She was alone in the common room, speculating not on the death eaters they had faced that morning, not on the battles to come, not on anything important or of any consequence whatsoever. She, Hermione Granger, was thinking about something that was, in fact completely inconsequential. She was thinking about Ron Weasley. Almost three months to the day had passed since there had been any physical contact between them other than the occasional brush of hands as she handed him something, and it confused her hugely. He had held her so gently at Dumbledore's funeral and she caught him looking at her sometimes with a tenderness in his eyes that she wasn't used to in him. Of course then he would break the tension with a joke or quip and she would laugh along with Harry, masking her uncertainty. If he felt about her the way he did, why didn't he just say something? They had been together almost constantly, so it wasn't as if he hadn't had the chance, and she could tell that even Harry had realised that something was going on- so basically Ron was either the thickest of the three or else the shyest. She had wondered if coming back to Hogwarts would have triggered it in him, the memories of all they had gone through together possibly giving him a sufficient whack about the head and spur him into action. No such luck. She looked at the walls around her and sighed. It had certainly triggered things in her. Sadness, mostly for Dumbledore and all the others lost. Sadness for the loss of their innocence, but then again that had been inevitable. And frustration that after all these years Ron still had not made his move.
She was so deeply lost in these thoughts that she didn't notice Harry come in and sit down on the sofa across from her.
"Hermione?" her head jerked up and she smiled, glad to see he looked OK. These past few weeks he had often sported a haggard, I'm-tired-of-it-all-and-I'd-quite-like-to-give up-but-I won't-I'll-just-blame-you-for-the-fact-I-feel-this-way expression, snapping at everyone incessantly. Maybe Hogwarts had had a healing impression on him, because he was smiling almost absent-minded way into the fire, face free of scratches for the first time in weeks. "What were you thinking about so deeply?" sighing moodily, she replied.
"Nothing. Just Nothing."
"Well, Nothing might be up in a minute so you might want to cheer up. You two are disgusting, you know that?." She shook her head.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Harry." He smiled and shook his head wearily.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." She shrugged, admitting defeat.
"Well it's not like it's in my control, is it? Why doesn't he just do something! That would solve everything and he just doesn't and then doesn't and then, surprise, surprise doesn't again." Harry looked surprised at her sudden outburst and then laughed.
"Hermione, why is it suddenly his job to do anything? You've, frankly, always been the unapproachable one, haven't you? Krum, Mclaggen-"
"What about Lavender Bro-"
"She was a bloody mistake and Ron admits it. You've always intimidated him, you know."
"Oh." That was all she could muster, because what Harry was saying finally hit her. Why shouldn't she ask him herself? He had never been the most efficient person at getting things done, really. Why shouldn't she?
Ron was alone in his room, late that night, doing nothing much at all. Well, more accurately he was thinking, but Ron never thought of what he did at times like these as thinking. Thoughts had always been things that intelligent people had that actually led somewhere rather than teetering round in ever smaller circles that always seemed to land him right back where he started. Thinking was what Hermione did. Coming up with ever more foolish plans to confront Hermione which always descended into sordid fantasies that he could never EVER admit to anyone EVER was what Ron did. It was pathetic. Truly, truly pathetic. Tonight was turning out no different, and he was incredibly thankful when a knock on the door distracted him from these whirlpools of doom which sucked him ever deeper into his own murky brain.
"Har-" he broke off, shocked at who it actually turned out to be.
"Ron." She said, and he was speechless, taking in her attire. Hermione in pyjamas. Oh, shit. "I just- I just wanted to give you something." That was odd. She wasn't holding anything. Maybe there were pockets somewhere he couldn't see- and then it happened. That was exactly the moment when Hermione Granger reached up, standing on her tiptoes and pressed the softest, gentlest kiss he had ever felt on his lips. Well. His last thought before he succumbed to the incredible pleasure of those lips touching his, his last thought before he pulled her in, pushed the door shut, heard her whisper those three fateful words into his mouth, was that that was how he should have done it. That should have been how he told Hermione Granger that he was irretrievably, completely, disastrously, irrevocably, irrepressibly in love with her. But then finally those thoughts gave way to pleasure and without thinking about it, he whispered those three words back. Thinking had always been overrated.
"Ron?"
"Mmm." she rolled over in the bed to see her husband up on one elbow, long fingers of one hand absentmindedly sculpting out the shape of her back.
"What exactly do you love about me?" they had played this game before, and he had never yet given her a straight answer, not once. He gave a little smile and gestured to her to lean in so he could whisper in her ear, and when she had he whispered
"I'm not telling you…" he pulled back and lay down, looking up at her "until you tell me what you love about me ."
She rolled her eyes.
"Fine. What I love about you…" she nestled down into his arms and his arms came out to encircle her. He murmured to her, lips brushing her ear
"Is it my irresistible masculinity? My complete inability to do anything without fucking it up or embarrassing myself? The disastrousness of-" she cut him off.
"No. I love… Lots of things. The way you look at the children." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not finished! And your hair, how it falls across your face just so that whenever I see it I want to get out a pair of scissors and cut it all off. And how you don't mind what people think about you, and your ability to do many things without mucking them up, and how when you come home from work you always take off your coat and tie and roll up your sleeves as soon as possible, as soon as you come home. And how tall you are, and how you make me laugh, and how you always take any opportunity, anywhere, to kiss me even when it embarrasses me, and-" She could feel herself blushing. She hadn't meant to say that much, but once started... He chuckled at this last one, however.
"You like that? Even the time in that lecture when you were boring the board to absolute death and I thought I would liven it up a bit, and then you didn't talk to me for-"
"It was a good speech. And you came in and grabbed me and all right yes, even then. And-"
"There's more?"
"Of course there is. Those were just the boring things."
"Mmm?" he shifted against her body.
"And I love how if we've…the night before and you have to leave before I'm awake you always leave something on the pillow for me because you feel guilty even though it's an insane thing to do. And I love how you look when you look as though you're about to lose control, when you close your eyes and the way you say my name, like I'm the last thing on earth." He was still now, she could feel his breathing against her skin. "And the way you kiss me when you're happy, even when it's just a peck and I can feel the happiness. And I love the way you look with absolutely no clothes on." And then she grinned and turned to look at him. He was looking at her gently, like she was something fragile, something you would hold carefully. "Do you know what I love the most, Ron Weasley?" he shook his head and she reached up to whisper something to him. He smiled roguishly.
"Yes, well, I had been wondering when that would come up." He wasn't looking at her like she might break anymore.
He was above her, dipping his face down to kiss her and then she pushed him away by the shoulders, and the pained look on his face made her laugh.
"Hermione, I'll die."
"No you won't. You're supposed to be good at saying things quickly, so you can make it short. What do you love about me?" he groaned and rolled off her, staring at the ceiling. Eventually he went up on one elbow, whispering
"Ok, here's a deal: can I kiss you while I tell you?"
"Fine." She turned her head, determined not to react, until his lips sought out her neck and caressed it, eliciting a small groan from her lips.
"Well for a start I love it when you do that." He said and then moved down across and round her breasts and stomach and ribs and she felt more than heard his words as he whispered them against her skin. "I love…" she moaned softly as his body moved over her and he lay on top of her, looking ponderously at her lips. "I love you."
"Ron!"
"What? It's true. I've given it lots and lots of thought and I've decided that it's true. Because most of the things you said, if someone you didn't love like Neville or something did them you'd find it not very nice probably. And also a bit spooky. And very disturbing." He ignored her snort of laughter. "And love is a very strange and mysterious thing and so I just love you and is that enough and can I kiss you, please, now?" She nodded and he did, kissing her slowly and gently, until suddenly she giggled.
"Oh, Ron, it's no use! I can't stop imagining what it would be like to kiss Neville Longbottom." And he groaned, rolling over in bed and pulling her to his side, and then she whispered it in his ear
"I love you, too."