Disclaimer: If Harry and his friends and enemies belonged to me,
well...they'd definitely not be stuffed somewhere in the children's section
of Coles bookstore.
Rating: PG, for brief bouts of extremely sarcastic humour, and making a bit of fun of Draco Malfoy, even though I love that boy almost more than I love egg rolls. I loves my egg rolls. I loves them good.
Author's Notes: I blame this story entirely on "Love Actually". For, you see, I ended up seeing it in theatres twice, and that second time, I think I suffered from mushy, sugary, Alan Rickman-Colin Firth-Hugh Grant-Bill Nighy-overload. It translated into Ron/Hermione fluffiness.
Please note, this is the very, very first piece of fanfiction I've ever written that contains any sort of fluff, and is completely het. Honestly. XD;
Dedication: To Silver Phoenix25, who constantly inspires my Ron/Hermione muse. A most excellent author with a most excellent sense of humour, I honestly couldn't have started (or finished) this piece without her help and support. She rocks unbelievably hard, people. Her and her Hockey Night in Canada.
Also, thanks a lot to Val and Naomi, who read snippets of this before posting. Thanks, you guys! Encouragement is amazing, and I love you. ^_^
So, do enjoy this very Christmasy affair, which is called, quite appropriately...
~*~
Let It Snow
~*~
It was a generally known fact that Ron Weasley, like so many other people in the world, loved Christmas.
To be sure, it wasn't just the presents; in fact, as it so happened, due to the financial disposition of the Weasley family, emphasis had never really been placed on gifts and gifts alone. Mum would make her beloved children (all eight of them, were Harry to be included as the unofficially adopted son) the traditionally garish sweaters that bore the first letter in each of their first names. Ron had, by now, slowly come to accept this particular gift with a bit more dignity and maturity than the days of yore; sure, the sweaters were not aesthetically very pleasing, and while it used to be embarrassing as hell to have to wear said sweaters out in public, they had become a staple of the Weasley Family Christmas. The sweaters were warm and comforting, just like the woman who made them.
Particularly for Ron, though, Christmas was mainly about the three F's: food, family, and friends. Hogwarts always had a magnificent feast prepared for Christmas, as did Mum - in sixth year, when Bill and Charlie managed to both make it home for the holidays, there was enough food on the table to choke a dinosaur with. And it was damn good food to boot.
The Weasleys were arguably one of the largest and closest-knit families ever to grace the fair lands of Britain; so, of course, at Christmastime, there never was a shortage of cheer and good tidings for all. Fred and George would pull their holiday pranks, of course, but it was all in good fun. One memorable year, when Ron was only about ten years old, the Dynamic Duo (along with sufficient help from Charlie and Bill) had charmed Ginny's new Malibu Lana doll's head to twist around and sound like she was uttering dark, evil incantations to her. Since then, Ginny had lost her interest in dolls. Though she did laugh when Mum had proceeded to whack Fred, George, Bill and Charlie over their respective heads with a sturdy, wooden spoon. There was nothing quite like watching grown and nearly grown men cower before an irate mother with a wooden spoon.
Friends, certainly, were also not in short supply. Harry and Ron always ended up somehow spending Christmas together - whether it was passing the time at Hogwarts or at the crowded but merry Burrow, each Christmas the two Gryffindors managed to celebrate with one another in close proximity. Ron would have very much liked Hermione to join them as well, but alas, her family wanted her to spend Christmas with them in their own special, Muggle way. He understood this, of course, but it still didn't change the fact he did miss her during the holidays; though, he could never really complain. Harry was there, and Harry was, indeed, his best friend.
Compared to such things, decorations, presents, and the like were all just nice subsidiaries to the three major categories that had, for him, shaped the entirety of December. For, as every school child and former school child knows, Christmas does not begin on Christmas Eve - far from it.
Christmas truly begins at the first snowfall of the year.
Hogwarts was truly blessed to be nestled comfortably in that special part of England that was warm in the summer, but not too warm - and, of course, cold in the winter, but refreshingly so. Never was there a lack of snow to be had; sometimes, the skies decided to pour its white, powdery stuff onto the earth below it as early as the end of September. But sometimes Mother Nature, tricksome wench she was, waited until the very last minute to bestow upon everyone the glory of snow.
This was the case for this particular year.
Ron Weasley sighed wistfully as he looked out one of the large windows of the common room; a large fire crackled and burned comfortably in the hearth, giving the room a soft, lovely glow and, equally so, warmth. Situated in one of the overstuffed chairs that seemed wont to adorn the common room, he idly tapped at the glass, which was rather cold beneath his bare fingertips. Sucking a bit on his bottom lip, he allowed his eyes to roam the expansive grounds that lay outside the window.
The only other sound to fill up the relative silence of the common room was the mad scratching of quill against parchment. In front of the fire, Hermione Granger leaned intently over the piece of parchment she was currently writing on - and it was, consequentially, getting to be quite long. Stacks of books decorated each side of the chair she sat in, and were also piled on the table before her. Other pieces of parchment, either rolled up neatly or spread out in front of her in a commendably orderly fashion, were also cluttering up the desk something fierce. This, however, did not at all seem to impede the young woman's progress in writing.
Ron sighed again, leaning his cheek against the cold window. Indeed, outside was quite cold; not quite bitterly so, but enough to warrant a winter cloak and cause breath vapor. It always reminded him of when he was little; Dad used to smoke a pipe quite a lot while he was working on Ministry reports. During the wintertime, when conditions were basically like the ones outside, Ron, Fred and George would go outside to play in the snow. Ron would pick up a stick, put it thoughtfully in his mouth, and exhale his breath as if it were smoke from the pipe, just like Dad did. Ron's impression of their father always seemed to get a laugh out of his older twin brothers, who would then pretend to also be working at the Ministry - in order to do so, they would randomly use "big" words that they had heard Dad use in a few of his Floo meetings with his superiors; like, "concordingly", "vis รก vis", "ergo", and, oddly enough, "Constantinople". For some reason, that particular word always stuck. Nevertheless, this game would end up degrading into some sort of snowball fight, or they'd make a snowman, and ceremoniously place the stick-pipe into the snowman's mouth.
Ron smirked a bit at the memory. Of course, in order to make a snowman like that, there had to be *snow*, which there was currently a severe lack of.
There was hardly anything to do inside the castle, too; Harry was off speaking with Dumbledore about some matter that was probably horribly depressing and traumatizing, and try as he had, Harry had not allowed Ron to accompany him. Harry said that it was business that needed to be taken care of, and it was between he and Dumbledore alone. Ron, like a good friend, accepted this; he knew Harry, and he knew that he probably had a good reason for wanting to keep a few secrets secret. Whatever it was, Harry would tell him when he was ready.
That aside, Ron had thought that, perhaps, he could goad Seamus into playing a game of Wizard's Chess, or even Exploding Snap with him. It turned out to be a no-go, since Seamus - not to mention Dean, even Neville - were nowhere to be found in the Gryffindor room for common activities. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dean was, once again, doing his best to score with that admittedly good-looking, but terribly vapid Hufflepuff sixth year, Lucindia Destiny something-something LePamplemousse. She certainly had an utterly ridiculous name; to be honest, Ron didn't really know quite what it was, and frankly, he didn't really care. He figured that Dean had managed to rope Seamus and Neville into helping him with his quest, the poor saps. But, then again, that's what happens to people whose common sense was smaller than their object of desire's chest size.
The scratching of the quill still persisted. Ron glanced over at Hermione.
She'd been going at it for hours - all of it revision, and all of it unnecessary, in Ron's esteemed opinion. It's true, the dreaded N.E.W.T.s were dreadfully approaching in a most dreadful manner that was, of course, extremely dreadful to every seventh year student in Hogwarts...except possibly for the girl, bent fixedly over her studies, making notes here and there. Her lips were pursed in concentration, and every now and then, she would idly wipe a stray strand of curly hair from her face. She did this automatically, all her importantly potent thoughts concentrated on the essay/question sheet/review sheet/generally large and complicated piece of literature that gobbled up her attention greedily. The spit and crackle of the fireplace seemed only to accent the sound of the ever-moving quill.
Blinking once, Ron looked back out the window, viewing with a heavy heart the sheer amount of *green* that stretched outside. Not a speck of white was to be found - it was only a few days until Christmas, and not even one, tiny snowflake! It irked Ron so badly that he could just go and eat something.
Actually, that didn't sound like such a bad idea. He didn't have a whole lot to eat for lunch, and dinner seemed just hours away. Watching as the sun began to set outside the lone space of the cold window, Ron bit his thumbnail, chewing at it unthinkingly. He didn't really want to go down to the kitchens completely alone; he'd feel like a complete idiot, and truth be told, the silence was just getting to him. He could imagine just how quiet the Hogwarts corridors would be...vast, open, echoing his footsteps with each stride...it would drive him batty.
Once again, Ron looked over at Hermione.
"Hey Hermione?" Ron asked, his left elbow resting on his bent left knew. His other leg hung gracelessly over the one side of the chair's armrest, and his head was cushioned by the crook between the chair's back and the other arm support. He craned his head back a little when he spoke.
"Mm?" she half-answered, her eyes never leaving the paper she was writing upon.
"Think it's gonna snow?"
"Mm," was the girl's response, a little quieter than before. The boy pursed his lips lopsidedly together.
"I hope it does. It's not Christmas without snow, right?" he prodded, wanting to start a conversation of sorts.
"Sure," Hermione said absently, flipping a page in her textbook. Ron sighed.
"Are you even listening to me right now?" Ron asked, unable to keep either his annoyed or amused tones out of his voice.
"Sounds good," she mumbled distractedly, taking time to glance over at a passage in a different, yet equally dusty, Hogwarts tome that sat beside her parchment. She dipped her quill in the inkpot, which was nearly empty, and would soon need refilling.
Ron smirked, then yawned widely.
"I fancy Draco Malfoy, you know," he said a bit loudly. At this, Hermione's quill abruptly scratched a very long line across her parchment, and she snapped her attention quickly over to Ron, her eyes wide.
"You *what*-?!" Ron laughed, shifting himself up into a half decent sitting position.
"Ah, so she lives. So you *were* just ignoring me," Ron said with a smile, twisting himself in the chair so that he was peering at Hermione over the large back of it. On her part, Hermione still looked rather flustered.
"Why would you say something like that, Ron?" she demanded quickly, her voice slowly creeping into the tonal domain usually occupied by exasperated parents in a shopping mall.
"What, that you were ignoring me?"
"No, that you fancy Dra - !" She cut herself off, realizing that she was getting close to yelling, and that would just not do. Taking a bit of a breath, she lowered her vocal tone to a respectable level. "That you fancy Malfoy." Ron laughed a bit.
"I just wanted to see how you'd react - and believe me, it was funny as hell. You should've seen yourself, your face was just like this!" And Ron proceeded to widen his eyes, open his mouth in a silent scream, and place his palms on his cheeks.
Hermione flung her daily planner at Ron, and hit struck him in the forehead. Unprepared for this grievous assault, he took the full blow uncompromisingly.
"Ow! Hey, that was uncalled for!" Ron complained, rubbing his tender, tender forehead.
"Well, so was what you said! That really wasn't funny, Ron," she stated matter-of-factly. Ron rolled his eyes.
"C'mon Hermione, yes it was. What, you honestly believed I harboured a crush for that prat?" Hermione glared a bit at the boy across from her.
"If I've found out anything from being at Hogwarts, it's that anything really *is* possible."
The Weasley blinked once, before his face screwed up into an expression of distaste.
"Give me more credit than that. Even if I fancied boys - which I don't - I'd have much better taste. You honestly think that I'd ever like Ferret Boy?" Hermione sighed sharply.
"You brought it up in the first place, Ron, not me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to finishing all this Transfiguration review work." Ron frowned.
"You're *always* doing review work. Or homework. Or note revision. Or creating your own homework, assigning it to yourself, and completing it." Hermione looked over at him, and raised her eyebrows incredulously at his last statement.
"Now that's just overkill," she said simply. Ron shrugged.
"Admit it, you do way too much work when seriously don't need to - it's kind of hard to improve on a bajillion percent, isn't it?" Hermione shook her head, and mumbled something under her breath as she went back to working. However, Ron persisted.
"Let's do something else for a change," he suggested, turning back around in his chair, leaning against it.
"Oh? What's this 'let's' talk? I don't see *you* studying for anything. You're perfectly free to do whatever it is you want." She paused, then smirked. "Maybe you could go find Malfoy and tell him your feelings, hm?"
Ron groaned. "Oh drop it, I was just trying to shock you. And it worked."
"No, it didn't," Hermione said, leaving no room for contradiction. "I was just surprised, really; and now that it's worn off, I'm simply feeling rather annoyed. So, please, either pick up a book and help me with my review, or find something to do somewhere else."
At once, Ron was both sitting in indecision and trying to think up of a cunning retort; however, Harry was always much better with the quips and jibes than he, and so was Hermione. He'd end up fuming about whatever it was that was making him mad, and then come up with the perfect return insult hours later whilst doing something completely unrelated to the previous incident. Then, of course, there was the matter of not wanting to meander around Hogwarts all by his lonesome, red-haired self...
Taking another furtive glance out the expansive window, Ron got himself up from the big, comfy chair and padded over to where Hermione had decidedly stationed herself. He picked up a book from the top of one of the stacks, and cracked it open; dust puffed out everywhere from 'Brains, Grains, and Demonic Eels - A Comprehensive Guide to Advanced Potion Work'.
After a few moments of Ron trying to get through the first paragraph without falling asleep or violently lashing out at an inanimate object, he found his gaze moving sideways, to behold Hermione openly staring at him.
"What?" he asked.
"You're...reading," she finally said after another beat of silence. Ron furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
"Well of course I'm reading, I didn't pick up the book for its pretty pictures, now did I?" he retorted, flipping to a random page that depicted a rotund man gutting a rotund pig. It was disturbing, yet ironically fascinating, since the two creatures looked quite alike.
"Ew," Ron stated. Hermione looked over at the picture, and found herself agreeing with Ron's sentiment.
"As I said, it's not for the pictures. You told me to pick up a book or get out of here, right? So, here I am, with a book," Ron explained, turning another few pages; he briefly skimmed over a couple different potions that involved pig and pig related ingredients, and moved right into potions meant to disarm and disable.
There was silence again as Hermione's quill continued to move across her page.
"You know, you don't have to stay here," she said after a few more minutes of writing.
"I know. But I want to," Ron said honestly, closing the Potions text and picking up the promising title of 'Ancient Arithmancy: Islamic and Greek Mathematicians and Their Formulas'. While the book itself was written in English, the symbols and mathematical equations could have easily been Arabic or Greek for all that Ron knew.
The resident male in the common room didn't notice that Hermione's quill had stopped moving temporarily.
"You do?" she asked, surprise written on her face like charms in her copy of 'Olde Magick and Modern Incantations: A Comparison and Study'.
"Sure," Ron said, smiling a bit as he looked over at her. When Ron received no immediate answer, he went back to the book that was sitting in his lap. Realizing that he was hopelessly lost within parabolas and a dreaded thing called "trigonometry", Ron set the book aside, and reached for another one. The fire continued to crackle quietly in the hearth.
"But...*why*?" Ron bit his lip, and thoughtfully tapped Hermione's extra quill against his chin.
"Why not?" he finally reasoned. "I mean, Harry's off learning how to save the world, Dean's trying to get it on with some Hufflepuff ditz, Seamus is probably watching, and Neville...ehn, God only knows." Hermione smirked.
"You forgot about Luna. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you spent time with her," Hermione said, a sly grin creeping onto her face. Ron dramatically rolled his eyes.
"Oh yes, Luna, everyone's *favourite* psychopathic chick."
"Ron, that's not nice."
"Sorry. Everyone's *favourite* sanity-challenged young woman."
Hermione sighed, and shook her head.
"That's about as good as it's going to get, isn't it," she stated, rather than asking. Ron smiled.
"Pretty much," he replied. Another few moments of silence passed between the two of them. Quickly, it became awkward.
Ron shifted a bit in his seat, reaching in front of him for another book, for lack of anything better to do or say. He found himself staring at 'So Now You're A Werewolf: 1001 Magical Maladies, Mix-Ups and St. Mungo's Visits Gone Wrong'. He raised his eyebrows, and opened the book, happy to have stumbled upon something vaguely intriguing, if the title were to give anything away.
Half of it, as it turned out, was in Latin.
Frowning in disappointment, Ron placed the book without too much care back on the floor from whence it had came. Hermione's quill had resumed its scratching, and the fire continued to hum lowly in the hearth.
'What was I thinking? Honestly Ron, you know better than to try to get Hermione away from her precious, precious schoolwork. I'd probably spontaneously combust before *that* would ever happen,' he thought, running his hands through his telltale red hair. He felt bored as all hell. God, what was taking Harry so long?
"Thanks."
Startled a bit by the break in silence, Ron blinked and looked curiously over at Hermione, who was still writing out some of her notes. Crossing and dotting the last of her letters, she set the quill down.
"For what?" he asked, feeling a bit confused.
"For staying here," said Hermione. "I know how much you hate studying and revision; it's nice of you, is all," she explained, looking over at him and smiling slightly.
"Oh, well, y'know, it's not a big deal," Ron said quickly, smiling a little bit in return.
"Still, it's nice. As much as I need to study and revise - " Inwardly, the Weasley boy rolled his eyes, " - the silence gets to be a bit much at times. Certainly I like peace and quiet, but not *too* much." She shook her head, and laughed a bit. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"
"Nah, I know exactly what you mean," Ron said, shifting himself a bit so he was facing Hermione to talk to her. "A bit of peace is nice, but it can drive you right nutters if there's too much."
"Oh, definitely; in fact, sometimes I find it hard to work in complete silence. After all, when I'm trying to study, you and Harry are almost always talking to each other about this or that. I've gotten so used to it that it actually *helps* sometimes, as silly as that sounds. I need a bit of background noise."
"Ah. So my plans to annoy you have fallen through, I see," Ron said with a sigh, feigning disappointment. Hermione laughed a little at this.
"I'm afraid they have, Ron. You'll just have to find a different way to make me mad at you," she said with a smile. Ron quirked an eyebrow.
"Oh, really now?" he questioned, smirking wryly.
"Don't get any ideas," Hermione responded, half-jokingly, half-warningly. Ron cleared his throat, and set about to looking aghast.
"Hermione! Never would I, Ron Weasley, the manly and gallant, imagine doing such a thing! A pox on thee."
A moment of silence passed, before Ron's near-frown of seriousness twitched, and soon he began laughing. Hermione looked over at him, and she herself descended into a small bout of giggles.
"Could you ever be serious for one moment?" she asked with a smile, both their laughter beginning to die down. He smiled brightly at the girl beside him, bright blue eyes resting on her face.
"Why should I?" he responded in kind, still laughing a bit himself.
They looked at each other for a moment; and, suddenly, Ron didn't quite feel like laughing anymore, oddly enough. His smile slowly faded, and he felt a sudden rush of heat in his cheeks as he and Hermione stared at each other. There was no sound except for that of the fireplace.
Unconsciously, Ron licked his lips, which he found to be rather dry and chapped from the dry air within the castle. Hermione's own face seemed to redden a bit, though Ron couldn't be terribly sure if it was a trick of the firelight or not. However, he seemed to regain control of most motor functions when Hermione looked down a little bit; clearing his throat and coughing rather loudly, Ron also looked down, quickly picking up a book and opening it, without even realizing the title was 'Love Magic - How It Works For You'.
"So yes, uh, studying," Ron said quickly, scanning the page he happened to open the tome to, but neglecting to actually read it.
"Yes, of course, best to keep right on track," Hermione supplied, also suspiciously quickly.
"Right on track, gotcha," said the boy a bit too emphatically. Quickly, he flipped a few of the pages, eventually letting the book fall open to reveal a picture of a naked man and a naked woman doing...naked activities together. Ron's eyes widened, and with a quiet yelp, he slammed the book shut, which of course warranted Hermione's attention.
"Something the matter?" she asked innocently enough. He glanced over at Hermione almost guiltily, wondering if she knew what he had accidentally happened upon, and if he was going to be slapped and chastised for being a pervert (despite the fact the book was from the library and Hermione had brought it). Suddenly, the picture in the text influenced his generally over imaginative thoughts as he gazed at the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, replacing certain figures in the book with certain figures on the couch.
He dropped the book suddenly, as if it had burned his fingers as red as his cheeks currently were.
"Nothing!" he squeaked out, "Nothing's wrong!"
She looked at him strangely.
"Are you sure? You look rather flushed, there," she pointed out, tilting her head as she always seemed to do when she was curious. Oddly enough, Crookshanks did that as well.
"I'm fine, honestly," Ron stated, though his voice sounded a bit strangled and high pitched on 'fine'. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, and craned her neck a bit to look at the title of the book that Ron had so quickly dropped. Furrowing gave way to surprised raising.
"Ohh," was all that she said.
"What do you *mean*, 'ohh'?" Ron demanded, trying to suppress the utter panic in his voice.
"Well, ah, that text certainly comes with a few...how shall I put this, *explanatory* diagrams..."
So she knew of the drawings inside the book. Ron, on his part, was utterly, utterly shocked.
"That's one way of putting it, I'd certainly say so. They let students look at those? I mean, with the people inside, all...all tangled up with each other...?" Hermione shrugged.
"It's a part of the rituals involving love magic, so I suppose the older students do; they touched a bit on the subject of love magic in Defense Against the Dark Arts, after all, since it can be used for control. It's all merely for education," she explained.
"Yeah, but most people our age would use it for a *different* kind of studying, if you know what I mean," Ron muttered, nudging the offending book away with his foot. Hermiome blinked once, then decidedly looked away.
Once again, it was uncomfortably silent. At first, Ron considered picking up another book; but, after what he found in that 'Love Magic' thing, he didn't quite feel like taking the chance of finding something...oh, let's say, horrendously disturbing and scaring and generally something to make Ron feel even more uncomfortable and tense about sitting beside someone of the opposite sex as him.
He flexed his fingers a few times, and coughed gently.
"So, what are you reading, Hermione?"
"Necromancy," she said, flipping the page in her book.
"Is it interesting?" Ron asked.
"Quite," Hermione replied, scanning over the words in the text that lay on her lap.
'Well, of *course* she would find it interesting. The book could be drier than a hobo in India, and she'd still find it absolutely fascinating,' Ron thought, inwardly rolling his eyes. Hermione turned another page in the book.
"What's it about?" he inquired. Hermione shot him an incredulous glance.
"Haven't you been paying attention in class?"
"I think we both know the answer to that." Hermione couldn't repress a sigh.
"And to think, you were made *Prefect*..." she stated, shaking her head. Ron smirked, and steepled his fingers together, doing his best to look evil.
"It's all part of my master plan. Soon I shall bring down the school with my Prefect title and lack of Prefect qualities - and then, Hermione, the *world*! The world, I tell you!" He cackled as best he could.
Hermione stared at him. Ron's cackle died off. He cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head in shame.
"As well you should be. Remember what I said about you trying to be funny?"
"It doesn't work?"
"Exactly."
Ron shrugged, and smiled in his unique way that, much like a brush to a slate full of chalked writing, successfully cleared him of whatever grievances that could be held against him. On anyone else, it could almost be considered "slick". On Ron Weasley, it was just sweet.
Hermione smiled back a little bit, and then returned to her book. The flames of curiosity once again fanned, Ron scootched over closer to where the resident female in the room was silently reading, looking over (more across, really) her shoulder, craning to see what she was currently occupied with.
There was a very large chunk of text, and a picture that obviously dated back to sometime during the Dark Ages; the faces were sort of chubby, the eyes were all weird and rolled back somehow, their mouths were open, and their body positions were really quite odd. In the drawing, one man was holding up another, who appeared to be dead (if the blood marks all over him were any sort of clue); the first man was pouring something down the dead man's throat.
Ron clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
"Well that's pretty," he said. Hermione 'hmmed' in agreement with Ron's sarcastic statement.
"Necromancy is a very dark thing - it's outlawed everywhere, but despite that, there are a few dunderheads out there with too much time and not enough brains," Hermione said. She flipped the page; on this one, a rotting skeleton was attacking a living man.
"So what does it do? I mean," Ron quickly began to say, after Hermione gave him an incredulous look, "I know what necromancy *is* and all, but not all the details. How come it's outlawed?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione asked.
"To smart people, yeah. But for people like me, you have to explain using charts, diagrams, and examples from this chapter."
"Well that's exactly what Professor Shuba has been doing."
"Professor Shuba's a prat and I hate him; therefore, I refuse to listen to him."
For, that year, like every other year preceding it, Hogwarts had instated a brand new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; and, exactly like most every other year preceding, he was absolutely terrible. The only exception - ever - was Professor Lupin. Of course, he was a werewolf. Enough said.
Hermione, again, sighed.
"Ron, I know that Professor Shuba isn't exactly an...ideal...teacher, but your education is much more important than that. It would be more mature of you to simply ignore your feelings about him, and learn."
"Hermione? Think about what you just said. Then apply it to me."
There was a brief pause.
"I see."
Ron smiled again.
"Besides, can't you teach me? It's much more comfortable here anyway, and it's not as if we're busy, right? And I always learn way more from you than almost any professor I've ever had," Ron said. Hermione, taken a bit by surprise by Ron's compliment, blushed slightly.
"Really?"
"Well, sure. In History of Magic, you always lend Harry and me your notes; and in Potions, I swear that if I didn't sit beside you, I'd be worse than Neville, poor bastard." He smiled at Hermione. "Not to mention it's Christmas. Christmas is the time for giving, you know - and I'm giving you my undivided attention. So, teach away."
The Gryffindor girl couldn't help but blush a bit deeper, and smile back, her ego inflating quite nicely.
"Well, when you put it *that* way, I suppose," she said, her coy, almost shy smile growing a little wider. She cleared her throat. "Just promise you won't fall asleep, alright?"
"I won't," Ron assured her.
Hermione began to read; and, much to Ron's surprise and, to an extent, chagrin, with her added explanations and a few side stories, Hermione's "lesson" was actually rather interesting. She talked about the downfalls of necromancy - how, oftentimes, because the necromancers themselves were inexperienced and generally quite bad at what they were doing, when the deceased were brought back, it wasn't their original spirit that inhabited their body, but a deformed, mostly violent entity that could cause a lot of damage. The steps involved in necromancy were, Ron found, unexpectedly intriguing, as were some of the examples of what happened when necromancy was performed. Listening intently to Hermione's voice, Ron realized that she really *did* have that teacher's tone down perfectly; it wasn't too strict, but gently guiding, and wonderfully explanatory.
A desire to be more comfortable was induced by the fire that warmed the two of them. Still listening to Hermione's impromptu lesson, Ron found himself getting a little closer to Hermione, going as far as resting his head on her shoulder, gazing contentedly at the textbook that Hermione still held in her hands. Her words stumbled a bit when Ron decided to use her shoulder as something of a pillow, but she recovered nicely.
"So Renoir Phillipe, after consulting a Seer, decided to kill Remy again, because Remy was possessed by a demon, or something?" Ron asked, after another few moments of the lesson had passed.
"That's right," Hermione confirmed.
"That's sad," Ron stated. "I mean, the poor guy just wanted his friend back after he'd been killed in the Goblin Uprising; didn't mean to hurt anybody, or anything." Hermione blinked at Ron's unusually soft tone. She looked down at Ron, whose eyes were still on the pages of the text.
"I'll agree, it is rather tragic, what happened. Sometimes, though, even the best intentions aren't good enough to stop evil from occurring," she replied.
"It's not fair," Ron said simply.
"No," said Hermione, sighing gently. "It really isn't."
There was silence for a minute or so, but it was far from being uncomfortable.
"You're a good teacher, Hermione. You have a really nice voice for it," the boy thought aloud, his voice not terribly louder than a whisper. Once again, Hermione found her cheeks flushing. Ron, of course, didn't see it.
"Thank you," she answered back, her voice also a bit softer than before. The fire continued to pop and burn in the hearth, and the two of them simply watched it for a moment.
"I'm going to miss this, you know," Ron said, barely looking up at Hermione. "Imagine, this is our last year - our last Christmas - at Hogwarts. Unreal, eh?"
"I know," Hermione said, shaking her head a bit. "It's so hard to believe that it's been seven years already. So much has happened, but it doesn't really *feel* that way. It's hard to explain."
"You don't have to, I know exactly what you mean. This is it: last year for grades, last year for Quidditch, last year for just about anything, here," he stated, lifting his head up off of Hermione's shoulder, but still sitting close enough to be barely brushing her shoulder with his.
"Anything we wanted to do at Hogwarts, we'd have to do this year. Time goes by so quickly, and we don't even notice it sometimes," Hermione said, looking a bit at Ron, then over at the fire.
"Yeah," he said quietly, keeping his own eyes trained on Hermione.
Now that he thought about it, it was so true; time *had* gone by far, far too fast for his own liking. Just last week, weren't they all getting on the Hogwarts Express, excited and nervous about finally attending a Wizarding school like Hogwarts? It couldn't have been *that* long ago that Ron had first met Harry on that fateful day in the train car...and that Hermione just *happened* to walk in...could it?
By God, he was seventeen already. And, he noticed with a start, so was Hermione.
Something important seemed to don on Ron Weasley at that particular moment; suddenly, they weren't kids anymore. It wasn't that he always particularly felt very young - oh, far from it, when he was eleven, he always thought himself as being quite the grown-up. Yet, that was so very different; he *thought* he was old enough to really take care of himself at that age. Through the years, it simply never occurred to him that he and his two best friends were slowly growing up: all the changes that came seemed far too natural to really be any change at all. They were never just the youngest in the school, nor were they ever just the oldest; they were special, for some reason. They just simply *were*, and it never needed any sort of explanation. Why would they?
And now, he and Hermione were suddenly adults.
There she was, sitting so close to him; the shadows of firelight danced across her skin, making her seem almost as if she were glowing. The curve of her lips were as soft as her eyes as they watched the flames in the hearth flicker and flutter. Her hair, while not exactly tame, had grown up along with the rest of her body; and, rather than seeming like a tangled mess sitting atop her head, Hermione's almost-curls accented her face, giving her character.
Ron had yet another revelation.
Hermione was, in all actuality, quite pretty.
His eyes widened, and his cheeks blushed furiously; quickly, he tore his gaze away from Hermione's face, and searched for anything - *anything* - to take his mind off of the thoughts he was thinking that he really ought not to think about thinking of. He and Hermione were very good friends; very platonic, very stable, full of bickering, just right.
Right? Right.
Clearing his throat again, Ron shifted himself a bit away from Hermione, glancing around the room for something to think about. Books, by now, were far too much of an effort for his mind (which was probably blushing as well). Finally, Ron's eyes rested on the giant window that he had been sitting at a few hours ago.
He nearly fell out of his seat.
"Oh my God," he whispered softly, his eyes wide.
"Ron? Ron, what is it?" Hermione asked, urgency beginning to slip into her voice; Ron looked like a strange, ironically Christmasy mix of furiously blushing red and utterly surprised white. However, before Hermione could start panicking, Ron's open mouth spread into a huge grin.
"It's snowing!" he exclaimed, bolting up from his seat, running over to press himself against the cold glass. Hermione blinked a few times, then got up herself, looking out the window; true to Ron's word, large flakes of white, white snow were falling from the sky - and from the looks of it, had been the entire time Ron and Hermione were on the couch. The entirety of the grounds of Hogwarts was covered in a very fine layer of fresh, powdered snow.
"I can't believe it! I knew it had to start snowing soon, I just *knew* it!" Ron cried happily. His complete and utter joy at the rather small event of snowfall seemed infectious, and soon, Hermione was smiling as well.
"It is quite pretty," she said, "and it's about time some snow fell, I thought it would never come." Ron looked over at her, and grinned.
"C'mon!" he said, grabbing her hand. Quickly, Hermione's previous feeling of quiet happiness changed to shock.
"Ron, what are you doing?" she yelled in surprise. The Weasley semi- dragged her over to where the portrait hole was, grabbing both their winter cloaks.
"Do you honestly think we should just stay inside, when the first snowfall of the year is happening? We can't miss it! Here, put your cloak on!"
"But I thought we were studying!" she protested, catching her winter cloak automatically in her hands as Ron let go of hers to throw the cloak at her hurriedly.
"We can study later, but it's snowing *right now*! Hermione, I *never* miss the very first snowfall of the year." It was actually true; one time, during Transfiguration in fourth year, it had begun snowing outside in the middle of a lesson. Ron, seeing this happen through one of the windows, asked Professor McGonagall if he could use the washroom. She said yes, and fifteen minutes later, Hermione saw Ron frolicking - actually *frolicking* - amidst the falling flakes. Ron had promptly received detention for this once McGonagall chanced a glance out one of the rooms' many spacious windows, and also docked points from Gryffindor. Of course, this slowed Ron Weasley down none.
Once Ron had his cloak on (Hermione was halfway there), he grabbed the girl's hand and proceeded to almost-run through the portrait hole, down the stairs, through the corridors, and to one of the doors leading out to Hogwarts' lovely courtyard. They stepped outside into the nicely chilled air, watching their breaths puff out vaporously, wafting upwards against the current of snowflakes. The sun had almost set, bathing Hogwarts and the two teenagers in twilight.
Ron let go of Hermione's hand, smiling in complete happiness. He jogged out to the middle of the courtyard, looking up as the snow fell softly around him. Laughing, he spread his arms out, and twirled around.
"Finally!" he yelled out, laughing again; his long, unbuttoned cloak flowed around him as he spun once more, collecting spots of white on it that melted on the fabric, but was soon replaced by more and more specks of snow, effectively dotting his winter covering. Any and all inhibition was thrown to the wind with the snow.
Ron giggled like a child again, smiling brightly at Hermione, who continued to stand in the relatively protective alcove of the covered walkway encircling the atrium. She smiled back at him. Ron's smile shifted slightly, and he proceeded to run lightly across the powdered snow; his footprints stood out smartly against the sheer blanket of white.
"Come on," Ron said with a grin, taking Hermione's hand once again. She laughed in a slightly strained manner.
"No no, I'm fine right here," she said back.
"Naw, you gotta come out into the snow! This'll be more fun with two people, I swear!" he told her enthusiastically. Before Hermione had a chance to say anything else, she found herself being not too unwillingly pulled by the hand out into the Hogwarts courtyard. Immediately snowflakes fell upon her form, landing on her cloak and in her hair.
"Ron, this is silly! It...it'll make my hair go frizzy!" she complained rather lamely. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Now that is just the *worst* excuse I've ever heard. Besides, so what if it goes frizzy? I certainly don't care," he said, smiling at her. Lightly, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, then grinned.
"Let's spin."
"Spin?" she asked apprehensively.
"Yeah - spin!" And with that, Ron grabbed Hermione's other hand, and proceeded to do as he said he would: spin. At first, Hermione's eyes were wider than tree trunks as they began to turn about in circles in the snow, but soon, she found herself laughing almost as loud as Ron as they continued to spin. The white flakes falling from the sky seemed to meld together in a white blur behind each other as they spun around.
"This is utterly ridiculous!" she yelled between laughs.
"I know, it's great!" Ron called right back, erupting into laughter again himself.
However, as Ron continued to spin around with her, he saw that Hermione was clearly losing her balance; and while Hermione Granger was a great many deal of things, an athletic girl she most certainly was not. With a gasp of shock, she stumbled forward, the snow effectively doing its bit to trip her feet up. With a great yell of surprise, she fell forward onto Ron as ungracefully as one possibly could in her situation. The two teenagers soon found themselves sprawled on the snow, their limbs a bit tangled.
They were both still laughing a bit by the time they realized that they had fallen, which was still rather funny. However, Ron's giggling proceeded to fade into nothingness, as he realized that Hermione was, actually, on top of him. Her own smile, too, faded in unison with Ron's.
By this time, the exposure to the cold air had made their respective cheeks and noses almost as red as cherries; thus, Ron found it very hard to tell if Hermione was blushing or not. They both breathed a bit heavily, and his eyes were locked with hers.
They stayed like that for a moment.
"Sorry," Hermione finally breathed out, tearing her gaze away from Ron's, looking terribly embarrassed. Hastily she stood, wiping the snow off from her cloak, turning her back to the boy. Ron blinked once, and stood up himself, his cheeks warm from his time blushing.
"I'm sorry about that," Hermione repeated quietly, hugging herself a bit. Ron could swear he heard Hermione berating herself underneath her breath, but he couldn't make out the words.
'Last year, Ron. Very last Christmas,' Ron remembered suddenly, his feelings from inside Gryffindor Tower returning full force. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and did his best to fill his heart with courage.
Ron touched Hermione's shoulder softly.
"Don't be," he said to her. Moving closer, Ron turned her around. The snow continued to fall about the two of them, lending to the ground - and to Hermione - that ethereal glow that the fireplace had bestowed upon her when they were studying. She looked up at Ron, her lips as red as her cheeks; her eyes were rather innocently wide again.
He smiled softly at her, and took her one hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles again. They were cold, but slowly warming up under his touch. Swallowing dryly, Ron leaned forward.
And suddenly, they were kissing.
Pleasure raced down his spine as his lips met Hermione's, finding it all settling somewhere in his stomach, which flip-flopped all on its own. Terrified and excited all at the same time, he began to seriously worry when Hermione just stood there, unmoving.
Mentally, Ron kicked himself.
'Wonderful,' he thought, feeling more than seriously crestfallen, 'Great, what have I done? She's going to slap me for this, I just know it, now I've gone and ruined our friendsh-'
Ron felt two warm arms encircle his neck, and warmer lips kissing his right back. Doing an extremely happy dance inside, Ron kissed Hermione, hugging her gently to his lean form, the snow still swirling around the two of them. Locked together in their embrace, Ron found himself quite contently warm.
After another moment of this, Hermione pulled back; Ron, his eyes still closed, his lips still parted, was smiling ever so softly.
"Wow," Hermione breathed, still pressed tightly against Ron.
"Yeah. Wow," he said back, slowly opening his blue eyes. He smiled contentedly down at Hermione, and she mirrored it perfectly. Ron hugged her a bit closer, resting his chin on her shoulder, his lips against Hermione's ear.
"I've been meaning to do that for a while," Ron whispered, rubbing her back gently. He felt her sigh a little bit.
"Me too," she replied just as quietly. Snow fell lightly on both their heads and shoulders. Ron pulled back to look at Hermione once more; she smiled, and tenderly brushed Ron's bangs out of his eyes. He couldn't help but blush a little, and accompany it with something of a goofy smile.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he said to her, his smile widening.
"Merry Christmas, Ron," she replied. Hermione smiled, but in a more dignified manner.
"You know, you were right, Ronald Weasley." Ron blinked curiously.
"Oh? About what?"
Hermione actually grinned.
"The first snowfall of the year *is* more fun with two people."
They both laughed at this, and kissed each other again. The snow that still fell showed no immediate signs of stopping.
Neither of them minded.
~*~
Well, there you have it. That was my very first Ron/Hermione WAFF piece. And it was a Christmas fic, to boot. Kids, this is what happens when you see "Love Actually" twice in the theatres. The saccharine levels...oh God, the saccharine levels...!!
Anyhoo, please review! For if you review, I will love you! And that really did rhyme, which ought to be a crime. ...somebody stop this madness.
*coughs* Yes. Well, thanks for reading, and Merry Christmas to you all! ^_^
~Chibikat
Rating: PG, for brief bouts of extremely sarcastic humour, and making a bit of fun of Draco Malfoy, even though I love that boy almost more than I love egg rolls. I loves my egg rolls. I loves them good.
Author's Notes: I blame this story entirely on "Love Actually". For, you see, I ended up seeing it in theatres twice, and that second time, I think I suffered from mushy, sugary, Alan Rickman-Colin Firth-Hugh Grant-Bill Nighy-overload. It translated into Ron/Hermione fluffiness.
Please note, this is the very, very first piece of fanfiction I've ever written that contains any sort of fluff, and is completely het. Honestly. XD;
Dedication: To Silver Phoenix25, who constantly inspires my Ron/Hermione muse. A most excellent author with a most excellent sense of humour, I honestly couldn't have started (or finished) this piece without her help and support. She rocks unbelievably hard, people. Her and her Hockey Night in Canada.
Also, thanks a lot to Val and Naomi, who read snippets of this before posting. Thanks, you guys! Encouragement is amazing, and I love you. ^_^
So, do enjoy this very Christmasy affair, which is called, quite appropriately...
~*~
Let It Snow
~*~
It was a generally known fact that Ron Weasley, like so many other people in the world, loved Christmas.
To be sure, it wasn't just the presents; in fact, as it so happened, due to the financial disposition of the Weasley family, emphasis had never really been placed on gifts and gifts alone. Mum would make her beloved children (all eight of them, were Harry to be included as the unofficially adopted son) the traditionally garish sweaters that bore the first letter in each of their first names. Ron had, by now, slowly come to accept this particular gift with a bit more dignity and maturity than the days of yore; sure, the sweaters were not aesthetically very pleasing, and while it used to be embarrassing as hell to have to wear said sweaters out in public, they had become a staple of the Weasley Family Christmas. The sweaters were warm and comforting, just like the woman who made them.
Particularly for Ron, though, Christmas was mainly about the three F's: food, family, and friends. Hogwarts always had a magnificent feast prepared for Christmas, as did Mum - in sixth year, when Bill and Charlie managed to both make it home for the holidays, there was enough food on the table to choke a dinosaur with. And it was damn good food to boot.
The Weasleys were arguably one of the largest and closest-knit families ever to grace the fair lands of Britain; so, of course, at Christmastime, there never was a shortage of cheer and good tidings for all. Fred and George would pull their holiday pranks, of course, but it was all in good fun. One memorable year, when Ron was only about ten years old, the Dynamic Duo (along with sufficient help from Charlie and Bill) had charmed Ginny's new Malibu Lana doll's head to twist around and sound like she was uttering dark, evil incantations to her. Since then, Ginny had lost her interest in dolls. Though she did laugh when Mum had proceeded to whack Fred, George, Bill and Charlie over their respective heads with a sturdy, wooden spoon. There was nothing quite like watching grown and nearly grown men cower before an irate mother with a wooden spoon.
Friends, certainly, were also not in short supply. Harry and Ron always ended up somehow spending Christmas together - whether it was passing the time at Hogwarts or at the crowded but merry Burrow, each Christmas the two Gryffindors managed to celebrate with one another in close proximity. Ron would have very much liked Hermione to join them as well, but alas, her family wanted her to spend Christmas with them in their own special, Muggle way. He understood this, of course, but it still didn't change the fact he did miss her during the holidays; though, he could never really complain. Harry was there, and Harry was, indeed, his best friend.
Compared to such things, decorations, presents, and the like were all just nice subsidiaries to the three major categories that had, for him, shaped the entirety of December. For, as every school child and former school child knows, Christmas does not begin on Christmas Eve - far from it.
Christmas truly begins at the first snowfall of the year.
Hogwarts was truly blessed to be nestled comfortably in that special part of England that was warm in the summer, but not too warm - and, of course, cold in the winter, but refreshingly so. Never was there a lack of snow to be had; sometimes, the skies decided to pour its white, powdery stuff onto the earth below it as early as the end of September. But sometimes Mother Nature, tricksome wench she was, waited until the very last minute to bestow upon everyone the glory of snow.
This was the case for this particular year.
Ron Weasley sighed wistfully as he looked out one of the large windows of the common room; a large fire crackled and burned comfortably in the hearth, giving the room a soft, lovely glow and, equally so, warmth. Situated in one of the overstuffed chairs that seemed wont to adorn the common room, he idly tapped at the glass, which was rather cold beneath his bare fingertips. Sucking a bit on his bottom lip, he allowed his eyes to roam the expansive grounds that lay outside the window.
The only other sound to fill up the relative silence of the common room was the mad scratching of quill against parchment. In front of the fire, Hermione Granger leaned intently over the piece of parchment she was currently writing on - and it was, consequentially, getting to be quite long. Stacks of books decorated each side of the chair she sat in, and were also piled on the table before her. Other pieces of parchment, either rolled up neatly or spread out in front of her in a commendably orderly fashion, were also cluttering up the desk something fierce. This, however, did not at all seem to impede the young woman's progress in writing.
Ron sighed again, leaning his cheek against the cold window. Indeed, outside was quite cold; not quite bitterly so, but enough to warrant a winter cloak and cause breath vapor. It always reminded him of when he was little; Dad used to smoke a pipe quite a lot while he was working on Ministry reports. During the wintertime, when conditions were basically like the ones outside, Ron, Fred and George would go outside to play in the snow. Ron would pick up a stick, put it thoughtfully in his mouth, and exhale his breath as if it were smoke from the pipe, just like Dad did. Ron's impression of their father always seemed to get a laugh out of his older twin brothers, who would then pretend to also be working at the Ministry - in order to do so, they would randomly use "big" words that they had heard Dad use in a few of his Floo meetings with his superiors; like, "concordingly", "vis รก vis", "ergo", and, oddly enough, "Constantinople". For some reason, that particular word always stuck. Nevertheless, this game would end up degrading into some sort of snowball fight, or they'd make a snowman, and ceremoniously place the stick-pipe into the snowman's mouth.
Ron smirked a bit at the memory. Of course, in order to make a snowman like that, there had to be *snow*, which there was currently a severe lack of.
There was hardly anything to do inside the castle, too; Harry was off speaking with Dumbledore about some matter that was probably horribly depressing and traumatizing, and try as he had, Harry had not allowed Ron to accompany him. Harry said that it was business that needed to be taken care of, and it was between he and Dumbledore alone. Ron, like a good friend, accepted this; he knew Harry, and he knew that he probably had a good reason for wanting to keep a few secrets secret. Whatever it was, Harry would tell him when he was ready.
That aside, Ron had thought that, perhaps, he could goad Seamus into playing a game of Wizard's Chess, or even Exploding Snap with him. It turned out to be a no-go, since Seamus - not to mention Dean, even Neville - were nowhere to be found in the Gryffindor room for common activities. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dean was, once again, doing his best to score with that admittedly good-looking, but terribly vapid Hufflepuff sixth year, Lucindia Destiny something-something LePamplemousse. She certainly had an utterly ridiculous name; to be honest, Ron didn't really know quite what it was, and frankly, he didn't really care. He figured that Dean had managed to rope Seamus and Neville into helping him with his quest, the poor saps. But, then again, that's what happens to people whose common sense was smaller than their object of desire's chest size.
The scratching of the quill still persisted. Ron glanced over at Hermione.
She'd been going at it for hours - all of it revision, and all of it unnecessary, in Ron's esteemed opinion. It's true, the dreaded N.E.W.T.s were dreadfully approaching in a most dreadful manner that was, of course, extremely dreadful to every seventh year student in Hogwarts...except possibly for the girl, bent fixedly over her studies, making notes here and there. Her lips were pursed in concentration, and every now and then, she would idly wipe a stray strand of curly hair from her face. She did this automatically, all her importantly potent thoughts concentrated on the essay/question sheet/review sheet/generally large and complicated piece of literature that gobbled up her attention greedily. The spit and crackle of the fireplace seemed only to accent the sound of the ever-moving quill.
Blinking once, Ron looked back out the window, viewing with a heavy heart the sheer amount of *green* that stretched outside. Not a speck of white was to be found - it was only a few days until Christmas, and not even one, tiny snowflake! It irked Ron so badly that he could just go and eat something.
Actually, that didn't sound like such a bad idea. He didn't have a whole lot to eat for lunch, and dinner seemed just hours away. Watching as the sun began to set outside the lone space of the cold window, Ron bit his thumbnail, chewing at it unthinkingly. He didn't really want to go down to the kitchens completely alone; he'd feel like a complete idiot, and truth be told, the silence was just getting to him. He could imagine just how quiet the Hogwarts corridors would be...vast, open, echoing his footsteps with each stride...it would drive him batty.
Once again, Ron looked over at Hermione.
"Hey Hermione?" Ron asked, his left elbow resting on his bent left knew. His other leg hung gracelessly over the one side of the chair's armrest, and his head was cushioned by the crook between the chair's back and the other arm support. He craned his head back a little when he spoke.
"Mm?" she half-answered, her eyes never leaving the paper she was writing upon.
"Think it's gonna snow?"
"Mm," was the girl's response, a little quieter than before. The boy pursed his lips lopsidedly together.
"I hope it does. It's not Christmas without snow, right?" he prodded, wanting to start a conversation of sorts.
"Sure," Hermione said absently, flipping a page in her textbook. Ron sighed.
"Are you even listening to me right now?" Ron asked, unable to keep either his annoyed or amused tones out of his voice.
"Sounds good," she mumbled distractedly, taking time to glance over at a passage in a different, yet equally dusty, Hogwarts tome that sat beside her parchment. She dipped her quill in the inkpot, which was nearly empty, and would soon need refilling.
Ron smirked, then yawned widely.
"I fancy Draco Malfoy, you know," he said a bit loudly. At this, Hermione's quill abruptly scratched a very long line across her parchment, and she snapped her attention quickly over to Ron, her eyes wide.
"You *what*-?!" Ron laughed, shifting himself up into a half decent sitting position.
"Ah, so she lives. So you *were* just ignoring me," Ron said with a smile, twisting himself in the chair so that he was peering at Hermione over the large back of it. On her part, Hermione still looked rather flustered.
"Why would you say something like that, Ron?" she demanded quickly, her voice slowly creeping into the tonal domain usually occupied by exasperated parents in a shopping mall.
"What, that you were ignoring me?"
"No, that you fancy Dra - !" She cut herself off, realizing that she was getting close to yelling, and that would just not do. Taking a bit of a breath, she lowered her vocal tone to a respectable level. "That you fancy Malfoy." Ron laughed a bit.
"I just wanted to see how you'd react - and believe me, it was funny as hell. You should've seen yourself, your face was just like this!" And Ron proceeded to widen his eyes, open his mouth in a silent scream, and place his palms on his cheeks.
Hermione flung her daily planner at Ron, and hit struck him in the forehead. Unprepared for this grievous assault, he took the full blow uncompromisingly.
"Ow! Hey, that was uncalled for!" Ron complained, rubbing his tender, tender forehead.
"Well, so was what you said! That really wasn't funny, Ron," she stated matter-of-factly. Ron rolled his eyes.
"C'mon Hermione, yes it was. What, you honestly believed I harboured a crush for that prat?" Hermione glared a bit at the boy across from her.
"If I've found out anything from being at Hogwarts, it's that anything really *is* possible."
The Weasley blinked once, before his face screwed up into an expression of distaste.
"Give me more credit than that. Even if I fancied boys - which I don't - I'd have much better taste. You honestly think that I'd ever like Ferret Boy?" Hermione sighed sharply.
"You brought it up in the first place, Ron, not me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to finishing all this Transfiguration review work." Ron frowned.
"You're *always* doing review work. Or homework. Or note revision. Or creating your own homework, assigning it to yourself, and completing it." Hermione looked over at him, and raised her eyebrows incredulously at his last statement.
"Now that's just overkill," she said simply. Ron shrugged.
"Admit it, you do way too much work when seriously don't need to - it's kind of hard to improve on a bajillion percent, isn't it?" Hermione shook her head, and mumbled something under her breath as she went back to working. However, Ron persisted.
"Let's do something else for a change," he suggested, turning back around in his chair, leaning against it.
"Oh? What's this 'let's' talk? I don't see *you* studying for anything. You're perfectly free to do whatever it is you want." She paused, then smirked. "Maybe you could go find Malfoy and tell him your feelings, hm?"
Ron groaned. "Oh drop it, I was just trying to shock you. And it worked."
"No, it didn't," Hermione said, leaving no room for contradiction. "I was just surprised, really; and now that it's worn off, I'm simply feeling rather annoyed. So, please, either pick up a book and help me with my review, or find something to do somewhere else."
At once, Ron was both sitting in indecision and trying to think up of a cunning retort; however, Harry was always much better with the quips and jibes than he, and so was Hermione. He'd end up fuming about whatever it was that was making him mad, and then come up with the perfect return insult hours later whilst doing something completely unrelated to the previous incident. Then, of course, there was the matter of not wanting to meander around Hogwarts all by his lonesome, red-haired self...
Taking another furtive glance out the expansive window, Ron got himself up from the big, comfy chair and padded over to where Hermione had decidedly stationed herself. He picked up a book from the top of one of the stacks, and cracked it open; dust puffed out everywhere from 'Brains, Grains, and Demonic Eels - A Comprehensive Guide to Advanced Potion Work'.
After a few moments of Ron trying to get through the first paragraph without falling asleep or violently lashing out at an inanimate object, he found his gaze moving sideways, to behold Hermione openly staring at him.
"What?" he asked.
"You're...reading," she finally said after another beat of silence. Ron furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
"Well of course I'm reading, I didn't pick up the book for its pretty pictures, now did I?" he retorted, flipping to a random page that depicted a rotund man gutting a rotund pig. It was disturbing, yet ironically fascinating, since the two creatures looked quite alike.
"Ew," Ron stated. Hermione looked over at the picture, and found herself agreeing with Ron's sentiment.
"As I said, it's not for the pictures. You told me to pick up a book or get out of here, right? So, here I am, with a book," Ron explained, turning another few pages; he briefly skimmed over a couple different potions that involved pig and pig related ingredients, and moved right into potions meant to disarm and disable.
There was silence again as Hermione's quill continued to move across her page.
"You know, you don't have to stay here," she said after a few more minutes of writing.
"I know. But I want to," Ron said honestly, closing the Potions text and picking up the promising title of 'Ancient Arithmancy: Islamic and Greek Mathematicians and Their Formulas'. While the book itself was written in English, the symbols and mathematical equations could have easily been Arabic or Greek for all that Ron knew.
The resident male in the common room didn't notice that Hermione's quill had stopped moving temporarily.
"You do?" she asked, surprise written on her face like charms in her copy of 'Olde Magick and Modern Incantations: A Comparison and Study'.
"Sure," Ron said, smiling a bit as he looked over at her. When Ron received no immediate answer, he went back to the book that was sitting in his lap. Realizing that he was hopelessly lost within parabolas and a dreaded thing called "trigonometry", Ron set the book aside, and reached for another one. The fire continued to crackle quietly in the hearth.
"But...*why*?" Ron bit his lip, and thoughtfully tapped Hermione's extra quill against his chin.
"Why not?" he finally reasoned. "I mean, Harry's off learning how to save the world, Dean's trying to get it on with some Hufflepuff ditz, Seamus is probably watching, and Neville...ehn, God only knows." Hermione smirked.
"You forgot about Luna. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you spent time with her," Hermione said, a sly grin creeping onto her face. Ron dramatically rolled his eyes.
"Oh yes, Luna, everyone's *favourite* psychopathic chick."
"Ron, that's not nice."
"Sorry. Everyone's *favourite* sanity-challenged young woman."
Hermione sighed, and shook her head.
"That's about as good as it's going to get, isn't it," she stated, rather than asking. Ron smiled.
"Pretty much," he replied. Another few moments of silence passed between the two of them. Quickly, it became awkward.
Ron shifted a bit in his seat, reaching in front of him for another book, for lack of anything better to do or say. He found himself staring at 'So Now You're A Werewolf: 1001 Magical Maladies, Mix-Ups and St. Mungo's Visits Gone Wrong'. He raised his eyebrows, and opened the book, happy to have stumbled upon something vaguely intriguing, if the title were to give anything away.
Half of it, as it turned out, was in Latin.
Frowning in disappointment, Ron placed the book without too much care back on the floor from whence it had came. Hermione's quill had resumed its scratching, and the fire continued to hum lowly in the hearth.
'What was I thinking? Honestly Ron, you know better than to try to get Hermione away from her precious, precious schoolwork. I'd probably spontaneously combust before *that* would ever happen,' he thought, running his hands through his telltale red hair. He felt bored as all hell. God, what was taking Harry so long?
"Thanks."
Startled a bit by the break in silence, Ron blinked and looked curiously over at Hermione, who was still writing out some of her notes. Crossing and dotting the last of her letters, she set the quill down.
"For what?" he asked, feeling a bit confused.
"For staying here," said Hermione. "I know how much you hate studying and revision; it's nice of you, is all," she explained, looking over at him and smiling slightly.
"Oh, well, y'know, it's not a big deal," Ron said quickly, smiling a little bit in return.
"Still, it's nice. As much as I need to study and revise - " Inwardly, the Weasley boy rolled his eyes, " - the silence gets to be a bit much at times. Certainly I like peace and quiet, but not *too* much." She shook her head, and laughed a bit. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"
"Nah, I know exactly what you mean," Ron said, shifting himself a bit so he was facing Hermione to talk to her. "A bit of peace is nice, but it can drive you right nutters if there's too much."
"Oh, definitely; in fact, sometimes I find it hard to work in complete silence. After all, when I'm trying to study, you and Harry are almost always talking to each other about this or that. I've gotten so used to it that it actually *helps* sometimes, as silly as that sounds. I need a bit of background noise."
"Ah. So my plans to annoy you have fallen through, I see," Ron said with a sigh, feigning disappointment. Hermione laughed a little at this.
"I'm afraid they have, Ron. You'll just have to find a different way to make me mad at you," she said with a smile. Ron quirked an eyebrow.
"Oh, really now?" he questioned, smirking wryly.
"Don't get any ideas," Hermione responded, half-jokingly, half-warningly. Ron cleared his throat, and set about to looking aghast.
"Hermione! Never would I, Ron Weasley, the manly and gallant, imagine doing such a thing! A pox on thee."
A moment of silence passed, before Ron's near-frown of seriousness twitched, and soon he began laughing. Hermione looked over at him, and she herself descended into a small bout of giggles.
"Could you ever be serious for one moment?" she asked with a smile, both their laughter beginning to die down. He smiled brightly at the girl beside him, bright blue eyes resting on her face.
"Why should I?" he responded in kind, still laughing a bit himself.
They looked at each other for a moment; and, suddenly, Ron didn't quite feel like laughing anymore, oddly enough. His smile slowly faded, and he felt a sudden rush of heat in his cheeks as he and Hermione stared at each other. There was no sound except for that of the fireplace.
Unconsciously, Ron licked his lips, which he found to be rather dry and chapped from the dry air within the castle. Hermione's own face seemed to redden a bit, though Ron couldn't be terribly sure if it was a trick of the firelight or not. However, he seemed to regain control of most motor functions when Hermione looked down a little bit; clearing his throat and coughing rather loudly, Ron also looked down, quickly picking up a book and opening it, without even realizing the title was 'Love Magic - How It Works For You'.
"So yes, uh, studying," Ron said quickly, scanning the page he happened to open the tome to, but neglecting to actually read it.
"Yes, of course, best to keep right on track," Hermione supplied, also suspiciously quickly.
"Right on track, gotcha," said the boy a bit too emphatically. Quickly, he flipped a few of the pages, eventually letting the book fall open to reveal a picture of a naked man and a naked woman doing...naked activities together. Ron's eyes widened, and with a quiet yelp, he slammed the book shut, which of course warranted Hermione's attention.
"Something the matter?" she asked innocently enough. He glanced over at Hermione almost guiltily, wondering if she knew what he had accidentally happened upon, and if he was going to be slapped and chastised for being a pervert (despite the fact the book was from the library and Hermione had brought it). Suddenly, the picture in the text influenced his generally over imaginative thoughts as he gazed at the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, replacing certain figures in the book with certain figures on the couch.
He dropped the book suddenly, as if it had burned his fingers as red as his cheeks currently were.
"Nothing!" he squeaked out, "Nothing's wrong!"
She looked at him strangely.
"Are you sure? You look rather flushed, there," she pointed out, tilting her head as she always seemed to do when she was curious. Oddly enough, Crookshanks did that as well.
"I'm fine, honestly," Ron stated, though his voice sounded a bit strangled and high pitched on 'fine'. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, and craned her neck a bit to look at the title of the book that Ron had so quickly dropped. Furrowing gave way to surprised raising.
"Ohh," was all that she said.
"What do you *mean*, 'ohh'?" Ron demanded, trying to suppress the utter panic in his voice.
"Well, ah, that text certainly comes with a few...how shall I put this, *explanatory* diagrams..."
So she knew of the drawings inside the book. Ron, on his part, was utterly, utterly shocked.
"That's one way of putting it, I'd certainly say so. They let students look at those? I mean, with the people inside, all...all tangled up with each other...?" Hermione shrugged.
"It's a part of the rituals involving love magic, so I suppose the older students do; they touched a bit on the subject of love magic in Defense Against the Dark Arts, after all, since it can be used for control. It's all merely for education," she explained.
"Yeah, but most people our age would use it for a *different* kind of studying, if you know what I mean," Ron muttered, nudging the offending book away with his foot. Hermiome blinked once, then decidedly looked away.
Once again, it was uncomfortably silent. At first, Ron considered picking up another book; but, after what he found in that 'Love Magic' thing, he didn't quite feel like taking the chance of finding something...oh, let's say, horrendously disturbing and scaring and generally something to make Ron feel even more uncomfortable and tense about sitting beside someone of the opposite sex as him.
He flexed his fingers a few times, and coughed gently.
"So, what are you reading, Hermione?"
"Necromancy," she said, flipping the page in her book.
"Is it interesting?" Ron asked.
"Quite," Hermione replied, scanning over the words in the text that lay on her lap.
'Well, of *course* she would find it interesting. The book could be drier than a hobo in India, and she'd still find it absolutely fascinating,' Ron thought, inwardly rolling his eyes. Hermione turned another page in the book.
"What's it about?" he inquired. Hermione shot him an incredulous glance.
"Haven't you been paying attention in class?"
"I think we both know the answer to that." Hermione couldn't repress a sigh.
"And to think, you were made *Prefect*..." she stated, shaking her head. Ron smirked, and steepled his fingers together, doing his best to look evil.
"It's all part of my master plan. Soon I shall bring down the school with my Prefect title and lack of Prefect qualities - and then, Hermione, the *world*! The world, I tell you!" He cackled as best he could.
Hermione stared at him. Ron's cackle died off. He cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head in shame.
"As well you should be. Remember what I said about you trying to be funny?"
"It doesn't work?"
"Exactly."
Ron shrugged, and smiled in his unique way that, much like a brush to a slate full of chalked writing, successfully cleared him of whatever grievances that could be held against him. On anyone else, it could almost be considered "slick". On Ron Weasley, it was just sweet.
Hermione smiled back a little bit, and then returned to her book. The flames of curiosity once again fanned, Ron scootched over closer to where the resident female in the room was silently reading, looking over (more across, really) her shoulder, craning to see what she was currently occupied with.
There was a very large chunk of text, and a picture that obviously dated back to sometime during the Dark Ages; the faces were sort of chubby, the eyes were all weird and rolled back somehow, their mouths were open, and their body positions were really quite odd. In the drawing, one man was holding up another, who appeared to be dead (if the blood marks all over him were any sort of clue); the first man was pouring something down the dead man's throat.
Ron clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
"Well that's pretty," he said. Hermione 'hmmed' in agreement with Ron's sarcastic statement.
"Necromancy is a very dark thing - it's outlawed everywhere, but despite that, there are a few dunderheads out there with too much time and not enough brains," Hermione said. She flipped the page; on this one, a rotting skeleton was attacking a living man.
"So what does it do? I mean," Ron quickly began to say, after Hermione gave him an incredulous look, "I know what necromancy *is* and all, but not all the details. How come it's outlawed?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione asked.
"To smart people, yeah. But for people like me, you have to explain using charts, diagrams, and examples from this chapter."
"Well that's exactly what Professor Shuba has been doing."
"Professor Shuba's a prat and I hate him; therefore, I refuse to listen to him."
For, that year, like every other year preceding it, Hogwarts had instated a brand new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; and, exactly like most every other year preceding, he was absolutely terrible. The only exception - ever - was Professor Lupin. Of course, he was a werewolf. Enough said.
Hermione, again, sighed.
"Ron, I know that Professor Shuba isn't exactly an...ideal...teacher, but your education is much more important than that. It would be more mature of you to simply ignore your feelings about him, and learn."
"Hermione? Think about what you just said. Then apply it to me."
There was a brief pause.
"I see."
Ron smiled again.
"Besides, can't you teach me? It's much more comfortable here anyway, and it's not as if we're busy, right? And I always learn way more from you than almost any professor I've ever had," Ron said. Hermione, taken a bit by surprise by Ron's compliment, blushed slightly.
"Really?"
"Well, sure. In History of Magic, you always lend Harry and me your notes; and in Potions, I swear that if I didn't sit beside you, I'd be worse than Neville, poor bastard." He smiled at Hermione. "Not to mention it's Christmas. Christmas is the time for giving, you know - and I'm giving you my undivided attention. So, teach away."
The Gryffindor girl couldn't help but blush a bit deeper, and smile back, her ego inflating quite nicely.
"Well, when you put it *that* way, I suppose," she said, her coy, almost shy smile growing a little wider. She cleared her throat. "Just promise you won't fall asleep, alright?"
"I won't," Ron assured her.
Hermione began to read; and, much to Ron's surprise and, to an extent, chagrin, with her added explanations and a few side stories, Hermione's "lesson" was actually rather interesting. She talked about the downfalls of necromancy - how, oftentimes, because the necromancers themselves were inexperienced and generally quite bad at what they were doing, when the deceased were brought back, it wasn't their original spirit that inhabited their body, but a deformed, mostly violent entity that could cause a lot of damage. The steps involved in necromancy were, Ron found, unexpectedly intriguing, as were some of the examples of what happened when necromancy was performed. Listening intently to Hermione's voice, Ron realized that she really *did* have that teacher's tone down perfectly; it wasn't too strict, but gently guiding, and wonderfully explanatory.
A desire to be more comfortable was induced by the fire that warmed the two of them. Still listening to Hermione's impromptu lesson, Ron found himself getting a little closer to Hermione, going as far as resting his head on her shoulder, gazing contentedly at the textbook that Hermione still held in her hands. Her words stumbled a bit when Ron decided to use her shoulder as something of a pillow, but she recovered nicely.
"So Renoir Phillipe, after consulting a Seer, decided to kill Remy again, because Remy was possessed by a demon, or something?" Ron asked, after another few moments of the lesson had passed.
"That's right," Hermione confirmed.
"That's sad," Ron stated. "I mean, the poor guy just wanted his friend back after he'd been killed in the Goblin Uprising; didn't mean to hurt anybody, or anything." Hermione blinked at Ron's unusually soft tone. She looked down at Ron, whose eyes were still on the pages of the text.
"I'll agree, it is rather tragic, what happened. Sometimes, though, even the best intentions aren't good enough to stop evil from occurring," she replied.
"It's not fair," Ron said simply.
"No," said Hermione, sighing gently. "It really isn't."
There was silence for a minute or so, but it was far from being uncomfortable.
"You're a good teacher, Hermione. You have a really nice voice for it," the boy thought aloud, his voice not terribly louder than a whisper. Once again, Hermione found her cheeks flushing. Ron, of course, didn't see it.
"Thank you," she answered back, her voice also a bit softer than before. The fire continued to pop and burn in the hearth, and the two of them simply watched it for a moment.
"I'm going to miss this, you know," Ron said, barely looking up at Hermione. "Imagine, this is our last year - our last Christmas - at Hogwarts. Unreal, eh?"
"I know," Hermione said, shaking her head a bit. "It's so hard to believe that it's been seven years already. So much has happened, but it doesn't really *feel* that way. It's hard to explain."
"You don't have to, I know exactly what you mean. This is it: last year for grades, last year for Quidditch, last year for just about anything, here," he stated, lifting his head up off of Hermione's shoulder, but still sitting close enough to be barely brushing her shoulder with his.
"Anything we wanted to do at Hogwarts, we'd have to do this year. Time goes by so quickly, and we don't even notice it sometimes," Hermione said, looking a bit at Ron, then over at the fire.
"Yeah," he said quietly, keeping his own eyes trained on Hermione.
Now that he thought about it, it was so true; time *had* gone by far, far too fast for his own liking. Just last week, weren't they all getting on the Hogwarts Express, excited and nervous about finally attending a Wizarding school like Hogwarts? It couldn't have been *that* long ago that Ron had first met Harry on that fateful day in the train car...and that Hermione just *happened* to walk in...could it?
By God, he was seventeen already. And, he noticed with a start, so was Hermione.
Something important seemed to don on Ron Weasley at that particular moment; suddenly, they weren't kids anymore. It wasn't that he always particularly felt very young - oh, far from it, when he was eleven, he always thought himself as being quite the grown-up. Yet, that was so very different; he *thought* he was old enough to really take care of himself at that age. Through the years, it simply never occurred to him that he and his two best friends were slowly growing up: all the changes that came seemed far too natural to really be any change at all. They were never just the youngest in the school, nor were they ever just the oldest; they were special, for some reason. They just simply *were*, and it never needed any sort of explanation. Why would they?
And now, he and Hermione were suddenly adults.
There she was, sitting so close to him; the shadows of firelight danced across her skin, making her seem almost as if she were glowing. The curve of her lips were as soft as her eyes as they watched the flames in the hearth flicker and flutter. Her hair, while not exactly tame, had grown up along with the rest of her body; and, rather than seeming like a tangled mess sitting atop her head, Hermione's almost-curls accented her face, giving her character.
Ron had yet another revelation.
Hermione was, in all actuality, quite pretty.
His eyes widened, and his cheeks blushed furiously; quickly, he tore his gaze away from Hermione's face, and searched for anything - *anything* - to take his mind off of the thoughts he was thinking that he really ought not to think about thinking of. He and Hermione were very good friends; very platonic, very stable, full of bickering, just right.
Right? Right.
Clearing his throat again, Ron shifted himself a bit away from Hermione, glancing around the room for something to think about. Books, by now, were far too much of an effort for his mind (which was probably blushing as well). Finally, Ron's eyes rested on the giant window that he had been sitting at a few hours ago.
He nearly fell out of his seat.
"Oh my God," he whispered softly, his eyes wide.
"Ron? Ron, what is it?" Hermione asked, urgency beginning to slip into her voice; Ron looked like a strange, ironically Christmasy mix of furiously blushing red and utterly surprised white. However, before Hermione could start panicking, Ron's open mouth spread into a huge grin.
"It's snowing!" he exclaimed, bolting up from his seat, running over to press himself against the cold glass. Hermione blinked a few times, then got up herself, looking out the window; true to Ron's word, large flakes of white, white snow were falling from the sky - and from the looks of it, had been the entire time Ron and Hermione were on the couch. The entirety of the grounds of Hogwarts was covered in a very fine layer of fresh, powdered snow.
"I can't believe it! I knew it had to start snowing soon, I just *knew* it!" Ron cried happily. His complete and utter joy at the rather small event of snowfall seemed infectious, and soon, Hermione was smiling as well.
"It is quite pretty," she said, "and it's about time some snow fell, I thought it would never come." Ron looked over at her, and grinned.
"C'mon!" he said, grabbing her hand. Quickly, Hermione's previous feeling of quiet happiness changed to shock.
"Ron, what are you doing?" she yelled in surprise. The Weasley semi- dragged her over to where the portrait hole was, grabbing both their winter cloaks.
"Do you honestly think we should just stay inside, when the first snowfall of the year is happening? We can't miss it! Here, put your cloak on!"
"But I thought we were studying!" she protested, catching her winter cloak automatically in her hands as Ron let go of hers to throw the cloak at her hurriedly.
"We can study later, but it's snowing *right now*! Hermione, I *never* miss the very first snowfall of the year." It was actually true; one time, during Transfiguration in fourth year, it had begun snowing outside in the middle of a lesson. Ron, seeing this happen through one of the windows, asked Professor McGonagall if he could use the washroom. She said yes, and fifteen minutes later, Hermione saw Ron frolicking - actually *frolicking* - amidst the falling flakes. Ron had promptly received detention for this once McGonagall chanced a glance out one of the rooms' many spacious windows, and also docked points from Gryffindor. Of course, this slowed Ron Weasley down none.
Once Ron had his cloak on (Hermione was halfway there), he grabbed the girl's hand and proceeded to almost-run through the portrait hole, down the stairs, through the corridors, and to one of the doors leading out to Hogwarts' lovely courtyard. They stepped outside into the nicely chilled air, watching their breaths puff out vaporously, wafting upwards against the current of snowflakes. The sun had almost set, bathing Hogwarts and the two teenagers in twilight.
Ron let go of Hermione's hand, smiling in complete happiness. He jogged out to the middle of the courtyard, looking up as the snow fell softly around him. Laughing, he spread his arms out, and twirled around.
"Finally!" he yelled out, laughing again; his long, unbuttoned cloak flowed around him as he spun once more, collecting spots of white on it that melted on the fabric, but was soon replaced by more and more specks of snow, effectively dotting his winter covering. Any and all inhibition was thrown to the wind with the snow.
Ron giggled like a child again, smiling brightly at Hermione, who continued to stand in the relatively protective alcove of the covered walkway encircling the atrium. She smiled back at him. Ron's smile shifted slightly, and he proceeded to run lightly across the powdered snow; his footprints stood out smartly against the sheer blanket of white.
"Come on," Ron said with a grin, taking Hermione's hand once again. She laughed in a slightly strained manner.
"No no, I'm fine right here," she said back.
"Naw, you gotta come out into the snow! This'll be more fun with two people, I swear!" he told her enthusiastically. Before Hermione had a chance to say anything else, she found herself being not too unwillingly pulled by the hand out into the Hogwarts courtyard. Immediately snowflakes fell upon her form, landing on her cloak and in her hair.
"Ron, this is silly! It...it'll make my hair go frizzy!" she complained rather lamely. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Now that is just the *worst* excuse I've ever heard. Besides, so what if it goes frizzy? I certainly don't care," he said, smiling at her. Lightly, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, then grinned.
"Let's spin."
"Spin?" she asked apprehensively.
"Yeah - spin!" And with that, Ron grabbed Hermione's other hand, and proceeded to do as he said he would: spin. At first, Hermione's eyes were wider than tree trunks as they began to turn about in circles in the snow, but soon, she found herself laughing almost as loud as Ron as they continued to spin. The white flakes falling from the sky seemed to meld together in a white blur behind each other as they spun around.
"This is utterly ridiculous!" she yelled between laughs.
"I know, it's great!" Ron called right back, erupting into laughter again himself.
However, as Ron continued to spin around with her, he saw that Hermione was clearly losing her balance; and while Hermione Granger was a great many deal of things, an athletic girl she most certainly was not. With a gasp of shock, she stumbled forward, the snow effectively doing its bit to trip her feet up. With a great yell of surprise, she fell forward onto Ron as ungracefully as one possibly could in her situation. The two teenagers soon found themselves sprawled on the snow, their limbs a bit tangled.
They were both still laughing a bit by the time they realized that they had fallen, which was still rather funny. However, Ron's giggling proceeded to fade into nothingness, as he realized that Hermione was, actually, on top of him. Her own smile, too, faded in unison with Ron's.
By this time, the exposure to the cold air had made their respective cheeks and noses almost as red as cherries; thus, Ron found it very hard to tell if Hermione was blushing or not. They both breathed a bit heavily, and his eyes were locked with hers.
They stayed like that for a moment.
"Sorry," Hermione finally breathed out, tearing her gaze away from Ron's, looking terribly embarrassed. Hastily she stood, wiping the snow off from her cloak, turning her back to the boy. Ron blinked once, and stood up himself, his cheeks warm from his time blushing.
"I'm sorry about that," Hermione repeated quietly, hugging herself a bit. Ron could swear he heard Hermione berating herself underneath her breath, but he couldn't make out the words.
'Last year, Ron. Very last Christmas,' Ron remembered suddenly, his feelings from inside Gryffindor Tower returning full force. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and did his best to fill his heart with courage.
Ron touched Hermione's shoulder softly.
"Don't be," he said to her. Moving closer, Ron turned her around. The snow continued to fall about the two of them, lending to the ground - and to Hermione - that ethereal glow that the fireplace had bestowed upon her when they were studying. She looked up at Ron, her lips as red as her cheeks; her eyes were rather innocently wide again.
He smiled softly at her, and took her one hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles again. They were cold, but slowly warming up under his touch. Swallowing dryly, Ron leaned forward.
And suddenly, they were kissing.
Pleasure raced down his spine as his lips met Hermione's, finding it all settling somewhere in his stomach, which flip-flopped all on its own. Terrified and excited all at the same time, he began to seriously worry when Hermione just stood there, unmoving.
Mentally, Ron kicked himself.
'Wonderful,' he thought, feeling more than seriously crestfallen, 'Great, what have I done? She's going to slap me for this, I just know it, now I've gone and ruined our friendsh-'
Ron felt two warm arms encircle his neck, and warmer lips kissing his right back. Doing an extremely happy dance inside, Ron kissed Hermione, hugging her gently to his lean form, the snow still swirling around the two of them. Locked together in their embrace, Ron found himself quite contently warm.
After another moment of this, Hermione pulled back; Ron, his eyes still closed, his lips still parted, was smiling ever so softly.
"Wow," Hermione breathed, still pressed tightly against Ron.
"Yeah. Wow," he said back, slowly opening his blue eyes. He smiled contentedly down at Hermione, and she mirrored it perfectly. Ron hugged her a bit closer, resting his chin on her shoulder, his lips against Hermione's ear.
"I've been meaning to do that for a while," Ron whispered, rubbing her back gently. He felt her sigh a little bit.
"Me too," she replied just as quietly. Snow fell lightly on both their heads and shoulders. Ron pulled back to look at Hermione once more; she smiled, and tenderly brushed Ron's bangs out of his eyes. He couldn't help but blush a little, and accompany it with something of a goofy smile.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he said to her, his smile widening.
"Merry Christmas, Ron," she replied. Hermione smiled, but in a more dignified manner.
"You know, you were right, Ronald Weasley." Ron blinked curiously.
"Oh? About what?"
Hermione actually grinned.
"The first snowfall of the year *is* more fun with two people."
They both laughed at this, and kissed each other again. The snow that still fell showed no immediate signs of stopping.
Neither of them minded.
~*~
Well, there you have it. That was my very first Ron/Hermione WAFF piece. And it was a Christmas fic, to boot. Kids, this is what happens when you see "Love Actually" twice in the theatres. The saccharine levels...oh God, the saccharine levels...!!
Anyhoo, please review! For if you review, I will love you! And that really did rhyme, which ought to be a crime. ...somebody stop this madness.
*coughs* Yes. Well, thanks for reading, and Merry Christmas to you all! ^_^
~Chibikat