He
remained in his position at the foot of the stairs, his gaze transfixed on
Hermione's golden skin, the fire in the fireplace casting a soft glow over her
body.
He was not aware that he was
walking until he had arrived at the back of the couch where Hermione lay,
his hands folded neatly on the top of its high, velvety
back. Ron noticed a large maroon colored book laying face down
on her stomach. The fire reflected on the golden letters on the cover of the
book, making them seem alive, dancing figures in the dying light.
Once again his feet
obeyed an action he was sure his brain had not commanded, and he
found himself walking around the back of the couch and lightly
sitting on the edge of the cushions, sandwiching Hermione's body between his
hip and the back of the couch. For a moment she stirred. Ron
watched with bated breath as Hermione shifted positions, momentarily thrusting
her chest out the move her hips more toward the left. She
remained asleep.
Ron studied Hermione's features.
Having been friends with Hermione for nearly seven years, Ron
had seen every expression, memorized every detail of her face. Yet
now, as she slept, her face the epitome of peacefulness, she wore no
expression of worry, mystery, or curiosity. She was not
cornering Ron with a look of disapproval or doubt
as she usually might. Now, as she slept,
Ron appreciated all the detail he had so conveniently
missed all these years.
She certainly had changed since the year before. She wore make up now, and had discovered how to style her hair. Ron lightly brushed a lock of brown hair from Hermione's face. It was no longer poofy and scraggily, forming a frizzy halo around her face, but smooth, shiny, with large bouncy curls. His eyes followed the length of her hair, ending with a wavy lock that fell across her delicate collarbone.
The tee
shirt Hermione wore was small and had a low U-cut front, which revealed a
tantalizing amount of soft cleavage. Ron gulped. He let
his eyes travel back up, past her neck to her face once again.
Hermione's eye lashes were long and dark, framed against her soft
skin, which was so smooth and beautiful it was almost unreal, like the surface
of a glassy, placid lake. The fire continued to burn, making her
skin a soft shade of orange.
Suddenly a jolt
unexpectedly erupted through Ron's body and he surprised himself by
reaching out his right hand to run his fingers down her soft, round
cheek. It felt just as smooth as he had thought it
would be. Ron imagined stroking this skin in different
circumstances. He imagined her eyes being open, looking into his
own, smiling as though the action of Ron touching her
skin had made her happy....
She wore a navy blue
skirt that reached her mid-thigh. Her legs stretched across the remaining
space of the couch and Ron felt another jolt go through his
body as he observed her long, smooth, curvy legs. He felt
another urge to reach out and touch her legs, but this time he
resisted.
Suddenly
it occurred to Ron how much of a woman Hermione now was. She was
more than just a friend who happened to be a girl, but a woman with
feelings, fantasies, breasts...
Ron found his gaze once again
upon her face, now observing her lips. They were soft and plump, just
barely parted in the middle. His mind wandered again, thinking how
it would be to feel those lips under his very own. To feel them against his
cheek, his neck.
Ron shook his head, as if he could make
these new thoughts of Hermione fall out of his ears. But his mind
didn't snap back to reality, as he thought it would once he had broken this
trance. His mind was still on Hermione, her hair, her legs, her
lips. Those lips...
Ron leaned his
head down slowly, touching Hermione's lips with his own. It
turned out, Ron found, that they felt like squishy warm pillows. It
was a short kiss, and his body quickly shot up, off the couch. He turned
and had almost made it to the foot of the boys' staircase when--