Title: Thirty Kisses
Author: Kasuchi
Rating: Teen (just to be safe)
Summary: Thirty missing moments – moments that didn't happen – from 'Order of the Phoenix.'
Fandom / Pairing: HP, R/Hr
Notes: Part Four of Five.

19. red

Red flooded her dreams.

Red house. Red carpet. Red chairs. Red sheets.

And red, red hair.

Thick and short, but just long enough to tangle her fingers in.

Red lips that tasted of wine and felt like heaven.

Kisses that lasted so long they were red in the face from lack of breath.

Red fireworks behind her eyes each time he touched her.

Red heat when blue eyes locked with brown.

But, mostly, she dreamt of red, red hair.

20. the road home

They stood at the edge of Platform 9 amidst the hustle and bustle of King's Cross. Pensively, the two of them watched Harry walk off, flanked by the Dursleys.

"D'you think they'll believe us?"

Ron snorted. "After that stunt? They'd have to be crazy not to." He ran a hand through his hair.

"Mmm," she murmured. Around them, the band of Aurors broke apart, and the Weasley family's attentions were on Ginny.

Save for Ron.

"Hey, Hermione?" She looked up at him. "We're going to see Harry soon," he started. She nodded and he paused. "Would--" He cut himself off and frowned.

She looked at him, puzzled. "What is it?"

He focused on her, an unreadable expression on his face. She felt heat rise on her skin.

He kissed her, soft and lingering, on the cheek and murmured into her ear, "I'll see you soon." Gently, he traced her jawline with one finger. "Good-bye, Hermione."

He smiled and strolled off to join his family. Behind her, Hermione could hear her mother chattering away about her.

But all Hermione could do was stare.

21. violence; pillage/plunder; extortion

"We have to decorate the Great Hall?"

"Yes."

"With tinsel?"

"Yes."

"And without help?"

"Yes." Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose wearily.

Ron sighed. "All right, fine. Let's just get this over with." Resignedly, he picked up the box of décor and trudged into the Hall. The high ceilings that greeted them caused them both to sigh in tandem.

"This will take forever!" Hermione groaned.

Ron, on the other hand, had unceremoniously dumped out the box and stood over it, wand in hand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The tinsel floated up gently, and Ron turned to Hermione. "Are you going to stick it or not?"

She flushed and applied a sticking charm to the tinsel. They continued, levitating garlands and baubles until all that was left was one final length of tinsel.

"Finally! After this we can go back." Ron raised his wand cheerfully when the tinsel began to move of its own accord. Both of them watched it, wands poised, wondering what was going on.

"Her--urk!" The tinsel darted forward and wrapped itself around his neck. He made gagging sounds while Hermione stood, stunned.

"'Mione!" He sputtered out. "Get--it--off--me!"

She snapped out of her stupor. "Erm...Stupefy!" Red light shot from her wand and narrowly missed Ron. "Impedimenta!" The spell veered away from him.

"AIM!" He called out hoarsely. The edges of his face were turning blue.

"How could it possibly be--?" Then her brow furrowed angrily. "PEEVES!"

The tinsel went limp and the poltergeist materialized out of thin air. With a raspberry and a, "Ha ha!" he flew out of the Great Hall. Hermione shot his retreating figure one final, furious glare before turning to Ron's collapsed figure.

"Ron!" She kneeled next to his figure and shook him. He remained unconscious. She put one ear near his face. "He's not breathing," she murmured. Striving to remember the CPR course she'd taken two summers ago, she plugged his nose and took a deep breath, exhaling into him. She counted to five and tried again. Nothing. She tried once more and pulled back quickly as Ron sat up, coughing hard.

"Come on," she said, offering him a hand, "let's go the Hospital Wing." He grasped her hand and got shakily to his feet. He put a hand over his mouth, then ran it through his hair and followed her out of the Hall.

22. cradle

The first thing he had seen when he's woken up was her. She was lying on her back, still as stone. Her ankle was in a cradle, elevated and wrapped.

He had tried to turn over and had hissed at the pain. That was obviously not a good idea at the time. Sighing heavily, he had opted to simply watch her.

She was so perfectly still, he thought. The gray light of night made her look paler than she ever had. Not a muscle on her so much as twitched. The rise and fall of her chest was imperceptible, and a patch of bandage on her collarbone and shoulder made his blood feel thick and sluggish.

Suddenly, an image of her Petrified form superimposed itself onto her still figure. A memory rushed back to him. He had been thirteen and desperate. He had kissed her, hoping somehow something would happen. She'd felt cold and had stayed still, as still as she was now, and he had to shake his head to remove the image.

Shaken, he gingerly reached for the goblet on his nightstand. Sipping down about half, he managed to replace it before falling back onto the pillows.

23. candy

He was a connoisseur of candy.

He knew his Fizzing Whizbees, could dodge Bertie Botts as best as anyone. He loved Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs and Turtle Toffees. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum held fond memories; he remembered out-bubble-blowing Fred and George when he was 6. It was worth getting gum all over him.

But his favorites were sugar quills. Spun sugar so delicate you could blow off parts of them, but strong enough to be bitten. He could hide them in class, use them to write with. He loved sugar quills; something about how they glittered in the light. They looked ephemeral, too delicate to last. They often didn't.

He'd noticed she sucked on her quills in first year. Back then, he knew that a sugar quill would be the answer, but they were eleven and not allowed to Hogsmeade. When they were in third year, she'd bought a box and hidden them. "For a rainy day," she'd said. By Christmas, she'd run out again and he'd given her another boxful.

And then they'd stopped talking.

It was in fifth year that he was quieter. He watched her more, then. And he noticed that as her stress level rose, so did her compulsion to suck on her quill. An idea was born. He slipped her sugar quills on the sly. When she wasn't looking, he's swap her feather quills for ones of sugar. It was always heartening to see her face light up when she realized it was sugar.

And she always, always smiled at him, just for him, the same smile she gave him in his dreams when he kissed her.

24. good night

She hums something, some tune that is airy and bright and sad all at once.

You ask her what it is.

She says it's from West Side Story, whatever that is. She says, it's a musical, like a play set to music.

You look at her, a little confused. You ask her if the song has words. The common room is empty; even Harry's gone to sleep. She blushes and nods and you think she's very pretty in the half-light of the low fire. The red of the embers tinges her face in dancing shadows, and you know that this is the image of her you'll always have with you.

She starts to sing. Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night. Tonight there will be no morning star. Tonight, tonight, I'll see my love tonight and for us stars will stop where they are.

You can feel your ears heat and you look away from her. Her eyes shine brightly in the firelight and all of a sudden you feel...something, and you realize that maybe what you think you feel isn't quite deep enough, but you're not ready for that yet, are you?

You inhale sharply and meet her gaze, and, suddenly, the still room is dead silent. All you can hear is your heart thrumming in your ears and all you can feel is an indiscernible tug, a livewire of tension that's collapsing between you and her. Her gaze drifts downward, halting at your chin. You lick your lips self-consciously, and she mirrors you. Something twists in your chest.

You're leaning down, you realize. She's not very tall, not like you, but you like that. She's leaning toward you, too. Her eyes flutter half-closed, and so do yours. In the half-light of the empty common room, you realize something: you're both sixteen, alone in the dark. Anything -- anything -- could happen, and somehow that doesn't scare you.

You're a fingersbreadth away from one another when the grandfather clock strikes. One, two, three, twelve chimes, but it only takes half of the first to send you both jerking away. You can't meet her eyes until she says your name quietly.

Ron?

You've never heard your name called quite like that before, and it prompts you to look at her.

Good night.

She kisses you on the cheek, soft and lingering. You feel a warmth spread across your body, and you know that this won't nearly be enough, not for much longer.

Then she leaves, and the room is cold.

I'll tell you right now: 24 is perhaps my favorite, but 19 is dear to me as well.

24 was my first attempt at second person. I'd used second person before, but only in conjunction with first person so that it felt like the speaker was speaking directly to the reader rather than talking at the reader. (You'll notice that with me, phrasing is everything.)

I love 20, though, because of its undertones. However, most of those don't really manifest themselves until after you've read #30, The Last Kiss. You'll see.

The next part will be the last. Here's to the impending end of an incredible journey.

pureangel86: No, these aren't in any particular order. They skip around the whole book. The only order these are in is the order that the challenges are listed.

Several reviewers asked how to make the heart; type Alt+3 (on the number pad) and you'll get ♥. ☺

Love-is-Everything: For me, chocolate helps with all the symptoms of PMS, including mood swings. Hermione's implying that chocolate makes her less of a bitch, but the girl doesn't curse. I had to find a way to circumvent that, and "witch" seemed like a punny alternative.

Much love for the reviewers. ♥ Thank you for your support!