"Time" (HP fic: Pucker Up Challenge)
scribblinlenore issued a lovely mini-challenge all about kissing: Pucker Up: The Multifandom Mini-Challenge. And what's better than kissing, I ask you? So, I couldn't resist a too long-snippet with a first kiss I'm just dying to see. Un-betaed, it most likely totally sucks. Proceed at your own risk.

Title: Time
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Takes place *immediately* after Half Blood Prince and is thus SPOILERTASTIC!
A/N: Just playing, JKR owns. Ron/Hermione: My Het OTP.




She was standing on the banks of the lake, staring out at the slow crest of the waves along the lake surface.

She thought of the day before third year when Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore had looked at her with their serious, adult eyes. She could still clearly see McGonagall opening the small, wooden box and holding out the Time Turner to her. It had felt ancient in her hands, the way nothing else in the magical world had, and a quiet shock of power raced under her skin.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall's voice had been razor sharp "I cannot stress what a responsibility you now hold in your hands. You must not take this lightly. We are giving you, in essence, the power to control time."

She'd felt suddenly sick and considered handing McGonagall the box back, telling her there was simply no way she was ready for this. That was when Dumbledore had broken in. "But of course, Miss Granger, no one can actually control time. Think, instead, that we are giving you the means to try to better manage this beautiful, chaotic world of ours."

He had smiled kindly at her then and Hermione had felt reassured. Certainly, if Dumbledore thought she could manage, it would all be all right, she could do this.

Time. She thought of Dumbledore's grave, white in the distance, and she imagined grains of sand slipping through the Time Turner. Time.

Hermione felt like nothing would ever be all right again.

She knew she must have looked forlorn, standing there by the lake, and the thought was confirmed when she heard Ron's voice from behind her. "Hey, are you OK?"

To make Ron's voice so low and gentle, she must be quite the sight. She didn't want to think about how she'd just been in his arms, sobbing unabashedly. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her grief, or even that Ron had been witness to it. It was the thousand unanswered questions that started throbbing behind her eyes if she paused too long to consider it.

She turned to face him and looked up at his lean face. It seemed that he lost some weight, or maybe he was just looking pinched around the edges in the way she'd noticed everyone around her was lately. It did not stop his face from being so sweetly familiar to her, though. She liked the unguarded moments like this best: when in the privacy of her own mind, for the briefest of seconds, she could allow herself to feel so tender and attached and devoted to Ron.

"I'm feeling a little better, thanks. Where's Harry gone off to?"

Ron glanced down at his feet. "Dunno, guess he and Ginny have taken off somewhere. Think he probably wants to spend a last bit of time with her before. . ." Ron trailed off here, shrugging.

"Before the three of us go off on some wild, scavenger hunt for pieces of the soul of the darkest wizard to ever live." Hermione finished the sentence, the unthinkable sentence, in her mind.

Out-loud she blurted, "But of course, no one can actually control time."

Ron looked up, meeting her eyes, confused. "Come again?"

"I'm so tired, Ron."

His face grew soft and sympathetic. "Yeah, well. I can walk you up to the castle maybe you can get some,"

Hermione knew then, in a way she never had before, that she loved Ron Weasley. She loved him for holding her when she cried and for being jealous of Viktor Krum and for the look on his face the day he received his Prefect badge. She loved him for being such prat sometimes and teasing her about studying and fighting with her as if she was the most interesting person on the globe.

She loved Ron Weasley as grains of sand slipped through the Time Turner, which was locked securely in some ancient box. She loved Ron Weasley as Dumbledore's white tomb sat in the distance. She loved him as this beautiful, chaotic world of theirs went on all around them.

Without giving it another thought, Hermione threw herself into Ron's arms, flinging her arms around his neck.

He muttered something that sounded like "Ooof!" but still wrapped his arms around her waist. "Hey, thought you said you were,"

She kissed him, lifting her face to his, she kissed him.

There wasn't even a split-second of hesitation, he pressed his mouth on hers instantly, just like she'd always imagined he would. He knew. She didn't want to open her mouth, not at first, because she wanted this memory, this second of the press of their lips, and nothing more. She wanted that memory always, this one second when everything pivoted because of his lips on hers. Heavy and warm, oh, Ron's lips. She'd been wanting this since she was 13 years old, maybe even before that.

She felt the tip of his tongue along her lower lip. It shouldn't be so exciting, really, to know that Ron Weasley wanted her to open her mouth under his, but it was, it really was, and her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. And once she opened her mouth to him, Hermione knew that everything would change. Finally.

It happened naturally, not the lightest hint of teeth or the smallest bit of too much saliva. Ron sucked on her bottom lip for the shortest second and then moved his mouth up a fraction of an inch. She tilted her head and their mouths met full on. Open mouths, breath on breath, Ron's wet, warm mouth. They moved in perfect time.

Ron was pulling her closer, holding her tightly against his chest. She heard him make a rumbling noise in the back of his throat, almost like a growl. Growling. She'd made Ron Weasley growl. Standing up on her tip-toes, she pressed herself even closer to him.

Time, it wasn't moving anymore, time. There was nothing besides their mouths together, the press of their lips, and his tongue along her teeth and tracing lazy swirls along the roof of her mouth. Something had to go wrong soon, because this synchronicity couldn't be right and the humming feeling along her skin, it was all too much.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't focus, and she didn't want to stop. But Ron pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. "Oi, what's all this, then?" He breathed into her ear.

There was only one answer, in this beautiful, chaotic world of theirs. She smiled softly. "It's time, Ron. It's time."

He laughed, the sound a reassuring heartbeat telling her everything really was going to be all right. And then he leaned his head down and started kissing her again.