AN: This one-shot is based firmly on the events which transpire during the first-half of Chapter 14: Felix Felicis from Half-Blood Prince. This is Canon-verse but obviously, I've taken a few scenes and made them into what I wished could have actually happened instead.

I've never read, nor written a Romione centric fic so I couldn't tell you if this is cliche or not but this idea came to me while rereading the series and I couldn't refrain from typing up this little fluff-fest. I've just fallen in love all over again with the ins and outs of their relationship so I hope this story is decent and can appease all the lovely Ron fans out there.

This is Rated T for now. There is light swearing and some hot and heavy moments yet nothing too unseemly. If I manage to write a Part Two, I can guarantee this story will turn M. Let me know if you guys happen to want that. As always, I don't own anything and I'm not making money in any way, shape or form from writing this. J.K. Rowling is Queen of this universe.

Eat, Sleep, Wake
(Nothing But You)
-o-

Despite his exhaustion, Ronald Weasley had gotten shit sleep that night. Tossing and turning, every fiber of his body felt sore though his performance during Gryffindor's practice had been terribly pitiful; his mind wouldn't let up, just bending and twisting unmercifully with thoughts of Hermione Granger, as it always did but different this time as he was sick from the new, unwelcome knowledge that she might've snogged Viktor Krum. He didn't actually know if it was true but… Ginny was of course, so sure of herself when she'd cut into him in the corridor – she seemed totally serious about what she'd said. The possibilities of it had Ron feel as if he'd wretch right over the side of his bed.

Inside, he was raving. He didn't know what to think anymore. Ron knew he wasn't great at picking up the signals but he'd been almost positive Hermione was into him, not bloody Krum. Yes, she'd went to the Yule Ball with the famous Quidditch seeker, danced with him, had a merry ol' time but still, Ron felt to be under the impression that was all that'd happened between them.

It's not like he could very well ask her. No, never. Matter of fact, Ron wouldn't talk to Hermione again, for a great while. He wasn't even sure if he could stand to look at her.

-o-

What in Godric's name was it with the opposite sex? Hermione was trying to wrap her brain around this as all day Ron had completely iced her out, gave her a frozen-shoulder. He was promptly ignoring her when just yesterday he'd been fine! Actually they had got along rather nicely, ever since Herbology the other day.

As if she'd ever hook-up with Cormac McLaggen, as Ron had worded it but after she'd expressed just as much and revealed how it was he, Ron who she wanted to escort her to Slughorn's Christmas party, the air between them had finally lightened up.

She noticed something was off instantly at the breakfast table, when she'd taken a seat across from Ron and he wouldn't catch her eyes, just glared into his goblet of pumpkin juice as he ate. Hermione had questioned him but he just pretended like he hadn't heard. His mouth had permanently curled into a pernickety but scornful sneer, strictly meant for her. Harry, tight-lipped and uncertain had no answers to give about any of it – he was inconveniently indifferent, his mind apparently a million miles away.

Considering the lack of amicability between the three of them, it'd fully surprised her when they sat down together in the common room that evening. Tensions ran high and everyone was jumpy around Ron since he'd snapped at innocents of all ages that day, including her (when he wasn't outright ignoring her); he was a belligerent volcano amidst its imminent eruption.

Still, Hermione was not given any answers and her patience was the thinnest of threads. She couldn't bear for this type of behavior to carry on. Wasn't there anything she could do? What had she done, to deserve such treatment to begin with? It all came back to that single, burning question and when Harry had excused himself to – he didn't say so perhaps the loo – Hermione took this as her only opportunity.

"Ron," she began, her voice crackling with trepidation and Ron, so quick to pounce, immediately tried to end the discussion before giving it a chance.

"Don't,"

"Please," Hermione begged, glassy-eyed. "Just tell me… what's happened? What did I do?" she felt so helpless but longed to soothe this wound with all her might. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. She wanted to go with Ron to the Christmas party, she wanted to dance with Ron, embrace Ron, she wanted to -

"I'm not doing this," he replied, a disgusted grimace upon his face as he glowered at his Transfiguration assignment. He looked like he very much wanted to leave the common room but Hermione wasn't going to give in to his refusal – not without a fight, proverbial or otherwise.

"That's it," her teeth clenched, Hermione set down her quill and got up from the big chair, standing herself beside him as he fumed at her on the sofa. "Ronald, please follow me into the hall to talk in private," she observed a few huddled cliques strewn about the room, whispering and watching the two of them intently.

"No," he grumbled, still not looking at her.

Hermione growled in disapproval, her foot almost stomping angrily on the floor. "I swear, I… seriously, if you value our friendship at all, if you ever did, even an ounce you'll come talk to me,"

For a moment, Ron held a thoughtful expression and then as if it pained him dearly to do so, he stood and stalked straight towards the entrance not waiting for her. Quickly, Hermione jotted down a note to Harry that they went to have a chat so he wouldn't worry and then left through the portrait hole.

Ron was pacing in the corridor, "And just how are we supposed to talk in private if the Fat Lady's just gonna hear everything?"

Hermione sighed and nodded towards the end of the hall, "This way," she said. Ron groaned, kicking his heel against the carpet but followed her anyway. She led them into the North Wing down an intersecting corridor – a room mainly kept for students to study in or read quietly during off-hours. Gratefully there were no other souls to be seen, not even Peeves and Hermione closed the door, hastily locking it with a steel-tight Alohomora.

Ron gulped, realizing his grave mistake as he was now locked in a deserted room with the one witch, the one girl he couldn't get out of his head. He didn't know how to act around her, especially now after what Ginny said about she and Krum.

Hermione stared at him, her arms crossed defiantly and Ron knew she wanted answers. Well so did he, he just hadn't planned on ever finding out those particular details. He was too afraid but… if they were here, and she wasn't going to leave him alone about this then surely it was only practical to just go ahead and get it all out in the open, right? They could get it done and over with for good – they could move on. He just wasn't sure if he could even say it out-loud to her without becoming brutally ill.

"Well…?" Hermione was bursting with anticipation.

Ron leaned against the wall, mirroring her by crossing his own arms over his chest. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and preparing himself with the right words. "Ginny, she… said something funny last night,"

"Funny? Ginny? What did she-"

"Nothing, never mind," he unsheathed his wand, readying to aim it at the door so he could escape but Hermione stopped him, grasping his wrist and getting him to lower it. Ron was forced to the brusque awareness of how small, soft and delicate her hand was compared to his, how small she seemed all together.

"Ron," her honey-chocolate eyes were darkened with tears, her lovely face full of warmth, of sadness but so very kind; her quivering lips, she bit them in worry – they were so plump and inviting, the very lips Viktor Krum had potentially ravaged.

"Okay, okay fine," he surrendered. The entirety of his cheeks, his neck – he was beet-purple, flushed with embarrassment from head to toe. "I have to know… did you, or did you not kiss Krum?" As the hair-raising query left him, Ron felt absolutely shocked from his sudden ability to speak to her these crippling fears.

Hermione's fevered skin, which was slightly less fair than Ron's, rivaled even his beet-cheeks with two cherry-red stains of her own. She wanted to slap him, to tell him how dare he for nosing about in her business, how dare Ginny for spilling her secrets but… after she gave it a second's thought she knew having that attitude would kick start the sort of argument she wasn't willing to feed tonight. Hermione yearned to remedy this, not make it far worse than it had to be. If the truth was out, then so be it.

She was struggling with how to put it, "I… that is, well – he kissed me really," Ron's eyes reached the ceiling in desperation, almost as if he were praying to the unknown gods of the sky; his fingers tightly wound into fists, knuckles stark-white in the dim of the candlelight and Hermione was afraid he'd crush his willow-wood wand. Before he went mad in his bitterness and any spiteful, unforgiving words could leave him she continued, "And I hated it," she was smirking, yet sincere. "It was terrible, honest," she went on once Ron, now appearing hopeful, met her gaze again. Progress, this was progress.

"Really?" he asked her breathlessly, cautiously.

"Yes," she replied but after a brief pause Ron peeled his eyes from her, seemingly still distraught. "What is it?"

"It's just… is-is… is that all you've d-done?"

"Ronald!" she squeaked frustratingly, smacking him round the arm. "That's a ridiculous thing to ask me. Of course that's all I've done. I'm not this damn scarlet woman you so obviously think I am," the tears were stinging at her eyes again, ready to pour. "And besides, I don't understand you know, why you're even angry at me about this when-when you never tried anything, you never made a move," she caught her breath, chest heaving but unable to stop herself as her truths came tumbling out. She almost couldn't hear herself with the searing blood pulsating through her ears. "I've just been here all along, standing here right in front of you and it's like, you… you can't even see me," a symphony of tears cascaded hotly over her cheeks and down her chin, dripping onto the tops of her black shoes. "You don't see me,"

Ron was panicking inside, his fingers reaching out instinctively to comfort her but too scared to touch. "I see you," he told her meekly yet he was true, he was genuine. "I see all of you," he did and she had no idea. He knew her and loved what he saw.

"No you don't," she snickered, drying her face.

"Yeah, I do," he countered, taking a step towards her.

Hermione wanted to laugh – was he being for real? "Then prove it,"

For a fog-filled minute, time stood still and Ron felt as if he'd fall through the earth, he almost wished he would. What exactly was she asking him to do, here? He gulped again. Did she possibly want him to-to kiss her? Ron didn't know if he could do that but… this was precisely why Ginny told him he'd had the experience of a twelve year old, made him feel like a childish fool. This was why he'd been so angry to begin with. He was always so cowardly, so frigid when it came to women; he was the only one amongst his friends, even his own siblings, who hadn't given a snog to anyone yet and the one girl who was constantly on his brain had just admitted how badly she wanted him to notice her.

Of course he bloody noticed her, he had eyes after all. He might be a great prat on occasion but he wasn't a complete moron. Hermione was attractive, vivacious and brilliant in every way and he'd come to the harsh realization that if he didn't get a move on she would get swept away by some undeserving git and that would be that. Ron may still be a boy to some but he was to be of-age in a few short months. He wanted to feel like a man, he wanted to be a man for Hermione.

'Ugh, why couldn't this be easy?' he thought.

"Prove it, go on," Hermione's temper was stagnant as she waited with baited-breath for him to do something, anything. 'Be bold for me,' her gaze pleaded with him, trying to get the message through.

Ron swallowed thickly, an idea hitting him and with everything he had in one, shaking exhale let his insecurities roll away and off his shoulders. He relaxed slightly, giving his body permission to close some space between them, to extend his hand and wrap it around hers where he lifted it to his line of view for inspection. Hermione said nothing, held no judgement in her stare. This was his chance to demonstrate how he felt about her and she wasn't going to ruin it.

"Your hands," his voice was a whisper. He was still so unsure of himself but firmly determined to enthuse. "I noticed before – look," Ron pressed his palm to hers, spreading out their fingers like a blooming flower; his chest was mere inches from her face, her curls tickling at his neck. "So tiny when you see it against mine," the candlelight was flickering in the shadows, as if a common draft was rolling by. He grinned handsomely. "You're just a tiny little witch in general. When you're standing next to me, pipsqueak that you are,"

"I'm not a pipsqueak!" she interjected, wild-eyed but bemused.

Ron chuckled, repeating himself, "When you're standing there, I, I just-" Suddenly he'd erased the remaining space between them – with a rugged sensuality Hermione certainly didn't know he had, Ron snaked his free hand across her waist, clutching her school robes at the nook of her hip and pulling her into his solid form. Instinctually she steeled herself, grabbing onto the material of his grey Hogwarts vest at his shoulder upon impact. "I just want to hold you,"

He was embracing her. There were soft puffs of breathing from above, his face so near as she peered up slowly, heavy-lidded to meet his amorous gaze. A battalion of butterflies were terrorizing Hermione's insides, threatening to lift her whole soul from out her body. Her thumping heart was bound to break right through her ribcage, could Ron feel it? His other hand was still pressed to hers, reeling her in almost like they were dancing. Ron gave a slight roll of his hips against her, like he wanted nothing more than to get as close as he possibly could and within her a certain throbbing had awakened with a brazen fire. It was an unbearably titillating ache that made her feel wet between her thighs and frankly, she just wasn't used to it.

Hermione leaned her head on Ron, her face was so hot. This was keeping her from getting too overwhelmed, breathing in his wholly welcoming scent – like smoky kindling and pure earth, she could get lost in him. "I… like this," she confessed, nuzzling herself into his vest.

Ron was busy himself, inhaling her feminine essence and allowing everything that made up Hermione to invade him, to assault his senses. She smelled amazing. "You d-do?" Hermione nodded into his chest and his body moved on its own, releasing their cupped hands and wrapping his arm around her middle. He smoothed her hair down comfortingly, sliding gingerly to trace little patterns at the small of her back. "Are you hiding from me?" he asked, one of his red brows arched in curiosity.

"No," she lied, shaking her curls. A deep, crowing chuckle resonated from his throat.

"Yes you are," he said, "Come on, look at me," she stiffened. "Look at me, Hermione,"

Hesitantly, she lifted her head, meeting again his eyes. Her fingers were toying with the fabric of his robes, fidgeting as he smiled down at her.

"There you are," he murmured, happy with himself. Hermione had never seen this affectionate side of Ron before, yet this was Ron. This was who he'd been all along, behind closed doors, beyond the barricades of his heart. Hermione had broken through.

"Ronald, do it," she mewled and he felt his leg's quake beneath him. "Kiss me," her nose brushed across his, gaining height by balancing on the tips of her toes. Ron shuddered, his hand twisting in her long, untamable mane before bringing it round to sweep his knuckles over the silken skin of her cheek, her jaw.

Without giving it much more thought he bent forward, slowly, tenderly capturing her lips with his own. His soul flared, roaring to life; a blazing, animalistic desire seated itself desperately within his abdomen and his entire being vibrated with need. Hermione was sighing into him instantly, her mouth kneading keenly against his as a gentle whimper escaped him. Ron's tongue darted out, testing the waters before he slipped inside her, smoothing around to taste her. She matched his fervor, meeting his deliberate, libidinous kisses at every turn.

Hermione wasn't sure when her feet had left the floor, never realized how strong Ron could be, how strong he clearly was. He'd lifted her by the waist, his lips not leaving hers as he carried her to a desk and sat her there in front of him. His fit frame fell in between her legs and she let her knees ascend and squeeze around him, her charcoal-grey skirt fanning upwards. Ron's hands found her hips then tantalizingly, painstakingly leveled over her rumpled skirt to her legs. His long digits – deprived of friction, deprived of flesh – skimmed surreptitiously over the supple skin of her thighs, his tips just barely beneath the offending school garment.

Ron was already getting ahead of himself; he wanted to get closer to her, wanted more.

With a wetted pop of their mouths, they finally broke apart. Neither Ron nor Hermione could suppress the bashful, yet cheeky grins that overtook them. "Wow," was all Ron could manage between their heavy panting.

"I'll say," replied Hermione. "That was, without a doubt, far better than what Krum could do,"

"What? No..." Ron sputtered disbelievingly. "Wait, really?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Yes, absolutely," she answered primly. "I wouldn't very well say it if it wasn't true,"

"Blimey," he whispered with wonder. "I can't believe this just happened," Ron felt to be the luckiest man on earth that night, felt he was the luckiest wizard alive. He couldn't quite figure out how he'd ended up with Hermione Granger in his arms, what he did exactly that got him this far but he was floating atop clouds.

"You don't… regret this, do you?" she heard herself question.

"Regret this? Hermione, are you joking? I've wanted this for so lo-" he snapped his lips shut, beet-red once again and aghast from his own admission. She'd almost gasped, surprised too but smiled and pressed her mouth to his again, conveying with all she had how much she appreciated him in that instant.

"Thank you," she told him when they parted, ruffling up the front of his crimson mop. "We should really get back now but I…" she paused, stricken with embarrassment from her audacity.

Ron nudged her, "What?"

"I'd like to… sneak off with you again," she purred coyly, "That is, only if you-"

"Oh, I want to," he finished, seizing her up off the desk and gently settling her feet to the floor before him. "And soon, like tomorrow," Ron added earnestly. "I don't think I can wait for, for this," his lips found hers with one lasting kiss, hoping it'd hold him over until then.

They waltzed hand-in-hand, an extraordinary lightness in their steps all the way to the common room and for the first time in a long time, they didn't feel jealous, or vengeful; they didn't feel alone.

-o-

AN: I fully enjoyed writing this corn-fest! Never had I gone so in depth into Ron's character and it was a lot of fun coloring his world and working out the kinks in his development.

Would any of you like to read more in a Part Two? Let me know in a review if this story at all tickled your fancy and if you wouldn't mind seeing how this particular Romione romance takes its course. I love you guys so much. I can only hope you're all healthy and safe in these dark times. Have a nice, antisocial rest of your week, folks. This hell shall too, one day pass. Let's pray it's expeditious. Cheers :o)