Chapter 1 : We Fit
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He only wanted Hermione Granger.
All he had to do was ‘…ask me before somebody else does and not as a last resort!’ Oh, it just wasn’t that easy; why would Hermione ever want to go out with him, Ronald bloody Weasley? She wouldn’t. He hadn’t even been able to talk to her the last few days, nonetheless go up to her and ask her to come as his date to the wedding. He felt like slapping himself; why couldn’t he be more like…Harry? Someone girls would want to go out with? He silently prayed Hermione would never feel that way about Harry because if he did…Ron shuddered at the very thought. He couldn’t get the image of them snogging in some broom closet out of his head, and it made him feel as if he wanted to scream or cry or…something. And it wasn’t like Ron to feel like crying; the only time he’d ever cried—in his memory, excluding those times when he was a toddler—was at Dumbledore’s funeral. But this…he loved her. No, no, he couldn’t love her. He groaned, attempting to rid these opposing thoughts from his mind, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. ‘Speak of the Devil’ might’ve been an appropriate saying if Ron had been a muggle; then again, for him, it would have been more probably to think, ‘Speak of the Angel.’ The bushy-haired seventeen year old turned in his direction, her eyes revealing her anger, her cold, sneering, and unnaturally high-pitched voice doing the same.
“Oh, hello, Ron,” she said, staring straight at him. “Something you want?”
“No,” he snapped in retort, already firing up for a battle that he would soon regret. “What’re you doing?”
“Oh, and suddenly it matters?”
“Yes! If you’re sending Vicky a letter…”
“What if I am?”
“He’s the ENEMY, Hermione!”
“Oh, give me a break, Ronald,” she told him waspishly, in both an annoyed and exasperated tone. “We both know that’s not true, so why do you even continue bringing that up?”
“It is too!” he insisted. “He went to a Dark Arts School!” He knew it wasn’t true, but he had to have an excuse…anything to stop her from writing to him.
“He’s one of the few that was able to go through Durmstrang without favoring the Dark Arts; is that so terrible?”
“You’re just too blinded by love to see the truth!” he shouted, not realizing what he was saying before it had spun into the air; when he thought about it, he realized it was probably true. She loved him. Of course she loved him; he’d always known it, hated it, and feared it.
“Honestly, Ron, I don’t have time for this!” Perhaps if he hadn’t been so angry, he might’ve seen the hurt expression she gave him. “I don’t need to explain this to you or tell you for the thousandth time that I do not, and never will, love Viktor!” She glared angrily at him before stomping up the stairs.
He raced after her. “Yes you do—or else why would he write novels to him, defend him at any chance you get, and go with him to the Yule Ball?”
“What does it matter to you?” Again, if he’d been less angry, he might’ve seen her pained expression; or maybe he simply wouldn’t have been perceptive enough. Suddenly, he was shouting the very thing he’d been denying; he hardly realized what he was saying, at first, but all of a sudden the words were out of his lips in a violent fury.
“It matters to me because without you, nothing fits! It matters to me because without you, I can’t make sense of anything!” Bloody hell, he had not meant to say that to her! His eyes widened; her eyes did the same. He began to back away and she watched him for several moments without replying. She seemed to be too shocked to do anything. It wasn’t at all something that sounded fit for Ron to say. And yet, it was true. It was completely, utterly, and absolutely true. And he was positive that Hermione would now hate him.
“Wh-what?” she finally managed.
He’d dug a hole so deep there was no way he could climb out of it; briefly, he wildly considered blaming it on temporary insanity, but thought better of it. Hermione was much too clever to take some idiotic excuse such as that. So he went on without fully knowing what he was even saying.
“I love you for the way your hair’s never tamed, for the way your eyes sparkle when you’re happy, and oh, you’re bloody smile is amazing…I love you because you nag me about things that I would never get down any other way; I love the way your hair catches the light and turns golden on some days…” his voice was a breathy whisper; he could not believe he was telling all this. Was this real? It had to be a dream. Ronald Billius Weasley could not believe what he was hearing himself say. “I love you because you’re the most brilliant witch in our bloody year…and I love you because you’re so insanely perfect.”
And suddenly, Ron saw a tear slide down Hermione’s cheek; oh, Merlin, what had he done wrong? Most assuredly, he should not have said all that. This was something he said to a dream Hermione, not the real one, who would definitely reject him. Now she was crying and it was all his fault.
“Bloody hell, I-I’m sorry Hermione, I-I shouldn’t have said all that,” he muttered, embarrassed, his ears turning a bright pink in color.
“Did…did you mean it?”
Would she believe him if he said ‘no’? Probably not. He sighed and told her the truth in one simple word, his ears now scarlet. “Yes.”
“Then why on earth are you sorry?” she asked him, another tear following the first.
“You’re crying…I know, it’s horrid and I didn’t—I mean—I just—I, hell—I—”
“You think all of that…about me?” There was a hint of a smile through her tears.
“Well, er, what I mean to say it, erm, I just…well, yeah.”
“That was the sweetest thing that anyone has ever said to me,” she told him softly before leaning forward to tentatively brush her lips against his. It was soft as the touch of a feather, and yet, it was sweeter and more wonderful than all of Lavender’s kisses combined. Those had meant nothing…this, though, meant more to him than anything else in the world. His heart was racing; he felt dizzy and his world was spinning out of control. And yet, that had been absolutely perfect. He’d never felt anything like this. He was sure he looked dazed when he pulled away, and his eyes were still closed, as if trying to savor the sweet moment.
“Yeah?” he asked her, still feeling pleasantly punch-drunk.
“I love you.” Her voice was a whisper, as it had been before.
“Y-you what? You do? No, but, you can’t, I mean, you snogged Vicky and…”
“I did not snog Viktor, Ronald! Why is it you always have to bring him up? How many times have I told you that I don’t fancy him? I’ve certainly never kissed him.”
“But Ginny said…” he told her, confused. Had Ginny been lying? He’d been so mad at her in sixth year for it, and she didn’t know why…and she’d never even done it?
“Ginny told you that?” she asked him, sounding surprised. “Well, it’s not true.”
“It’s not?” he asked, a grin spreading across his lips. He leaned forward and kissed her, slightly more so than she’d kissed him, but just as absolutely wonderful. The feel of her lips against his was intoxicating, and he felt almost as if he might pass out for the sudden euphoria that had swept over him. He had never before experienced anything like this. It was amazing…it was perfect…it was Hermione. He was kissing the girl he’d been in love with for years. At last, he reluctantly pulled away.
“I love you too,” he murmured breathlessly.
“Oh, Ron!” And she flung her arms around him, somewhat of a parallel to that of third year, when she’d done the same. But this…this was entirely different. This was brand new. This was perfect. This was something he’d simply never felt before and something he wanted to feel over and over again. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, breathing in everything about her and realizing at the same time that he recognized her scent from the Amortentia in sixth year; then again, he’d already known that, but now it came back to him in all its glory.
“I…I smelled you when I smelled the Amortentia,” he admitted, whispering the words softly into her ear.
“Oh, Ron, you were the person I smelled as well…” He recalled now that she had flushed and not added the last thing to what she’d been saying in Professor Slughorn’s office. That was him she’d not mentioned? The thought filed him with ecstasy.
“So it was me you didn’t say when Slughorn called on you?” he asked, grinning into her hair; he realized he would’ve been genuinely mortified to have been asked to say what he’d smelled in the potion. Er, yeah, I can smell Hermione…
“Yes,” she said softly, her breath tickling his ear and making him grin a bit wider. “Oh, and Ron?”
“When you’re not here, nothing fits either.”
And suddenly, Ron felt as if he could fly.
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