Disclaimer: My initials are NOT J.K.R.
His Hair
His hair, as gorgeous as it is, does not belong there- in front of his eyes. Nothing belongs there. There isn't a single thing in the world beautiful enough to conceal those sparkling, sea-glass-blue eyes.
My hand twitches to reach out and push the hair back, out of his eyes. I can't do that, though. Simply can't.
So I glare at him instead, as if looking at him for long enough will get rid of my problem. Not that I don't immensely enjoy looking at him. Because I do.
He's completely oblivious, just sitting there scribbling on a piece of parchment. The scratching of his quill and the occasional pop of the fire are the only sounds in the room. It's overbearing, the silence. Awkward.
"What are you writing?" I finally ask softly, unable to bear the quiet for another second.
"Potions homework. Due tomorrow," he mumbled, not looking up. I'm suddenly afraid that I'll forget what his eyes look like. I haven't seen them in so long, it seems.
"Today," I correct him after glancing at the clock, which reads half-past twelve.
"Bloody hell," he mumbles, reading the clock as well before turning back to his work and writing twice as fast.
We lapse back into silence. And his hair is still blocking my view of his eyes.
I watch, mesmerized, as the muscles of his forearms flex with the movements of his speedy writing. The urge to reach out and run a finger down his arm is unbelievably hard to resist. But I do resist. Because I could never do something so bold.
I have to wonder, though…how would he react? I have to wonder if he'd say anything at all, or simply leave. Or respond…differently.
I really should know how he would react. For the sake of science. It's necessary to have the knowledge of human reactions. So I should find out, shouldn't I?
Certainly, I should. And the only way to find out is to conduct an…experiment. For the sake of science.
I feel a flutter in my stomach as I reach out slowly, my fingertips inching ever closer to him. His arm is warm compared to my hand. I slide the very tip of my index finger from the inside of his elbow to the palm of his hand.
His finger gives a twitch at the sensation, and his eyes flicker up to meet mine. Finally.
His crystal eyes are wide as he stares at me. No reaction. Blank stare. I make a mental note to write down that piece of scientific data later. Since I'm conducting a scientific experiment.
We simply stare at each other for a moment, the fire crackling in protest as it began to dim. "'Mione," Ron choked out finally. "What-why did you…" he trailed off, staring at me.
He swallows hard-I can hear it. His eyes are shaded slightly by that pesky hair of his. Even as he stares at me, my view of his eyes is not clear enough. That is a problem.
And, logically, when you have a fixable problem, you should fix it. So I fix my problem.
I can see my hand trembling as I lift it, unnaturally slowly, toward his face. His eyes stay locked on my own as he sucks in a shaky breath. He's like a confused child as he sits completely still, watching me, wide-eyed.
I sweep his soft hair away from his eyes in one swift movement, and, finally, those deep blue eyes are right in front of me, brighter than I remembered.
And now I can't breathe. And I can't speak, because I forget how the words go. How the alphabet goes. I forget everything I've ever learned or said or thought or heard. All because of a pair of sapphires decided to hold my gaze for too long. It's scary, really, the power his eyes have over me.
I barely notice that the space between us is shrinking until I feel his breath on my face. I pause then, hesitant. My gaze shifts for the first time in quite a while, to rest on his mouth. His lips are parted slightly as he takes deep, anticipating breaths.
"Ron," I whisper, so quietly I'm not sure he'll be able to hear me, despite our unbearable closeness. The insecurity is clear in my eyes, I'm sure of it. I've been unusually bold tonight-overestimating my power to keep my emotions under control. "Sorry," I mumble finally, leaning away from him slowly, all of my confidence suddenly evaporated.
But I don't move much before his hand catches the back of my neck, refusing to let me put any more distance between us. Before I can do so much as blink, his lips cover mine, moving against my mouth frantically, as if he's worried he's running out of time…as if he truly believes I'm about to push him away.
My hands, on their own accord, reach up to wind around the back of his neck as his fingers become tangled in my hair. And now I realize that it's not his eyes that have an unreasonable power over me- it's just him. Because his eyes are not visible to me at the moment, and yet I'm sure he has complete control over me.
I pull away from him, catching my breath, and I look up to see that he is staring at me in bewilderment. "'Mione…" he breathes, his hand coming up to lightly stroke my face.
"Hmmmm?" I murmur in question.
"Do you have any idea…how much power you have over me? It's bloody scary, is what it is," he decides as he pulls me toward him for another kiss.
My scientific findings: great minds think alike.
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I'm not really sure if I like how it turned out. Please review and tell me what I did wrong, what I did well…tell me anything!
I'm planning to write this chapter from Ron's point of view, if enough people are interested in reading it. Please let me know!
