Romione❤️ one-shots

The most romantic prat ever

Ron strolled down the 2nd floor corridor, his left arm wrapped comfortably around Hermione's waist, lugging her book bag over his right shoulder. It was just another day as Hermione Granger's Boyfriend.
Best. Title. Ever.

In this perfect, tiny moment, he took the time to meditate briefly on the things that had happened since June, when Harry had finally, finally ended it, and he had finally, finally gotten the only girl he'd ever really wanted. It was true that the defeat of Voldemort had brought with it to Ron's life a thousand changes: many good, some heartbreaking.

He missed Fred. Missed him so much that he didn't think it would ever, ever fade.

But he had Hermione. She kept him strong.

Some things, however, had stayed the same, and they had returned to Hogwarts to finish their final year. Ron still wasn't entirely sure why: defeating Voldemort looked pretty damn good on a job application, but Hermione had insisted, and there was no way he could tell her no, and there was no way he wasn't going to be with her now, after waiting so long.

They still fought like cats and dogs, though perhaps not quite as often. Though, to be honest, some of the fights he picked just so her could watch the way her eyes got bright and fiery as she raised her voice or the way her chest heaved with anger. She never looked more magnificent than she did in the middle of an argument.

Well, except for, of course, when she was freshly kissed; eyes hazy and blushing prettily, her hair in a wild, gorgeous mess. There was not a more stunning sight in the world than Hermione, lying beside him on the grass at the Burrow, freshly kissed and perfect.

These reflections, of course, changed quickly the course of his thoughts, veering them off into that place he most enjoyed and making him acutely aware of her pretty little body right next to his. The curve of her waist where his hand now rested was soft and inviting, begging him to squeeze there gently. Her hip brushed his every other step, reminding him of the rights he had at her boyfriend. Her beautiful hair was covering his arm, and he wanted to bury his face in it, inhale the sweet scent of shampoo and Hermione.

She was chattering away excitedly about some new spell she'd discovered in some obscure book in the library. Honestly, he couldn't care less about her books, but her voice filled his head. She had a lovely voice. Not too high-pitched – except when she was screaming at him – and it had a nice lilt to it when she read something out loud, and was intoxicatingly breathy when she said his name.

Then, she glanced up at him, noticed that he was staring, and her voice stopped short. Her face broke into a brilliant, stunning, completely enrapturing smile. It was a smile that she only ever gave him, as if to praise him for doing something right. He wanted to earn that smile every day for the rest of his life.

Abruptly, he changed their course, pulling her off into a seldom-used side-corridor and quickly pressing her up against the wall. He dropped her heavy book bag from his shoulder, and it hit the ground with a heavy thud that he was completely oblivious of, but that Hermione was clearly concerned about.

"Ron, you prat," she started, reaching out a hand toward the fallen bag, which now had books spilling from it onto the stone floor, "my books-"

He cut her off by grabbing her outstretched hand in his own and leaning in toward her, bending his knees and slouching his shoulders just a bit to be of a height with her. His big hand dwarfed hers, his body following suit as he backed her more firmly against the wall. She met his eyes finally, and her breath caught. God, he loved that little catch. It meant that he had her complete attention.

Hermione's attention. Finally.

His left hand rose gently, gliding softly across her jaw, her lips. Her breath was coming faster now, but all he could do was stare at those lips. He couldn't even move. Just stare at those lips, all pink and just a little damp from where she'd licked them nervously. They were shaped just right, like they were meant to mold with his. The lower one curved just right, fairly begging him to kiss her.

"Ron?"

His eyes snapped back to hers, noting the confusion there, and realized he'd been staring for quite a bit.

"Sorry, love. It's just that... well... I reckon you've got the prettiest lips I've ever seen."

A pink blush spread up her features. He noted that from this angle, he could see the blush starting below the neckline of her sweater and rising up. She smiled at him, those lips curving into The Smile. "Ron, sometimes you're the biggest prat. But you're also the most romantic prat ever."

He grinned back at her, and lowered his lips to hers.