Would You Kiss Me?

"Come, now," said Harry, placing a hand under Hermione's chin. She tried to pull away, but instead, she glanced at him with a look of hunger in her eyes.

"Fall into me..." Harry said softly, sliding his hand from her chin to her cheek. "Come into my eyes...you know you love me. We belong together. You can't deny it..."

Hermione breathed in deeply as Harry's hand moved from her cheek to her lips, and to her neck. It rested on her warm, half-naked bosom. She shuddered slightly at the coldness of his fingers, but still stared at him with a longing so strong she couldn't fight it...

His hand moved to her breasts. He stopped for a moment, staring at them, and his gaze returned to her eyes. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, but she didn't do anything as he leaned towards her.

"Forget him..." Harry whispered.

Hermione closed her eyes, and with that, Harry's hands flew to the back of her dress, beginning to undo the lacings.

"Where's Ron?" hissed Neville, who was standing a few feet away, watching the scene.

"I dunno," replied Seamus. "I told him to be here on time, but I think these two are doing great."

"As long as he doesn't miss his timing," said Neville.

Harry had undone Hermione's lacings, and he began to take off her dress. He was rather thankful for the layers and petticoats underneath the outer dress. He kissed her fiercely but passionately, moving up and down her neck.

"He's going to miss his part!" hissed Neville.

At this moment, Ron burst in through the doors. He was wearing a bright turquoise bath robe with orange ducks, carrying a half-eaten doughnut, and looking like he'd just gotten out of bed.

"Sorry I'm late!" he yelled. He then cleared his throat and said his line: "Levet! Release the lady!"

Harry, who had stopped kissing Hermione's neck to stare in shock at Ron (as was Hermione), paused for a moment, and said, "You have no authority over me, Montez!"

"Alright, cut, cut, cut!" bellowed Seamus. He walked onto the set. Harry let go of Hermione, and Ron took a bite of his doughnut.

"Seamus," whined Hermione. "Can I please not wear this dress?" She gestured at the outfit she wore. The dress's straps came up to only her shoulders, leaving her collar bones and half her breast out in the open blue. "I feel like a fifteenth-century slut!"

"Because you are a fifteenth-century slut!" Seamus said. "Well, not a slut, but your character is! Well...no, actually she's not...but that's how women dressed in fifteenth-century England!"

"I feel like I'm getting paid to wear this, or something," said Hermione.

"You are," said Seamus. "It's your costume."

"Seamus, can't I just wear my glasses?" Harry asked. "It's hard to see! Things are blurry!"

"I'm actually rather thankful for that..." muttered Hermione.

"But I can barely see where I'm going!" said Harry. "Or what I do, or what I touch - "

"Okay, in that case, can he wear his glasses, than?" asked Hermione.

"People!" bellowed Seamus. "I'm the director, thank you very much, and I'll say what you wear, how you act, and what you touch!"

"Oh, thank god for that one..." Hermione murmured again.

"Ron!" barked Seamus, Neville at his heels. "You're late!"

"Sorry," said Ron. "I slept in."

"Well, there's nothing to say but not to sleep in and to get into your costume as fast as you can! We can't waste anymore time! Someone take care of Hermione's make-up, it's smeared!"

At Seamus's words, a flock of people carrying make-up kits came rushing over and buried Hermione.

"Where were you last night?" asked Harry.

"Ah, you know, couldn't sleep." Ron said. "See you in a minute."

Harry watched him walk off in the direction of the dressing rooms and sighed. Ever since his most of his family was killed in the battle with Voldemort in their seventh year, Ron hadn't been getting much sleep. Mr. Weasley, Percy, Charlie, Fred, and George were lost, and Mrs. Weasley and Bill were tortured out of their senses, and they were now in St. Mungo's. Ginny had left right after she heard what had happened. No one was sure where she went, but by her occasional letters, everyone knew she was alive. Four years later, the pain had faded away a bit, but Ron was still taking pills, occasionally under therapy, and constantly tossing and turning at night. Harry had the impression that although Ron always smiled and acted happy, he had never really gotten over losing his family. Then again, he was an extremely talented actor, so he could fool anyone. That was what they were all doing here. The trio had thought that acting would be fun, so they signed up. At auditions, they surprised even themselves when they had splendid performances. And now, here they were, in the show business, the last place they expected themselves to be.