He had always thought the Burrow would be the only place he would feel at home. Well, that and Hogwarts but he shrugs the thought of it off because Hogwarts is school. The Burrow towers over all, but still manages to be the most inviting of all homes he's seen. It bends in places to welcome him home from fall term, introducing Christmas break. The Burrow had managed, and is managing 6 boys as well as young Ginny, standing strong as ever. The yard had far outlasted games of quidditch, and one particular time when a very young Ron was not too happy about his new baby sister, trying to tell her that Charlie's potions kit was meant for playing with. Its flaws weren't flaws at all, but quirks. The house resembled his family so much that once it even made him laugh out loud.

In his sixth year at Hogwarts, he sat in his room, attempting to write something down on a new piece of parchment. He decided that his mom would find out sooner or later that the parchment he had been given the beginning of term wasn't being used for school work, if it was ever even used. He was attempting to shrink the growing pile by doing random things; drawing, folding it, and writing letters. Mostly the latter, to his two best friends, one of which was with them while the other was spending some of the holiday with her parents too, but coming for Christmas as usual.

He heard a commotion downstairs and then footsteps coming up. He groaned, knowing that his parents probably wanted him to do something for them. When they reached his door, though, his was met with faces of anticipation rather than irritation.

"Pig missed your window. You have a letter, dear." He knew who it was from immediately and, blushing furiously at his mother's wink, ushered them out the door. He was glad Harry could be occupied with Ginny, because he rather wanted to be left to his thoughts reading her letter. The letter was an invitation to have dinner at her house, and he gladly accepted, always curious of his best friend's home.

It was a brick house of fair size, not too big, and yet not too small. Ivy crawled up its side, trying to touch the sun. The pathway to the door was brick also, and he liked the order he saw around him because he knew that that's how Hermione liked things. He arrived promptly at 6 a few days later, waiting outside for a good time until her parents finally came to the door.

"Sorry Ron, you must not know what a doorbell is, right?" His dad joked, giving his hand a hearty shake as he wondered what exactly a doorbell was. The thin, bespectacled man was joined by a woman, and he immediately recognized her as Hermione's mom. She had the same face, only older, adorned with wrinkles most likely gained with knowledge. Her teeth, like her husband and daughter's, were perfect; a beautiful pearly white. She shook his hand also, but then pulled him into a hug.

"It's so nice to finally have you here, we've heard so much about you." She ushered him inside and he removed his jacket and hat, placing them on a hook by the door. Hermione could now be heard from the floor above.

"Mum, who is it?"

"It's Ronald, dear." Then a procession of quick footsteps, her arms around his neck, both breathing in each other's scent. They bulled away blushing scarlet as her mom's lipstick.

Dinner was turkey and mashed potatoes, both steaming as they were set on the table. Again, Ron offered his help, but her mother declined. She gave her husband a secret signal of approval and then sat down. They had a lot to talk about, but Ron tried not to get too in-depth about magic, not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable. He treaded on the waters of schooling and family because he knew they were good topics, and because he wasn't sure yet just how comfortable a family of muggles could be with their daughter's friend coming in and knowing what she knew about magic. And besides, he thought, if they're anything like their daughter, they don't like the idea of not knowing.

After dinner was done and the table was cleared by a now persistent Ron, trying to be a gentleman of course, they went to her room. It was a pale yellow, and tediously decorated. He took a moment to observe every detail she spent on it, wondering why if her months there were short. They spent a good while chatting about nothing and everything; the Weasley's latest antics, and the drama between his sister and their best friend. When the conversation came to a halt, Hermione asked

"Would you like a kiss, Ron?" At first his mind was reeling, wondering if he was mistaken in what he heard. Then, he leaned forward, so did she. Their lips finally met in the middle, electricity coursing through his body.

That was how Ron had his first kiss with the girl he loved, and how later, he realized his love for not knowing what a chocolate kiss was. As snow fell on the ground outside of her window, Lavender Brown was long forgotten by the pair.