A/N: Don't own shit.
His lips were too soft – she was certain they had no substance. His movements were slow, uncertain, a bit clumsy. She should have stopped there. She should have, but she didn't. Instead, she forged ahead, ignoring how uncomfortable the air around them felt. As they moved against one another, she took him in; his black hair framed his face, tousled around his green eyes and strong temple. She thought he was ridiculously good looking, even though most just saw his fame and his scar. He made her laugh, which was probably the sexiest thing about him. He tried to be cynical, but, deep down, he harbored an idealism which allowed him to act as he did. She was crazy about him, but it was all wrong. A fact he knew - and so did he. He would never feel the same about her as she felt about him, and as they pressed their mouths together, she knew that it was over between them, that this would change everything. It would no longer be the golden trio – it would just be Harry and Ron, best friends, off together, fighting evil, without her. She would be forgotten, on the outside of a friendship of which she was once a part. And even though she knew this was the end, she couldn't stop. She allowed her hand to creep up to his cheek, and she brushed her thumb carefully over his full bottom lip, wishing it could be real.
