Author's Notes: Rianna, your Christmas present awaits! It's R/Hr themed, as if it could be any other, and I wouldn't say it's fluff, that's Joy's genre…I don't dare try, but it's definitely not angst. Well, maybe typical teenage girl angst, but not angst angst, if you get what I mean. Oh, what the heck, I'm insane, the fic's insane, have a very Merry Christmas!

That was actually the first thought that came through my head when I first realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Ronald Weasley.

And it is true- he is too good for me. He's got to have the biggest heart I know, and an innocence that I don't even think he realizes he has. Who am I, cynical, and book smart, to dare to even think of him like that?

He's so naïve, so pure in some ways. He can handle Death Eaters without so much as a blink of an eye, and yet, spiders make him hide behind the farthest desk. He makes me roll my eyes and he makes me want to strangle him, and yet, at the same time, he makes me want to sigh with the most lovesick sigh any teenage girl can muster up, and hug him till he is strangled.

Not that I would sigh over him like a lovesick teenage girl. I'm not like that; I'm not like Parvati or Lavender.

Okay, maybe I would sigh over him a little. Maybe I even do now. Just a little- and in the privacy of my curtained bed, thank you very much. I was never one for Public Displays of Affection, even though I'm sure sighing over the love of your life would not count as a PDA, I, Hermione Granger, would count it as much.

I never show my feelings when it comes to this. I'm so good with helping other people with their relationship problems, why can't I get up the small courage it takes to tell somebody I loved for a long time that I love them and want to spend the rest of my life with them, and that we can get married, and I can be a Healer, and he can be an Auror, or a Quidditch player, and we can have children, and name them after all my favorite poets, and live in a cozy brick house with a big backyard in the countryside, and then we would grow old together, and die together, within minutes of each other, and be buried next to each other on a hill overlooking a lake, and people could tell of the famous Healer Hermione and Auror and/or Quidditch Player Ron who spent years secretly in love with each other, then after they left Hogwarts (Hermione graduating with top honor, of course), and after they defeated Voldemort, and all was at peace, he swept her off her feet with a rock the size of Ireland. And they lived happily ever after.

See? Isn't that really easy to tell someone? That you've planned out your whole freaking future with them, but, oh yeah, they don't know anything about it.

I can picture the conversation now (the good version):

Me:

" Ronald, the very light of my existence, I have something to tell you. I've loved you for as long as I can remember you; I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side, weathering through trials and hardships, and joyful times as well."

Ron:

" Oh, Hermione, the very point of my existence, it makes me glad to hear of such words from your sweet mouth. For I, too, have been feeling the same way."

KISS

Me:

" Oh, and I'm going to be a Healer, and you're going to be an Auror and/or Quidditch Player, we're going to get married, have children which I'm going to name after my favorite poets, live in a cozy brick house in the countryside, die within minutes of each other, and live happily ever after."

Ron:

" What ever makes you happy, darling creature!"

KISS

Me:

" Oh, and you have to buy me an engagement ring the size of Ireland."

Ron:

" Of course, love of my life. What ever you want. I worship the ground you walk on. I love you like I've never loved anyone before, and never will."

Me:

" I love you too, soul mate dearest. And make sure it's a really big diamond. "

KISS AGAIN WITH FIREWORKS

Okay. I'm glad I got that out of my system. Now I can be somewhat sane again.

Somewhat.

This is how the real conversation would probably go (good version):

Me:

" Ron?"

Ron:

" What?"

Me:

" I think I love you."

Ron:

" Oh. What do you want me to do about it?"

Me:

" Kiss me."

Ron:

" Okay."

KISS, IF I'M LUCKY

This is the bad version:

Me:

"Ron?"

Ron:

" What?"

Me:

" I think I love you."

Ron:

SILENCE

Me:

" Ron?"

Ron:

RUNS AWAY IN COMPLETE FEAR AND TWITCHING WITH REVULSION

Oh Merlin.

I'm never going to be able to tell him I love him.

Or that I want a rock the size of Ireland when we get married.