christmas, Hermione! Here's the present I got you - my undying and unconditional devotion!"

"Hermione, I know you're with Ron now, but I am frighteningly in love with you and was wondering if you'd be willing to dump him for me…"

Yeah, right.

I didn't have an opening, or a plan, nothing really. I didn't know how to broach the subject or what to say, least of all how she would react. All I knew was I was running out of time.

She tasted divine!

It had been three days since I kissed her and I couldn't stop reliving the moment, or feeling her lips on mine. I wouldn't concentrate and I'd been hiding from everyone so they don't notice my goofy smile.

I hadn't expected it to happen, and I still couldn't really believe that it did. A part of me believed that I had went insane, imagined what happened that evening and I was actually drooling in a padded room in St. Mungo's.

I didn't care, though. I had been walking on air for three days and I wouldn't trade that for any amount of sanity. For anything really. And frankly, if I were capable of imagining that taste, that scent, the glimmer in her eyes up close, well, I was one gifted individual and I should be allowed to enjoy my gifts.

It happened on Boxing day, at the party at Grimmauld. We were at The Burrow for Christmas, with the whole Order and the whole Weasley clan. But that night at Number 12 it was just us, "the young people".

I was in the library, hiding, but also waiting for Hermione. I knew that she would be pulled there at some point in the evening. I was nervous beyond belief and anxious and excited and mildly nauseous, not to mention dizzy, because I was self-medicating my anxiety with alcohol. Firewhisky and jitters don't mix as well as you'd expect.

I am still not sure how it happened but one minute I was alone and edgy, and the next Hermione was there, we were on the couch and were laughing about Merlin knows what.

I had spent so much time agonizing about what to say but I had not actually needed to speak. Or at least, I don't remember saying anything. We were laughing and our faces were close together and I was looking into her eyes because the way they sparkled from the mulled wine and the fire was hypnotizing.

And then we were not laughing anymore. She was looking at me as well with a light in her eyes that I had not previously seen (and I had thought I had memorized every little amber fleck). I felt electricity, the air between us grew thick. Her cheeks were flushed slightly and I couldn't help raising my hand to gently caress them with my fingertips. She leaned into the touch, her skin was like warm satin.

I could sense the wine on her breath, it was rolling over my face in tiny puffs and once again I realized I wasn't breathing.

We were coming closer still and I couldn't really say who was shortening the distance - me or her. I couldn't really think in that moment. My heart was beating so hard and fast it could have cracked my ribs.

And then our lips touched in the gentlest, most feathery kiss. The world disappeared. My entire being narrowed down to the points where our lips met. This was more than I had ever realistically expected, almost more than I had hoped for, and in an instant it was not enough. I leaned in further and captured her rosy lips in mine.

She tasted like herbs, and honey and Hermione and light exploded inside my eyelids. This was by far the best kiss I had ever had, better than any one fantasy I had entertained. She was responding, scooting closer on the couch and in mere seconds her hand was on my waist, and mine was tangled in her curls.

Our lips met again and again and again and the moment her tongue darted out to touch my upper lip I could have died and it would have been the best death ever recorded.

I couldn't tell how long our kiss lasted. It could have been 10 seconds. Or 10 years.

But I felt an instant loss when she pulled away. He eyes were dark and reflected the passion in mine.

I begged her to meet me alone somewhere. I didn't call it a date, didn't put any label on it really. I just begged her to meet me and she said yes.

The moment was broken when Ron yelled for her from the hallway and she rushed to meet him but at the door she turned around and looked at me. Her eyes were still dark and her cheeks flushed, she was glorious. With a breathily whispered "I'll owl you" she left the room.

That image - Hermione with her rosy skin lit by the fire and her cheeks flushed by our kiss, her hair tousled by my hands and her breath taken away by me, got me off that same night. In the post-orgasmic haze in bed, I realized for the first time that there was actual chance for us, there was a tangible possibility that we could be together, and the thought made my chest expand with happiness till it hurt.

The next day she owled me and suggested a meeting on the 29th. She suggested I choose the place. I didn't want to meet in public, partly because I didn't want people around us - I wanted for the meeting to be intimate - and partly because in all honestly I was hoping it would get intimate.

The Burrow was out of the question - Ron - and I didn't want to invite myself at her place, besides, it was possible that someone - Ron - could show up there unannounced.

Then I remembered a place in Surrey that had potential and so we agreed to meet in London, from where I would apparate us close to Reigate Hill. I went there earlier that day and found a nice secluded copse of trees which formed a tiny meadow - no more than 10 feet in radius. I warded it against muggles and other intruders, and added a few spells to keep it warm. A few more hours of spellwork ensured that within the confines of the wards the grass underneath was lush green, the air smelled of chamomile and the air temperature was comfortable enough that coats and winter cloaks would not be needed.

As the time of the meeting approached I was careening between joy and horror. I kept telling myself that she would not have owled if she had changed her mind. And then promptly reminded myself that she could have changed her mind after the last messages we exchanged.

I would remember the kiss and melt, then imagine her realizing it was a mistake and my chest promptly turned to ice.

But there was no going back, my Gryffindor bravery wouldn't betray me now (I hoped) and besides, I had taken the leep - or was I pushed into the leep? - and there was no turning back. I was seizing my chance to be happy, to make her happy.

We were lying on a blanket in the little copse of trees facing each other. Our lips were swollen, the kiss from Boxing Day had been followed by several others. I was on cloud nine. Hermione was looking at me with excitement in her eyes and that sparkle that I didn't know how to name. I was memorizing her features, wanting to have them burned in my memory forever - whatever happened next I wanted to have this moment with me.

Our stolen afternoon was wonderful, a dream come true, and I didn't want it to end. At the same time though there were too many unanswered questions and too many uncertainties. She must have been thinking the same because it was her who spoke. In one soft word she asked everything. "Ron."

I didn't have an answer for her, and told her so. I wanted us to be together and to make her happy and she looked happy, which made my own heart more content than it had ever been. But we neither of us wanted to hurt him. Yet it was inevitable, especially since Hermione - to my immeasurable delight - seemed to want us to be together, too.

I confessed everything to her - how long I had loved her, how much I had struggled, how I had spent countless hours wondering what the best thing for her was. She, it seemed, had not loved me nearly as long as I had her, but could not deny that she had harboured something for some time.

Declaring ourselves unleashed the feelings that we had both suppressed for too long, and whispered confessions of dreams and hopes and fantasies were interspersed with passionate yet gentle kisses.

And yes as much certainty as our shared love brought, it did not resolve the center conflict - what to do?

Revealing to each other how we felt, it seemed, was the easy part.

In the end we decided to be cowardly.

We both joked that we had had to be so brave for so long that we had simply ran out of the stuff. But truly, we just wanted a little time to ourselves, a honeymoon of sorts where we didn't have to explain to anyone, we didn't have to justify our happiness and we didn't have to fight with Ronald.

We went to Australia. She had already been once to restore her parents' memories. She had been successful, though they enjoyed life in Australia and opted to stay there. We went for a visit and I met them properly. The Grangers were lovely and understanding people and they accepted us with warmth, though perhaps they were at first a little awkward about the whole thing.

We spent a month there in the scorching heat and those thirty days remain some of the happiest in my life. I made love to her on the beach at midnight, we spent whole days just walking around in the muggle city, we talked for hours or simply sat in silence. We seemed to never stop touching, though most of the time it was innocent - my hand on her waist, or her fingers woven with mine.

It was tempting, oh, so tempting, to not go back. We could pretend that this was our life now, find jobs in Australia and simply melt into the heat and bliss of Australia.

But both of us were responsible enough to know that we could not escape forever. The hasty letters we had sent to everyone before we flew (on a plane, harder to trace) to the other end of the earth were not enough to explain everything and they deserved a followup.

Returning home was as explosive as we had expected. Ron screamed at us for a good half hour which culminated in his attempt to curse us. I say us, though Hermione and I still argue who the spell was for. I thought he was attacking her and retaliated immediately. I would die before I let him hurt her in any way. Her reaction had been identical, as she had thought he was going after me.

The whole thing ended in blood and tears - literally - and we left The Burrow to let things cool down. Outside of Ronald, thankfully, people tended to be shocked but keep their opinions to themselves. The Prophet had a great deal of fun speculating about our relationship and publishing all sorts of vile nonsense about us. Passionate as we both were, it's a miracle we didn't storm the damn place and burn it to the ground.

But we weathered that and soon the gossip died down.

Ron never spoke to either of us again which made gatherings at The Burrow awkward so we stopped going. We never lost touch with the other Weasleys though and most of them found a way to spend holidays with us as well.

It still feels surprising how little we lost in the whole ordeal and while we both still miss Ron terribly, we both realize how much we hurt him and how betrayed by us he felt.

But outside of that dark and painful spot our lives are happy. We moved in together soon after coming back from Australia and a year after that fateful Boxing Day evening, on New Year's Eve (I know, this deserves an eye-roll) I asked her to marry me. She said yes. The wizarding world would not marry us, and neither would the muggle one, but we did have a quiet little ceremony, just for the two of us. The promises we made were just as binding, if not recognizable by any official institution.

We were even able to have children some years later, through a muggle procedure called IVF. We each had one, Hermione - a girl, and I - a baby boy. They both go to Hogwarts now and to Ron's eternal fury are friends with his younger one - Rose.

All in all our life is good. Through thick and thin we love and support each other. And I never became immune to her kisses. She would press her lips against my cheek, or my temple, or the crown of my head and I would be lost in the sensation of them. We are surrounded by friends and family and while we never stopped turning heads - the "perk" of being the most public gay couple in the British Wizarding world, our lives are calm and uneventful. Or perhaps that is just the perspective of two people who grew up in the midst of war. Or maybe it is just that the two of us as a team - Hermione Granger and Ginevra Weasley - could face anything, handle anything, now that we are together.

And that is enough.

PSAN:

First of all, thank you for reading the story and coming to this point (I presume you didn't skip it just to see my notes, they are hardly more interesting than the story itself).

Second, I apologize for not warning that there were LGBT elements in the story, but really, I couldn't warn you of that and I was hoping that I tricked you at least for a while about who the narrator is (let me know in your comments if I succeeded). I also apologize if the style or my narrative voice left something to be desired. In truth I never intended for this to be a masterpiece. It was just a plot bunny that wouldn't let me be and I had to write it to put it to rest.

And lastly, let me know what you think. Comment and like to your heart's content.