Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters do not belong to me.

A/N: This is the little fantasy that runs through my head when I read the HP books; Ron and Hermione’s first kiss.

She stares down at their intertwined hands, each finger moving into its place as if they had always been there. It’s their first kiss, and she supposes that she should be more nervous, but with Ron it feels as natural as breathing or sleeping.

She inhales and realizes that she hasn’t been breathing for the last few minutes, because the pleasant fizzing in her veins is very distracting.

He moves closer and so does she, which results in their knees colliding, and he winces, as if expecting a reprimand. But she just laughs and puts her arms around his neck, and she doesn’t care that the hole in his pant leg is as wide as her fist, or that it’s eight in the morning and she hasn’t brushed her hair or her teeth.

Because they’re in love, and that’s what people in love do; they ignore faults and look for things to treasure.

He bends his head over hers, and now she fully appreciates how tall he really is, because he has such a long way to bend, so she helps him by standing on tiptoe. He moves his hands from around her waist to rest on either side of her face, but even with the support, his first try misses and his lips land on her nose instead. She giggles because his ears now match his hair, and she stretches up some more to plant her lips on his.

Her first thought is that she never knew her lips could tingle. Her body goes limp, and the strong arm curled around her waist once again is probably the only thing holding her up. She expected to enjoy kissing, but this roaring in her ears drowning out everything else, the fire in her body that blazes, goes so much further than enjoyment.

Ron’s fingers are digging into her waist, now, and she can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles up. He pulls away and looks at her quizzically, so she quickly explains that she’s incredibly ticklish. He looks at her for a moment, and suddenly, it seems too funny, and they both laugh until tears prick at their eyes.

When they have managed to calm down, they find that they’re sitting on the couch in the room, and his arms are around her shoulders, and she is almost in his lap, but they’re both comfortable. And when she looks into his dancing blue eyes, she feels the sudden urge to kiss him again.

So she does. And it goes much smoother this time, so he runs his hands through her hair that has definitely not been brushed, and she kisses each and every one of the freckles that so plague him.

Even though it’s eight in the morning, and they look awful, they’re in love, so it doesn’t matter.

After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.