A/N It's been a while since I've contributed anything, and of course it hasn't helped that ff.net has been down for almost a month. Still, this is a plot bunny that I caught while at work one night; it was originally just a short introspection fic, but as I started thinking about it, and as I started writing more of it, it evolved into something more. It's written from Ron's point of view as I love him the most out of all the characters in this little universe and I hope I've done him—and this story—justice.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

Stolen Kisses

We never could hide anything from Harry, and I imagine that from the moment Hermione and I admitted our feelings that he knew about it; still, he never said anything, knew that we needed those moments to ourselves, those moments where we thought we were being so clever. We were always convinced that no one could possibly know what we were up to when we came-up with lame excuses to be alone. We never thought anything of those little smirks he used to give us—well himself, really—when Hermione gave me the signal that meant we were supposed to sneak-off for our 'alone time.' If anyone had ever told me that more often than not it would be Hermione initiating those little meetings, I would have chewed-off my own arm…not like we ever really did anything when we sneaked off. For the most part we'd bicker like crazy on our way down to whichever spare corner of the library—yes, believe it or not, Hermione actually let us desecrate one of her most cherished places—or empty classroom we might happen to stumble upon on that particular day, and once there we'd exchange a few stolen kisses.

I loved kissing Hermione—still do, in fact. Back then, we didn't know much better than to be giving each other a few pecks, but even then it surprised me how wholly she gave of herself in those kisses, and, when kissing got boring (which it never really did, but with the two of us, kissing is just a small portion of what we are together) we'd sit on the floor with her against my chest. I've always marveled at the fact that she's so small as compared to me, and holding her in my arms has always put emphasis on that fact—it's also put emphasis on how much I like the feeling that somehow, having her in my arms means that I'm protecting her. We'd sit there for hours sometimes, just thinking, or talking, but most of the time she'd read to me—from textbooks, of course (let it never be said that Hermione Granger was ever so wholly taken-over by my boyish charms that she'd forget about schoolwork)—and I'd listen, if only for the fact that I love listening to her voice, the silky smooth glide of it when she's relaxed, the way it changes so quickly to a gritty annoyance—mostly when I'm around—and how just one word from her could have, and did, change the meaning of my entire existence.

I've always pondered the intricacies of language, wondered what it was about words that their meanings could so profoundly change the definition of an entire relationship. Words like 'friends', 'couple', 'lovers', those would all be words that would come to define what Hermione and I had, what we were together, but who we were together, that never really changed, even when everything else had. Have I always loved Hermione? I think that I have. There may have been a time where I didn't know my feelings for her but still felt them within me. That subdued throbbing in my chest when she was around, the thrumming in my veins that I took for annoyance but was really, for the most part, something completely different, they were signs to what I really felt for her. Of course, at eleven years old, love isn't really something that I spent any length of time considering, and when years later I did realize my true feelings, I had to find the right words to tell her, had to make sure to find the words that would match language to emotion. I suppose that, in part, that's why I ended up telling her in the middle of a fight.

If you think about it, anger is the closest emotion there is to love. They say that there's a thin line between love and hate, and I suppose that's kind of what happened between the two of us, although I never did hate Hermione, no matter what I said or how I acted, I could never hate her. For that matter, I don't really think that I've ever truly hated anyone. Malfoy would come the closest, but to say that I hate him, that I would sacrifice my freedom for his life, that's putting things strongly. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right…one reacts in love much as one does in anger. The rapid heartbeat, the flushed face, the feeling that you're going to burst at any second—it's all the same, really, if you think about it. Maybe that's why Hermione and I used to fight so much…I can't speak for her, but I know that more often than not, fighting with her was the only outlet I had for all of the pent-up tension. For the longest time, I didn't think she felt the same way, was convinced she could never see me as anything other than, well, me, really. It's taken years for me to understand that she sees to the deepest recesses of my soul, and she's with me because she sees something in me that's beyond what anyone else sees, myself included. I see the same in her, really. All her life, the only thing people have noticed is that she's smart, a bookworm, and all that she's ever really seen in herself is someone who needs to be the best at everything she does, someone who has to prove herself. Being good at everything is the way she defines herself, and she is that to me, but also so much more: she's the girl who knows I'm a light sleeper and whispers me awake instead of shaking and startling the hell out of me. She's the girl, the only girl, who can make me do anything just by scowling at me but knows not to take advantage. She's the girl that, when I think of children, I want them all to look exactly like her. She's not just the smartest, most successful witch I know, she's also the best witch I know, the best person I know, and even at a young age I understood that on a rudimentary level.

When did I figure out that I was in love with Hermione Granger? I knew that something felt different when I was around her, and I knew that people didn't think of friends the way I thought about her. I mean, I never went about noticing how Harry's eyes glow in the firelight, or how his bottom lip is slightly poutier than normal because he has a tendency to bite on it when he's studying Arithmancy. Never mind that none of those things actually apply to Harry, because if they had, I certainly never would have gone about noticing them. What clinched it, though, what made me finally come to the realization was just plain old fear that quickly escalated to jealousy. Not one of my shinier moments to say the least, and though I hate to admit it, if it hadn't been for Viktor Krum, I may never have reached that point, what Snape used to refer to the action potential in potions (probably the only lecture I paid attention in throughout my seven year career) that you have to reach for everything to fall into place. It was then that I realized all at once what my feelings for Hermione really meant, and that she just wouldn't always be there for the taking. I realized, after many arguments and several occasions of my making a complete fool of myself, that unless I was planning on being miserable for the rest of my life, that I had to make a move, and make it before I lost her to someone else—quite possibly (and probably) someone much better than me whom she'd never, ever leave. I realized that I had to act, and had to act fast…two years later, I finally did it.

So I never said that I was perfect. Hermione's asked me time and time again what it was that made me wait so bloody long—she actually used the word bloody. Scared the sodding bollocks out of me, too…I thought she'd been taken-over by a dark wizard, or something—to get my head out of my arse and tell her. In fact, the answer to that is that I don't know. All I know is that within that moment, no matter how loudly she was yelling, and never mind the fact that she was poking her finger at my chest rather painfully, all I could see in front of me was the most beautiful girl I'd laid eyes upon. I was mad as hell, of course, but through the anger, the only thing that I really wanted to do right then was take that mouth beneath mine and see once and for all if it really tasted as sweet as I'd imagined it would for two years. It was in that moment that my life really changed, in that moment that I knew that everything would be all right, and so far everything has. Now you're probably asking yourself what the point to all of this is, why an otherwise manly guy who would never in a million years compromise his manliness is pouring-out his heart on paper. Well the answer is pretty simple actually: Hermione is making me. Now only because I love her as much as I do, and only because I'd cut my own hand off if it made her happy, am I allowed to say how completely nuts that girl is. Seems she's gotten it in her head (probably from Lavender and Parvati, those girls are trouble) that I'm not nearly as romantic as I should be; that after five years of being together, I've settled into too comfortable a routine and that our relationship is lacking those little touches that used to make it special.

Girls! I will never understand them as long as I live. First of all, of course I've settled into a comfortable routine! I mean, what kind of a relationship would this be if I were nervous and edgy every time I was around the woman? And I have no idea what she means by our relationship lacking the little touches that used to make it special. Okay, so I haven't given her flowers in a few months, but every time I do she always feels badly that they'll end up dying in a few days. Lacking little touches! Ha! Why, just last week I got her Obscurus' Compact Dictionary of Mermish a book previously published in 27 volumes but that's now been released in only one and that came with its own magnifying glass! She's had her eye on it for months but thought it was too expensive, not to mention that she'll have it for the rest of her life (it'll probably take her that long to read it all, too) and it won't, like the flowers, be obsolete after a few days.

On top of my being too comfortable and my not being nearly romantic enough anymore, she also had the nerve to say that I've probably forgotten all of the little details that made our relationship in the first few years. She seems to think that because I'm male and not 'gushy' like a girl, that I also lack any kind of memory and the brain that stores it. So, she has challenged me to a little contest. She has dared me to write all about how we came about to be, without help from any of our friends. She wants me to write about our relationship when it first began. Apparently she thinks that I couldn't possibly remember those kinds of details—well blimey, just because I don't remember what her Aunt Ruth wore at her cousin's second daughter's baptism three and a half years ago, it doesn't mean I'm daft! Hmph! Well, Hermione Granger, if you think that I'm going to quit that easily, then you're in for a surprise. I remember every important thing that has ever happened to me, and you are the most important of them all. So, no matter how crazy I happen to think this is, I'm willing to do it if only because it'll make you happy. I have no doubt that I will win this little contest of yours; now if only I knew where to begin…

A/N This was short I know, but it was only meant to serve as an introduction; in the next chapter Ron starts telling his story and with it comes all the fluffiness and gooeyness you've been waiting for.