His kisses were growing clumsy, Hermione noticed, although the observation was one which made her smile into the kiss, something inherently pleasing about the fact. In truth, she knew that she probably wasn't actively doing all that much to please him— she wouldn't even have known where to start, really— but the idea that they could find something which felt good together, through a joint effort, made her feel closer to him than perhaps she ever had before. And suddenly, she found that she was having a difficult time keeping calm through the kiss as well, her breath shaky as it slipped through their lips, a moan muffled as she leaned up to deepen the kiss, hand lingering by his jaw.

The other hand remained on the small of his back, occasionally sliding lower, pressing against him in encouragement. Once the movement was steady— as much as Ron could manage at the moment— Hermione began to feel calmer, having some idea of what to expect. And, as soon as her body began to relax, the whole process was made easier still, and even enjoyable.

As soon as they lips parted, Hermione's words passed through her teeth in an urgent hiss. "Ron," she breathed. "Yes." Her chest rose and fell with the movement, with her breath, which hastened as she felt his muscles tensing, the hand by his jaw sliding down over his shoulder, then his arm. She'd always felt safe in his arms— apparently this was no exception.