A/N Hi folks, this is only the first half of chapter six; my updating speed has been pretty atrocious, and it's been practically an entire month since I've added anything to this story; I deeply apologize for this. Now that I'm at school, though, and that I usually spend my time between classes writing rather than doing what I'm supposed to do a.k.a. work, the updates should be coming more regularly now. For those of you who thought that the story was over with the last chapter, fret not; there's still plenty to come. This story recounts the first few years of Ron and Hermione's relationship, and we've barely scratched the first few months. As the chapters roll along, though, you'll find the length of time that has passed will begin to get a little longer. Still, there are still at least a few more chapters to come, not counting the next one which should really be the second half to this chapter. As always, thanks to everyone who has responded and to those who have expressed a fondness for this story.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.
Chapter 6
There is something incredibly sexy about snaking away, unnoticed, to be with your girlfriend. Even as a teenager I thought so, and Every moment I could spend alone with you, hiding out in some dingy-dark corner of the library was always sheer heaven…with a small side of guilt. I know that Harry wants the best for us, and I also know that it was no different then, but still it felt really bizarre not to be able to tell him about you, not when for six years I'd told him almost everything about myself. It's hard to believe that you and I had been together for several weeks, two and a half months, even, before we told him…well before we planned to tell him, because let's face it, the chap knew long before we ever said anything.
Christmas time has always been my favourite time of year; there are those who long for summer, for sunshine and warm weather, but given the fact that the sun seems to make my already numerous freckles sprout new generations of offspring, I tend to avoid it if I can. Frankly, I never could understand why some would long for the kind of weather that makes them warm, sticky, and sweaty. Personally, I love winter.
Just like I revel at lightning storms in the summer, during the winter months I crave snowstorms. I love the feel of cold snow on your already cold skin when I kiss your cheek, and the beauty of a delicate snowflake trapped in your long eyelashes. Most of all, though, I love being indoors, huddled next to the fire as snow falls fast and thick outside the windows so that all you can see is a blur of white beyond the pane. Actually, I'd recently realized that it was also great weather for reading, something that would have escaped my notice completely if you hadn't shown me. It's true that since we'd become a couple, I'd become slightly more studious, but that was only because half the time you refused to kiss me until my homework had been finished—that was quite the incentive, let me tell you, and I never knew I could write a dreaded Potions essay so quickly. Of course, now that the holidays had arrived, the last thing I normally would have been thinking of would have been homework. On the contrary, Harry and I would have probably have been busy playing chess or eating sweets or exploring the school, safely tucked-away under the invisibility cloak, but no. Instead I was in the common room, on the first day of vacation, with everyone in Gryffindor Tower (save Harry, Ginny, Neville, one of Ginny's friends, and of course you and me) gone for two weeks, and what was I doing? Homework! I was hoping to get it finished before Harry saw me at it or he surely would have thought that I'd fallen ill.
"That's not…are you doing homework?" Too late. He sounded as mortified as I felt; yes, yes, so I was doing homework. You see, I knew that if I got it out of the way (as you were sure to do) that it would leave you and I a lot more time to spend together, and with no one around over Christmas, we might even find a quite place to snog a little—an activity we'd been doing much too little of in my opinion.
"As a matter of fact, it is," I replied, trying desperately to sound as though doing one's homework was a completely natural and acceptable pastime. Now don't get me wrong; I loved spending time with you just talking, sitting, reading, but I also definitely, definitely liked kissing you…a lot. A whole lot.
"Why?" Apparently Harry had never kissed you or he would know exactly wh—then again, it was probably a lot better that Harry didn't understand.
"Is a bloke not allowed to do his homework, Harry?" I asked the lad, answering his question with a question. My spending time around you had made me an expert in being cryptic and difficult to understand—a trait that ran rampant among females.
"You've been spending too much time around Hermione," was his answer as he set himself beside me, taking one of my books from the table and leafing through it uninterestedly. I turned my head away from him lest he see the flush that had crept into my cheeks. I could never spend 'too much' time with you, but there was really no sense in letting him know just 'how' much time we'd been spending together.
"Well when you've only got one day left to do it, you'll be wishing you'd started sooner," and that statement was apparently funny as Harry had burst-out laughing.
"Now you're even starting to sound exactly like her!" He laughed, and placed a hand on my shoulder when his guffaws had subsided. "Is there something you want to tell me, Ron?" he asked, and my heart skipped a beat. My eyes grew wide and I fought not to stammer when I spoke next.
"Er, what do you mean?"
"You and Hermione…you haven't accidentally switched bodies or anything, have you?" he asked, and I let out an inaudible sigh of relief.
"Not unless Hermione walks down here talking about Quidditch," I replied, relieved that he didn't suspect anything, though there was a slight glimmer to his eyes that I couldn't identify.
"Well, you did catch her reading the sports page of the Prophet, once, remember?" Of course I remembered. How could I not? One doesn't usually forget the best day of his life.
"You have a point there, but she did say that she just wanted to understand what we were talking about when we discussed the sport," I pointed out, which wasn't so far off from the truth. That day, after we'd stopped kissing long enough to get me out of the girls' loo, I had asked you what you had been doing, reading about sports, and you had admitted that as I had been too daft to do anything about my obvious feelings for you that it was the only way for you to feel closer to me. "You know Hermione," I added dismissively, and he nodded.
"Yes, I know Hermione," Harry answered.
"Are you two talking about me again?" My heart skipped a beat as I heard your voice and I turned to see you walk down the staircase from the girls' dormitory.
It didn't matter how long we'd been together; every time I saw you, you took my breath away, and I found myself wondering whether I'd dreamt the past two months away. I still couldn't believe that you felt for me even an ounce of what I did you. This was no exception.
I was aware that you'd addressed us and that a response would probably be warranted, but I couldn't have spoken then even if I'd wanted to. Usually, when people talk about events that have passed, it has been my experience that whereas males will remember the end product, women remember all the details that lead to it. For example, if I were discussing the Yule Ball with Lavender Brown, she'd remember the kind of shoes that you wore with your robes and the type of jewelry you had on. All I remember about that night is that a) you were beautiful, and b) Viktor Krum is a great big bloody git, and I don't care how well he can play Quidditch. Seeing you walk down the stairs right then, though, I knew instantly that I'd always have a memory of exactly how you looked.
Only during Christmas vacations did we not wear our school robes and uniforms, and the only other times I ever saw you in 'normal' clothes was for a few hours on the Hogwarts Express and when you came to visit the Burrow in the summers, or when we met in Diagon Alley at the end of August. Even though I have to admit to very much liking the sight of your long tanned legs peaking out from under the sheer white cotton of your shorts, or the sight of your bare feet tucked daintily in a pair of sandals, the outfit you were wearing then blew them all out of the water.
You weren't wearing jeans, which I was accustomed to seeing you wear on weekends, but light beige pants that hugged your hips perfectly. Watching you shimmy down the stairs reminded me of all those times I'd held onto those slender hips while I'd kissed you, amazed at how my hands could practically wrap around you. What really took my breath away, though, was the jumper you had on. It was no Weasley jumper, that was for certain; it was made of what looked to be very soft, and almost 'fluffy' wool and the neck was like a turtleneck only all big and floppy like. Most surprising was the jumper's colour—a soft pink. I'd never taken you for the type to wear pink, but it looked magnificent on you. It brought out your eyes and gave colour to your cheeks. Your hair wasn't down as it usually was, but held messily at the crown of your head with what looked to be a pencil holding together the knot. Magnificent; you were absolutely breathtaking. The desire to kiss you was so strong that I'd actually stood up and taken about three steps towards you before remembering Harry's presence in the room and stopping short.
"You look nice, Hermione," Harry said, coming to stand beside me. You blushed, but I was practically outraged. Nice!? That was all he could come up with? How dim witted was he if all he could say was that you looked 'nice?' Granted, had he said anything else I would have punched him on the nose, but still—was he blind!? Perhaps he needed to get new glasses. Actually forget the 'perhaps,' he definitely needed to get new glasses.
"Thanks, Harry," you muttered, embarrassed, never one to know how to take a compliment though you did look at me expectantly.
"Wow," I finally said, really not caring at that moment how it might look. As you grinned and blushed again, having reached us, I gave-in to temptation and reached a hand to touch the wool of your sweater, feeling how soft it was on your arm. So many thoughts were running through my head…none of which you would have been too pleased to know I was having…and I knew that if I didn't get you alone, and soon, my heart would burst.
"Say, Hermione," I began, though to my ears my voice sounded like a bullfrog's. Memories of when I hit puberty came flooding back, and I tried my best to repress them, though I cleared my throat to rid it of the lump that had formed there at seeing how beautiful you were, and knowing that I had a part of your heart…and that you had all of mine. "Didn't you want to show me that Muggle book you were reading the other day? Didn't you say it was down in the library?" I asked. Honestly, I wasn't putting much effort in being subtle, but I just really didn't care.
"You guys go ahead," Harry said as if he'd been struck be some sixth sense…Professor Trelawney would have been proud! "I promised Ginny and Neville a game of Exploding Snap, earlier; perhaps I should go find her," Harry said, excusing himself.
"Okay, by Harry," you said, apparently oblivious to the effect you were having on me. Still, you followed me wordlessly out of the portrait hole, though I could feel the reprimand on the tip of your tongue. I'd taken maybe three steps before the pressure just became too much, and I turned around, scooping you into my arms, and pressing my lips to yours. It was like a breath of fresh air after being locked in a closet, like seeing sunlight after having been blind all your life. I felt my heart swell as I held you and wondered how I'd lived without you all this time. I knew then that I loved you, and that, perhaps, I always had. I didn't speak the words out-loud, though, I still couldn't bring myself to say them to you when I'd just said them to myself.
When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, you nuzzled your nose against mine and I felt, rather than saw, your smile. When your hand found mine, our fingers curling around one another, I silently let you tug me in the direction of the library, a permanent smile adorning my face.
