The Kiss
I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, just the plot/s contained in my head.
Sad times in the comman room, I sit and watch her, moving that bloody quill up and down the page. Writing nothing. Nothing, a funny word. The pit of darkness, anger and depression, a never ending spiral of gloom.
Books spread out infront of her, sheets and sheets of blank parchment. I look around, just me and Hermione, I look down at the watch on my wrist. Near two in the morning, the ashes in the fire glow red, and yellow. I feel myself drift off into a dream. I am in the entrance hall, I listen. A rustle of a cloak, I turn, sitting on the stairs, crying.
Hermione. I walk towards her, she looks up, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I shudder, open my eyes suddenly. Just in time to see her sweap her arm across the bench, parchment flys in all directions, books crash to the floor. Followed closely by Hermione. Thud, thud, thud.
Shes in tears, I get up, and walk to her.
I embrace her tight, she doesn't say anything, but I understand.
"It's ok, don't worry. Shh." I coo gently, rocking back and forth. She looks up, a weak smile spreads over her face.
"Oh Ron." she gasps, her face buried back in my arm. We sit there for what seems like hours, not doing anything.
Hermione suddenly stands up, rubs her sleeve against her face.
"What are you doing? Surely your not starting work again, are you?" I ask in a hushed voice, as she moves over to the paper on the floor.
"No, I am clearing it up, you can't expect me to just leave it there, do you?" she answers in a high tone, unlike her own. I get up, walk slowly over to her.
"You never change do you?"
She smiles.
"No. But neither do you."
Our lips meet, I run my hand up to her head, and stroke her hair. I close my eyes, I feel her hand on my face. It's soft, she has a gentle touch. When our lips part, she opens her eyes, they meet mine. We hold each others gaze, I see myself, reflected back at me. She holds my hand, and leans in, this time for something more than just a kiss.
I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, just the plot/s contained in my head.
Sad times in the comman room, I sit and watch her, moving that bloody quill up and down the page. Writing nothing. Nothing, a funny word. The pit of darkness, anger and depression, a never ending spiral of gloom.
Books spread out infront of her, sheets and sheets of blank parchment. I look around, just me and Hermione, I look down at the watch on my wrist. Near two in the morning, the ashes in the fire glow red, and yellow. I feel myself drift off into a dream. I am in the entrance hall, I listen. A rustle of a cloak, I turn, sitting on the stairs, crying.
Hermione. I walk towards her, she looks up, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I shudder, open my eyes suddenly. Just in time to see her sweap her arm across the bench, parchment flys in all directions, books crash to the floor. Followed closely by Hermione. Thud, thud, thud.
Shes in tears, I get up, and walk to her.
I embrace her tight, she doesn't say anything, but I understand.
"It's ok, don't worry. Shh." I coo gently, rocking back and forth. She looks up, a weak smile spreads over her face.
"Oh Ron." she gasps, her face buried back in my arm. We sit there for what seems like hours, not doing anything.
Hermione suddenly stands up, rubs her sleeve against her face.
"What are you doing? Surely your not starting work again, are you?" I ask in a hushed voice, as she moves over to the paper on the floor.
"No, I am clearing it up, you can't expect me to just leave it there, do you?" she answers in a high tone, unlike her own. I get up, walk slowly over to her.
"You never change do you?"
She smiles.
"No. But neither do you."
Our lips meet, I run my hand up to her head, and stroke her hair. I close my eyes, I feel her hand on my face. It's soft, she has a gentle touch. When our lips part, she opens her eyes, they meet mine. We hold each others gaze, I see myself, reflected back at me. She holds my hand, and leans in, this time for something more than just a kiss.
