Live This One Moment

The tears are coming even when he doesn't want them to. He wishes he could just stop feeling for a minute, but he cannot; he can't stop remembering. The horrible twisting in his gut won't allow him to. He feels like retching, but he knows that the pain, the loss of his brother won't go away like the contents of his stomach will. As he stands there, the sun's weak, early rays beginning to filter through the orange curtains by his bedroom window, he remembers the emptiness of George's eyes. They had been haunted with sorrow, and lifeless: they had looked like Fred's eyes, as his body was laying in the Great Hall.

Ron doesn't hear his bedroom door open, but, when he feels the sudden presence behind him, he turns. Hermione stands there, her hair far more wild than usual, and her deep, brown eyes still a bit groggy after sleeping.

"What are you doing here?" he asks her, cursing himself as his voice cracks at the last word.

She bites her lip, but stands her ground, looking up at him, as he stares down at her.

"I can't sleep anymore, and I could hear you moving about … I was wondering if you were alright," she whispers back; she doesn't mention how lonely she feels, especially after Ginny suddenly had got out of bed, a few hours before. Hermione had distinctly heard Harry's bedroom open, and then close.

"I'm fine," he replies, wishing his voice wasn't so weak.

Suddenly, he realizes that he is practically naked, having only his boxers on. He grabs a pair of pyjama bottoms, quickly tugging them on. He's unable to look at her as he does so. When he straightens back up, she stands closer to him. He can see every detail of her face. There are still traces of tears around her eyes, and she is looking at him like he had never seen her do before. They are alone and she is only wearing an old shirt and a pair of pink pyjama bottoms, while his chest is bare. His mind goes back to the kiss they had shared in the middle of the battle. He had wanted it to go on forever, the feeling of her pressed against him.

Ron closes his eyes, breaking eye contact with her. This feeling that he had was unknown to him; it frightened him. He'd never been this close to Hermione before, not like this anyway. Their souls were bared, and Ron had to look away from her. This emotion has been too strong for his mind to truly comprehend. He kept his eyes closed, yet he could still feel Hermione's presence in front of him. He inhaled sharply when he felt her cool hands touch his face. Her fingers ran through his hair, her soft thumbs skimming over his temples as she did so.

Suddenly she was pressed against him, and Ron felt her lips against his; she stood up on the tips of her toes, to properly reach him. Her arms wrapped around him as he started to kiss her back enthusiastically. In the very back of his mind he realized how much better this kiss was, compared to the other one. Through her thin shirt, he could feel every inch of her body, every soft, curvy inch.

Backing her up against the wall, he realized that any normal friendship that they would wish to have after this would be effectively shattered. But that idea quickly flied out of his mind, when he felt her hands against his chest, not pushing him away, but pulling him closer.

She whimpered and moaned as she shifted slightly in his arms, feeling his erection press against her belly. Her stomach fluttered, and she wondered if the moment was real. Was she dreaming again? No, she didn't think so, none of the dreams were ever this good. They paled in comparison to the real thing.

They separated for a moment, in order to breathe properly, and Hermione laid her head against his chest, where she could hear his heart beating faster. His hands travelled up the back of her shirt, exploring the soft skin of her back, as they breathed together. His fingertips, rougher than her own, trailed to her tummy, and slowly inched upwards, but she pulled away slightly, and he stopped before lowering his hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She shook her head and said:

"I was lonely, sleeping so far away from you. I'm not used to you being so far away. I couldn't stop thinking about everything, about Fred - and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I know it's selfish, and it feels so wrong to me, but I realized how easily I could have lost you; it could have been you instead of Fred, and I'm glad that you're still here, even if he's not. I wanted to make sure that you were still real," Hermione finished, tears running down her face.

Ron nodded in understanding, swallowing hard, tears threatening to come again as she movesd away from him, stepping aside.

"I could have lost you, too, and at Malfoy Manor I thought I had. I screamed for you, hoping you would hear me. I could hear you screaming, and at that moment I would have killed anyone for having hurt you."

Ron turned around and saw Hermione sitting on his bed, looking at him.

"I remember, I remember you crying my name."

He felt his heart skip a beat, and swallowed the ball of overwhelming emotion building in his throat. They had never spoken this way to each other before, he realized. When they did have a deep sort of talk, it was always about Harry. The emotion was making him feel uncomfortable but, at the same time, it made him want to say more, say the stuff he had been wanted to say since he was fifteen. He hated Krum and he wished that he had been the one to dance with her at the ball. He wished that the thing with Lavender had never happened; he wished that he had never made Hermione cry.

Unable to say anything, with his throat so constricted, he could only sit down next to her. on his bed. Taking a deep breath, he took her hand into his. For some reason, holding hands at that moment, when they had just shared so much, meant more than the wild snog that they just had.

Ron looked at his clock, and saw that it had just turned to half past six. He knew that his mother wouldn't be up to wake them, like she normally would ,and that they still had a couple of hours before they had to face the day again. Without saying a word, he laid down on the bed, pulling Hermione down with him. He was thankful that his sheets had been washed less than a week ago. She didn't say anything as he pulled the top sheet over them, and settled down next to her. He put his arm around her waist, breathing the soft, floral scent of her hair, feeling her completely relax against him.

She was able to fall asleep a few minutes later, but Ron, with the woman that he was fairly certain he was in love with (even though he wasn't ready to tell her that, yet), lying so closely against his chest, he was distinctly uncomfortable. As her breathing became even, his mind began to wander. He couldn't block the image of Fred - lying dead in the Great Hall, with George leaning over him. He didn't think that image would ever leave him. But as Hermione made a little noise in her sleep, and shifted slightly in his arms, he thanked whatever higher power decided not to take the woman he loved away from him. He held her tighter, yet not enough to wake her. This was what life was truly about, he realized, smelling her hair again. The reason he was alive was so that he could live this one moment.