“Since always. Ron, don’t be like this,” she said as she sat down on the edge of his bed, not facing him.
An uncontrollable anger rushed through him; the result of mixed feeling and emotions. “Don’t be like what, huh?” he yelled through gritted teeth.

“Why are you so mad?”

“Mad!? Why shouldn’t be mad? First of all you don’t like me, sec-”

Hermione turned around. “Well what do you think the letter was for?! I knew something was up. That’s why I wrote that if you had something to tell me, to just tell me. But stubborn old Ron didn’t. So you can’t be mad at anybody but yourself.”

Ron finally came at ease. He knew she was right. His tone returned to normal. “You’re right, as always, but Seamus? Of all people?

She scooted close to Ron. She stared into his eyes. She said in a soft voice, “Well Fred and George aren’t the only ones who can crack a joke.”

Then she leaned over and kissed him. Ron couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Hermione’s kissing me! ...Wow she’s a good kisser. He kissed her back.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. About a minute later, the sweetest moment of Ron’s life ended.

He stared blankly at her. “You- you- you kissed me!”

“Of course I kissed you. I like you,” she said.

“Well, why did you fake me out like that?” he asked.

“Well, that’s what you do when you’re in love.” Then she kissed him again.

A few seconds later, they didn’t realize Harry walked in. “Hey, Ro-” He looked at the two of them, with his mouth open. He smiled to himself then quietly closed the door.
The two finally pulled away from each other.

“You’re a good kisser,” Ron complemented.

***

Kiss Excerpt from:

Finding Lily
by DeeDeeINFJ

~Contributed by: Katinka31~

~~~***~~~

(Ron’s Story)

Ron looked down at his chessmen, then looked up at Hermione’s face. She was smiling at him, and she was so pretty when she smiled. It wasn’t a gloating smile, or a wry smile, or a teasing smile. It was a real smile, and it was only for him. Her eyes were smiling too. And her cheeks were pink. Was she blushing? For him? He reached up slowly and touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Her eyes widened at his touch, and she drew a rather shaky breath, but she did not try to stop him. For a moment, he felt a rush of panic. Now what?

“Thanks,” he whispered, letting his hand fall back onto the chessmen. Then he felt her hand on top of his. She separated his fingers from the pieces and entwined them with her own. The chess set was forgotten.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured. She leaned closer to him. Ron felt unnerved by her gaze—this look in her eyes was unfamiliar, frightening, and wonderful—but he could not look away from it. What should he do? He felt his hand being lifted. Hermione held it up between them and touched her lips softly to his fingers, which were still twisted through hers. She lowered their hands again.

Then he knew what to do. How could he ever have doubted it? With his free hand, he cupped her face again and drew closer to her. He stopped for a moment. What if she didn’t want him to do . . . whatever it was he was about to do? Her fingers tightened in his in silent consent, and she smiled at him again. Ron swallowed and tucked a few stray hairs back from her face and behind her ear, then slid his hand down her arm. He leaned closer still.

“Ron.” Her breath was warm and sweet. “It’s okay.” She dropped her gaze for the first time, staring down at their hands. “I . . . I want you to.”

His heart leapt. Hermione wanted him to kiss her! She—the smartest person he’d ever met—the most stubborn—the most infuriating—the most impatient—she, who could have chosen a world-famous Quidditch player—who stole potions from Severus Snape, cheated time to take three classes at once, and rode a Hippogriff—who stood over him last night, watching him sleep—the person who drove him absolutely mad—and the only one he’d ever want to kiss.

He whispered her name, as if to remind himself that she was tangible and true. When he first touched her lips with his, he kept his eyes open. Oh, yes, she was very real. He closed his eyes, put his hand at the nape of her neck, and gently pulled her closer. When she sighed against him and returned his kiss, he believed that nothing in his life—nothing, ever—could be better than this. They separated for a moment, but he was compelled to lean back in quickly and take one more taste of her bottom lip before he pulled back from her. He kept his hand on her neck and looked into her eyes.

What if she hadn’t liked it? It had been so wonderful to him—how could she not have liked it? He might have done something wrong, and he would try to think of it later when his mind was capable of coherent, logical thought. Maybe he had . . . Oh. She was saying something. Ears still working? Check.

“Wow, Ron, that was really . . . really nice. Do you . . . do you want to . . .” She leaned closer, bushing. “Do you want to kiss me again?”

Did he want to kiss her again? Was that a real question? He took her flushed face in both hands and gave her his answer. Why did she like him? Why was she letting him put his mouth on hers—allowing him, insignificant Ron Weasley, to stop up all the brilliant things she might say? Her lips parted beneath his, and he wished he had some idea what he was supposed to do next. Hermione always knew what to do.

“Ron,” she said softly, “are you afraid of me?”

“Yes.” Terrified would be a better word, really.

Then she was wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. She was bold. He had to compliment her on that sometime . . . mmmm . . . sometime when he trusted himself enough to string words together. He put his hands on her waist, gradually circling them around her as their kiss deepened. They were no longer sitting on the floor; somehow they were both up on their knees, holding on to each other tightly.

“Why do you like me?” he managed to ask. Very good. Complete sentence.

“Because,” she replied breathlessly. Ron, kissing the corner of her mouth, decided that this was as satisfying an answer as any, but she continued, “Because you are the most likely person to ask that question”—she pressed her lips quickly against his—“and the person with the least reason to ask it.”

He would have to think about that later . . . too many words. Rational thought was definitely overrated—and definitely impossible when Hermione Granger’s lips were so inviting.

***

Kiss Excerpt from:

Finding Lily
by DeeDee INFJ

~Contributed by Katinka31~

~~~***~~~

(Hermione’s Story)

Then, just as suddenly, Ron was staring at her. He took her by surprise. He had nice eyes . . . beautiful eyes. She had never noticed. Thankful that he couldn’t read her thoughts, she knew that she must be blushing scarlet. Before she had time to register what he was doing, he was touching her cheek. She tried to remember to breathe. This was it . . . she was going to be kissed.

But then his hand was gone—back on his chess pieces. He thanked her in a voice that was barely audible. No! It couldn’t end like that! It couldn’t! She wouldn’t let it! Hermione could hardly believe her nerve as she reached down and took his hand, clasping it in hers.

“You’re welcome,” she said aloud, though she was thinking, “Kiss me!” His hand was warm and comfortable—just like him, really. She lifted it up and kissed it. Instantly her mind froze and she lowered his hand again. What had she done? He would think she was ridiculous. She thought she was ridiculous. But no . . . he seemed to like it. He was moving towards her, touching her face again. Then he stopped. Was he waiting for her to do something? She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. That seemed to work, for now he was playing with her hair . . . then his hand was on her arm, and he was even closer.

This was maddening. He seemed so uncertain—she should say something to him. “Ron, it’s okay.” What was okay? She couldn’t be more specific. She broke eye contact with him and continued, “I . . . I want you to.” Now she could only hope that he would fill in the rest of the sentence and spare her the humiliation of saying anything further.

“Hermione,” he murmured, moving closer. She shut her eyes and felt tingles shooting through her as he finally kissed her. This was far better than any magic. Or maybe this was magic, and the rest was just . . . spells. His hand was warm on her neck, and he was pulling her towards him. She sighed, responding to him as much as she knew how. He started to draw away from her, but came back to kiss her bottom lip. Then they separated, though his hand was still on her neck.

He was staring at her with a look that was new. She tried to connect this Ron with the Ron who so infuriated her. She knew that she should say something; assure him that she thought the kiss—that he—was wonderful.

“Wow, Ron,” she breathed. “That was really . . . really nice.” More than nice. Then she was shocked to hear herself saying, “Do you . . . do you want to . . . Do you want to kiss me again?”

What if he didn’t? . . . He did. He took her face in his hands and kissed her again eagerly. The same lips that smirked at her, teased her, or frowned at her—they were good for something else. Very good. She was vaguely aware of the fact that she had parted her lips, offering him more than what he was taking. But he didn’t deepen the kiss.

“Ron,” she murmured, brushing her lips lightly over his, “are you afraid of me?”

“Yes,” he replied.

She wanted to laugh at this confession, which she knew she could never mention. More than that, though, she wanted to hold him even closer . . . to at once deny and affirm the idea that he should be afraid of her. She put her arms around his neck and brought him closer. He responded by putting his hands on her waist and kissing her with much more, erm, confidence.

Oh, he was good at this. Harry had Quidditch, she had her books, and Ron could use his mouth in ways she’d never imagined. She had finally found his special skill, and it gave her a selfish little thrill to know that it wasn’t a spectator sport—she was the only person who would ever know it. She had decided that much already. Ron’s kisses were hers from now on. They were kneeling close together now, and Ron’s arms had gradually inched around her until he was holding her tightly around the waist.

Somewhere in the vast jumble of her thoughts, she heard Ron ask, “Why do you like me?”

Only Ron—sweet, self-deprecating Ron—would ask that question. Ron, who allowed a giant chess piece to beat him over the head, chased after gigantic spiders for her, and stood up on a broken leg to defend Harry against Sirius Black. Ron, who sold his most valuable possession for her. Ron, whose red hair, freckles, and smiling lips were maddeningly adorable. Her voice was shaky as she answered, “Because . . .” She wasn’t done yet, but he kissed the corner of her mouth and distracted her momentarily. “Because you are the most likely person to ask that question . . .” There was more to say, but he was irresistible. She stole another kiss and continued, “. . . and the person with the least reason to ask it.”

Talking was all very well, and Hermione was fairly certain that she would once again be able to appreciate it—later. Right now, she only wanted to be kissed by this stubborn, hot-tempered, red-headed boy.

***
Kiss Excerpt from:

After the End
by Arabella and Zsenya

~Contributed by: Arianrhod~

~~~***~~~

The evening after their last O.W.L. exam, they had been sitting up late in the common room, engrossed in a particularly fierce game of chess. Everyone, including Harry, had gone upstairs. Hermione had been sitting across from him, hair wild over her shoulders, pursing her lips and contemplating her next move. She'd been concentrating on the board for so long that her chess pieces had begun to taunt her. Ron had rearranged himself in his chair and reached out a foot under the table to kick her softly. She had looked up at once, forehead wrinkled, but he hadn't moved his foot from where he had positioned it on top of hers.

"Why'd you do that?"

"To make you hurry up."

"Oh, and kicking me will make me hurry up? That's excellent logic Ron." But though her tone of voice had been cutting, she had bitten her lip and fidgeted.

He had held up his hands in mock protest. "Fine! Take your time. I'm not worried about me - I'm worried about your pawns, that's all."

Hermione had finally made a move, and it hadn't been a good one. She'd known it too; her face had been quite red and she'd averted her eyes from him and the board as soon as she'd made it. He'd noticed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, that she hadn't moved her foot either. He could have sworn that he'd been able to feel heat rising up through the soles of his shoes. Ron remembered looking down at the chessboard and, for the first time in his life, not being able to figure out anything that was going on. Several of his pieces were vying for his attention, and Hermione's pretty queen was blowing kisses at him - he'd looked away from it, only to find Hermione's own brown eyes watching him intently. Ron had quickly returned his gaze to the game. Hermione had done the same, making a soft tutting noise as her queen lifted her skirt to reveal a shapely pewter ankle.

After a moment, Ron had all but gasped to feel the pressure of Hermione's toes nudging at his other foot.

"Are you going to make a move?" she'd asked, her voice half-joking, and slightly nervous.

Ron had felt a delicious chill shoot up his spine at the meaning behind her question, and he'd looked up to see an expression on Hermione's face that had never been there before. She hadn't been looking at the chessboard. His heart had skipped a beat. He'd nodded slowly and then, in what he still counted as one of his braver moments in life, he had placed his hands on either side of the table. He'd pulled himself slightly out of his chair and leaned over the chessboard towards her. Hermione had blushed, but she'd looked at him with such an open, trusting expression that despite the fact that he'd been able to feel his heart pounding in his chest, it really hadn't been too difficult to press his lips to hers. And to his utter shock, she'd pressed right back...

***

Kiss Excerpt from:

The Grandfather Paradox
by James Bow

~Contributed by: Zsenya~

~~~***~~~

Ron and Hermione turned to Wesley and an uncomfortable silence followed.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Wesley, Ron and I have talked about this and... we've decided that we have to know."

Wesley stared at her. "Know what?"

"About us." She motioned to Ron and herself. "I mean, you're proof that Ron and I are going to... end up together. We want to know when."

"And how," Ron added.

Wesley stared in disbelief. "Why are you doing this to yourselves?"

"Well..." Hermione struggled with the words. Finally, she said, "We like you. We like how you stood up to Voldemort, and how much you risked helping to save Harry, Ginny and us. Ron and I... well, we don't want to do anything that might..."

"Make you vanish," Ron finished.

"When's your birthday?" Hermione asked.

Wesley chuckled. "Mum, Dad, don't." He looked at them seriously. "This is one thing I really feared when I came here. I've been thinking about what it would be like if I were in your shoes, suddenly being confronted with my future, knowing that my destiny had been mapped out for me in advance. Truth to tell, I think I'd feel robbed. For that, I'm sorry."

Ron and Hermione said nothing. They looked at the floor.

"You deserve to make your own choices about your futures," said Wesley. "I don't want to change that."

"But what about you?" said Hermione. "What if we do things wrong? What if we don't... have you on the right day?"

"I don't think that changes anything."

"You don't?" said Ron.

"Look, you remember what Dumbledore said about the Grandfather Paradox, about what might happen if one went back in time and killed one's grandfather? Flip that around. Let us say that someone casts a time spell and goes back in time not to kill his grandfather, but to save his parents? If he does save his parents, then there's no need for him to cast a time spell and go back in time to save them in the first place, is there? The paradox still holds, in theory."

He gave them a smile. "The future where Voldemort tortures Harry over to his side has been prevented. I've saved my parents. And yet I'm still here, aren't I? I think you still have your choices. I hope you'll continue to make them."

He stood up to go to bed. Ron and Hermione stood up with him.

"So," said Hermione. "Can you teach us how to make those lightning balls?"

Wesley considered a moment. Then he shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Hermione gave him a hug, as did Ron, much to Wesley's chagrin. With a wave, he went upstairs, leaving Ron and Hermione alone.

Ron bid Hermione good night, but she caught his arm. The two stood in the centre of the deserted common room, staring at each other for a long time.

Then Hermione reached up, pulled Ron to her, and kissed him.

Ron stared at her.

Hermione smiled. "My choice."

***

Kiss Excerpt from:

The Glass Slippers
by Scabbers

~Contributed by: StereoM~

~~~***~~~

I felt a finger gently tap my shoulder, which made me jump; it was Hermione.

"Hey," she said. She was all done up like a stepsister, with a funny hat on her head and big freckles painted on her cheeks. Like freckles were supposed to be ugly or something. Hmph.

I opened my mouth to say something for her, but Hannah must have put some junk on her eyelashes, and it was really messing with my brain. It was driving me crazy, how long her eyelashes looked.

"Well," she said, twirling around so that awful dress flared out, "Do I look ugly enough?" She smiled sadly.

"No," I said, all of the sudden, "They screwed up. You look like Cinderella. You always do."

She stared at me, her lip trembling like she was going to cry.
"Look, I'm sorry," I said quickly, "I didn't mean....I mean...I meant what I said, but I didn't mean to-"

Then, to my surprise, her lips touched mine for just a second, so softly I thought I'd dreamt it.

"Break a leg, Ron," she said.

***

Kiss Excerpt from:

Fantastic
by That H.P. Guy

~Contributed by: Night Zephyr~

~~~***~~~

Hermione crossed her arms and gave in with very little grace. “Alright, give it here.”

“Nope. Open wide!” Ron held the dropper out and Hermione assumed a long-suffering expression and reluctantly opened her mouth. He applied two drops to her tongue.

She made a horrible face. “Oh, that’s terrible. Far worse than the potion Madam Pomfrey gave me to change me back from being a cat.” Harry and Ron laughed good-naturedly at her obvious discomfiture.

They waited several minutes, to make sure it had a chance to work. Harry asked, “So, Ron, how’ll we make sure this thing works as intended?”

“Oh, I’ve already got that figured out.” Ron smiled placidly. He turned to Hermione and said, nonchalantly, “Say, Hermione, give us a kiss, will ya?”

Hermione stood up from her seat and walked over to Ron, whose eyes were getting larger and larger as she approached. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in close. Then he felt her lips against his own, pressing hard. He recovered enough to kiss back, and felt her mouth open over his, felt her tongue tease his own. Ron’s heart skipped several beats when Hermione nibbled on his lower lip. His arms encircled her without conscious thought on his part.

After what seemed an eternity, she pulled back and looked down at Ron’s flushed face. And she slapped him, as hard as she’d slapped Malfoy back in their third year.

***

Kiss Excerpt from:

Harry Potter and the Carnelian Key
by Kellie

~Contributed by Angua ~

~~~***~~~

"I'm sorry," she replied as he reached her side, "it's just, something you said made me realize. Maybe there is a way to find out where the corners are, if only I can find." her voice trailed off as she anxiously searched through all her books, obviously looking for one in particular. "It's not here," she said, growing more frenetic by the second. "Damn. I have to go to the library, it must be in there!" She attempted to push past Ron, but he
grabbed her arms, forcing her to halt. "Ron, what are you doing? I need to go to the library, let me go!"

"No!" he insisted. "This is it! I need to talk to you, we can't keep putting this off!"

"Putting what off, Ron? What are you talking about? Can't it wait?"

"Hermione, you know what I'm talking about, and no, it can't wait anymore."

Hermione froze. He saw the nervousness in her eyes again, and she glanced down at his hands, gripping her arms tightly, and she tried to step back, but couldn't. "Don't walk away from me, Hermione," he said seriously.

"What then?" she asked. Her voice was still slightly frenzied, and in this state, Ron could see that she was letting her guard down. She was frustrated, and she had never been able to control her emotions well when
she was feeling desperate about something. "What is it that you have to say?" He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. How was he supposed to say it? She wasn't in the mood to wait, and when he didn't
continue, she tried to pull out of his grip again, the sound of tears beginning to creep into her voice as she said, "Let me go then! If you can't just bring yourself to say it, I'm not going to wait around for you to get
up the nerve anymore, Ron! I have something important to do, and -"

"No! Please, Hermione, please just give me a chance, I." He stopped, trying to figure out exactly how to say it. Her eyes searched his and his heart pounded madly, threatening to break through his ribcage. "I just."

"What?" she demanded.

"I don't know how to say it! Okay?" he released her arms suddenly, and she stumbled a bit.

They just stood there, staring at one another for a moment, both panting slightly, and then all of a sudden, Hermione said, "Oh, for heaven's sake," and stepping forward, she lifted up on her toes, pulled his face down to hers, and pressed her lips firmly against his.

For a moment, Ron was too stunned to react, but then it was too late, because Hermione had pulled away, and the kiss was over. When she stepped back, all the vulnerability and fear she'd been hiding so well was evident
in her eyes, right there at the surface. "Is that what you were trying to say?" she asked breathlessly.

He stared at her, and then, heart pounding, he reached out a shaking hand and took hers in it, tangling his fingers through hers. He cautiously lifted his free hand to her cheek, caressing the smooth skin like he'd wanted to do a hundred times. She sucked in a breath and lifted her free hand to place over his where it rested on her cheek, and then he suddenly stepped in and bent his head, gently capturing her lips with his.

In that moment, the world simply stopped spinning. For a dizzying and suspended moment, nothing moved, and then Ron slipped his hand around to the back of her head, cupping it gently and pulling her closer. Her fingers trailed down his arm, and the hand that he was still holding lifted up, her fingers snaking around his, mirroring the fluttering they both felt deep in their chests. That hand eventually found the back of his neck, drawing him even nearer, and he let his arm fall around her waist, fingers dancing against the small of her back. At his touch, she gasped against his mouth, and when she gently nudged his lip, that was all it took for him to pour his soul into her. All of his pent up emotion and longing was released in that moment, and all he wanted to do was touch her, and hold her, and kiss her.

He was lost, falling, drowning, and he didn't even care. All he knew was her...her lips, her arms, her touch, and her passion. And the knowledge that here she was in his arms, kissing him as desperately as he was kissing her
drove him mad, and he couldn't help but kiss her recklessly, clinging to the dream of her that was now a reality and was in his arms. A choked whimper from Hermione brought him back to reality, and he pulled away, breathless, just far enough to look into her eyes, and he was shocked to see that she was crying.

"Hermione...," he said softly, his heart constricting. "What?"

"Shhhhhhh," she said, shaking her head, and pressing her lips against his again, gently trying to cling to the moment. He didn't pull away until she did, and then he carefully wiped her tears away with his thumbs, holding her face in his hands and staring into her eyes.

"I was beginning to think you were never going to do that," she said softly.

"I didn't," he whispered with quiet amusement. "You did."

"Well, a girl gets tired of waiting," she explained, smiling as he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know why I couldn't -"

"Stop," she said. "It doesn't matter now." She wrapped her arms around his waist and relaxed against him, and he held her tightly, happy to finally have her in his arms where she belonged.

***

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