Title - Hands

Author - Lena

Pairing - Harry/Ron

Rating - PG

Warning - None

Genre - Romance

Spoilers - None

Disclaimers - I don't own Harry or Ron or anything in the HP world. JKR does, along with Warner Bros.

Feedback - [email protected]

Acknowledgments - Thank you to my beta, Lorien_Eve.

I lay next to him, thinking. I did that a lot lately. He was asleep. Warmth seeped from his body and radiated onto mine. I had my hand gripped in his.

I loved his hands. They were small and delicate, but strong, and oh, those fingers were nimble. They always did things to me that I loved.

My hands were big, and sort of clumsy. My fingers were stubby and when I tried to use them on him, I always felt they were so awkward. Harry never seemed to have minded. He said he liked the way my hands felt. Made him feel safe, he said. So I always held hands with him, always touched him. I wanted to protect him.

I looked over at his sleeping face and grasped his hand just a little harder, not enough to wake him. I reached my other hand over and laid it on his, which was lying on his chest. I snuggled up to lay my head in the crook of his neck. We were so close that the hands that were gripped together were squished in between our bodies. Only the two lying on his chest were free to move.

I looked at his hand. I could only see his fingertips peek out from under my hand. His nails were short and chipped. His fingers were a little calloused, too. That comes from playing Quidditch. But that's okay, I don't care.

I let him run his hands over my body whenever he wanted. He only had two hands, I knew, but once he started touching me, I closed my eyes and it felt as if Harry had a million able fingers. His hands may be delicate, but the roughness on them gave them quality and made them feel real. They always caused sensations on my skin that made me lose control.

I always kept my hands on his shoulders or around his neck. Somewhere to hold, somewhere to grasp. Sometimes, I would grab those hands of his and pin them down, and wrap my big hands around them, letting him know I was strong.

I started rubbing his hand. Softly, slowly, moving my fingers up and down the dips between his fingers and the bones on the back of his hand. His hands were tanned and had little tiny lines in them. They almost looked as if they belonged to someone older, someone with more experience.

Although Harry had done a lot of living in the past few years, he was still young looking, except for his hands. I had grown up a lot lately, on the outside, anyway. Taller and stronger, but my hands still looked like a growing kid's.

So our hands were different than the rest of us. But I guess, to look at our hands, you could see what was inside of each of us.

I sighed to myself and it was then that I heard a soft, "Hey." I looked up at him and saw he was awake.

I whispered back, "Hey." We didn't say anything more. We just laid there holding hands.