AN:/ I own nothing except the poem at the end. Song to consider: I Will Be by Avril Lavigne.
The way her fingers hit white ivory reminds him of the gentle hum his heart creates when her mouth lingers right above his lips, finger tips brushing lightly along his cheekbones. His eyes fill up with wonder. She plays and tries to teach. He finds his hands reaching for hers, the tip of his finger running against one of her nails.
"Hermione." Is all he whispers, nose now pressed to the side of her face, pieces of her hair tickling his skin in a way that is comforting instead of uncomfortable. She keeps playing with Ron's hands on hers, smile forming as her eyes twinkle. The sound isn't as beautiful as when she plays it alone, not as perfect, but she finds herself letting go as the music rings out in the empty room. Her shoulders loosen up, her face relaxes, her eyes shut swiftly. The song is slow and gentle, with a few wrong keys being hit here and there. The song is them. They are the music, the sound, the rhythm.
When the song ends, her eyes open and find his. They connect in two ways, lips and soul, falling for each other over and over with every movement they make.
He whispers about being sorry. Hermione doesn't bother asking what he means because she knows.
She always knew.
On the piano bench, they finally pull away from each other, Ron's forehead leans into hers and they sigh breathlessly together. It's a way of saying I love you without scaring each other. They are too young, she finds herself thinking every time. But Ron proves her wrong with his actions. He may not have a way with words, or confidence to say what is on his mind, but Hermione can't seem to see anyone but his face in a crowded room. She can't figure out why how she was always so tied together and headstrong but when Ron came into the picture all the walls she built up collapsed. Her hands started shaking, she would blush, she would stop day dreaming about school and numbers and consequences and would begin thinking of the future, love, romance. She dropped history books for romance novels. She started wearing lip gloss. Her hair went from untamed to falling into place each morning. Something inside her snapped, to the point where now she was teetering over the edge – nearly falling each time, but somehow before she ever fell apart completely, Ron would be there, arms extended and ready to hold her with every ounce of strength he had.
Hermione finds herself being swept up into his arms, being carried off of the bench and lowered onto the couch on the other side of the room. The weight of him is put on her, while they again collide as thoughts of each other blossom in their heads. Its a few messy kisses and a trail that Ron begins down her neck, before he finally says the truth without having to think any of the words through: "I love you. I love you always."
They spend the rest of the summer kissing. Kissing upside down, kissing laying down, sitting, kissing in her bed, in his bed, on the couch in The Burrow, kissing outside on the grass, kissing while swimming in the lake, kissing in public, kissing in private.
They break up for a week. It hurts too much to be apart. Ron shows up late at night and leaves a single rose on Hermione's desk. They decide never to mention that week again.
And when people start asking questions, they only look at each other briefly, because this relationship is for them. No matter how much anyone is interested, they keep to themselves, it makes it more enjoyable. It's almost like a secret, their own little adventure away from the ones Harry had created for them. They travel each other, through following the maps they create while exploring along skin. It's like visiting a new country, a place where you can start fresh each time because nobody knows a thing about you, where you're free to try new things and not be judged for it. Hermione always grew up thinking she'd be the girl who'd always say no. Ron always thought he'd be the guy who hooked up with girls he never really liked. But here they are, Ron looking down into Hermione's eyes while searching for answers. Even though her eyes are holding back tears she smiles at him, because she is happy. She is happy. So he is gentle. For the first time they are extremely careful with each other. He treats her as if she is antique glass, fragile and ready to break. When they connect it doesn't feel wrong or dirty, but safe. Relief pools throughout the two of them, as they fall in to losing themselves in each other. Hermione lets go of everything, she lets her mouth fall open and her eyes close, she lets the held back tears run down her cheeks freely. It's not too long before they gradually end together, noises escaping both of their lips while limbs shake and hands reach for anything to hold on to tightly. He rolls off of her and finds himself aching with the feeling of being full for the first time. He tells her this later after they are relaxed and she agrees, finally, finally.
He writes poetry for her every now and then, leaving it where he once placed the rose. There's one poem that she likes the most, she keeps it with her wherever she goes. Just in case he isn't there, or leaves once more, she will have it to remember him by. To remember that he will always come back.
Single stemmed rose
dew covered and stained red
the rose a reminder of love
a reminder of the man who gave it
the man who is sorry
the man who was wrong
the man who wants to love but doesn't know how
single stemmed rose
says all the words I cannot
two than three
I'm sorry
I love you.