Disclaimer: All property of JK Rowling. Wish I owned it, but I don't. So yeah.
-Set in sixth year
The Poem
"Bloody hell," Ron hissed to the empty common room. He threw his quill down on the table and raked his hands through his messy hair. Leaning back on his chair, he wondered how he would ever get through this miserable excuse he called a "poem." It needed to be romantic and intimate, but also special and unique; the way she was. The way Hermione was.
His feelings for her had grown over the years, especially over the previous summer. His 'infatuation' had grown into, well, love. But, now in their sixth year at Hogwarts, he was running out of time to tell her just how he felt. Keeping one's emotions bottled up for too long can make a person go crazy. He needed to let her know, and soon. He stared down at his sheet of parchment.
My love for you is...
Is what? Ron sat up straight and dipped his quill in ink again. He pressed the tip to the parchment and bit his bottom lip. Think, Weasley. What makes it so special...? He began to write. Ron knew he was no poet, but if she felt the same way about him she wouldn't care. He wrote painfully slowly to make sure it didn't look like he'd just scribbled it all in one go. After carefully dotting his 'i's and crossing his 't's, Ron put his quill down and admired his work. It looked great. It looked perfect. She would hate it. He buried his face in his hands and let out a sigh.
"Ronald Weasley? Doing work? Well I'll be..." Ron turned around. Sure enough, it was Hermione. "Finally doing that essay Professor McGonagall gave us?" she asked, sitting across from him at the table.
"Err- no." Her face fell.
"Oh...then what are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Well, you're obviously writing something...I can see." She pointed to the poem he'd just finished. He quickly placed a book on top of it and frowned. "What's the matter?"
"Um..."
"For Merlin's sake, Ron, I'm your friend. You can talk to me."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
"Girl trouble."
"Oh."
"I didn't think you'd be interested."
"Oh, but I am."
"You don't sound like it." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, okay. There's this girl I fancy...well, more than fancy. And I don't know if she feels the same way."
"Who is it?" she said curiously.
"Oh, uh-"
"I know! That Hufflepuff girl you've been flirting with for the past month...The one from Herbology, right?"
"Oh, her..." He blushed.
"I knew it! Ooh, have you told her?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not her."
"...Then who is it?" Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Can't tell you."
"Oh...well, how're you going to tell- whoever it is you're going to tell?" Ron pulled out his poem.
"I was thinking of giving her this," he said.
"Can I see?" He nodded and passed her the sheet of parchment. She took it from him and read silently:
My love for you is...
Like the wind,
Strong and growing,
Like the river,
Forever flowing,
Like the sun,
That shines so bright,
Like the moon,
With its gentle light,
I know my love for you is true,
Please say that you love me too.
Ron watched her eyes widen as they made their way down the page. "Ron," she whispered, putting it down, "I don't know what to say...that's beautiful. I didn't know you wrote poetry."
"I don't- I mean- not well." He scratched his head, avoiding her eyes.
"Oh wow, Ron. That's amazing. It's lovely I'm sure she'll like it." She smiled awkwardly and handed the poem back.
"You think?"
"What girl wouldn't like that?"
"Oh, well- thanks."
"No problem. I think she'll love it, Ron." She got up from the table and headed for the girls' dorms.
"Hey, where're you going?" he called after her. She turned around.
"I'm just- I need to- I'm going upstairs," she said quickly, turning her back to him to hide the single tear that escaped her eye and slid down her cheek.
"Oh...bye, then. Thanks." Hermione hurried up the staircase, down the hall and through the door marked 'Sixth Years.' She slammed the door behind her and collapsed onto her knees, tears now flowing freely down her face. Ron didn't like her; he had another girl. Plain and simple. All those years of agonizing over feelings for him were completely useless. Well, at least now she knew the truth.
"It's not me," she whispered to herself, getting to her feet, "It's not me." She slowly made her way over to her bed and let herself fall flat on her stomach, without bothering to close the bed hangings. She loved him so much...God, how she loved him, but he just didn't feel the same. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.
---
"Hermione? Hermione, are you in there?" It was Ron. Hermione lifted her face away from her tear-stained pillow and glanced at the closed door.
"Come in," she croaked. He opened the door.
"Listen, Hermione, I- Bloody hell! What's wrong?" She rolled onto her side, turning her back to him.
"Nothing."
"Hermione," he said sitting next to her on the bed, "You look miserable, what's up?"
"I told you...nothing. Now if you don't mind, I'd really like to be alone."
"Are you sure you're-"
"Please, Ron. I really, really don't want to talk." He sighed.
"Whatever you say. I'll just leave this here then," he said, placing an envelope on her bedside table. "Bye." He strode out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. When she knew he was gone, Hermione let out another sob. How dare he come in after what just happened. She rolled over to see what he'd left behind. Sitting on her bedside table was an envelope with 'Hermione' written on it. Curious, she took the letter and sat cross-legged on her bed examining it. She slowly opened it to reveal a familiar piece of parchment:
My love for you is...
Like the wind,
Strong and growing,
Like the river,
Forever flowing,
Like the sun,
that shines so bright,
Like the moon,
with its gentle light,
I know my love for you is true,
Please say that you love me too.
Hermione, if you thought for a minute that the person I was talking about wasn't you, then you aren't the smart witch I thought you were. I adore you to pieces and can't stop thinking about you. You're everything to me. Please say you feel the same way. I love you.
Ron
Tears rolled down her cheeks as Hermione smiled and bit her bottom lip. He loves me. Without thinking, she jumped off her bed and ran out the door. She sprinted down the stairs into the common where she found Ron pining by the fireplace. "Ron?" He turned around.
"Hermione!" he said, getting to his feet. Letter in hand, she ran into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably into his maroon sweater that she was so fond of. "What's wrong?"
"W-Why didn't you j-just tell me?" she cried.
"Well you seemed so happy over the thought of me liking someone else that, well, I didn't think you had any feelings for me..."
"You git!" she sobbed, slapping his chest. "Of course I did- I still do!"
"You mean it."
"Oh, Ron, of course I mean it..." She slowly put her trembling arms around his neck. "I've loved you for so long now, and now I know you feel the same way." He stared into her teary brown eyes and smiled.
"So you don't mind if I do this?" He lowered his face so it was level with hers. She closed her eyes as his face drew nearer until their lips touched for the first time. It was liberating; energizing; electrifying. All of the emotions and pain and passion of six years were being brought into the open by this one kiss. Both lost in a frenzy of fanaticism, they let their thoughts wander to what would become of their relationship. "I can't believe it's taken me six years to do that," Ron said, finally breaking away.
"And I don't know how I lasted six years without it," Hermione whispered. They both smiled and leaned in to kiss each other once more.