“I’ve been staring at you for five minutes and thirty seven seconds now. It has reached the point that every single thing about you sends masses of little flips straight from my brain to my stomach and I can’t concentrate on anything else except you.

You sit there fluffing your hair, and pretending that everything that happened in the Quidditch game was directly a result of you, and that everyone should lavish you with praise, and when they do, you have a distinct look of pleasure in your eyes. Sometimes I think I see that look when you look at me, but I can never be sure, I’m too afraid to ask.

You see, I’ve fancied you for far too long now. I don’t understand what is wrong with me- I know, in fact, I’m completely certain that I want something to happen with you. Maybe it will just be that you say you feel the same way. Or maybe you’ll want me to kiss your cheek a few more times than usual, and for no particular reason, except that you’re you. Or maybe you’ll want to hold me as much as I want to hold you, and that we can walk around, proudly claiming each other as our own. I want whatever you want.

You’re walking over to me now, and you wave at me, grin, because you’ve been subject to so much attention, and then roll your eyes, telling me that I do far too much homework. ‘Come and join the party!’ you say to me, and I don’t think I want to. I like sitting here, watching your moves, and thinking about how much I want to go up to you and whisper in your ear ‘I like you so much, Ron.’ Maybe I’ll do it later.

Now you’re walking away, muttering something about how I do far too much homework, and that I should give Arithmancy a break and spend more time with you and Harry. What you don’t know, is that I’m always spending time with you. I sit here thinking about all the things I want to do and say to you, but am too afraid to do. Maybe I’ll do it later. I want to watch you some more.

You know, you saved me from a troll, you’ve made me laugh, you’ve made me cry, and have made me feel so incredible. Sometimes, when you seem angry about Viktor, I think maybe it’s because you’re jealous. I really doubt it though, because I don’t think you’d ever like me in that way. Maybe if I tell you later that I want to hold your hand and stare at you forever, then you can see how much Viktor doesn’t matter in the scheme of things.

Perhaps I’ll give this piece of paper to you as well. So you can see how much I really do like you, and that every spare moment of my time is completely dedicated to doodling your name over and over on scrap parchment, and just thinking about how wonderful you are. You’re coming back towards me now, and you open your mouth to say something.

I don’t listen the first time you speak to me, because I’m badly thinking about how much I want to take your mouth and brush it against mine, and tell you how I really feel. Huh, I say. You speak to me again, this time saying ‘Hermione, I want you to come with me, and have some fun. Stop working, please come and be with me!’ Ron, if you knew what I was thinking about, you’d know I have been with you the whole time. I stand up and leave, because it would eat away at my conscience if I were to say no to you wanting my company. I want your company too bad to deny you mine.

I sit back down now, and you have gone, it has been three hours. I can’t really think properly right now, your company has forced me into a state of bliss which can only be matched by something as fantastic as, ohh, it can’t be matched at all. We went and ate food a bit, and laughed politely with everyone, and I couldn’t stop looking at you, and the way you played with your hands that I wanted to hold so badly, and then throw me an occasional grin. I would grin back, nervously. I wanted you to know that I like you, but I also don’t want you to know incase you didn’t feel the same. I don’t worry now though.

As the crowd dwindled, and congratulated you many more times for your spectacular win for the team, you seemed to want to be with me more, and I decided that I can’t take this anymore. You have to know, I can’t spend another day with these feelings bottling up inside. I was surprised when you came up very close to me and asked me to dance with you to the song on the Wizarding Wireless. I thought you didn’t dance. But any excuse to be closer than usual to you I’d take, so we danced. We kicked and laughed and then the song changed. It seems so clichéd, dancing to a slow song with you, but it was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done in my life.

We stood so close, that I could feel your face and body so near to me, and it sent those flips straight to my stomach again. You feel so nice. I think we were both shy, you turned your usual shade of pink, and I just put on my usual snobbish self. Don’t be silly Ronald, I say. So we danced. As the song moved so did we, you hugged me a little bit and grinned anxiously, and at that moment, I didn’t care anymore.

Ronald, I say. ‘Yes’ you answered. I told you that I liked dancing with you. That it feels really nice. All you did was give a resounding mmmm in my ear. It tickled a bit. Ron, I say again. ‘Yes’ you answered. I didn’t know how to say what I wanted to say. I think, no, I know, um, I really, well, I really like you Ron, I say. You stopped dancing. And I thought, oh no, that this would be the end. Because you didn’t say I like you back. You stopped dancing and stared at me a bit, and I saw the pink rushing from your fingers right to your hairline. You grin a bit, and say, I beat you again. And I ask you, What do you mean, you beat me Ron?

You smiled at me, and I’ll never forget that smile. And I’ll never forget the way that you walked in close to me again, and the way that you leaned around to my ear, gently nuzzling my face as you went. I beat you, Hermione, you say, because I more than like you. I love you. I stopped moving, and let my stomach flip ten thousand times before I could talk again. You gave me a kiss quickly, which I thought was bold of you, as you never seemed to be that confident before. You look at me one more time and say, I am very very very in love with you Hermione. And then kiss me again and walk up the stairs.

I didn’t get to say what I wanted to say. I didn’t get to tell you the same thing back. So I’m going to leave this page here, with your named doodled on it by me thousands of times, and hope that you see this.

I love you, Ron Weasley, because you’re you.�

A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for being so patient. Anyway, I’ve tried and tested lots of ideas for this story, but I’ve decided that my speciality is fluff. I’m going to make this story a myriad of different Ron/Hermione romantic scenarios [yes, I change my mind too much, and yes it’s annoying, but I’m the author, so it’s my privilege!]. In the future I’ll post a full story which I’m working on now. [I just hope events in book 6 don’t ruin my plot!!!!]

Anyhoo… enjoy the fluff!

Ron liked watching her so much. Her head bent down into piles of parchment, with her small, delicate hand racing back and forth making the tiniest and most precise writing he had ever seen. It was completely captivating; he could watch her for hours. She tossed her hair back, which tonight was bushier than usual because she was so frazzled and tired, and then immediately went straight back into her piles of work, leaving Ron sitting bemused and absolutely entranced.

Every night, for 2 weeks and 4 days (he had been counting), she would work like this, but Ron didn’t care at all. He could stare at her and enjoy her more and more, without her even noticing that his eyes were wearing holes into her body. He enjoyed most watching her face change, the expression every time she discovered something useful, which caused her to grin, or the expression she had when she was lost deep in thought, with her hands framing her face.

Ron hadn’t been noticing anything else since he realised. Everything had been entirely about her, it was all he could ever think about. About how smart she is, about how kind she is, about how beautiful she is, about how perfect she is. When she looked at him, it made him blush and his stomach squirm. When she spoke to him, he couldn’t answer because all he could hear was her voice resounding in his head.

Sometimes Ron thought he could see her looking at him the same way he looked at her. When he was talking about Quidditch excitedly to Harry, or when he tried hard to do his homework but failed dismally, he almost swore he could see her looking the same way at him. The little stare where one pretends to stare into thin air, but is really digesting every single thing about the person in front of them in absolute awe. But it couldn’t be. Ron thought she was far too good for him.

He did feel bad sometimes, because jealousy often got the better of him. He felt so horrible, and scared every time she showed an interest in someone else. The feeling almost resulted in a fight every single instance this happened and Ron hated it. He hated having her angry with him, and thinking that he’s rude and self-centered. Or that’s what Ron assumed she thought.

Ron wanted to say something so much. It had been ebbing away at him since the moment it all started. Since the moment he admitted to himself that it was true, that he didn’t want to be with anyone else except for her. He wanted to tell her about the odd and squirmy feelings he had for her, and why he seemed so jealous but he was so scared. Scared because, obviously, she would never like someone that wasn’t intelligent and famous, like Krum, and he would embarrass himself completely.

How to say something was the hardest part. He WANTED to go up to her while she was working and say, “’scuse me, but I think you’re the most wonderful thing ever,� but he couldn’t. He tried once, but stood stunned for a moment until he resigned to asking about homework again. He was just too shy.

He wondered if Harry knew, and how obvious it was. Ron was certain that Harry would notice his feelings and bizarre behaviour. He wondered, for example, if Harry had counted how many times he had started sentences with “She did this other day�, and “She’s so good at doing that!�. Ron had been counting. In the past two days he had mentioned her 37 times.

So Ron sat there, staring at her every night now, thinking of the same things. How pathetic he is, how perfect she is, and how all he wanted to do was go up to her and find some possible way of sweeping her off her feet, making sure she knows that if she wanted, he would be hers forever.

He was glad she didn’t know what was going through his head tonight. Because every single day his feelings for her grew stronger and stronger, and this particular night they were practically screaming ‘I cannot bear hiding this feeling from you another moment longer’. Ron fidgeted in his chair. He touched his hair a few times in attempt to make himself better looking for her. His hands writhed in his lap. He was chewing his lip. He didn’t take his eyes from her for one moment.

“Stop, Ron.�

Ron snapped out of his trance, terrified. He muttered quick sorry, and with his stomach in one giant knot and packed his things to leave the common room.

“No.�

Ron halted where he was standing.

“It’s been 2 weeks and 4 days now, am I right? You’ve been looking at me every single night for 2 weeks and 4 days, because I’ve been counting. What you don’t know Ron, is that I’ve been looking at you for 2 weeks and 4 days, but you haven’t noticed at all. I’ve noticed the way you fidget, but you haven’t noticed me stare at you once.�

Ron was simply stunned. He turned around to look at her, with his face flushed with bright red.

“I haven’t done any homework,� she paused briefly, “properly�, she continued, “for 2 weeks and 4 days because I have been looking at you.�

Still standing in absolute disbelief, Ron looked at one of the pieces of parchment on her table. He almost fell over when he saw his name doodled over and over several hundred times on the piece of paper in her perfect handwriting.

“You think I can’t stand you Ron. You act like you’re terrified around me, and I wish you wouldn’t. Because I don’t think I can stand one more moment of having to pretend I don’t like you. I want to spend every moment from now, with you knowing openly that I like you. Very much.�

Ron wanted to say it, right then. He opened his mouth to tell her, but the words wouldn’t even come out of his mouth. She stood up and walked over too him, smiling now, because she could see how scared he was, and how nervous he was. Ron wished to himself so much that he would stop gawping like an idiot.

“I.. I, um, well, I, want you to know that I, erm, like you very much too,� Ron managed to stammer.

When she smiled at him, and touched his arm in a reassuring manner, he realised how ridiculously he was behaving. She had just told him that, she, the most fantastic person he knows, likes him, and he was still shy. A wave of confidence swept over him that he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

“Actually, I more than like you. I am completely and utterly obsessed with you. There isn’t a moment that I don’t think about you. You are the most perfect thing in the world to me, and I’m quite sure that I love you. Very much.�

She stood there completely stunned, it was almost as though her and Ron had changed positions and she had been shy this whole time. Ron found that this would be the perfect moment. The moment he had been waiting for, for so long. He bent down and gave her small kiss, and pulled back positively beaming at her.

“How long have you felt this way, Ron?� she asked him after pulling herself back together.

“Since I realised that I liked you.�

“And when was that?� she continued to question, while putting her arms around him.

“The time I first let my eyes stop and see you, Hermione.�

A/N: Awww, I got such nice reviews from last time that I decided to update earlier than I originally intended. I hope that you all like it and I promise I’ll keep the fluff coming.

Reviews: Accepted with big, fat, warm, open arms!

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She’s sitting over there. By the common room fire. I can see her, she’s doing her homework, and her hand is moving across the parchment so fast, that I can’t help but admire the way her fingers could possibly move at such a speed. Although, the speed of her fingers isn’t the only thing that makes her so adorable, it’s everything – from the way she scrunches up her face to concentrate, through to the way she can be so pompous sometimes.

I keep staring at her, and I haven’t stopped for quite a while now, because for some reason my eyes refuse to look anywhere else. They always find a new excuse for me to need to gaze at her for just a bit longer. They see her, and think, look at how she bites her lip like that, and look at the way she brings her hand to her face when she’s frustrated. But I don’t mind, I enjoy looking at her.

Sometimes I like to think about how this started, why suddenly I felt something for her, that was completely different to the way I felt about anyone else. For 4 years, she didn’t seem like anything but a great friend, like Harry, she was one of the ‘guys’. I don’t know entirely what was responsible for making me realise, but I noticed eventually that she was a girl, and she was beautiful.

I know now that I didn’t show how I felt about her in the most appropriate way, I have a suspicion that she hated me more for my behaviour, me being the jealous prat I am. I’ll just blame it on him, Viktor Krum, he started it. I hope she still doesn’t hate me now for being so envious; we’ve had so many fights on this subject, that I sometimes wonder if the image of my jealous face is embedded in her mind. But she wouldn’t be thinking about me enough to do that I guess, I’m just Ron.

Tonight I’m almost certain that she’s looked at me too. I don’t know if she’s looking at me for the same reason that I like to look at her, but it still makes my stomach flip and my ears turn red when she does. I wish my stupid pink Weasley-embarrased ears would stop burning; it’s making it very obvious that she’s made me shy. What do I do if she thinks it’s because I like her?

I’ll have to tell her soon, because I know if I don’t I’ll regret it so much. If she spent more time writing to Viktor Krum because I didn’t tell her, I’d regret it even more. But I don’t know how I would tell her, I can’t decide what to say. Knowing me and my severe lack of confidence when it comes to her, my best effort would result in ‘mumble mumble mumble.’

Perhaps I could try saying that all I ever think about now is her, and how when I wake up in the morning, the first thing I see in my mind is her smiling. Or that when she says I stare out of the window in History of Magic, I’m really staring at her instead thinking about how much I want to just have the chance to hold her in my arms for a bit. Or that every time we bicker, there’s a moment when I stop and realise that she is still absolutely gorgeous when she’s frustrated with me.

So many people are leaving the common room now, and soon it will just be her and myself left. I’ll have to talk then, and again I’ll have to try and prevent myself from becoming a crimson, mumbling mess when I speak to her. Although, tonight I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep this bottled up inside anymore. For such a long time I’ve been having to try and pretend there’s nothing going on, when really, all I want right now is her.

And so, now everyone is gone, and it’s her and me left, sitting a fair distance from each other. When she sees me, she asks me why on earth I look so shy and terrified, and why I don’t come over and talk to her. I think she wouldn’t be so worried if she knew it was because I like her making me so pale and terrified. When I move over to sit closer to her, I feel my ears change colour again, and know that she’s going to make me explain myself.

She asks me what ever is the matter, and I tell her that I was tired. She knows I’m lying just as much as I do, that’s also why she is so brilliant, she knows me so well. After telling me she doesn’t believe me, she asks me what the matter is again, this time with almost something that looks like pleading in her eyes. Tell me, she says.

I tell her that I don’t know how to say it. That I wasn’t sure what to say. And right then I guessed she knew what was coming, because she put her hand and my arm and said that it didn’t matter how I said it, because we had been torturing each other with this feeling for ages. She knew, and suddenly, the fact that she wanted me to say something made me feel braver than ever.

I tell her that I like someone, and she tells me she likes someone too. She moves closer.

I tell her that I’ve liked her for a very long time now, and she tells me that she thinks she’s liked her person for the same amount of time. I move closer.

I tell her that I could see the person I liked right now, and she tells me that she can see her person too, and that she more than liked him. We hold hands.

I tell her, Hermione, I love you, because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

And she smiled.