Disclaimer: You know I don't own Harry Potter (prompted by laaarengrace on tumblr)
Strikhedonia: The pleasure of being able to say 'to hell with it'; the pleasure of leaving for somewhere new.
An explosion went off somewhere in the distance but Hermione was too preoccupied with the words that had just came out of Ron's mouth to care. With a pang of guilt in her chest she realised she'd forgotten all about the house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens. Fortunately, Ron had remembered for her, and he seemed to be trying to convince Harry of the matter; she was too overwhelmed with a sudden flow of emotions to listen to the conversation properly.
He cared. He'd cared enough to remember the house elves in a time where even she'd forgotten. It might have been the adrenalin of the battle, but in that moment one shocking fact became clear to her: Ron Weasley cared. About her, about house elves, about everything she'd been telling him and Harry both since fourth year. He understood. He was no longer the immature boy who would insult her and mock her intelligence then proceed to copy her homework. He was a man, and a pretty decent one at that.
Whilst her inner monologue raged, she found herself inexplicably staring at his lips as he spoke, and realised there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she wanted to do more than kiss them.
Hermione Granger did not have a reputation for being impetuous. She liked to think that everything she did was well thought out and calculated, never a spur of the moment, rash decision. And in any other circumstance she would probably have been mortified at her next action.
The basilisk fangs she was holding crashed to the ground, a physical representation of the barrier that had been between them for so long suddenly coming to pieces around them. They'd worked up a strong bond of friendship over the years but neither had dared to take it a step further. Until now.
For once, Hermione didn't overthink it. She wanted to kiss him so she did. In the full knowledge that she was taking them to an unfamiliar place, a new stance in their relationship, a foreign world. In the knowledge that it would be a turning point; either making or breaking them, for better or worse. She knew there was a lot at stake, but for once she didn't care. She wasn't going to deny herself the simple pleasure of kissing the man she was in love with, circumstances be damned.
She kissed him and he kissed her back. And it was wonderful. Despite the war happening all around them, she felt elated: she could practically feel the bonds of friendship break and regrow into something a thousand times more beautiful.
When Harry finally broke them apart and they'd gathered up the basilisk fangs, Ron had offered her a timid smile and she knew then that they'd taken a step forward. And nothing, not even the impending threat of death or injury, could make them take a step back.