Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form, J. K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Two.
Two Different Versions of a Relatively Similar Dream: Part One-Ron

Ron awoke to someone's cold feet touching his.

It took him a second to remember where he was and why he was there. He looked to his right and saw Hermione sprawled almost on top of him. Her arm was around his waist, her leg thrown across his legs, and her head was limiting the circulation to his forearm, as it was lying on his bicep, weighted with sleep.

"Hermione … sweetie, you gotta get up, you're killing my arm …" he gently prodded her shoulder with his free hand.

"No … five more minutes, mum," Hermione mumbled into his shoulder.

'Five more minutes and there'll be no blood flow to my hand …' Ron thought.

"No, you have to get up now," he said, lifting her head off of his arm and laying it gently on the floor.

"Okay, I'm awake," she said, though her eyes were still closed.

Ron laughed. She was so cute. "No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not!"

"Argh! Why do we always end up fighting about the most stupid things?!" Hermione said, now fully awake.

"I don't know," Ron said simply.

With that, he gently brought his lips down to meet hers.

Ron was so wrapped up in the kiss that he hadn't even noticed that they'd changed positions. He had somehow, he didn't know exactly how, rolled Hermione over so that she was on her back and he was hovering above her.

"But I know I like making up the best," Ron grinned.

"Mmm, me too."

He kissed her again. It was fast becoming his favorite thing to do. It was second nature to him. Once he'd finally quit being so stubborn and admitted to himself that he had feelings for her, everything else just came naturally.

His mind barely registered Hermione's hands raking their way through his bright red hair; it had become such a natural occurrence to him. His mind did, however, register the feeling of warm palms on the lower half of his back. And then their slow movement up his back to his shoulders, removing his shirt in the process.

He, unwillingly, pulled away from Hermione, a question in his beautiful blue eyes.

She merely smiled at him before pulling him down and kissing him again.

He took this for what it was. It was only fair that if she were going to take his clothes off, she would have to lose some of hers. He smirked against her lips.

She felt Ron's hands on the back of her waist, but, as with Ron, this feeling was a natural occurrence to her. There came a point in a relationship between two people when you were so comfortable with each other that physical contact was no longer something to react to; it was a constant in Ron and Hermione's relationship, that was for sure. Once they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other - and themselves, for that matter - they'd already built such a solid foundation of friendship that contact was only a natural step up.

When she felt Ron's hands move to the front of her shirt, she became much more aware of him. Sure, they'd been together for a good while, but their relationship hadn't come to that point yet, or so she thought. She knew in her heart that she was ready, she'd been ready practically since they came to terms with their relationship and the course it was bound to take.

And now, now that he was practically tearing her shirt off, she was sure that they were ready.

Ron felt like he was dreaming, even though he knew he'd just woken up a few minutes ago. He'd been wondering when they'd reach this point in their relationship, practically before it had even started. That had been one of his major indicators of his feelings. Now that they were finally here, he knew there was no going back afterwards. He was just glad he loved her so much; he knew it would only cement their relationship that much further.

He won the seemingly never-ending struggle with Hermione's flannel pajama shirt and was halfway into snogging her senseless -

Ron awoke, and sat bolt upright, panting. 'Oh. Wow. Umm.' Even his mind couldn't come up with anything to say about that very vivid dream. He looked over at his sleeping best friend. Needless to say, he knew there were some underlying reasons as to why he'd had such a passionate dream about his best friend. But, of course, he barely admitted that to his own subconscious. And, needless to say, he'd been having those sorts of dreams often of late. And, needless to say, they made him quite happy.

He felt a blush creep up his neck and could only hope that just how happy he was became less apparent before she woke up.
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