Ron sat in his favorite chair in the drawing room of his home, staring absently into the fire. Or so everyone thought. What they didn't know was that his mind was racing, thoughts flying through at a mile a minute. He felt like this was what it would be like to be inside the mind of his best friend, Hermione Granger. Ironically, she happened to be exactly what was on his mind – filling his every thought and exhausting his brain. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye as she sat in a chair in front of and slightly to the left of him. She, as always, had her nose in a book. Ron wished she would put the book down, even just for one second. As much as he loved the beautiful, dark chocolate color of her intelligent eyes, he found himself all too often thinking about her lips that he didn't get to see often enough, as they were always hidden behind whatever novel she was engrossed in.

"What are you thinking about, Ron?" he heard a soft voice pierce his reverie.

He turned to find that while he'd been focusing his efforts on wishing Hermione would lower the book and flash him one of her trademark I'm-modest-and-don't-know-how-beautiful-I-am smiles, she had actually done just that.

"Oh, nothing, really."

Hermione fixed him with a look that clearly conveyed she knew he wasn't being truthful. He turned his face away, feeling the blush that tinted his ears. "I think I'll just go up to bed," he said, not meeting her eyes.

He felt Hermione's gaze on him as he ascended the stairs, knew he could not get away with his façade for long. She saw right through him.

Ron entered his room and flopped lazily onto his bed, lost in thoughts of his best friend and how he could possibly get the attention he craved from her. He knew he'd had a chance just then downstairs, but he also knew that, if she asked what he was thinking about, it wouldn't be prudent to answer with "you," so he'd lied and fled.

"If only I were a character in a book," Ron thought. "Or even a book itself," he laughed to himself, "then she wouldn't be able to get enough of me."

This train of thought eventually led to an idea that Ron would, in the future, consider to be the greatest thought that had ever passed through his head. What if he were to write one of those books? What if, instead of him pining for her attention whilst she's caught up in a novel, the novel she was caught up in was provided by him?

Hermione got to the end of chapter 24 and decided to call it a night. As she ascended the stairs to Ginny's bedroom where she usually slept during the summer holidays when she stayed at the Burrow, a thought occurred to her. There was something up with Ron. She'd seen an odd sort of look on his face that she'd never really seen him wear before. She felt as though he were battling something internally, and as his friend, she thought perhaps she should check in on him and see if he was alright.

She knocked on the door to his bedroom, but heard no answer. After knocking again and waiting for as long as her impatient mind let her, she put her hand on the knob and turned it.

She felt a surge of electricity sizzle through her as she entered Ron's room, uninvited. But the sight before her caused her to calm down and even mutter an "Oh" at how adorable it was. Ron was lying, spread-eagled on his bed, a quill in one hand and parchment in the other. A small pot of ink was balanced precariously on the sheets next to him. Hermione quickly walked over and moved the inkpot to his bedside table, gently pulled the quill from his hand, and then made to take the parchment from him.

Something written on the parchment gave her pause, however. It looked as though Ron had been writing a poem. The title of it: "From Boy to Bookworm". Highly intrigued and feeling slightly guilty about invading Ron's privacy, Hermione plucked the parchment from Ron's hands with a featherlight touch so as not to wake him up. She them sat down on the edge of his bed and commenced reading.

From Boy to Bookworm

I see the way she reads those novels, bites her lip and stares

But why should I be bothered when those men aren't even there?

I find that I get jealous of the characters she adores

Can't help but get to thinking "you don't need them, I'm yours."

But no matter how I plead or drop the hints she should pick up on

I find she's always focused on the books and not me, Ron.

They effortlessly pull all her attention I seek out

I've tried to read but don't know what the fuss is all about.

But something captivates her and I wish that it was me

Those brown eyes focus on the page and never really see.

She lives within her stories but I can offer more

The downfalls and the glories of a life lived while adored.

Hermione's heart was soaring by the time she'd finished reading. Her mind was racing with all the possibilities that this one piece of parchment had opened up to her. She was so focused on the parchment and what it meant that she hadn't even noticed the author of the poem cracking open an eye and smiling at her blushing, teary-eyed face.

"Do you think I could do it, then?"

Hermione jumped at the sudden voice and almost slid off the bed.

"Ron!" she turned to him, "I- I didn't mean to- I mean I didn't- I was just putting your things away and-" she stammered, wide eyed.

"Do you think I could do it?" he repeated, outwardly unfazed but mentally noting that flustered and nervous Hermione was his new favorite Hermione.

"D- do what?" she asked softly.

"Be a writer," he said, seriously.

"I didn't know you wanted to-"

"I didn't. Until I realized that that was probably the only way to reach you. And look. I've written one small thing and here we are, finally getting down to business. I've never been more sure that I've got all your attention than I am in this moment."

"Ron, you don't have to be a writer for me," she whispered, a feeling of nervousness but also some confidence swelling within her.

"But you love books so much and you're always reading and they're so important to you," Ron said, sincerely, noticing that with every second, Hermione's face came nearer to his. He felt his stomach do a flip.

"Yes, but Ron," Hermione said, her face mere inches from his. "I fell in love with you before I knew you could write such beautiful things."

And Ron, emboldened and heartened by her statement, moved forward suddenly and caught her lips between his, his arms resting on her shoulders as he pulled her to him.

Hermione felt ecstasy and, dropping the parchment, was finally able to do what she'd been dying to do for ages: she ran her fingers through the fiery red hair that haunted her dreams and felt the pure beauty that was Ron Weasley.

Time seemed to freeze and their first kiss was beginning to look like it would never end, not that either of the teenagers would have minded. But despite their lengthy lip-lock, it seemed all too soon that they were interrupted by an excited, familiar voice.

"Hermione, mum's been looking for you, she was worried because she couldn't find you," Ginny said loudly, knowing quite well the effect it would have on her brother and friend. She smiled smugly when the two pulled apart, both blushing an impressive deep red.

Hermione cleared her throat, stood up and, smoothing out the front of her blouse, said "Right, yes, I- I was just leaving."

Ron, feeling slightly disappointed, met her eyes and smiled sweetly. His insides were on fire and he felt as though he could sing, but he knew enough to control himself for the time being.

Hermione gave Ron one last smile before leaving his room with Ginny. Not two seconds after they'd left, however, Ron heard Ginny say to Hermione "You go along, I'll catch up in a second."

Ginny suddenly appeared in Ron's doorway. She walked over to her older brother and threw her arms around him in a hug. "Finally!" she whispered, and left the room.

Ron couldn't help but smile.

That night, as Hermione lay in bed after having told Ginny everything that had happened earlier, she heard a rustling and looked up to see Errol land on Ginny's dresser by the window, knocking over a picture frame of Harry and Ginny smiling and waving. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, taking the roll of parchment from the clumsy owl and thanking him.

She unrolled the piece of parchment and looked once more at the poem Ron had written her. Except this time, Ron had added something at the bottom:

Love Always,

Ron