p "I'm going to go practice Quidditch," Harry said. He, Ron, and Hermione were sitting around Ron's room at The Burrow, discussing in low and terse tones the condition of the Ministry of Magic, what with Voldemort at the height of his powers and terror reigning supreme. Each of them looked grave, and when Harry had said he would go and play Quidditch, they were each relieved that they could change the somber topic to a more light one. "Ron, will you come? I need someone to throw me tennis balls in air."
p Ron opened his mouth to say yes, but something stopped him. A surprising desire to stay sitting in his room with Hermione had engulfed him, and he surrendered to it. "I'll stay here with Hermione." He negated, and Hermione sent a secret smile to him under Harry's arm.
p "All right." Harry agreed, and strode away, picking up his broomstick as he left the room. Ron turned to Hermione and saw that the gloomy air had left them, that they could ignore the sudden presence of Voldemort and his Death Eaters for at least a few hours.
p Ron and Hermione sat eye-to-eye for a split second, and then Ron lunged, running his fingers over her hips, under her armpits, and over her stomach, tickling her mercilessly. The air was soon full of Hermione's intermingled shrieks and giggles. Ron, grinning widely, continued with his delightful torture, easily blocking Hermione's futile attempts to push him away. "Ron!" She yelped, and then drowned in laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ron, his cheeks flushed, leaned over and gave Hermione a large, wet, raspberry on her collarbone. She jerked and howled with mirth, Ron all the while laying raspberries and tickle attacks on her unsuspecting body. "S-stop it!" She squeaked, and Ron's smile only broadened. He flipped her over and tickled Hermione's most sensitive spot: the small of her back. At this point, full-blown war had broken out. Hermione gave up allowing Ron to bombard her with tickles and was soon tickling him herself. Ron started laughing so hard he couldn't concentrate on properly tormenting Hermione anymore, and suddenly the table had turned: Hermione's hands were exploring Ron's everywhere, his smooth abs, his broad shoulders, his lean legs. Ron nearly choked on chortles; and when he did gain slight control of his breathing, he realized what a position he and Hermione were in. Hermione, poised over him, her ochre hair hanging down from her face like an elegant veil and just brushing Ron's cheeks, her nose inches from his, and Ron, pinned under her, with both of their eyes shiny, their hearts pounding. Suddenly it was as if an invisible magnet was pulling their faces together, their eyelids being slid gently shut by some unseen force, their lips parting automatically and-
p It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from Ron's chest, a weight that had been growing for four years, a weight that tore at his heart and plagued his mind. The minute Hermione's lips had touched his, that weight had flown away, and its space had been filled with a happiness that sparked alive every inch of his body. He could feel love warming his soul, effortlessly gliding over the past pains of his life: the humiliation of being poor, the nonentity feeling of being thrown to the side every time his best friend came into the picture. All at once, poverty didn't matter so much, because Hermione was with him, and Harry may have had a scar, and fame wherever he went, but Ron had Hermione, and Hermione was the only thing he wanted, more than gold or silver or popularity. Ron and Hermione, he thought giddily to himself. What does it matter when there is Ron and Hermione? He wondered. Ron and Hermione…Hermione Anne Weasley…Mrs. Ron Weasley…
p "Oy, Ron!" A voice intruded his thoughts. He pushed it aside, concentrating only on kissing Hermione, on the beautiful emotion inside him that was just bubbling out, an emotion, he thought wildly, that was probably love. "Ron!" The voice repeated. Hermione pulled away from him, and Ron noted with pleasure that there was regret in her lips when she had to do so. This regret notwithstanding, however, Hermione had pulled away from, and Ron unexpectedly had to deal with the world again, instead of just his Hermione.
p "Fred." He said gruffly, taking notice of his brother at last. "What is it?" Ron tried fruitlessly to be gracious, and his own voice still came out sounding like, iMake it quick so I can get back to kissing her, please./i Fred grinned. Hermione had gone fuschia. Ron, the heat of the moment having ended, grasped how red his own face was. It was practically on fire!
p "Mum wants you downstairs." Fred said, and Ron thought he even seemed a bit apologetic.
p Turning to Hermione, Ron asked, "D'you want to come with me?" Hermione pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded. Ron stood up and Hermione followed suit; Fred had already bustled off, and Ron felt Hermione slipping her hand in his. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and headed out the door, positive that the day had definitely taken a turn for the better.