The Important Bit - R/Hr - PG-13
Title: The Important Bit
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count : 1000

Ten years.

On May 2nd 2008, Ron and Hermione had been together for ten years.

Oh, we waited for that kiss!

Yeah, Harry did his Adventure Hero bit, but we all know who the Romantic Hero was.

It was so, so, so worth the wait, you beautiful, beautiful boy – your wife really is the luckiest woman in the world.


The Important Bit
****
I was so tired, yet so desperate to see her, it didn’t even occur to me that the stairs to the girls’ dorms would chuck me out.

I’d sat on my old bed, watching Harry muttering in his sleep, not quite catching Seamus’ eye as he watched Dean, listening to Neville’s familiar snores.

I blinked and swallowed the lump in my throat and thought of how wonderfully normal it was to have the five of us there, more or less whole. Yes, Neville and Seamus were scarred and bruised Dean was horribly thin and I was singed and cut.

And Harry’d been dead.

But what were the odds we were all still alive? I wanted to get up and hug the lot of them. Wanted to shake Harry until his bones rattled.

Wanted.

What I’d always wanted.

Wanted her.

Hermione.

I got out of bed and put my jeans back on, shushing Harry as he turned over and murmured my name.

Flicking a v-sign at Seamus’ ‘go get her, tiger,’ I left the room.

It didn’t even occur to me that the stairs to the girls’ dorms would chuck me out. I jogged down and up the stairs and found myself standing outside her dorm before I realised the protection against my baser instincts wasn’t working.

Poor castle.

But she was just feet away. Sleeping. Bruised. Wild hair. Lips. Breathing. Chest.

Fuck.

She’d kissed me, in the heat of battle, but what did I think I was doing?

Sleeping in that bloody tent with her so close had nearly killed me. Weeks and weeks of hearing her breathing, wanting to… touch her, listening to the locket whispering in my heart, telling me I’d been insane to think I could, to think she’d want me to.

Then, when I came back to her. Weeks of torture because I couldn’t touch myself and think of her, like I’d done in the spare room at Bill’s. Weeks of listening to her, in the darkness, of her shaking me awake in the morning, her hair down, her eyes heavy with sleep. Of wanting to pull her down on my bunk and run my hands through that hair and kiss her.

Torture.

Back at Bill’s, sharing a room with Harry and Dean, lying in the dark and staring at the ceiling, thinking of her asleep upstairs. Asleep in a bed that was soaked with my wanking fantasies about her.

And now, she was asleep just feet away from me, in the bed she’d slept in for years, where I pictured her as I first learnt to fantasise about her, and I wanted.

Wanted to bury myself in her.

In her hair. Her hair. Bury my face in her hair.

Not that hair. God.

She’d kissed me.

With shining eyes, she’d flung her arms round my neck and kissed me and I’d lifted her off her feet and it had been perfect.

I had been brilliant and then I’d been sensitive and then she’d kissed me and it had been perfect.

There was not a snowflakes hope in hell I’d ever be brilliant and sensitive again, so why was I even bothering?

Because I needed to see her, to touch her, to…

…say something, because she’d opened the door and was gazing up at me, hair perfectly insane, one hand at her throat, skinny bare legs showing beneath a buttoned up shirt.

My shirt.

“Is anything wrong?” she whispered.

I shook my head swiftly and she stood back and let me into the dorm.

The dorm where she’d… dressed and undressed and… grown breasts and cried when I’d been mean to her and… touched herself…

I’d expected Ginny or maybe Parvati or someone to be in there with her, but we were alone.

She closed the door and smiled at me and we were alone.

And I knew what she tasted like and we were alone.

And there wasn’t a chance I’d say anything smooth, which actually made me feel rather better and I relaxed and grinned at her.

“Ron?”

“We’re all alone,” I said.

She nodded.

“And no one is trying to kill us,” I added.

She rolled her eyes, but took a step closer.

“And I was thinking about what happened before,” I said.

“Well, that narrows it down,” she said, tipping her head to one side. “It’s been a quiet day.”

“The important bit,” I said.

She snorted.

“The bit where you kissed me,” I said

“That was rather important.”

“But now I have two questions,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Firstly, do I only get kisses when I’m being brilliant and sensitive?”

She laughed. All low and sexy and I groaned.

“Because I need loads more kisses than that,” I explained.

“Oh, so do I,” she said earnestly.

“Hey!” I complained.

“And secondly?” she asked, taking the final step that brought her into my bodyspace and looking up at me.

“Can I have my shirt back?”

I bit my tongue, sure I’d gone too far, but her hands rose to the buttons of my shirt and she looked all large eyed and sweet and innocent as she started unbuttoning, and I yelped and covered her hands with my own, before realising I was touching her breasts and yelping and snatching my hands away, again.

“Coward,” she said, giggling up at me.

“Scarlet woman,” I protested, reaching for her again.

She slid her arms round my neck and I felt her body press against mine and we were both too thin and I ran my hands down her body, feeling sharp ribs and sharper hipbones, but it was finally all over and I didn’t have to be a seer to see kisses and bacon and eggs in our future.

And hot coffee.

And breasts.

So, not wishing to disturb the house elves for food, I kissed her.

And I hadn’t been brilliant, and I hadn’t been sensitive.

But the kiss was completely perfect.

And we were together.

Which was the important bit.