The red-headed boy lay on the grass, and watched the fiery bold sunset fade into purple, navy and magenta peeked through the golden skyline like deep bruises. He watched the clouds above him disappear into the background they lie parallel to. The wind rustled his ginger hair, his eyes fluttering perfidiously close to a closed position. Ron wondered whether he should shuffle back indoors before he fell asleep outside, but the amiable breeze was too hospitable to decline. He was skimming the edge of a snooze before the wind carried over a familiar scent, one he remembered clearly from Slughorn's Potions class, but he could not which concoction belonged to it. He sat upright, his body creaking in incongruity, to see Hermione a few feet away from him. Something strangely attractive greeted her sense of smell, something justly familiar. "Are you coming indoors anytime soon for dinner, or do you plan to camp out again?" Hermione asked. If Ron had wanted to go camping again in forever and a day, it would be too soon. The hunt for the Horcruxes quickly removed his neutral opinion of 'roughing it'. His aversion towards the idea flashed in his expression for a moment, before showing the hint of a smile to Hermione. He followed behind Hermione's bouncy brown curls, which had been tamed for the occasion of Harry's birthday. She was wearing a form-fitting lilac dress, which made Ron's cheeks turn slightly pink. He was greeted indoors by the scent of chocolate cake, which made him feel delightfully warm inside. Everyone sat at the table, including George, who hadn't joined the family for dinner for weeks. His face was still insipid and sullen looking, as it had since Fred passed away. "Happy Birthday mate," Ron said to Harry, yawning. "Thanks," said Harry, grinning as Ron placed poorly decorated box in front of him. Hermione's gift had been much more intricately wrapped, complete with bows and ribbons, as had the rest of the Weasleys'.
As Harry uncovered more goodies from Honeydukes, and a large package full of old Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products (that George had decided to unload as a birthday gift), Hermione prodded at Ron. "You could've wrapped it a little neater," she said with gratuitous scrutiny. The smell of the Potions room came back to him again when he turned his head to Hermione. "Are you wearing perfume?" he asked, ignoring her question. She shook her head, leaving him uselessly inquisitive. As it got later in the night, the Weasley's headed off to bed, Ginny leaving Harry with an intimate kiss. "Not when I'm in the next room, please," Ron said loudly, his words coming through the wall, leaving Ginny and Harry smiling and hugging only. "Come on up to bed, George," said Ginny, grasping her older brother's hand. He looked up widely; it seemed he was unaware that anyone had been in the room until she grabbed his hand. The languid George followed Ginny up the stairs, like a tiresome child. "I feel awful for you and your family," Hermione said quietly, almost drowned out by the rain that began to beat down on the window. Ron looked up, opening his eyes a little more. "I can't even begin to imagine how it must feel." She looked over to the moving photo of the Weasleys. A cheerful pair of twins stood behind Ron, who looked as if he had been bothered thoroughly before the photo was taken. "We're all moving on, we are." Ron replied ghostly, still watching her intently. Hermione mutely acknowledged that blue eyes looked beautiful in the brash light. She turned, looking at him with a hushed smile. Her multifaceted hazel eyes lit up with every row of lightning outside the window. She moved closer, turning her delicate body towards his sizeable, thin shape.
Hermione pulled his body closer, and in gratuitous response, Ron wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. He breathed in the soft scent of orange blossoms, and cozy vanilla. He was so warm, the scent of him poured off of his skin almost like it were liquid. Her hazel eyes ogled him in a sheltered fashion, finally apprehending something. "It was you," she whispered. "What?" he asked, looking up at her but not bothering to loosen his current position. "In Slughorn's class, the Amorentia." He made a soft diminutive sound of pleasure as she traced her fingertips over his collarbone. "Hermione Granger, I love you." he gasped transiently, his words sliding into each other. He left his lips parted slightly, breathing lightheartedly. The smell of cinnamon and the bark of a redwood tree graced her yet again, making her feel dreamy, just as it had in Professor Slughorn's class, but this time she was not under any potion induced figment. Her soft fingers had drawn their way up to the back of Ron's neck; Hermione reveled tangling them in with his natural scarlet hair.
It had happened so quickly Ron hadn't a clue at what had just happened, but he loved it and how the seconds appeared so idealistically long. Hermione's soft lips were pressed to his own, and he felt like he had just been ensnared in another one of his viable reveries. It was genially tangible as he gently skimmed his tongue across her lower lip. She opened her mouth a little more to him, sighing in his mouth as she felt him. He tasted startlingly sweet to her, finding her tongue caressing his own. Her kiss was indulgent and honeyed, as he had always thought in his boyish daydreams. It had been the eloquent way her words hooked his attention, and answered everyone's questions so certainly, and the way she smiled. Hermione's smile was gentle and idyllically unrestrained; the way her cerise lips curved upwards was so convivial to him. They had barely pulled away, not even an inch stood between them. Ron held onto her tightly, yet delicately, as if he weren't chary she would dissolve. Her fair skin was lightly flushed pink, her eyes laughed and danced, and her ceaseless splendor was veraciously noticeable to Ron, more than it typically had been.
"Ronald Weasley, I love you too." He beamed. Hermione leaned in closer, barely pressing her nose to his own, her fingers brought their way down to his neck. "You've got the cutest smile," Hermione said, her manicured fingers grazing his freckled cheek. "I'd love to see more of it." Ron countered with a velvety chuckle. His laugh sounded like spring rain on glass, like birds in the early morning, like pure, quintessential joiedevivre, disposition and brilliance, and it was positively lovely, reminding Hermione of everything little she loved, she treasured dearly. "Are we dating now?" he asked, awkwardly. "You're a prat," she said, laughing gently. She pulled him close, kissing him again with a passion he did not know belonged to Hermione. "Did that figure things out for you?" she said, smiling. Ron had felt if he had taken four teaspoons of Felix Felicis. "Never let go of me, Hermione," he whispered to her. They stood there, in the late hours of the night, only lit by sparks of forked lightning.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Ronald."