Authors note – I know its short! It's just been playing on my mind lately: the moment right after the final battle. All the characters / past events leading up to the moment are owned by JK Rowling.
She felt him before she heard him. A hand on her shoulder, another on her stomach, hard breathing in her ear. "Ron." She said it for no reason other than that she could. All she could think about was the recent battle, the recent victory. She turned to look at him, to drink in the fact that he was there and he was alive. His hair was grimy, covered in soot, his clothes torn and charred. Endearingly, he had dirt smudged on his nose, just as he had had the first time they'd met on the train to Hogwarts. Smiling slightly, she reached for it with a finger before tracing a line around his cheekbones, jaw, lips. He grasped her wrist then so they stood; one of his hands curled around her lower back, another holding hers, faces less than an inch apart, and she saw the world unfolding in his eyes.
Slowly, slowly he pulled their held hands over their heads and he spun her around, twirling lazily around each other. Dancing. Hermione could have stayed there in that moment on the bridge forever. Could have danced as the wind clutched at their clothing, as the cold bit into their skin. Could have danced around the broken stones, spinning beside the gaping holes that led into nothingness. Could have danced among the wreckage of their victory. But Ron turned to her, face suddenly serious. "You're here." He said it as if seeing her for the first time. She felt the same.
He pulled her into a hug, lifting her from her feet so her legs were clamped around her waist, hands entwined in each others hair. Needing to be closer to each other. His lips were on hers. Hers on his. Faces crushed against each other. Kissing. Kissing as if it was the only thing that they could possibly do. Hands clasped behind each other's backs, desperate for the feeling of each others warmth. For the feeling of safety. Hermione collapsed into him as if he was the anchor of her sanity. She turned her head from his so that her face was buried in his shoulder and she sobbed. Sobbed for those who hadn't made it. Sobbed for those who almost hadn't made it. And there they stood. Small figures against the immense destruction littered all around them.