Disclaimer:I am not friggin' JK Rowling, I don't own anythang she dun came up with, obviously.

Underlinging beneath different perspectives for easy reading. YOUR WELCOME.

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Looking into her eyes was like looking into the eyes of a hunting owl: strong, intellectual, and focused. Even in those prowling, determined eyes, I saw the lightness of a small kitten, in need of comfort: precious and delicate. I was staring into her eyes, not realizing she was talking the entire time. For that, I received my due repercussions. "Ron, were you even listening?" she asked accusingly in a slightly higher pitch than normal, astounded once again at my small attention span. "Yes, of course I was!" I lied. "What was I talking about then?" she asked, biting her quill lazily, her teeth cracking the feather lightly. She knew I would lie and she was only waiting for my outlandish reply. "Why, you were talking about your newest creation in your house elf fashion line, the high heeled chimney sweep (for lady elves, mind you.)" I said, grinning. She scowled slightly at me and wapped my shoulder accusingly with her quill, "You never do listen to a word I or anyone else says, Ronald Weasley!" she huffed. Warm air fluttered from her slightly parted lips, brushing my neck with how close she was to me. I wanted to reach out and brush her lips with mine, keeping her this close or closer for hours huddled up all warm in the common room, but before I could think twice, she was back to her essay, scratching away at the parchment with her quill. The only reminder of that small moment being her barely marred quill, cracked by her pearly white teeth.

I sat and watched her write, taking in the knotted split ends that made her rich brunette mane. Her skin glowed a pale, grayish tone, almost translucent against her bones. Her eyebrows were knitted in focus, thicker and darker than my own. Her nails were bitten haphazardly to the base, cuticles jagged. Her lips were chapped and her cheeks a deep red in exertion and stress, paling her face even more in comparison. Her eyes were a washed-out brown, like hot chocolate with far too much water. Her body was slightly too thin, the outlines of her bones ever so slightly protruding against her flesh. Her nose was long and her ears just a tad pointed, only in a way someone who really stared at her would notice. Her uniform and robes were both too snug and too loose all at the same time, fitting her in an awkward fashion. Most people saw her as a boil on the face of a gorgeous witch, ruining the face of beauty that was made by her peers, but I felt different.

Looking at her, studying away, I felt she was the face of beauty and all others paled in comparison. Her body and face were perfect, melting and protruding from the scenery all at once. She was a mystery and an open book, keeping me interested always. She accepted my laziness and my craziness and even who I am behind closed doors. She was focused, but she was calm, even if the blush of scarlet across her cheeks provided that she was under stress. Those pale pink lips were chapped, yes, but inviting to my eye. I wanted so badly to let them meet with mine at most every second in her company.

She paused and looked up at me curiously, a strand of hair falling before her face. I froze for a split second, then I melted with her hair, pushing it slowly behind her pointed ear, a point only I had ever noticed. She breathed out of pace for only a second and before I know it, she had flinched away from my touch with a huff and continued scratching upon her parchment in mental solitude. Then, I so badly wanted to take claim of her lips with mine, but I instead contented with gazing at her in her raw focus.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into the eyes of a bear cub: full of wonder, curiosity and contentment. Still, beyond his happiness, there was a strength and even pain he could not hide from me. He resembled a dying lion, strong in his fight, reminiscent of his life, and pained at the thought of leaving others in a plunder, afraid of what may become of those he loved. "...and that's how you translate runes into symbols! I am surprised you wanted to know, actually. Hey... Ron, were you even listening?" I asked accusingly, shocked. "Yes, of course I was!" he sputtered. "What was I talking about then?" I asked, biting my quill, waiting on an outlandish response. "Why, you were talking about your newest creation in your house elf fashion line, the high heeled chimney sweep (for lady elves, mind you.)" he said, grinning foolishly. I scowled at him, tapping his shoulder with my bitten quill. "You never do listen to a word I or anyone else says, Ronald Weasley!" I huffed. I was a little close and I could feel my breathe radiating from the smooth skin on his neck. With a quickness, I averted my gaze and backed up, focusing on my essay. The only reminder I had of being so close to him was the bit of ink smudged on his robe from my nibbled quill. I only wish I could have stayed there a bit longer.

I wrote diligently from my memory, not even having to think about my words. My mind began to trail off from runes to Ron. He was tall and fit, yet his lack of care and focus made him undesirable to many. He had ashy, power blue eyes, sunken in from the stress of last minute work, dipped in dark circles. His skin was full of acne and had a moist sheen almost constantly. His feet were huge and clomped almost everything in sight, like a giant. His uniform and robes were dusty and short, hand-me-downs, just like almost every other thing he owned. His little rat was a nuisance and a peeve, always biting at his fingers. His hands were callused and bruised from playing Quidditch all the day and night. His laugh was outrageously loud, his mouth too wide. His nose was crooked from being broken in Quidditch accidents far too many times. His hair was raggedly uncombed and slightly shaggy from scissors' neglect the past few months. His ears were larger than normal, in a way only someone staring would take account of. His teeth were slightly yellow from all of the sweets he ate at a constant speed. Most people didn't give him a passing glance, only ever doing so to chant Weasley is our King, labeling him the next Weasley and not even remembering his first name. I saw him in a different light than most.

Thinking of him, I realized he was the single most important person in my world, even if I had been denying it all of these years. His eyes were a storybook, revealing his overwhelming stress and grim knowledge of the dark age at hand. His body was strong and tall, matching his fierce loyalty to his friends. His large ears represented him in a way, listening intently to only what he found important, which was not my runes speech even slightly. I meant to steal a quick, unnoticed glance at him, but when I looked up from my paper, he was staring with half-lidded eyes at me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I blushed crimson, but I knew I was already red just thinking about him, red in a way he would assume was from stress, so it didn't catch him off guard. I hadn't noticed a strand of my hair had fallen before my face until he had taken it delicately and gingerly tucked behind my ear, gently flicking the slightly pointed tip only someone staring would notice. I wanted to grab his hand and press it to my cheek, holding it tight, but he moved it away and I remembered I was writing my essay and I needed an excuse to tear my gaze from his. I went back to scratching at my paper, unsure of what I really wanted in the moment.

Right then, I couldn't think of Hermione as a friend anymore.

Right then, I couldn't think of Ron as a friend anymore.

I snatched her quill away from her lightly and she looked up, shocked. I set it aside and she went to grab it, just as I knew she would. I took her hand in mine, feeling her soft palm against mine, entwining my fingers in hers. "What are you doing?" she asked in a unfeeling tone, much like what I get from her when I ask her about what she thought of a Quidditch practice. I pulled her hand closer to me, her chair rolling close to me. We were the only two left in the common room now, Harry finally having gone up to bed from his late night occulmency lesson with Snape. She looked at me with a mix of emotion I couldn't understand and I wondered if I was doing the right thing. Before she could say a thing in protest, I closed the centimeter-wide distance between our lips, kissing her with all of the feeling I had kept inside for Merlin knows how long. She flinched at the touch of my lips initially, making me uncertain. She tilted her head and leaned in closer, fingers clenching mine in our locked handhold. I pulled her closer with my free hand by the small of her back, her body radiating warmth to mine. She bit my lower lip lightly and I smiled upon her mouth. Shockingly, she took that moment to led her tongue between my lips, turning a peck into a snog. I kissed her eagerly, hungrily, wondering how long I had been desiring her kiss. She brought both of her hands up to my hair, tightly caressing and entwining her fingers in it, pulling me down more to her. I lay my hands on the small of her back, passionately snogging her.

Ron took my quill out of my hand and I looked at him in surprise. He moved it over away from me and I assumed he was playing one of his silly games he gets from his twin brothers. I reached over to grab it and he took me again by surprise, taking my hand. His warm fingers entwined with mine and I was bewildered by the notion. "What are you doing?" I asked in a monotone that I was relieved did not display my feeling of confusion and nervousness, but rather a slight annoyance, or a good front. He responded by puling me closer, my rolling stool moving compliantly. Everyone had gone up to bed, even Harry from hi occulmency lesson, and I felt so many things. What was he doing? I couldn't figure it out. I looked up into his eyes, confused, nervous, and in need of an answer and he looked down to me warmly. My stomach fluttered and I formed a question in my mind. Before I could ask, Ron closed the small space between our lips, kissing me. I flinched at first, not knowing what to do because I had so many feelings and sensations running through me. It felt as though he was going to break away and I couldn't have that. I squeezed upon his fingers that were entwined with mine, leaning a little closer to him and tilting my head a bit so our mouths interlocked perfectly. He pulled me even closer, just enough that I could feel the intense heat radiating from his body, warming me to my core. The heat and final release of my feelings made me desperate for more than just a peck on the lips. I lightly nibbled upon his lower lip and his lips formed a small smile against mine. The part in his lips provided the perfect opportunity to slip my tongue between his lips. He tensed slightly, but only for a moment, then he began to gently taste my tongue. I made a small noise and that triggered a different approach from him. He shoved his tongue into my mouth with urgency and I moaned softly, kissing him back with passion and thirst for his hungry kiss. I freed my held hand and raked my fingers through his soft, unkempt ginger locks, pulling his face closer to me. In return he took both of his hands to the small of my back and pulled me as close to him as he could, kissing me harder and more passionately.

She broke away to breathe and I could not help but smile, seeing her red-faced and panting. I took her face into my hands and brought my lips to her jawline kissing down her jaw and neck to her protruding collarbone. I felt her heavy breathing as she shuttered, grasping at the table. She knocked down her ink bottle and wearily enchanted a spell to clean it up, looking into my eyes and sighing. She reached over and touched my chest, "We have a long day tomorrow and you still need to finish your Potions essay, I'm heading off to bed." Gathering her things, she turned from me getting to the doorway to the girls' dormitories. "Goodnight, Ron." She said lightly and with a dreamy air, she began her trip up the stairs. I looked down to my own very blank parchment and noticed something written on it in Hermione's handwriting.

"Don't forget to get some sleep, we have a lot to talk about tomorrow." The moment I read the last word, the parchment erased itself and the light, chocolaty aroma of Hermione rose from the air, signaling her final goodnight and assurance that what had happened was not just a dream.

Without a real focus, Ron wrote his essay, inkblots covering the page. Once in bed, tucked under the covers that familiarly smelled of chocolate from her and him talking so often together with Harry in his dormitory, he shut his eyes, swearing he could feel her lips upon his cheek just before he fell asleep for the night.