Disclaimer: The puppets belong to J.K. Rowling. I just like to pull the strings.

A/N: I know, I know, I left you guys with a massive cliffhanger last chapter by telling you they'd be making out next but not posting it. Sorry *mischievous grin*. You know how it goes—I was tired, it was late, & I felt bad not putting at least one chapter up, so I put 7 with the promise of what I would complete today. :-P Hope you enjoy!

A/N 2: There is an NC-17 version of this exact same chapter that can be found at: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=504032 (I know, I know, but I just couldn't resist.). I just didn't feel right putting that here since I thought that the storyline shouldn't be restricted just to "adult readers." Anyways, if you're older than 17 & you don't mind a little love-making (because it isn't smut if they love each other!!!) you can read the other version in lieu of this one; all the information is the same. It just, uh, elaborates, a bit where this one doesn't. ;)

*~* The Snogging (For lack of a better title) *~*

       Once they were inside their room Hermione began pacing around wildly. She absentmindedly put things away as her brain went off in a torrent of thought. Occasionally she would mutter "Of course!" and "Why hadn't I thought of it before" but Ron knew better than to interrupt her when she was figuring something out.

       "I think," she said to no one in particular, "yes. Yes, I had better check that." She walked over to her trunk, opened it and pulled out—to Ron's immense surprise—a book. She opened up to a page three-fourths of the way through the massive volume and began to read. "All right, 'Abyssinian Shrivelfigs, Daisy root, kelp,' ah hah! There! 'Aconite'!" She looked up at Ron triumphantly and slammed the book closed.

       "Er, you're going to explain all this, right," he asked.

       Hermione stood, her fingers nervously tidying up and putting things away as she explained. "Do you know why they're afraid of the Simurgh? Why they outlawed Aconite?"

       The blank expression on his face was all the reply she needed.

       "Because someone used the polyjuice potion to try to get to the Cave of Virtue! Don't you see? He had to turn himself into an animal, but I guess he couldn't get the animagus transformation down, or maybe he didn't have enough time. Anyway, he tried the polyjuice potion to become an animal, but he didn't make it out of the cave alive! If your intentions are tainted, you will die in the cave, remember?" She began pacing again. Her fingers, trying to busy themselves, slipped up to her robes and began un buttoning them. "The townsfolk thought the Simurgh had killed him," she continued, oblivious to her errant hands. Ron's eyes grew wide and he stared at her in disbelief. "I know!" she said misinterpreting his gaze. "To accuse a creature who's magic originates from the Tree of Knowledge of murder! Who could believe it! They just couldn't believe that he wasn't pure enough to get to the feather."

       "Um, Hermione," Ron knew the repercussions of interrupting Hermione during one of her rants, but her robes were now half unbuttoned and he could see her undergarments.

       "What is it," she huffed irritably. He blushed deep scarlet and motioned towards her robes. "What," she said looking down. Suddenly she saw what she was doing and went pale. Just as quickly, all the blood rushed to her face and she went as red as a tomato. Seeing her face go from one extreme to another, and the embarrassment of having her stand there, half dressed, in front of him was too much for Ron. He began laughing harder than he'd laughed in months. Harder than he'd laughed since he ever heard about feathers and Simurghs and Animagus transformations. Try as she might, Hermione couldn't keep a straight face either.

       They laughed for what felt like an hour, Hermione ending up falling on the bed and Ron plopped down in a large arm char. They looked at each other, still giggling. Ron caught his breath. She still hadn't fixed the buttons on her robes and now she was laying down. Quickly he stood up and walked towards the other end of the room by the door to the bathroom. He stood with his back to her.

       "Ron, what's wrong," she asked.

       "You're, uh, you know. S-still unbuttoned," he stammered.

       "Oh!" He heard her rush around the room and he turned to tell her he'd leave the room for a bit to find that she was heading straight for him, clutching her sleeping robes in her hands. She bumped right into him. "I—I was going to the bathroom to change," she said.

       "Oh." He didn't move. She was so close to him now. He hadn't been able to get this close to her since that morning—or afternoon, rather. "Right." The spell she had used to straighten and dye her hair must have been under strain from her rushing about because a piece of what looked like a dark-blonde curl had fallen into her eye. She threw her head to the side to move it, but it moved back to its spot again. Ron suddenly realized he'd never been as mesmerized by a piece of hair as he was by that tiny curl. Before he could stop himself his hand had traveled up to her face and taken hold of the strand. He twirled it in his fingers for a second, and then tucked it behind her ear. For a second he thought he heard her breath quicken, but drove the thought away.

       She doesn't like me.

       Why is she looking at me like that then?

       Hermione's eyes seemed almost glazed over and she was looking up at him with her mouth slightly parted. It wasn't a big deal, but it was enough to cloud his mind even further.

       I—I don't know.

       Because she likes me!

       No! She likes KRUM. Not me.

       Tell her how you feel!

       No!

       Tell her how you feel!

       Have you lost your mind?

       Tell her how you feel!

       Not this again!

       Tell her how you feel!

       "Reparo."

       What?! What?!

       Ron had raised his wand to her hair, and without even thinking about it muttered the charm to return it back to its natural state. Suddenly the blonde tresses puffed up to large brown curls. She was looking at him with a deep, questioning look in her eyes.

       Ron surprised himself by finding his voice. "I like it better this way," he said quietly. His fingers were playing with several strands of hair behind her ear now, twirling them around between his thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her head against his hand unconsciously. He put a couple tentative fingers on her face and caressed her skin lightly with them. Her eyes flew open and she looked at him and smiled. Something in him snapped at that moment. All his inhibitions, all of his worries seemed to disappear. She seemed to be inviting him, and he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He gently tugged her face to him and lowered his lips to meet hers. They touched lightly, and the warmth and smoothness of her lips sent shockwaves through his body. He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes.

       Was that ok? Do you think she's mad? She hates us now doesn't she? Bloody hell! We've ruined everything! Hey! Where are you? Hello?

       Huh? What!

       Where'd you go?

       Dude, we're kissing her! Can't you just give it a rest for a second?

       Sorry!

       Seeing his sudden need for encouragement, Hermione dropped the robes she was still clinging to and threw her arms around him. She pulled his head close and kissed him again, opening her mouth invitingly. He kissed her back shyly, and she began nibbling on his lower lip. He returned the favor and she sighed inaudibly against mouth. The affect was invigorating. He kissed her ardently, lightly licking her lips with his tongue as if asking for permission. She captured his tongue with her mouth and sucked on it in a most tantalizing way.

       Wow, she's so good at this.

       I wonder how she…

       NO! Don't ask it!

       But I really need to know if…

       No! You don't! You'll ruin the mood and then she'll hate me!

       If I don't find out, I'll hate me.

       Ron pulled away and looked down. He couldn't look her in the eyes. "Have you ever…" he couldn't finish the sentence. It just seemed so asinine…and yet he *had* to know.

       "Done this before?" she finished for him.

       "Yeah."

       "No."

       He looked up suddenly. "Really? But didn't…? I mean I would have thought that…" He couldn't say it. He was terrified about how she would react. If he said it, if he brought up the subject of him, then he might ruin everything when it was finally starting to go right. But he *had* to know. "Didn't Viktor ever—"

       "He tried," she said cutting him off. To his surprise, she wasn't angry with him. She was blushing like mad and looking down, but she didn't yell at him or leave. Now she was the one who couldn't meet his eyes.

       "But…" he prompted.

       "I didn't let him."

       "But why," he asked despite himself.

       "Because! I told him that I…" she trailed off. She looked like she was fighting an inner battle. "It was just too…" suddenly it looked like she made a decision. She looked up at him bravely and said, "I knew that I would be wishing it was you," so quickly that had he not been hanging on tenterhooks he would have missed it completely. "I couldn't do that to him, or to myself. Or to you," she said looking at him softly.

       He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Resting his head on top of hers he held her, he breathed deeply, wanting to breathe her in. Finally she pulled away a little and he looked down at her.

       She let a finger trace his jaw line and then run over his lips. She had the look of deep concentration that she usually had when she was reading a particularly fascinating book.

       "What are you trying to do," he joked. "Memorize it?"

       "Yes," she replied shyly.

       He pulled her towards him and kissed her again, allowing his tongue to show her that she didn't have to memorize anything—that he would always be near her. Even if Ron had tried he couldn't have found the words to fit what he felt, and he was grateful that Hermione knew him so well. He knew that she would understand that even though he wasn't grate with words (his mind wandered to the first time he tried to compliment her: "Hermione, Neville's right – you're a girl"), she meant more to him than anyone.

       They began to pull away from each other slowly, each reluctant to stop. Every time they parted a few centimeters, one or both of them would place a gentle peck on the other's lips, successfully regaining any lost ground.

       "Hermione," Ron whispered against her lips. His voice was gruff and sounded strangely foreign. "I—I think we should. We had better, you know. Stop."

       "Right," Hermione said, placing another kissing on his lips. Finally she withdrew from him and bent down to pick up the dress robes she had dropped. She let her hand wander down from his neck and across his chest for a moment as she reached for the pale blue robes. She had no idea what such a small gesture did to his body. He shuddered and stepped back a bit. He couldn't let her know—she would think he was depraved.

       "Ehem. You, you go and change," he said not looking at her. "And, uh, I'll. Well, I'll just go to bed."

       She nodded silently and scurried to the bathroom leaving him standing there. He didn't move for a moment. If felt like a dream. He was terrified that if he moved from that spot—that blessed, blessed spot—he would wake up to find Hermione still asleep on her bed and angry with him. He shook his head and crossed the room to where his blankets still lay on the floor. He crawled in, still wearing the robes he'd had on earlier that day, and pulled his blanket around him. He closed his eyes and remembered that morning. It was only a few brief hours ago and yet things were so different. She was still mad at him then. He'd had to pretend he was asleep to hold her. Now, well now was just different.

       He heard the door to the bathroom open and shut his eyes. He listened as she walked lightly to where he lay. She knelt down beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. Mimicking his actions of the morning, Ron grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her down next to him, still pretending to be asleep. She squealed and giggled but didn't resist.

       "So," she said as he pulled her ever closer against him. "You were awake, huh?"

       "I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about," he lied.

       "Uh huh." They were in the same position they had been earlier, she laying on her back and he on his side beside her. She ran her fingers up and down his arm sending chills through his back. The ground was so uncomfortable. She felt guilty for making him sleep there the night before. She wanted to suggest they move to the bed, but she didn't want to give him the wrong idea. She nuzzled against him and closed her eyes. "Good night, Ron."

       He was silent for a long time. She assumed he had fallen asleep and allowed her eyes to drift shut slowly.

       "I love you Hermione," he whispered. It was barely inaudible.

       "What?" Her eyes flew open and she looked at him. He was watching her with a look of hesitation in his eyes.

       "I—I love you. You don't have to say it back or anything," he assured her seeing the look of panic in her eyes. "I just wanted to say it."

       She reached up and touched the side of his face. "I love you," she said slowly and deliberately, making sure he heard every syllable. He leaned in and kissed her forehead and then tightened his grip around her, as if afraid if he let go--even for a second--that she would evaporate. Neither of them said another word for the rest of the night. They just laid in each other's arms trying desperately to remember every aspect of that moment. It was some time before either of them trusted themselves to fall asleep.