Disclaimer: Not mine.
His Hair-Ron's POV
She's staring at me. I can't think of any possible reason why she would want to stare at me, but she is. I can feel it.
And the room is suddenly too hot. And she's too close to me. Her knee is so near my hand. I could just reach out…No, actually, I couldn't. What a stupid git I'd look like if I were to do something so bold.
I can smell her. Her hair. It's a scent so delicious, I'm tempted to just lean over and bury my face in her hair. What paradise that would be. But, no, I'm not that impulsive a person. So I still sit here, next to her, trying to finish this bloody homework that crooked-nosed oaf assigned.
My hair is long enough to conceal my eyes from her view. And thank Merlin for that. If it weren't, she would be able to see how often my eyes stray from the parchment I write nonsense on, to rest on her.
The firelight hits in a slant across her face, casting half of it in an otherworldly glow. Her hair absorbs the light, turning the strands a shimmering golden color. She's beautiful.
And she's still staring at me. The silence is…excruciating. Just as I'm about to break it, she speaks softly:
"What are you writing?" she asks softly.
"Potions homework," I mutter, keeping my eyes downcast. "Due tomorrow."
"Today," she claims, her tone slightly apologetic. I follow her gaze to the clock on the wall. Half-past twelve. "Bloody hell." It slips out. I didn't mean to swear, it's bound to make her mad, after all. I brace myself for the scolding that's sure to come, writing faster even as my mind is far, far away from potions.
Silence from her. No yelling or screaming, no lecture on how offending curse words can be to those around us. I glance up at her face while still writing, discerning whether or not she was angry. She's staring at my arm, awed. Her eyes are completely glued to my arm. So confusing.
I turn my gaze back to my work, only to realize that I've written the same exact sentence about three times. I ignore it, continuing on with the meaningless essay.
I feel something, suddenly, something brushing lightly against my arm, teasing at the skin inside my wrist. It's her. Her finger. I suppress a shiver, but my finger twitches. I look up at her, awed and bewildered and longing for her to do that again.
"'Mione," I manage to push out of my mouth. "What-why did you…" I can't even form a bloody coherent sentence around her. I swallow hard, trying to expel that dry feeling in my throat. She's looking in the general direction of my eyes, but my hair still casts a shadow over them, and I'm grateful. I don't want to even consider how much power she would possess over me if she looked straight in my eyes. If I was looking straight in her eyes.
Her hand. It's moving toward me. It's going straight for that necessary curtain of hair. Her fingertips brush my forehead slightly as her hand pushes the hair out of my eyes. She's looking straight at me now. I'm sure she's doing it on purpose-enchanting me like this. I'm not so sure why, though.
Hermione's leaning toward me now, her face inching closer and closer to mine, torturing me with her gaze. "Ron," she whispers, and I don't think anyone's voice has ever sounded so good. I'm faintly aware of the sound of the air whooshing out of her lungs just before the sweet smell of her breath hits me. It's enticing-the scent of strawberries and vanilla. Incredibly sweet and unintentionally alluring.
She's coming closer and closer and closer and I know what she's about to do and I'm practically hyperventilating. But then she stops. I stare at her, ready to get angry, when I see the insecurity. It's so painfully clear in her face.
"Sorry," she whispers as she pulls away from me. Away from me. And that's unacceptable. The insecurity in her eyes remains as she shifts her gaze to the fireplace. I'll change that.
Without stopping to think, my hand snatches the back of her neck as I pull her toward me, bending my head and placing my lips on hers. I realize what I'm doing now, and I'm glad. Glad that I finally got up the courage to do it. But she's sure to get mad and push me away. Maybe even slap me. So I kiss her hard and fast, memorizing the taste of her, the way her mouth feels against mine.
She's kissing me back. Bloody hell, she's kissing me back. Hermione Granger is kissing me back. Her hands are on the back of my neck. I suppress a shiver as her fingers stroke the back of my neck steadily. I hesitate before moving my hands to her hair. Her hair just seems so…sacred, in a way. It's just so incredibly…her. And it's soft as it slips through my fingers over and over again, and she's still kissing me, and I'm not sure why.
In that moment, I am absolutely positive of one thing: I would do anything and everything for this girl. She pulls away reluctantly, breathing heavily. "'Mione," I manage to push out of my empty lungs. I don't even try to resist the urge to run my hand along her delicate face.
"Hmmm?" she hums in response, staring up at me.
"Do you have any idea…"I hesitate, not sure if I'll scare her. "How much power you have over me? It's bloody scary, is what it is." I don't even hear myself say the last sentence, for I'm lost in her eyes. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I'm kissing her again. And I decide that I like this newfound power of Hermione's. Love it, even.
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