-The Burrow, Summer 1997-
Most summers at the Burrow were busy, but the summer of 1997 could only be described as chaotic. After a dramatic escape from death eaters and an intense week of mourning Mad-Eye Moody, the Weasley clan set out to bottle up their grief like freshly-brewed butterbeer and transform their homestead into a wedding venue. Normal Weasley things, really.
It was a hot afternoon, and Ron just needed to be alone. Well, maybe not totally alone, but solitude was better than the frantic state of his home. The bustling Burrow provided the perfect opportunity for Ron to lie low. When he was certain Molly Weasley was distracted, he crept up the stairs, tiptoed into his room, and eased the door shut, breathing a sigh of relief for an empty space. He was desperate for a moment of rest, and couldn't risk his mother spotting him finishing a chore just to assign him a new one.
He plopped into his bed and buried his head into the pillow. Ron couldn't help but feel his tasks were superfluous. He had only spotted one gnome during an entire morning of de-gnoming the garden, and as soon as he returned to the kitchen for a drink, his mum appeared with another chore — cleaning the downstairs bathroom. That wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't assigned to him for the third time that week. Mrs. Weasley, being the worrier that she was, probably just wanted to keep her children occupied.
Ron jolted at the sound of a knock on the door. "Erm, come in?" He jumped to his feet and grabbed a dirty shirt from the floor. Having something in his hand might make him look busy.
To his relief, it was Hermione who cracked the door open.
"Hello." Just like Ron, she shuffled across his room and collapsed onto his bed.
He had to admit that he liked the way his bed looked with her on it. "Aren't you supposed to be putting away laundry?" he asked.
"Already finished," she said as she fluffed a pillow under her head. "Aren't you supposed to be cleaning the bathroom?"
"All done."
"I reckon we should ask for another task then." She shifted over to the side of his bed, and to Ron, it looked a lot like an invitation.
He laid down next to her and rested his head on the pillow beside hers. "Nah. This is good," he said, as he motioned to put an arm around her. She responded by sliding closer to him and placing her head on the front of his shoulder.
The faint floral smell of her shampoo sent Ron's mind into overdrive. It brought him back to the Gryffindor common room fifth year, when she suddenly sat much closer to him than usual and he caught a faceful of her hair, a moment that occupied his brain for weeks. He recalled the end of fifth year when she hugged him goodbye and lingered just a bit longer than she used to. And all those goodbye hugs that became kisses on the cheek.
Something was different. He couldn't have imagined all that.
"Where's Harry?" she asked, extracting him from his train of thought.
"Don't know." He gently pulled her closer to him. "Don't care."
"Nor do I," she said as she nestled into his shoulder.
Ron's eyes traveled to her lips. What would it be like to actually kiss her? She had to be expecting it, right? They've been dancing around a kiss since the end of fifth year. If it wasn't for that Lavender hiccup they'd already be together right now. Probably. Maybe.
Friends didn't snuggle in bed together. When friends kissed each other on the cheek, it was firmly on the cheek, not somewhere questionably close to the lips.
Hermione reached for Ron's hand and interlaced her fingers with his. He traced the back of her hand with his thumb.
Friends definitely didn't do that.
The moment had to be right. Was this moment right? You only get one first kiss. He glanced at the door to his bedroom. So many people were here, and in a crowd like this, there was no sense of privacy.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Hermione.
Kissing you, he wanted to say.
"What are you wearing to the wedding?" he asked instead. As if that thought was any more innocent than the real one.
She chuckled. "Dress robes."
"Like the ones you wore in fourth year?" His voice perked up and he remembered how stunning she looked. Even though she wasn't with him, and he wasn't supposed to be ogling her that day.
"Different dress robes."
"Well, I reckon you'll look beautiful. As always."
Hermione squeezed his fingers. "Manage your expectations."
He glanced down at her and could have sworn she glanced at his lips.
"I reckon I don't need to—"
Footsteps appeared on the landing of the stairs. Hermione jolted away from him and let go of his hand just as Ron's bedroom door swung open. Harry stood in the doorway, his face red as though he'd just run up the stairs.
"There you are!" he said, panting. "Your mum's looking for you. She wants you to help tidy the guest room."
Of course there were more chores. The break was nice while it lasted. Ron glanced at Hermione, who had already risen to her feet.
"And Hermione," continued Harry, "Ginny needs help getting the tent set up."
"Right." she said.
Harry disappeared back into the hallway while Ron and Hermione lingered behind.
Ron turned to Hermione and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Harry's voice trailing from the stairs.
"Coming, Ron?"
Ron sighed. "I'll be right down," he shouted through the door.
The tent on the Burrow grounds was much larger on the inside than it would seem. Floating candles and cozy tea lights illuminated the dance floor, which nearly vibrated to the beat of the music. Ginny and Hermione's decorating efforts paid off. They had managed to create an atmosphere that felt separate from the looming darkness and danger surrounding them. The sounds of chatter and laughter were a welcome distraction to what lay ahead. It was likely a combination of music, lighting, and a few cocktails, but Ron felt a lightness and confidence he'd rarely experienced before.
It was probably that confidence that possessed Ron to ask Hermione to dance. There was no need to 'manage his expectations' when he saw her in her dress robes. His knees had nearly buckled out from under him and his breath got caught in his throat. He spluttered his invitation to dance, and thanked Merlin that she agreed.
It turned out he wasn't too bad a dancer after all. Holding her hand, he guided her to the middle of the room and pulled her into his arms. Any other day, the twinkling lights and the clatter of shoes on the dance floor would have been a distraction, but not today. Hermione was the center of his focus.
Dancing with her in his arms felt surprisingly natural, just like he'd imagined it all those times. His hands found the perfect nook at the small of her lower back, and hers wrapped around his neck like a cozy scarf. She looked him directly in the eye, and he resisted the urge to turn away, as if that would hide the rush of color creeping into his face.
"What inspired this?" she asked.
His response spilled out of him without a thought. "I finally had an opportunity to ask."
It was true. He had regretted not dancing with her at the Yule Ball years prior, and there had never been an occasion to fix it. No dances, no galas, not until now.
"A long time coming." She was close enough that he could feel her breath on him.
"Too long," he confirmed, drawing her closer so that her head rested on his chest. As if they had a mind of their own, his lips found their way to the top of her head and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She melted into him, and he could feel her mouth form a smile against his chest.
There remained a small part of him that wondered if they could still be considered just friends. His gut said they couldn't be, and hadn't been for a while.
It wasn't the perfect moment to kiss her yet. It was too crowded, and their first kiss should be in private. He was sure of it.
The moment was coming, and the thought made his heart beat even faster.
~Grimmauld Place, Summer 1997~
As the trio settled into bed in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, it was easy to forget that Bill and Fleur's wedding was earlier that day. It felt like eons ago that Ron was holding Hermione in his arms, swaying to the music, and imagining the perfect moment to initiate their first kiss.
He had made quite a big deal of insisting that Hermione take the couch that first night, and she had made an equally big deal of rejecting his attempts at chivalry. He eventually won out, and Ron found himself on the floor next to the sofa. His eyes traveled to her hand, which dangled from the edge of the couch as if daring him to reach for it. When he glanced up at her face, he was surprised to see her awake and looking back at him.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked him.
He smiled at the memory of her asking him the same exact question not too long ago. By now, she had to know she was always on his mind.
"You," he quipped, acknowledging how easy it was to say the right thing when he didn't let himself think too much.
She smiled and reached down for his hand and snaked her fingers through his.
"What about me?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed, but she never broke her smile.
Ron paused before he answered, wanting more than anything to just be honest.
"You know how I feel about you, right?"
Her cheeks flushed and she nodded, sending Ron's stomach into knots. "I think so. I hope so."
"Do you feel the same way?"
Instead of answering she pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. His hand lingered at her mouth for what was maybe a moment too long, but she didn't seem to mind. He brushed his thumb against her lips before reluctantly drawing hands away and re-intertwining their fingers.
"Good," he whispered, and those were the last words exchanged before falling asleep, hand in hand.
The following few days at Grimmauld Place became a dance, with both Ron and Hermione hyper-aware of Harry's presence, the insurmountable task at hand, and the hippogriff in the room — their admission to each other that first night. It didn't take long to address the growing tension, but only in the form of glances across the room when no one was looking, or hands brushing against one another under the table at dinner time.
It was during a particularly sleepless night when Ron heard Hermione remove her blankets and tiptoe into the hallway. Ron glanced over at Harry, still sleeping soundly, before extracting himself from his blanket and following her.
He found her in the library moments later, snuggled into an armchair with a book in hand.
"What are you reading?" he whispered from the doorway.
Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. "Ron!"
"Hi."
"What are you doing awake?" she asked.
"I could ask you the same question."
Hermione placed a finger between the pages and closed her book. "I come here to read when I can't sleep," she said, shrugging. "Get my mind off of things."
Ron peered at the book in her hand, Little Women. "Fiction?"
"One can only take so much Hogwarts, A History."
Hermione scooted to one side of her armchair, which Ron interpreted as a signal. Following her lead, he made his way over and sat beside her. His arm draped over shoulder, and the depression of the cushion made her press her body to his. It was a tight squeeze, but Ron didn't mind.
"What's it about?" pressed Ron.
"You don't really care," she said as she dog-eared the page and placed the book on the nearby table.
"Yes, I do!"
"No, you don't," insisted Hermione. She shifted so that she was facing him and draped her legs over his lap. Without a second thought, Ron rested his hand on her thigh.
"I do," he repeated again, prepared to defend himself against Hermione's accusation when he saw that she was smiling at him.
"Ron, it's okay," she said, and he could have sworn she inched her face closer to his.
Suddenly, his hand felt heavy on her thigh, and he realized he'd been trying hard not to move it. Would it feel too forward if he slid it higher? Would she take it as rejection if he slid it lower? Would keeping it planted firmly mid-thigh be the mark of a man who had no idea how to finally bridge the gap from best friends to more? Was he overthinking?
He probably was. How very Hermione of him. Was she overthinking too?
His gaze traveled to her lips, then back to her eyes. She was looking at his hand on her thigh.
"Is this okay?" he asked, nodding toward his hand.
"Yes."
Ron's ears burned hot. The whole world seemed to freeze as Ron contemplated how to proceed. Maybe there was no need to proceed, and he could just stay there forever, hand on her thigh, eyes on her lips. That wouldn't be awkward at all, right?
He slid his hand a pace higher. Hopefully she didn't mind. The coy smile on her lips told him she didn't.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, turning her new favorite question back on her.
She was quiet at first, and the silence was deafening. Her cheeks turned pink and she averted her gaze as if avoiding the question.
Ron waited. "You can tell me," he urged.
Hermione took a full breath as though summoning her confidence and met his eyes. "I'm thinking about kissing you."
Ron's face grew even hotter and he once again became conscious of how close she was. Was this the moment? It had to be. He looked at her lips. She was looking at his too. This had to be the moment.
Ron leaned in, and Hermione met him halfway.
Their lips barely brushed before the sudden shuffling in the hallway brought his focus back to the present. Hermione must have heard it too, because she withdrew immediately and jolted off the chair, breaking their contact once and for all.
Fuck.
"Oh, thank Merlin," said a winded Harry from the doorway. "I woke up and panicked."
Ron felt a pang of guilt at Harry's admission. There was something to be said about sticking together at times like this. "Sorry mate. We just couldn't sleep."
He glanced over to Hermione, who seemed to be at a loss for what to do with her hands. She resorted to straightening out her shirt, which had gotten twisted while sharing a chair with him. Harry didn't seem to think much of it, but Ron stifled a smirk.
"Just glad you both are okay," said Harry, adjusting his glasses. "I'm going to go back to sleep. Are you coming too?"
Ron glanced at Hermione. "Yeah. I guess."
"Be right there," echoed Hermione.
With a nod, Harry turned into the hallway and shuffled back to the drawing room.
"So, that was—", he began.
"We shouldn't do that," she interrupted. "It would be irresponsible."
"What do you mean?" Ron's stomach clenched into a knot. The last thing he wanted to do was resist this. If not now, then when? "You were the one who said—"
"It was a moment of weakness," she huffed. "We can't let ourselves get distracted, Ron."
Distracted. The most distracting thing for him would be bottling up his feelings for her.
"Hermione—"
"There's a war, Ron."
He knew she was right. Or at least, in this moment, she needed to be right. She had a point. In the past, just a slip of his imagination could pull him straight out of reality. But right now, losing focus meant losing everything.
On the other hand, that almost-kiss wasn't doing his ability to focus any favors. "It's now or never, don't you think?"
"No, it's not," she said. "We have time." Her voice trembled over the words, as if she wasn't convinced herself.
"Do we?"
"I have to believe that," she said definitively. "I'm sorry."
With that, Hermione shuffled back to the hallway, offering an apologetic glance on her way out.
Ron groaned and leaned back in the armchair. The book on the side table caught his eye, and he immediately pictured Hermione cuddled up in the corner reading it. In the armchair. Or at the Burrow. Maybe one day, in his bed. The image sent him reeling. He knew those thoughts would persist until he finally kissed her.
We have time, he repeated to himself, desperately hoping it was the truth.
Over the course of the next few days, Grimmauld Place felt smaller than ever. It seemed that he and Hermione couldn't walk through a hallway without accidentally brushing against one another. Every time she entered the room he was in, he would immediately forget his task at hand. He could have sworn she made prolonged eye contact and stood closer to him than normal. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe she was doing it on purpose.
The trio had been planning to break into the ministry to retrieve the locket, and Ron knew this plan could change the trajectory of the war. It would be dangerous, life threatening even. It also carried the risk of alerting death eaters to their entire horcrux plan. If Voldemort caught wind of that, he would go to even greater lengths to protect himself, and defeating him would become that much more difficult.
And yet, kissing Hermione Granger remained the first item on Ron's to-do list.
He sat in the kitchen alone, staring into a cup of tea, waiting for Harry or Hermione to join him for their daily brainstorming session. The tea brought back memories of third year divination, when he and Harry would try to determine each other's fate based on tea leaf shapes. If only he had paid attention in that class, maybe his tea could offer some reassurance about what was to come.
"Morning."
Hermione's voice brought him back to reality, or at least as much of reality as he was capable of grasping when she was around.
"Morning."
She wandered to the kettle on the stove to pour herself a mug of tea. "How are you?"
"I'm alright. A bit tired."
Their conversations had felt terse as of late, but Ron knew exactly why. She was distracted, just like him.
She wandered over to Ron and took a seat next to him. Then, shifted her chair a smidge closer.
Ron chuckled. He didn't hate the game they were playing, although Hermione would probably protest him calling it a game.
But that's exactly what it was. Since their moment in the library a few nights ago, they'd fallen asleep holding hands every night. They'd shared hugs in the hallway. He'd caught her eyeing him when he'd changed his shirt, which he'd purposefully done in the same room as her. She wanted to stay focused, but he was determined to make that particularly difficult.
Ron ran his fingers through his hair to fluff it up a little. She always blushed when he did that. Then, he reached for her hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked, without resisting intertwining their fingers.
"Your hand was distracting me," he said. "So I'm holding it."
"You're ridiculous."
They sat for a few moments in comfortable silence before Hermione spoke again. "So you were so distracted by your shirt you had to take it off in front of me earlier?"
Ron laughed. "Yes."
It wasn't just him. Ron noticed how Hermione wore lipstick the other day, in fact, he watched her put it on. And that time she sat next to him on the sofa and undid her hair tie in his direction so that her curls brushed against his shoulder. She even gave him a fucking back rub after he mentioned he was sore from sleeping on the floor. Harry was sore too, but he didn't get a back rub.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
"Is it a problem?" he asked her. "Are you having a hard time staying focused?"
Hermione's face tinged pink, then turned serious. "Honestly? I can't stop thinking about the other night.
"What other night?"
"In the library."
Ron didn't respond, opting to wait for her to clarify exactly what she meant. Did she want to reiterate that it can't happen? Because frankly, he disagreed.
"Me neither," he said when she didn't elaborate. "But, like you said, we need to stay focused. Right?"
"Right," said Hermione. "But all I focus on is the fact that Harry's not in here right now."
An involuntary smile broke across Ron's face, and he had to admit he loved seeing Hermione flustered.
"What are you saying?" As he spoke, swiveled in his chair to face her.
"I'm saying that I regret not kissing you," she said boldly.
Ron's ears burned as he instinctively reached for her waist.
Was this the moment?
"So, no waiting until after the war?"
Hermione looked him in the eye and gently shook her head. "Now or never," she whispered.
It was impossible to know who initiated but suddenly his lips were on hers. Her body shifted up against his, one of his hands tangled into her hair, the other wrapped around her lower back and pulled her into him. Her lips were soft and inviting, parting just enough to allow him a full taste. She tasted like peppermint tea and Hermione, nothing he could have described, but everything he expected. Her muffled moan sent a vibration down this throat and as a result, his fingers tightened around her hair and he held her closer.
Yes, this was the moment.
Kissing her felt foreign yet familiar, like a dream loaded with deja vu. Maybe because it had happened so many times already in his imagination. In the common room. In his dormitory. In his bedroom. Hermione's hand traced along the back of his neck and sent pins and needles down his spine. He responded by rising to his feet, pulling her with him and pressing her up against the countertop, not caring that the thin fabric of his joggers left none of his excitement to the imagination.
Based on the faint smile he felt from her lips under the kiss, Hermione didn't seem to care either.
Time stood still, and Ron had no way of knowing if they had been kissing for a minute or an hour. Nothing could have pulled him out of this. Except…
Footsteps. Fucking Harry.
They began quietly, from somewhere upstairs. They still had time.
One of Ron's hands slid from Hermione's hair down the side of her neck, down her waist, and landed on her hip. In response, her fingers dug into the skin on his shoulders.
The footsteps grew louder as Harry descended down the stairs toward the hallway.
Hermione's arms snaked around Ron's neck as though she was hanging onto the moment in time. They remained entangled until Harry's footsteps became dangerously close.
Ron and Hermione broke their kiss the second the door to the kitchen burst open. A flustered Harry entered with a notebook in hand.
"I have a plan," he announced as he spilled into the room.
Harry glanced from Ron — who had nearly missed the barstool when he sat back down in a hurry, to Hermione — who was straightening out her hair. "Are you two okay?"
"Yes," said Ron and Hermione in unison.
Hermione cleared her throat. "What's your plan, Harry?"
Harry slapped his notebook down on the counter between them.
"Alright…first we will need some polyjuice potion…"
As Harry dove into his plan for sneaking into the Ministry, Ron snuck a glance at Hermione. She smiled at him and he felt his cheeks tinge pink.
They were just getting started.