First Romione fic on here, please no hate based on the ship (I know I usually post more Dramione stuff). I like both ships so please enjoy. And please, please, please review.
Ron had never been exclusively creative, not like Fred and George had been. But fifth year had been the start of something equally terrible and wonderful. He'd spent so much time with Hermione that year, long hours waiting for Harry or sitting by her while she did research or studied in the library. They'd spent time after the DA meetings and she helped him do the homework that always left him stumped.
That's when the fantasies began, and they hadn't stopped. Not when he was with Lavender, not even when Hermione refused to speak to him. The attention from Lavender had squashed his muddled feelings for a time, but never enough to stop the daydreams that plagued him near constantly.
When he'd finally mended things with her the daydreams had only become more rampant, he could barely disguise where his mind was most times. Like most nights they were both in the Gryffindor common room. They'd once been surrounded by housemates that were also enjoying the familiar gold and red surroundings. But most of their housemates had ventured to bed by now, but that was the norm. Whenever Harry was off somewhere the two of them would stay up and wait for him to return.
This wasn't all that different from any of the times before. Hermione had worked on assignments that weren't due for another few weeks, stopping periodically to help Ron finish the work that was due in class the next morning.
But it was now nearing midnight and all the work that was due tomorrow had been complete. Hermione had gotten so far ahead that even she couldn't bring herself to do more schoolwork this night. But Ron was still trying to gain her friendship and respect again so he was working on a few papers that were due in the next few weeks. He sat next to her on the red couch, looking over the borrowed notes, while Hermione sat a few inches way with a book in her hand.
Harry wouldn't be back for another hour, if past experience was anything to go by. But neither of them would feel at ease enough to go to bed until they knew Harry was back. So they kept themselves busy, hoping Harry would be back soon so they might at least attempt a full night of sleep.
It was mostly quiet but for the crackling of the fireplace, the warmth radiated off it giving the room a glow. It was a comfortable quiet, not like the first few nights which had been awkward and forced.
Hermione shifted a bit, brushing a loose section of hair over her shoulder as she leaned back into to couch. The movement sent a delicious scent through the air in Ron's direction, and his view was unobstructed from the opposite side of the couch they shared. He hadn't noticed her scent until those weeks when she refused to even be in the same room as him outside of their classes, it was a sweet mix of honey and the fresh scent of clean linens. Everything about her was clean and fresh smelling, plain and perfect just like she was.
It was distracting to say the least, having her only those few inches away but being completely at a loss. He couldn't make a move, well, he definitely shouldn't. He still needed to earn her full trust back. But he was able to believe that there was something there, he had too. Harry had told him of how distraught she'd been. She wouldn't have been like that if she hadn't felt at least something more than friendship.
He knew he couldn't act in this moment, but that was never enough to stop his daydreaming. Though they'd jumped from innocent daydreams to full-fledged fantasies. He had once been content imagining a time when Hermione would be his. No like a possession, but that he would never again have to watch her on the arm of some brute like Krum or McLaggen.
His mind was working on overdrive now, in his head he saw himself snatching the book from her hands. Holding it above his head when she turned to snatch it back. And by some stroke of luck she would slip when she lunged for the book, falling on top of him. He would grip her waist and she would grasp the fabric of his shirt in surprise, their faces would be so close they would be sharing breaths.
Their eyes would meet and his hand would move to cup her face and he would pull her lips down on his. And she would kiss him back. He'd tangle a hand in her hair and hold her against him and she would wrap her arms around his neck. They'd kiss, and kiss, and kiss. He'd pepper her neck with kisses and pull at the buttons on his shirt. He'd keep one hand on the back of her head while the other would trail down her back, along her waist, and if she didn't smack his hand away (which she never did in his fantasies), he would trail fingertips along the hem of her skirt. She'd gasp when he'd sit up, holding her waist tight and pulling her onto his lap. She'd hungrily attack his neck while he slid a hand under her shirt.
In his fantasies she was confident and sexy the whole time, but he knew the reality would be very different. He knew she would keep things slow, and he would go as slow as she wanted, so long as he could share it with her.
His fantasy was just reaching the good part when the portrait door slammed shut.
"Harry! Are you alright?" He heard Hermione's concerned voice, just able to see a head of black hair run up the stairs to the dormitories. He picked himself up off the couch, patting Hermione on the shoulder he told her he'd talk to Harry. He wasn't expecting her to respond. But she did.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned against him for a moment. He rubbed her back and tried to sooth whatever had come over her. They stood there for a moment, a few silent heartbeats. It was almost too much to handle, having her so close and in his arms.
He had to pull back, his mind was still in his fantasy and prolonged contact would not help him calm down in any way. They smiled, soft glances at each other. He tucked a few unruly curls behind her ear. He desperately wanted to kiss her, even kiss her cheek or forehead, anything to comfort her worries. But he couldn't be the one to make the first move, they weren't in the same place they'd been before Lavender. Before it would have been written off as friendly, concerned. But now he would be too forward, pushing things, moving too fast. He wouldn't push her away again, not if he could help it.
His thoughts had him so unaware of his surroundings he almost missed her quick murmur and movement. Within a blink she had stood up on her tiptoes, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. It was like the one he'd gotten before his first Quidditch game. It was warm against his freckled skin, adding to the blush. She murmured a thank you and goodnight before heading up to the girls' dormitories.
She didn't look back, it was probably for the best. IF she had she would have seen the goofy smile splitting his face and the rosy blush glowing so strongly it made his multitude of freckles disappear almost completely.
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