DISCLAIMER: I'm not J.K. Rowling and I do not own these characters. I am just a humble fan.

The first time was at Grimmauld Place. Neither of them could sleep, fear refusing to release its grip on their minds, their bodies restless with anxiety. Harry had been isolating himself, and they felt so scared and lost. The only things of which they were certain were their commitment to Harry, and that that nothing else was certain.

Except for their feelings for each other. Yet, that remained unspoken still.

There were glances over the dinner table at the Burrow, when no one else was looking. Ron's hand would brush against Hermione's as they busied themselves with chores in preparation for the wedding. "Clumsy Ron," thought Hermione, in a dual effort to protect and comfort her heart. Hermione would lean into Ron when sitting on the couch, but only slightly, leaving him wondering, wondering, wondering...

He had heard her crying, walking back to his room after brushing his teeth. He hesitated for a moment, his hand ready to knock, still unsure if she wanted him, or if she preferred to be alone, or if she wanted Harry to be the one to knock. But his mind remembered the way she looked at him as they danced at his brother's wedding, how her hand rested in his as she fell asleep their first night at Grimmauld Place, and he knocked softly. "Hermione?" he asked, quietly.

"Come in," she replied, her voice sounding more composed.

When he entered the room, she was sitting on the bed, a pillow clutched to her body, her hands wringing in worry. Their eyes locked, and while she may have held it together seconds before, she lost her composure and began to weep. Ron's arms instantly were around her, all hesitation and doubt banished when he saw her cry. He kissed the top of her head, her shoulders shaking and tears soaking his shirt.

She cried for her parents. At one point, she heard herself blubbering, "I want my mummy." She cried out of stress, the magnitude of their undertaking crashing over her like a tidal wave.

Ron knew better than to say that it was okay, because, though he thought himself to be an idiot at times, he was smart enough to know that nothing about what was happening was okay. He held her until she stopped.

"I'm sorry," she said, clearing her throat and sitting up. She brushed her hair out of her face and wiped her eyes. "I don't know what came over me," she added, looking down at her hands as she began to wring them again. Ron grabbed a hold of them. They were sitting next to each other, their backs against the headboard.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Hermione," Ron stated, shrugging, "You know I'm here for you." Hermione looked up at him, as if she was holding her breath. After a short while, she exhaled slowly. She felt so helpless at times, faced with what lie ahead. This was the only thing she could think of that wasn't chaos.

Her hands still in his and with an air of resignation, she said quietly, "We could die tomorrow."

"Don't say that," Ron said sharply. "I don't want to think of you-"

"But it's true, Ron. It could happen. I knew that it could, and that's partially why I altered my parents' memories. Who knows what will happen at the ministry? Or after that?"

Ron knew she was right. His own death, he could accept. Harry's death? The thought of it hurt, but he had known it was a possibility for years now. But Hermione's death? He'd rather die than know a moment without her.

He looked up at her then, their eyes locking. He didn't realize that his eyes were filled with tears until then. Shaking his head, he mumbled, "I would never... I promise... I won't let...". Hermione reached her arm around him, his head dipping below his shoulders in fear.

"Hey," she said softly.

As he looked up, she found herself moving closer yet to him. She had always been logical and reasonable. Good girl Hermione. Smart Hermione. Plan-ahead Hermione. Though she had not planned this, she knew deep down that when it came to Ron, caution would fly to the wind, if he so willed it. "We could die tomorrow..." her mind echoed.

And their lips met.

Slowly and filled with questions, at first, and it was as if they were taking turns kissing each other. First she kissed. Then he kissed back. Then she replied. Then he answered.

Then they opened their eyes, their lips still brushed against each other's.

"Hermi-"

"Ron-"

And then it was fire.

Urgently, brazenly, each one's kisses interrupted by the other's, their hands leaving each other's, their owners finally granting them permission to touch. Years of yearning and dreaming. Their hands roamed free.

Ron found himself grasping at the edge of Hermione's shirt before his mind caught up with his body. When he paused, he realized Hermione's hands were underneath his shirt.

"Wait!" he said, his voice thick and conflicted.

Hermione lay underneath him as she tried to catch her breath. Her mind raced, as thoughts of what could happen whirred past thoughts of doubt. "You foolish girl, throwing yourself at him like that," she thought to herself.

Bravery had trumped her fear, and, with a hint of pleading in her voice, she blurted, "I want this."

Ron couldn't believe it, and speechless, he felt his mouth move but words had failed to come out.

"Please, Ron. I don't want any regrets. If anything hap-"

Not wanting to think of that possibility, Ron began to kiss her again. He knew she was right, as she usually was. In that moment, he wanted to make her happy. He wanted to feel that happiness for himself, the kind that he knew she brought him.

It happened suddenly but slowly, like in a dream. One moment they were separate, and the next, they were one.

She inhaled sharply, gripping his back tightly.

"I'm sorry, am I-" Ron asked, strain in his voice.

"I'm okay... Keep going," Hermione responded.

Their movements, like their initial kisses moments before, were awkward and clumsy. Ron's arms were shaking, and he had fixed his gaze on a spot on the bed post. Focused, as if he was playing Keeper.

Hermione moved her hand to his face, and like awakening from a trance, he looked at her. Reaching her head up, she kissed him softly, their eyes fluttering shut.

Their movements became more graceful as their bodies became slick. Still feeling like he was in a dream, Ron was vaguely aware of his own heavy breathing and the occasional grunt. He heard Hermione's short breaths and quiet moans. "I can't believe it," they both were thinking, unknowingly, to themselves.

Hermione tensely gripped his back, feeling his muscles move underneath her fingers. Just like she had come to love him, she felt her body opening to him and adjusting, slowly catching up to the happiness her heart felt.

And Ron's movements sped up, and he felt like he was soaring and exploding, falling eventually into Hermione's arms. She wrapped them around him, wishing she could hold him like that forever, saying a silent prayer that one day she could.

And now, here they were, lying on their sides, in an old bed in an abandoned bedroom at Grimmauld Place, allowing themselves to be silent and just stare at each other, taking in what had just transpired between them.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He realized that he had not paid much attention to her, and he felt shame well up inside. "Next time, I'll make it up to her. That's if there is a next time," he thought to himself.

"I'm grand," she replied, a smile dancing across her face. She turned her head to nuzzle his arm, which her head was resting on. Ron brushed Hermione's hair out of her face, her eyes closing involuntarily. A tear slipped out of her eye, and Ron moved closer to kiss it away.

"I love you," he found himself whispering, feeling the burden of his years-long secret lifted and replaced with the fear of not being echoed back. He kept his eyes closed as their noses nuzzled, wanting to savor the moment before it ended forever.

"Ron," Hermione breathed, and Ron felt his heart shattering to bits and his anger towards himself flaring. "Stupid, daft, fool," he cursed in his mind. His arms tensed up as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I love you too," she then murmured.

Ron opened his eyes to find himself staring into hers. Blue met brown, and anger met love, and his body relaxing, he began to laugh, joy taking over his body, and nothing, not the dingy bed they were in, not the danger his family and all he loved and knew was in, not the impossible task they were about to confront, nothing at all mattered to him at that moment, except Hermione.

Thanks for reading! Please review- any kind and/or constructive feedback would be helpful and inspiring! I'm working on the 2nd part now, and knowing that people are reading it is like fuel for my fire. I don't have a beta, so if you'd like to help out, PM me :)