The characters in this story were created by JK Rowling and belong to her.
I am not making any money from writing about them.
Hermione sat gazing out the window of her tower room. It was Friday night, and the other girls she shared the dormitory with were out wandering either the grounds or the halls of the school with their boyfriends. She knew that her two best friends were downstairs in the common room, and she knew that if she hid up here any longer they would eventually try to come find her, or send someone up to do it for them, since even Harry hadn't yet figured out how to get past the sliding staircase, but she just didn't feel like going down there and pretending everything was okay just now. She loved them both, dearly; after her lonely childhood, they were the best friends any girl could have hoped for. But, well, they were boys, and they just really wouldn't understand her mood right now. She didn't really understand it herself, so she knew for a fact she would never be able to explain it to two boys, however well-meaning they were.
No, she corrected herself, not boys. Not any more. They were men. That was part of the problem. Hermione, of course, had been watching them grow into themselves for years, because it was her nature to notice things. She had seen weeks before they did that their voices would be changing soon, that they would need to start shaving soon, that they would need new robes because they were getting very tall and muscular through the chest, and shoulders, and arms...Yes, it was Hermione's nature to observe things, everyone knew that. Ron and Harry certainly knew it, and she knew they were grateful for it, since that skill of hers had saved their lives a time or two, and kept them from getting into serious trouble more times than they could count.
The two men in her life knew all that about her, but it was what they didn't know that was depressing Hermione tonight. She was an observer, and she could think abstractly about the things she had observed, but she wasn't, never had been, a neutral observer. She had seen them getting muscular and broad shouldered and tall, and it had thrilled her and wakened yearnings deep inside. She had heard their voices getting lower and lower and they had sent shivers through her body. She kicked the wall in frustration, wondering why people seemed to assume that because she was smart, she wasn't emotional. Ron and Harry should know better, she thought angrily. Who had smacked Malfoy across the face when he had insulted Hagrid? Who had cried her heart out when they thought Buckbeak had been executed? Who had wept in humiliation when Snape had made fun of her teeth? Who had stomped out of Trelawney's class in a fit of temper? Who had held Harry to her and told him he was a great wizard when he was going after the Sorcerer's Stone? Who had started a blazing row with Ron after the Yule Ball? The idiots. She was smart, and organized, and logical, but sometimes she got so overwhelmed by her emotions that she didn't know what to do about them. Sometimes she shook with the suppressed feelings, wept with them, because they refused to be ignored and there was no place to let them out.
She imagined trying to explain that to Ron or Harry. She knew that they felt like that sometimes, too, especially Harry, who had been trained from an early age to hide his feelings, but when they felt restless they would usually go outside and fly around the Quidditch pitch. Hermione certainly wasn't going to do that- she didn't even have a broom. But physical activity might actually be an answer, she thought to herself. The problem was, she was feeling so intensely restless right now that even if she went out to jog, she'd have to run to London and back to work it all out. Yes, physical activity might just be the thing, but it wasn't flying or even jogging that would satisfy her right now. She had another sort of physical activity on her mind a lot these days, and the lack of it was causing her frustration to increase day by day.
Reluctantly, Hermione climbed out of the window well and decided to make the rounds of the girls' dormitory. She knew some Fifth Years two floors up had snuck in some firewhiskey and would have someone posted at the door to watch for the Head Girl. She might as well give them a thrill by walking past their room and forcing them to hide what they were doing. Strangely, what she really wanted to do was to join them; getting good and tipsy sounded oddly appealing just now. Maybe then she'd have the courage to go after what she knew she wanted. But, no. She was Head Girl, after all. She had to be a good example to the younger students. She had to be responsible.
She walked heavily up the staircase, making sure her footsteps could be heard well before she arrived on the landing above. She heard giggles and whispers and shrieks, and smiled wryly. If she were as hard-nosed as some people thought, each and every one of those girls would have had a week of detention long before now. She reached the landing and several younger heads popped out of the door at her. "Hi, Hermoine!" they called cheerfully, and all broke out into giggles. Clearly they had made some progress into the firewhiskey already.
"Hello," Hermione answered. "Everything all right here?"
"Oh, yes, absolutely," they answered, trying to look serious and keep straight faces. Pathetic, Hermione thought, not without some jealousy. She'd broken rules to save lives or to keep the world from being taken over by evil forces, but she'd never broken a rule just for fun. She wondered if she was missing something.
"All right, then," she said, "carry on." The girls giggled again and slipped back into their dormitory and shut the door. Hermione continued up the stairs to the very top and slipped out the secret door that led out onto the roof of the tower. She didn't know anyone else who knew about this door, even Ron or Harry. As far as she knew, Fred and George hadn't even discovered it, since it was in the girls' tower. She was pretty confident she wouldn't be found here.
It was a lovely warm night, too early in the autumn for the chill to have set in. Hermione walked to the very edge of the roof and looked out over the grounds, the lake, the forest. The breeze picked up her hair and blew it back, and for a moment she tilted her head back, enjoying the sensual feeling of the air caressing her face and neck and body. Feeling reckless, she stepped up onto the short battlement wall that surrounded the tower roof. She knew if she fell she'd probably be killed on the roof fifty feet below, but she was feeling like taking chances tonight. She balanced herself carefully and extended her arms out as far as they could go. If she looked out, and not down, she could almost imagine she was flying. The wind picked up and whipped her black robes around her, blowing hard enough that she could lean into it a little bit. It almost felt like she was being carried on it, and she wished with all her heart that she could fly, like some of the more powerful witches and wizards she knew. Maybe there was a charm for that; she'd have to look it up tomorrow. Or maybe not, because if there were another night like tonight, she might just fly away forever. But she didn't guess she could fly away from her feelings, or from the needs churning inside her. Then she laughed at herself; she knew she was far too much the Head Girl ever to walk away from her responsibilities. Still, a girl could have fantasies...
That was how he found her, standing on the battlement, hair blowing, arms stretched out like she would embrace the sky, laughing. It worried him; she didn't look like the Hermione he knew. There wasn't a book in sight, and she looked, somehow...wild. It confused him, and he simply refused to acknowledge that it also excited him. He knew that she didn't think about him that way, he had accepted it long ago when he had messed everything up. If he had been brave enough to ask her to the Yule Ball three years ago, if he had ever done anything about it...well, that was over. Sometimes, still, he caught her looking at him, but then she'd blush and turn away, leaving him sure he'd imagined it. Of course, sometimes he caught her looking at Harry that way, too. Or he thought he did. He figured Harry was a much better match for her than he was, anyway. Harry was a star; ten OWLs, youngest Seeker in a hundred years, Quidditch Captain, DA leader, the Boy Who Lived, the Prophesied One. Hermione was a star, too; twelve OWLs, Head Girl, best in the class six years running, founder of SPEW, which had actually taken off in the wizarding world in the last year. He was— well, he was just Ron, the last and least of the Weasley brothers, only 8 OWLs, decent student but nothing amazing, decent Keeper but not professional class, gangly and goofy looking, always in somebody's shadow. He knew there was no reason for her to think of him as more than a friend, so he tried to be a really good friend, but sometimes he thought the frustration would kill him.
Hermione's laughter faded and she sighed, a sound that wove its way into the air and hit Ron like a punch—both in the gut and in the heart. It sounded so sad, that sigh, but what did Hermione have to be sad about? And it sounded like something he had fantasized about, in the dark, in the privacy of the closed curtains of his four-poster bed. He watched her climb carefully off the short wall, shocked that she had done something so dangerous in the first place. Not that Hermione had never faced danger, they all had, and Hermione had always come out on top of it. But she never went looking for it like Harry did. If he had had to choose which one of his friends had a death wish, it wouldn't have been Hermione.
"Hermione?" he said softly, and could feels his ears go hot when it came out soft and scratchy. He cleared his throat softly; it didn't seem right to go making a lot of noise up here in this quiet place. Hermione gasped and spun around, startled, and amazed that he stood there, as though her restless thoughts had conjured him. But in a way, it wasn't a surprise at all; it was exactly right that they should be up here together.
"Hello..." she said, equally softly, unwilling to ruin the tenuous and precious mood cast by the stars and the wind and the darkness. "How...how did you get up here?"
Ron nodded toward the broomstick leaning against the opposite wall of the tower. Hermione nodded her understanding, but frowned a little. "That was really dangerous," she said, but this time she wasn't scolding him as he might have expected her to. She just sounded concerned, he supposed, but something else, too...he smiled to think that if it were anyone else, he would ask Hermione to tell him what it was.
Hermione's expression didn't change, but her heart rate sped up at the thought of him flying out of Gryffindor Tower just to come find her. He didn't know, of course, that while Harry was everyone's tragic hero, he, Ron, would always be her knight, had been that to her since the day he had taken to his horse on McGonagall's giant chess set and sacrificed himself for her and Harry. Her blood heated and her imagination soared at the thought of him flying through the night to find her.
"Are you all right, Hermoine?" Ron asked.
"Hmmm...?" she asked, still absorbed in the image of her knight. "Oh, yes, I'm all right." She wasn't, really, but that brought her back to why she couldn't tell this man about so many of her feelings, and she was tired of thinking about that. Instead she asked, "Where's Harry? I thought you two were playing chess or something."
Ron felt as though she had kicked him in the gut. She would rather that Harry had come up for her. He knew it. She wanted Harry, not him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked over to the edge of the battlement that Hermione has just climbed off of. "He went for a walk with Ginny," he said, his voice flat because he was trying not to let his bitterness come through.
"Oh..." Hermione said quietly. That was good. If ever two people should be together it was Harry and Ginny. But Ron didn't seem happy about it. Maybe he didn't want his little sister dating Harry for some reason. She walked over and stood beside him, and they stood together gazing out over the lake.
"Do you mind?" she asked hesitantly, after awhile. "I mean, do you mind that Harry's out with Ginny? She's never really gotten over him, you know."
Ron turned and looked down at her. What was she talking about? He shrugged. "I always thought they'd be good together, but she's not the only girl who likes him, you know. A lot of girls do. He's pretty oblivious, though, the great prat."
"I know," Hermione smiled wryly. "I live in the girls' dorm, remember?"
Ron was quiet for a long time. Finally, he blurted out, "Do you mind?"
Hermione was surprised by the question. "Er...sorry," she said. "Mind what?"
"That Harry's—you know—out walking with Ginny," he mumbled.
"Why would I mind?" Hermione asked, sincerely puzzled.
"Well, I thought maybe...I mean, I just wondered...if it bothered you. I mean, if you liked Harry, you wouldn't want him out walking at night with Ginny, right?"
"If I liked Harry?" Hermoine repeated, shocked. "Like that? What makes you say that, Ron?"
Ron shuffled his big feet awkwardly, but he was a little heartened by her incredulous response. "It's just...all the other girls do, since he's famous and Quidditch Captain and all. And I guess they think he's good- looking." He scowled at that. "I wondered if maybe you liked him, too," he finished awkwardly.
Hermione looked up at Ron. Way up, since she figured he was about six-foot-four now. She decided she had never loved him more in her life than she did right at that moment. Feeling lighter in spirit than she had all day, she replied carefully, "Well, I won't pretend I haven't noticed how good looking he is. I am a girl, you know."
"Yeah, I'd noticed..." Ron mumbled into the collar of his robe.
He'd noticed! Finally! Hermione hid a grin. The restlessness was back, but it wasn't sad or frustrated now. This time it was making her feel brave and bold. She was Head Girl, after all, she was a take-charge sort of woman. Her knight had come for her, but the poor guy didn't know what to do next. It was quiet and warm and lovely up here on the tower, and far, far away from everyone. But most important, it was dark. Between the dark and her growing suspicion that maybe Ron felt the same way after all, well, maybe she could do something about this whole impossible situation.
"The thing is, Ron," Hermione began conversationally, "I notice guys, including Harry, in the same way you and Harry notice girls. Just to look at and appreciate, maybe feel a surge of lust for from time to time..." Ron scowled down at her again, and she smiled up at him. "But that doesn't mean I like them like them."
Ron stared at her. Was she trying to say that she lusted after Harry but didn't like him like that? That made absolutely no sense. Well, maybe a little...he could say that same thing about Parvati and Padma, and they were twins...okay, he could accept that, but he didn't have to like it.
Hermione gathered her courage, grateful again for the darkness. She linked her arm through Ron's, nearly groaning as she felt the hard muscles under her hands. It was all she could do not to press his arm against her breast, and she couldn't help giving the bicep an extra squeeze. "But just because I've noticed them doesn't mean that I ever, say, dream about them..." she said.
"You don't?" Ron whispered.
"No," Hermione said simply. "And it doesn't mean that I've fantasized about them late at night when I've been too frustrated to sleep..."
"Not...not them?" he asked, his head too full of images of Hermione dreaming and fantasizing about...someone...He could feel her hands squeezing his arm, and it was like her hands were on fire...they were so hot...or maybe that was him. He couldn't do this much longer. If she wasn't talking about him, he'd have to go kill himself. He groaned and spun toward her, and too worked up and frustrated to be gentle, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her.
"Who, then, Hermione?" he demanded. "Who do you..." It was too much. He just could not take this any more. He pulled her to him roughly and kissed her, hard. He was hard and tense and burning up and she should not be teasing him like that. It was the kiss that had been pent up for three years, every minute of frustration and denial poured into it. Their mouths were open as if they could inhale each other, their tongues plunged and tasted and licked, their teeth bit sharply at each other.
Hermione groaned and grabbed the front of Ron's robes, hanging on for dear life. This was not how she had imagined their first kiss. She had played it out as sweet and awkward and filled with blushes and sighs, their lips soft and moist as they met for the first time. She was sure there had been very little of this wild, rough, devouring in her sweet romantic daydreams. What had she been thinking? This was what she had been aching for all those restless nights, this is where all those fantasies should have been leading, this was what nobody knew she was like inside. She let go of Ron's robes and ran her hands up inside them, feeling the tense muscles of his chest, squeezing his shoulders, pulling him even closer and pressing her body to his. She could feel how hard he was everywhere, and it thrilled her and made her feel hot inside.
Somewhere deep down, Ron couldn't believe that this was sensible responsible Hermione who was grasping at him like she would climb up his body. No wonder she had seemed moody lately, if this was the sort of thing going on inside her. But mostly he wasn't thinking much, all he wanted was to taste and feel every inch of her, every bit that he had been allowed to look at but never touch for all these years. He bent his knees and cupped his hands under her rear, another place he had looked at extensively but never touched. He squeezed it roughly, causing Hermione to moan again, and then pulled her up, lifting her to him so that her legs were wrapped around his waist. That put her face even with his—she was so beautiful—and he bent his head to her neck, kissing and biting and sucking on the sweet smooth skin. She dropped her head back and let him have better access. He stopped for a moment and moved away from the battlement, pulled out his wand and conjured a squishy armchair for them to sit on, and collapsed into it with Hermione still on top of him.
She could feel his excitement as she straddled him in the chair, and it excited her more than anything ever had. She pressed her pelvis against his, and this time he was the one who moaned. He leaned his head back against the chair as she continued to rub against him, not entirely in control of her movements, just knowing it felt good and that this was Ron. His breathing sped up, making her feel powerful, but she was startled and hurt when he grabbed her and pushed her back.
"Stop," he panted, "you have to stop that." His face was flushed and his eyes dark, and he looked so incredible to her. She couldn't stop touching him now. She didn't understand why he would want her to do that.
"But," she said, her face burning with humilation, "I...rather liked it," she mumbled.
Ron groaned and pulled her close, but she wouldn't look at him. She was staring to feel stupid, she didn't know what she was doing, she wasn't good at this. "I liked it, too, Hermoine," Ron said wryly. "I was starting to like it too much, if you know what I mean..."
"No, I don't---- ohhhhhhh!" she said, finally understanding. Ron laughed. She was so cute when she was embarrassed. Hermione put her hands over her face, "I'm sorry," she said through her fingers, "I don't have much experience with this sort of thing..."
"You never did anything like this with Viktor?" Ron asked, not bothering to hide how glad he was about it.
"No," Hermione shook her head. "Just kissing. But not like this. This is incredible, better than I ever dreamed about..."
Ron couldn't believe it. She was so beautiful and so...wonderful, he thought, unable to find a better word in his foggy brain. He couldn't believe nobody had ever touched her like this before. Of course, he realized, nobody had ever touched him like this before, either.
"So, nobody's ever done this," he asked, and his big hands came up to rest on her breasts.
"No..." Hermione gasped, her embarrassment forgotten. Ron moved his hands for a moment, and picked Hermione up and turned her so that she was sitting sideways on his lap. She leaned back against his left arm as his right hand returned to her breasts.
"And nobody's ever done this?" he squeezed her this time. Hermione didn't bother to answer, she couldn't think anyway. She could only strain against his hand as he went between her breasts, squeezing and rubbing, gently at first, but soon returning to the rough passion they had shared earlier. He kept doing that until she was squirming and trying to turn and get closer to him, she loved what he was doing, but she was sure she had to get even closer. She sat up and straddled him again, so that her breasts were at the level of his face. He immediately began to suck on them through her robe, and she thought she would have to die, because it couldn't be possible to feel this good. His hands were doing something else, and it was a moment before she realized they were working their way up under her robe. She wasn't wearing Muggle clothes underneath as she often did, just her bra and panties, so Ron's hands were feeling almost everything there was to feel.
He couldn't believe how good her bare skin felt. He had never touched someone's skin like this, with nothing between her and his hands. It suddenly became very clear to him that that was what they needed- more skin. He pulled her robe up over her head, and she sat there for a moment in simply her underwear. She was so beautiful, his hands shook, and for the first time he wondered if he should be doing this, if he was good enough for her, if he could make it good enough for her. He stared at her beautiful body, and finally asked her, "Hermione, d'you want to stop? I could, I guess...if we stop now..."
His hands were still on her thighs, and she didn't think he was even aware that he had started rubbing them. It was probably tension, fear...but it still felt really good. "I don't want to stop, Ron," she said to him. "I love you. I want you to be my first. Take your robe off, okay?" She couldn't believe she was saying this. She had said that to him in dreams, of course, or when she sat across from him in class pretending to be concentrating, but she had resigned herself to the fact that it would never get said out loud. Ron stared at her a while longer.
"It's...I mean...it's my first time, too," he finally got out, blushing scarlet to the roots of his hair.
"I know that," Hermione said. "Honestly, Ron, do you think I wouldn't have noticed if you'd been sleeping with some other girl? I notice everything, remember?"
Ron gave her that lopsided grin that always melted her insides. "Yeah, I guess so," he conceded. "But, Hermione," he hesitated again. "If we do this, I can't go back to pretending not to like you anymore. It would kill me. We're together now, okay?"
Tears welled up in her eyes. She'd been aching, physically, to hear him say those words for years. She hadn't imagined that she'd be sitting on top of him in her bra and panties when she finally heard them, but it would do. It would more than do, it was absolutely perfect.
"Oh, yes," she breathed, and touched her forehead to his. "That's all I've ever wanted, just to be together with you."
He was amazed that he really hadn't had a clue. She was so good at hiding her feelings, and he had never known that she was loving him like that all the time. But there was a lot going on in there that he would have to get better at noticing. He smiled at the idea; if he was going to discover more of this wildness and hot passion, then he supposed he wouldn't mind putting in the work. Once again he moved his hands, up and down her thighs, up her midriff and her breasts, over her shoulders, nearly paralyzed with the incongruous idea that his most recurring fantasy was coming true.
"Ron," she whispered, as his hands continued to stroke her and her breath came more quickly, "I want to do this, but I'm...I mean, go slow, okay?"
"Okay," he said, wondering how he would manage to keep himself under control. He was hard as a rock already and he hadn't even gotten his robes off yet. Of course, Hermione seemed to be taking care of that...she had climbed off him and was pulling his robes off his shoulders. He stood to help her. She threw the black garment aside and he stood there in his jeans and tshirt. His legs looked so good in Muggle jeans, she thought. And she appreciated the fact that jeans did not help him hide how excited he was. Feeling wild again, she reached out and laid a hand on his leather belt, then drew it slowly downward, feeling his excitement for herself. She pressed him with her hand and he groaned and tried to pull her back to him, but she wouldn't stop. His breath came faster and faster until finally he grabbed her and growled, "I thought you wanted to go slow!"
Hermione laughed, but removed her hand, and began to untuck his shirt. He grabbed it and threw it aside, and she was overwhelmed by the actual sight of his chest. He was slender, but muscular from Quidditch training, and suddenly her hands and lips were everywhere, and she had no control over anything at all. Every rational thought left her head and she was consumed with the need to touch and taste every inch of every muscle. She squeezed and rubbed and caressed him all over, and thought she would have been content if all they ever did was for him to take his shirt off and let her touch him.
At least, she thought that until she noticed that he had reached down and begun to unbuckle his belt, and without warning, that was where her hands needed to be. She watched impatiently while he unzipped himself and she could see his length straining against the white fabric of his underwear. He stepped away from her and sat down in the chair, and bent down to take his shoes off, so she knelt next to him and kept kissing his strong shoulders while he was working.
With his pants unzipped but still on, he kicked off his shoes and pulled her roughly onto his lap again. He kissed her as they had done before, wild and wet and almost harsh, but he couldn't get enough of her. He squeezed her breasts again, and reached behind her to try to unhook her bra. It took her forever, and she moaned with frustration until she finally said, "Here, let me," and expertly released the hook with one hand. The bra slid down her arms and her bare breasts were in his hands. His hands were big, but she filled them up, she was incredible, he had never touched anyone like this and the more excited he got the less he remembered to try to be gentle or go slow.
In frustration, Hermione stood up and grabbed his hand and yanked him out of the chair so that she could finish his incomplete job of taking his jeans and underwear off. He returned the favor and in a moment they both stood naked, skin rubbing against skin, reveling in the feel of that but still wanting more. Hermione reached down and grabbed the wand sticking out of Ron's discarded jeans' pocket, pointed it at the chair and muttered a spell, and the chair grew several feet longer, so that it was really now a couch. Ron stepped over and lay down on it, leaning his head on his hand, and motioned for her to lay down by him. She was a little nervous, but she really wanted this, more than she thought a person could want something, so she lay down by him and snuggled into his strong chest.
But just touching that wonderful chest made all her nervousness disappear, and she felt voracious again. Apparently Ron did, too, because the kissing and touching continued as roughly and wildly as ever. After several more minutes of it, during which not a single coherent thought entered either of their heads, only hot craving images, Ron slid over so that he was lying on top of her. They rubbed against each other like that, until she was begging him to do it, she couldn't get him close enough, she had to have him inside of her.
He couldn't believe she wanted him like this, couldn't believe she was asking him for the thing he'd been dying for, but he was glad because he couldn't wait any longer. Hermione raised her knees and wrapped her legs around his waist and felt him pressing against her. Suddenly he thrust into her and she gasped. It pinched for a minute, but he was moving back and forth and the pain faded beneath the onslaught of other sensations. Her excitement continued to build and she pushed herself against him with every thrust until it was too much, the pleasure exploded from between her legs into the rest of her body like electricity. She clung to Ron with her arms and legs, wrapped around him while the waves rolled through her, and then the aftershocks. Ron's thrusts came faster and harder, until every muscle tensed and he moaned one last time. He seemed suspended like that for ages, then he took a deep gasping breath and collapsed on top of her.
They lay like that, panting and sweaty, their bodies still joined, until Ron moved off her. The sensation of his body leaving hers, of separating, left her feeling bereft, so she curled into him again and he wrapped his arms around her. They lay like that while their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and the breeze started to make them feel chilly.
Reluctantly, Ron said, "I guess we'd better go in."
"Mmmm, I suppose," she murmured, feeling sleepy.
"Hermione?" Ron said, sounding shy again.
"Hmmm?" she asked, raising her head from his chest to look at his face.
"Are you okay? I mean, I don't know, are you okay?" he repeated lamely.
"I don't know," she said, sitting up. "Look at me, honestly, I'm covered with bruises and bite marks and hickeys...hmmm...I don't remember that one...."
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking stricken. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't control myself very well, I didn't mean to hurt you..."
"Ron, you idiot, I loved every second of it, as you know full well," Hermione said, making Ron grin with relief.
"Are you...well, are you glad? I don't want you to regret it or anything," he said, looking so unsure of himself that she had to bend and kiss him.
"It was the best thing that has ever happened to me," she said simply. "It was better than I'd ever dreamed, and I dreamed about it a lot!"
"Me, too," he said. He kissed her again, then rolled over her and off the couch, and started to gather their things. "I think these are yours...where's my underwear? Oh, there it is..."
Reluctantly, Hermione began to dress as well. Finally, everything was put back in order, the couch was vanished, and Ron had grabbed his broom from against the wall. "See you in the common room?" he asked.
"Ah, well, I think I'm going to go to bed," she answered. "For some reason I'm feeling tired..." She gave him a mischevious smile and kissed his cheek.
"We're together now, right?" he asked again.
"Oh, yes," she said, her smile growing brilliant.
"That's good then. Love you. G'night." He gave her one more kiss and watched as she opened the secret door and then closed it behind her. He couldn't believe what they had just done, but he was very happy about it. He had no idea why someone like Hermione would choose him, but he wasn't about to argue, since he had every hope that they would be able to do it again in the near future. He kicked off on his broom and flew around the tower to the open common room window, aware that the grin on his face would have to be explained at some point. But maybe it could wait until morning.
Hermione sat gazing out the window of her tower room. It was Friday night, and the other girls she shared the dormitory with were out wandering either the grounds or the halls of the school with their boyfriends. She knew that her two best friends were downstairs in the common room, and she knew that if she hid up here any longer they would eventually try to come find her, or send someone up to do it for them, since even Harry hadn't yet figured out how to get past the sliding staircase, but she just didn't feel like going down there and pretending everything was okay just now. She loved them both, dearly; after her lonely childhood, they were the best friends any girl could have hoped for. But, well, they were boys, and they just really wouldn't understand her mood right now. She didn't really understand it herself, so she knew for a fact she would never be able to explain it to two boys, however well-meaning they were.
No, she corrected herself, not boys. Not any more. They were men. That was part of the problem. Hermione, of course, had been watching them grow into themselves for years, because it was her nature to notice things. She had seen weeks before they did that their voices would be changing soon, that they would need to start shaving soon, that they would need new robes because they were getting very tall and muscular through the chest, and shoulders, and arms...Yes, it was Hermione's nature to observe things, everyone knew that. Ron and Harry certainly knew it, and she knew they were grateful for it, since that skill of hers had saved their lives a time or two, and kept them from getting into serious trouble more times than they could count.
The two men in her life knew all that about her, but it was what they didn't know that was depressing Hermione tonight. She was an observer, and she could think abstractly about the things she had observed, but she wasn't, never had been, a neutral observer. She had seen them getting muscular and broad shouldered and tall, and it had thrilled her and wakened yearnings deep inside. She had heard their voices getting lower and lower and they had sent shivers through her body. She kicked the wall in frustration, wondering why people seemed to assume that because she was smart, she wasn't emotional. Ron and Harry should know better, she thought angrily. Who had smacked Malfoy across the face when he had insulted Hagrid? Who had cried her heart out when they thought Buckbeak had been executed? Who had wept in humiliation when Snape had made fun of her teeth? Who had stomped out of Trelawney's class in a fit of temper? Who had held Harry to her and told him he was a great wizard when he was going after the Sorcerer's Stone? Who had started a blazing row with Ron after the Yule Ball? The idiots. She was smart, and organized, and logical, but sometimes she got so overwhelmed by her emotions that she didn't know what to do about them. Sometimes she shook with the suppressed feelings, wept with them, because they refused to be ignored and there was no place to let them out.
She imagined trying to explain that to Ron or Harry. She knew that they felt like that sometimes, too, especially Harry, who had been trained from an early age to hide his feelings, but when they felt restless they would usually go outside and fly around the Quidditch pitch. Hermione certainly wasn't going to do that- she didn't even have a broom. But physical activity might actually be an answer, she thought to herself. The problem was, she was feeling so intensely restless right now that even if she went out to jog, she'd have to run to London and back to work it all out. Yes, physical activity might just be the thing, but it wasn't flying or even jogging that would satisfy her right now. She had another sort of physical activity on her mind a lot these days, and the lack of it was causing her frustration to increase day by day.
Reluctantly, Hermione climbed out of the window well and decided to make the rounds of the girls' dormitory. She knew some Fifth Years two floors up had snuck in some firewhiskey and would have someone posted at the door to watch for the Head Girl. She might as well give them a thrill by walking past their room and forcing them to hide what they were doing. Strangely, what she really wanted to do was to join them; getting good and tipsy sounded oddly appealing just now. Maybe then she'd have the courage to go after what she knew she wanted. But, no. She was Head Girl, after all. She had to be a good example to the younger students. She had to be responsible.
She walked heavily up the staircase, making sure her footsteps could be heard well before she arrived on the landing above. She heard giggles and whispers and shrieks, and smiled wryly. If she were as hard-nosed as some people thought, each and every one of those girls would have had a week of detention long before now. She reached the landing and several younger heads popped out of the door at her. "Hi, Hermoine!" they called cheerfully, and all broke out into giggles. Clearly they had made some progress into the firewhiskey already.
"Hello," Hermione answered. "Everything all right here?"
"Oh, yes, absolutely," they answered, trying to look serious and keep straight faces. Pathetic, Hermione thought, not without some jealousy. She'd broken rules to save lives or to keep the world from being taken over by evil forces, but she'd never broken a rule just for fun. She wondered if she was missing something.
"All right, then," she said, "carry on." The girls giggled again and slipped back into their dormitory and shut the door. Hermione continued up the stairs to the very top and slipped out the secret door that led out onto the roof of the tower. She didn't know anyone else who knew about this door, even Ron or Harry. As far as she knew, Fred and George hadn't even discovered it, since it was in the girls' tower. She was pretty confident she wouldn't be found here.
It was a lovely warm night, too early in the autumn for the chill to have set in. Hermione walked to the very edge of the roof and looked out over the grounds, the lake, the forest. The breeze picked up her hair and blew it back, and for a moment she tilted her head back, enjoying the sensual feeling of the air caressing her face and neck and body. Feeling reckless, she stepped up onto the short battlement wall that surrounded the tower roof. She knew if she fell she'd probably be killed on the roof fifty feet below, but she was feeling like taking chances tonight. She balanced herself carefully and extended her arms out as far as they could go. If she looked out, and not down, she could almost imagine she was flying. The wind picked up and whipped her black robes around her, blowing hard enough that she could lean into it a little bit. It almost felt like she was being carried on it, and she wished with all her heart that she could fly, like some of the more powerful witches and wizards she knew. Maybe there was a charm for that; she'd have to look it up tomorrow. Or maybe not, because if there were another night like tonight, she might just fly away forever. But she didn't guess she could fly away from her feelings, or from the needs churning inside her. Then she laughed at herself; she knew she was far too much the Head Girl ever to walk away from her responsibilities. Still, a girl could have fantasies...
That was how he found her, standing on the battlement, hair blowing, arms stretched out like she would embrace the sky, laughing. It worried him; she didn't look like the Hermione he knew. There wasn't a book in sight, and she looked, somehow...wild. It confused him, and he simply refused to acknowledge that it also excited him. He knew that she didn't think about him that way, he had accepted it long ago when he had messed everything up. If he had been brave enough to ask her to the Yule Ball three years ago, if he had ever done anything about it...well, that was over. Sometimes, still, he caught her looking at him, but then she'd blush and turn away, leaving him sure he'd imagined it. Of course, sometimes he caught her looking at Harry that way, too. Or he thought he did. He figured Harry was a much better match for her than he was, anyway. Harry was a star; ten OWLs, youngest Seeker in a hundred years, Quidditch Captain, DA leader, the Boy Who Lived, the Prophesied One. Hermione was a star, too; twelve OWLs, Head Girl, best in the class six years running, founder of SPEW, which had actually taken off in the wizarding world in the last year. He was— well, he was just Ron, the last and least of the Weasley brothers, only 8 OWLs, decent student but nothing amazing, decent Keeper but not professional class, gangly and goofy looking, always in somebody's shadow. He knew there was no reason for her to think of him as more than a friend, so he tried to be a really good friend, but sometimes he thought the frustration would kill him.
Hermione's laughter faded and she sighed, a sound that wove its way into the air and hit Ron like a punch—both in the gut and in the heart. It sounded so sad, that sigh, but what did Hermione have to be sad about? And it sounded like something he had fantasized about, in the dark, in the privacy of the closed curtains of his four-poster bed. He watched her climb carefully off the short wall, shocked that she had done something so dangerous in the first place. Not that Hermione had never faced danger, they all had, and Hermione had always come out on top of it. But she never went looking for it like Harry did. If he had had to choose which one of his friends had a death wish, it wouldn't have been Hermione.
"Hermione?" he said softly, and could feels his ears go hot when it came out soft and scratchy. He cleared his throat softly; it didn't seem right to go making a lot of noise up here in this quiet place. Hermione gasped and spun around, startled, and amazed that he stood there, as though her restless thoughts had conjured him. But in a way, it wasn't a surprise at all; it was exactly right that they should be up here together.
"Hello..." she said, equally softly, unwilling to ruin the tenuous and precious mood cast by the stars and the wind and the darkness. "How...how did you get up here?"
Ron nodded toward the broomstick leaning against the opposite wall of the tower. Hermione nodded her understanding, but frowned a little. "That was really dangerous," she said, but this time she wasn't scolding him as he might have expected her to. She just sounded concerned, he supposed, but something else, too...he smiled to think that if it were anyone else, he would ask Hermione to tell him what it was.
Hermione's expression didn't change, but her heart rate sped up at the thought of him flying out of Gryffindor Tower just to come find her. He didn't know, of course, that while Harry was everyone's tragic hero, he, Ron, would always be her knight, had been that to her since the day he had taken to his horse on McGonagall's giant chess set and sacrificed himself for her and Harry. Her blood heated and her imagination soared at the thought of him flying through the night to find her.
"Are you all right, Hermoine?" Ron asked.
"Hmmm...?" she asked, still absorbed in the image of her knight. "Oh, yes, I'm all right." She wasn't, really, but that brought her back to why she couldn't tell this man about so many of her feelings, and she was tired of thinking about that. Instead she asked, "Where's Harry? I thought you two were playing chess or something."
Ron felt as though she had kicked him in the gut. She would rather that Harry had come up for her. He knew it. She wanted Harry, not him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked over to the edge of the battlement that Hermione has just climbed off of. "He went for a walk with Ginny," he said, his voice flat because he was trying not to let his bitterness come through.
"Oh..." Hermione said quietly. That was good. If ever two people should be together it was Harry and Ginny. But Ron didn't seem happy about it. Maybe he didn't want his little sister dating Harry for some reason. She walked over and stood beside him, and they stood together gazing out over the lake.
"Do you mind?" she asked hesitantly, after awhile. "I mean, do you mind that Harry's out with Ginny? She's never really gotten over him, you know."
Ron turned and looked down at her. What was she talking about? He shrugged. "I always thought they'd be good together, but she's not the only girl who likes him, you know. A lot of girls do. He's pretty oblivious, though, the great prat."
"I know," Hermione smiled wryly. "I live in the girls' dorm, remember?"
Ron was quiet for a long time. Finally, he blurted out, "Do you mind?"
Hermione was surprised by the question. "Er...sorry," she said. "Mind what?"
"That Harry's—you know—out walking with Ginny," he mumbled.
"Why would I mind?" Hermione asked, sincerely puzzled.
"Well, I thought maybe...I mean, I just wondered...if it bothered you. I mean, if you liked Harry, you wouldn't want him out walking at night with Ginny, right?"
"If I liked Harry?" Hermoine repeated, shocked. "Like that? What makes you say that, Ron?"
Ron shuffled his big feet awkwardly, but he was a little heartened by her incredulous response. "It's just...all the other girls do, since he's famous and Quidditch Captain and all. And I guess they think he's good- looking." He scowled at that. "I wondered if maybe you liked him, too," he finished awkwardly.
Hermione looked up at Ron. Way up, since she figured he was about six-foot-four now. She decided she had never loved him more in her life than she did right at that moment. Feeling lighter in spirit than she had all day, she replied carefully, "Well, I won't pretend I haven't noticed how good looking he is. I am a girl, you know."
"Yeah, I'd noticed..." Ron mumbled into the collar of his robe.
He'd noticed! Finally! Hermione hid a grin. The restlessness was back, but it wasn't sad or frustrated now. This time it was making her feel brave and bold. She was Head Girl, after all, she was a take-charge sort of woman. Her knight had come for her, but the poor guy didn't know what to do next. It was quiet and warm and lovely up here on the tower, and far, far away from everyone. But most important, it was dark. Between the dark and her growing suspicion that maybe Ron felt the same way after all, well, maybe she could do something about this whole impossible situation.
"The thing is, Ron," Hermione began conversationally, "I notice guys, including Harry, in the same way you and Harry notice girls. Just to look at and appreciate, maybe feel a surge of lust for from time to time..." Ron scowled down at her again, and she smiled up at him. "But that doesn't mean I like them like them."
Ron stared at her. Was she trying to say that she lusted after Harry but didn't like him like that? That made absolutely no sense. Well, maybe a little...he could say that same thing about Parvati and Padma, and they were twins...okay, he could accept that, but he didn't have to like it.
Hermione gathered her courage, grateful again for the darkness. She linked her arm through Ron's, nearly groaning as she felt the hard muscles under her hands. It was all she could do not to press his arm against her breast, and she couldn't help giving the bicep an extra squeeze. "But just because I've noticed them doesn't mean that I ever, say, dream about them..." she said.
"You don't?" Ron whispered.
"No," Hermione said simply. "And it doesn't mean that I've fantasized about them late at night when I've been too frustrated to sleep..."
"Not...not them?" he asked, his head too full of images of Hermione dreaming and fantasizing about...someone...He could feel her hands squeezing his arm, and it was like her hands were on fire...they were so hot...or maybe that was him. He couldn't do this much longer. If she wasn't talking about him, he'd have to go kill himself. He groaned and spun toward her, and too worked up and frustrated to be gentle, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her.
"Who, then, Hermione?" he demanded. "Who do you..." It was too much. He just could not take this any more. He pulled her to him roughly and kissed her, hard. He was hard and tense and burning up and she should not be teasing him like that. It was the kiss that had been pent up for three years, every minute of frustration and denial poured into it. Their mouths were open as if they could inhale each other, their tongues plunged and tasted and licked, their teeth bit sharply at each other.
Hermione groaned and grabbed the front of Ron's robes, hanging on for dear life. This was not how she had imagined their first kiss. She had played it out as sweet and awkward and filled with blushes and sighs, their lips soft and moist as they met for the first time. She was sure there had been very little of this wild, rough, devouring in her sweet romantic daydreams. What had she been thinking? This was what she had been aching for all those restless nights, this is where all those fantasies should have been leading, this was what nobody knew she was like inside. She let go of Ron's robes and ran her hands up inside them, feeling the tense muscles of his chest, squeezing his shoulders, pulling him even closer and pressing her body to his. She could feel how hard he was everywhere, and it thrilled her and made her feel hot inside.
Somewhere deep down, Ron couldn't believe that this was sensible responsible Hermione who was grasping at him like she would climb up his body. No wonder she had seemed moody lately, if this was the sort of thing going on inside her. But mostly he wasn't thinking much, all he wanted was to taste and feel every inch of her, every bit that he had been allowed to look at but never touch for all these years. He bent his knees and cupped his hands under her rear, another place he had looked at extensively but never touched. He squeezed it roughly, causing Hermione to moan again, and then pulled her up, lifting her to him so that her legs were wrapped around his waist. That put her face even with his—she was so beautiful—and he bent his head to her neck, kissing and biting and sucking on the sweet smooth skin. She dropped her head back and let him have better access. He stopped for a moment and moved away from the battlement, pulled out his wand and conjured a squishy armchair for them to sit on, and collapsed into it with Hermione still on top of him.
She could feel his excitement as she straddled him in the chair, and it excited her more than anything ever had. She pressed her pelvis against his, and this time he was the one who moaned. He leaned his head back against the chair as she continued to rub against him, not entirely in control of her movements, just knowing it felt good and that this was Ron. His breathing sped up, making her feel powerful, but she was startled and hurt when he grabbed her and pushed her back.
"Stop," he panted, "you have to stop that." His face was flushed and his eyes dark, and he looked so incredible to her. She couldn't stop touching him now. She didn't understand why he would want her to do that.
"But," she said, her face burning with humilation, "I...rather liked it," she mumbled.
Ron groaned and pulled her close, but she wouldn't look at him. She was staring to feel stupid, she didn't know what she was doing, she wasn't good at this. "I liked it, too, Hermoine," Ron said wryly. "I was starting to like it too much, if you know what I mean..."
"No, I don't---- ohhhhhhh!" she said, finally understanding. Ron laughed. She was so cute when she was embarrassed. Hermione put her hands over her face, "I'm sorry," she said through her fingers, "I don't have much experience with this sort of thing..."
"You never did anything like this with Viktor?" Ron asked, not bothering to hide how glad he was about it.
"No," Hermione shook her head. "Just kissing. But not like this. This is incredible, better than I ever dreamed about..."
Ron couldn't believe it. She was so beautiful and so...wonderful, he thought, unable to find a better word in his foggy brain. He couldn't believe nobody had ever touched her like this before. Of course, he realized, nobody had ever touched him like this before, either.
"So, nobody's ever done this," he asked, and his big hands came up to rest on her breasts.
"No..." Hermione gasped, her embarrassment forgotten. Ron moved his hands for a moment, and picked Hermione up and turned her so that she was sitting sideways on his lap. She leaned back against his left arm as his right hand returned to her breasts.
"And nobody's ever done this?" he squeezed her this time. Hermione didn't bother to answer, she couldn't think anyway. She could only strain against his hand as he went between her breasts, squeezing and rubbing, gently at first, but soon returning to the rough passion they had shared earlier. He kept doing that until she was squirming and trying to turn and get closer to him, she loved what he was doing, but she was sure she had to get even closer. She sat up and straddled him again, so that her breasts were at the level of his face. He immediately began to suck on them through her robe, and she thought she would have to die, because it couldn't be possible to feel this good. His hands were doing something else, and it was a moment before she realized they were working their way up under her robe. She wasn't wearing Muggle clothes underneath as she often did, just her bra and panties, so Ron's hands were feeling almost everything there was to feel.
He couldn't believe how good her bare skin felt. He had never touched someone's skin like this, with nothing between her and his hands. It suddenly became very clear to him that that was what they needed- more skin. He pulled her robe up over her head, and she sat there for a moment in simply her underwear. She was so beautiful, his hands shook, and for the first time he wondered if he should be doing this, if he was good enough for her, if he could make it good enough for her. He stared at her beautiful body, and finally asked her, "Hermione, d'you want to stop? I could, I guess...if we stop now..."
His hands were still on her thighs, and she didn't think he was even aware that he had started rubbing them. It was probably tension, fear...but it still felt really good. "I don't want to stop, Ron," she said to him. "I love you. I want you to be my first. Take your robe off, okay?" She couldn't believe she was saying this. She had said that to him in dreams, of course, or when she sat across from him in class pretending to be concentrating, but she had resigned herself to the fact that it would never get said out loud. Ron stared at her a while longer.
"It's...I mean...it's my first time, too," he finally got out, blushing scarlet to the roots of his hair.
"I know that," Hermione said. "Honestly, Ron, do you think I wouldn't have noticed if you'd been sleeping with some other girl? I notice everything, remember?"
Ron gave her that lopsided grin that always melted her insides. "Yeah, I guess so," he conceded. "But, Hermione," he hesitated again. "If we do this, I can't go back to pretending not to like you anymore. It would kill me. We're together now, okay?"
Tears welled up in her eyes. She'd been aching, physically, to hear him say those words for years. She hadn't imagined that she'd be sitting on top of him in her bra and panties when she finally heard them, but it would do. It would more than do, it was absolutely perfect.
"Oh, yes," she breathed, and touched her forehead to his. "That's all I've ever wanted, just to be together with you."
He was amazed that he really hadn't had a clue. She was so good at hiding her feelings, and he had never known that she was loving him like that all the time. But there was a lot going on in there that he would have to get better at noticing. He smiled at the idea; if he was going to discover more of this wildness and hot passion, then he supposed he wouldn't mind putting in the work. Once again he moved his hands, up and down her thighs, up her midriff and her breasts, over her shoulders, nearly paralyzed with the incongruous idea that his most recurring fantasy was coming true.
"Ron," she whispered, as his hands continued to stroke her and her breath came more quickly, "I want to do this, but I'm...I mean, go slow, okay?"
"Okay," he said, wondering how he would manage to keep himself under control. He was hard as a rock already and he hadn't even gotten his robes off yet. Of course, Hermione seemed to be taking care of that...she had climbed off him and was pulling his robes off his shoulders. He stood to help her. She threw the black garment aside and he stood there in his jeans and tshirt. His legs looked so good in Muggle jeans, she thought. And she appreciated the fact that jeans did not help him hide how excited he was. Feeling wild again, she reached out and laid a hand on his leather belt, then drew it slowly downward, feeling his excitement for herself. She pressed him with her hand and he groaned and tried to pull her back to him, but she wouldn't stop. His breath came faster and faster until finally he grabbed her and growled, "I thought you wanted to go slow!"
Hermione laughed, but removed her hand, and began to untuck his shirt. He grabbed it and threw it aside, and she was overwhelmed by the actual sight of his chest. He was slender, but muscular from Quidditch training, and suddenly her hands and lips were everywhere, and she had no control over anything at all. Every rational thought left her head and she was consumed with the need to touch and taste every inch of every muscle. She squeezed and rubbed and caressed him all over, and thought she would have been content if all they ever did was for him to take his shirt off and let her touch him.
At least, she thought that until she noticed that he had reached down and begun to unbuckle his belt, and without warning, that was where her hands needed to be. She watched impatiently while he unzipped himself and she could see his length straining against the white fabric of his underwear. He stepped away from her and sat down in the chair, and bent down to take his shoes off, so she knelt next to him and kept kissing his strong shoulders while he was working.
With his pants unzipped but still on, he kicked off his shoes and pulled her roughly onto his lap again. He kissed her as they had done before, wild and wet and almost harsh, but he couldn't get enough of her. He squeezed her breasts again, and reached behind her to try to unhook her bra. It took her forever, and she moaned with frustration until she finally said, "Here, let me," and expertly released the hook with one hand. The bra slid down her arms and her bare breasts were in his hands. His hands were big, but she filled them up, she was incredible, he had never touched anyone like this and the more excited he got the less he remembered to try to be gentle or go slow.
In frustration, Hermione stood up and grabbed his hand and yanked him out of the chair so that she could finish his incomplete job of taking his jeans and underwear off. He returned the favor and in a moment they both stood naked, skin rubbing against skin, reveling in the feel of that but still wanting more. Hermione reached down and grabbed the wand sticking out of Ron's discarded jeans' pocket, pointed it at the chair and muttered a spell, and the chair grew several feet longer, so that it was really now a couch. Ron stepped over and lay down on it, leaning his head on his hand, and motioned for her to lay down by him. She was a little nervous, but she really wanted this, more than she thought a person could want something, so she lay down by him and snuggled into his strong chest.
But just touching that wonderful chest made all her nervousness disappear, and she felt voracious again. Apparently Ron did, too, because the kissing and touching continued as roughly and wildly as ever. After several more minutes of it, during which not a single coherent thought entered either of their heads, only hot craving images, Ron slid over so that he was lying on top of her. They rubbed against each other like that, until she was begging him to do it, she couldn't get him close enough, she had to have him inside of her.
He couldn't believe she wanted him like this, couldn't believe she was asking him for the thing he'd been dying for, but he was glad because he couldn't wait any longer. Hermione raised her knees and wrapped her legs around his waist and felt him pressing against her. Suddenly he thrust into her and she gasped. It pinched for a minute, but he was moving back and forth and the pain faded beneath the onslaught of other sensations. Her excitement continued to build and she pushed herself against him with every thrust until it was too much, the pleasure exploded from between her legs into the rest of her body like electricity. She clung to Ron with her arms and legs, wrapped around him while the waves rolled through her, and then the aftershocks. Ron's thrusts came faster and harder, until every muscle tensed and he moaned one last time. He seemed suspended like that for ages, then he took a deep gasping breath and collapsed on top of her.
They lay like that, panting and sweaty, their bodies still joined, until Ron moved off her. The sensation of his body leaving hers, of separating, left her feeling bereft, so she curled into him again and he wrapped his arms around her. They lay like that while their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and the breeze started to make them feel chilly.
Reluctantly, Ron said, "I guess we'd better go in."
"Mmmm, I suppose," she murmured, feeling sleepy.
"Hermione?" Ron said, sounding shy again.
"Hmmm?" she asked, raising her head from his chest to look at his face.
"Are you okay? I mean, I don't know, are you okay?" he repeated lamely.
"I don't know," she said, sitting up. "Look at me, honestly, I'm covered with bruises and bite marks and hickeys...hmmm...I don't remember that one...."
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking stricken. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't control myself very well, I didn't mean to hurt you..."
"Ron, you idiot, I loved every second of it, as you know full well," Hermione said, making Ron grin with relief.
"Are you...well, are you glad? I don't want you to regret it or anything," he said, looking so unsure of himself that she had to bend and kiss him.
"It was the best thing that has ever happened to me," she said simply. "It was better than I'd ever dreamed, and I dreamed about it a lot!"
"Me, too," he said. He kissed her again, then rolled over her and off the couch, and started to gather their things. "I think these are yours...where's my underwear? Oh, there it is..."
Reluctantly, Hermione began to dress as well. Finally, everything was put back in order, the couch was vanished, and Ron had grabbed his broom from against the wall. "See you in the common room?" he asked.
"Ah, well, I think I'm going to go to bed," she answered. "For some reason I'm feeling tired..." She gave him a mischevious smile and kissed his cheek.
"We're together now, right?" he asked again.
"Oh, yes," she said, her smile growing brilliant.
"That's good then. Love you. G'night." He gave her one more kiss and watched as she opened the secret door and then closed it behind her. He couldn't believe what they had just done, but he was very happy about it. He had no idea why someone like Hermione would choose him, but he wasn't about to argue, since he had every hope that they would be able to do it again in the near future. He kicked off on his broom and flew around the tower to the open common room window, aware that the grin on his face would have to be explained at some point. But maybe it could wait until morning.