This is my first fanfic story, so be gentle, please, with your criticism. Please make it constructive. Just an added note: I'm a HOPELESS romantic. In all aspects of the word.
Prologue
"My God, Ron, I feel like I'm going to die," Hermione said, struggling for breath. Blood, dried and dirty, caked her legs. The creature, whatever it was, was dead, stabbed multiple times by Ron. Its great purple tongue hung out of its mouth, blood, ruby-red, still coming forth from the puncture wound (Ron assumed) to its lung.
"What was that, Ron? I've read so many books on magical creatures; this has never been in any of them."
"I dunno. But we'd better get out of here before some of its friends come along," Ron said, standing up, supporting Hermione, who was leaning heavily on him. A gash, at least three inches long, and quite deep, ran along the back of her leg, bleeding profusely.
"I was so stupid, going out into the marshlands without my wand. Thank goodness you came. I'd have died otherwise," she said.
"Luck, purely luck," Ron brushed off the compliment as nothing. Hermione had just been unlucky. She'd saved him more. "We'd better get you back to the Burrow real soon. You're pale as a ghost; you've lost a lot of blood."
Suddenly reminded of a man's duty, he ripped the sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it around her wound. Realizing it wouldn't help much, he shed his entire shirt (he wasn't that conservative anyway) and tied it securely around the wound.
Hermione fainted from the pain. She'd been fighting it for twenty minutes already; she couldn't take it anymore.
Adrenaline was pumping through Ron's veins. Normally, he'd have panicked at the sight of one of his best friends fainting, but there was no drug to compare with adrenaline. Without hesitation, he picked her up, carrying her in his strong arms back home, dreading the worry of his mother, the next few days of punishment, and most of all, worried about Hermione.
Okay, tell me if that's even worth continuing. Gently, though. If it does continue, don't worry, there will be romance. I just like to take things a bit slow at first.
Prologue
"My God, Ron, I feel like I'm going to die," Hermione said, struggling for breath. Blood, dried and dirty, caked her legs. The creature, whatever it was, was dead, stabbed multiple times by Ron. Its great purple tongue hung out of its mouth, blood, ruby-red, still coming forth from the puncture wound (Ron assumed) to its lung.
"What was that, Ron? I've read so many books on magical creatures; this has never been in any of them."
"I dunno. But we'd better get out of here before some of its friends come along," Ron said, standing up, supporting Hermione, who was leaning heavily on him. A gash, at least three inches long, and quite deep, ran along the back of her leg, bleeding profusely.
"I was so stupid, going out into the marshlands without my wand. Thank goodness you came. I'd have died otherwise," she said.
"Luck, purely luck," Ron brushed off the compliment as nothing. Hermione had just been unlucky. She'd saved him more. "We'd better get you back to the Burrow real soon. You're pale as a ghost; you've lost a lot of blood."
Suddenly reminded of a man's duty, he ripped the sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it around her wound. Realizing it wouldn't help much, he shed his entire shirt (he wasn't that conservative anyway) and tied it securely around the wound.
Hermione fainted from the pain. She'd been fighting it for twenty minutes already; she couldn't take it anymore.
Adrenaline was pumping through Ron's veins. Normally, he'd have panicked at the sight of one of his best friends fainting, but there was no drug to compare with adrenaline. Without hesitation, he picked her up, carrying her in his strong arms back home, dreading the worry of his mother, the next few days of punishment, and most of all, worried about Hermione.
Okay, tell me if that's even worth continuing. Gently, though. If it does continue, don't worry, there will be romance. I just like to take things a bit slow at first.