A/N: As you all know, there's this nasty little thing called spring cleaning that we all are forced to do at some point in our lives. For me, this weekend was that point. I was rumaging around through the various decayed and disgusting debris under my bed, when I found a little spiral bound notebook, almost filled to completion with a bunch of stories I'd written throughout the years. It was a very exciting discovery for me. Though most of the stories were original stories, mostly comprised of some kind of talking animal and a runaway princess (Hey, I was probably about ten, give me a break), the most recent one was a Harry Potter FF piece that I guess I never had the nerve to post or something. In case you haven't figured it out by now, that's what this is. So, because this story has been lost in sea of cobwebs and useless junk that is the underside of my bed for so long, I thought it was ready to finally see the light of day for a change. So here it is. It may be slightly reworded and edited a bit, but here it is nontheless.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Neither do I own Ron and Hermione. I own a moldy lisa frank notebook, and that's about it.

You're the Type of Girl Guys Fall in Love With

"Why can't I be more like Parvarti- and- and Lav-Lavender?" Hermione choked out, tears flowing freely from her dazzling chestnut eyes, "They're pretty, and popular, and guys- they notice them when they walk down the halls. They stop and look. They don't sneer or make fun of them for living with their noses in books, or having poodle hair, or getting a few pimples here and there. Why can't I be more like that? Why Ron, why?"

Ron had never been good at the whole comforting people thing. Whenever a tantrum broke out at the Weasley homestead, it was always his mother who did damage control. However, there was no Mrs. Weasley around now to salvage the rubble, so Ron would have to give it a go and hope he didn't make things any worse than they already were.

He put an arm around her heaving shoulders. Awkwardly at first, then more comfortably when she shrank into his embrace. He rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles in her back with his free hand, stopping only to summon a box of tissues and murmur a few universal words of sympathy. "There, there," he whispered, "It's alright."

It took awhile, but eventually the tears subsided. Whether this was of its own course, or catalyzed by Ron's feeble attempts at comfort was not to be known. Ron didn't particularly care either way, he was just glad the tears had stopped. He hated to see Hermione so upset. It simply wasn't right that her beautiful, innocent face be crinkled up in distress and tainted by tears. It almost made Ron want to cry himself, and simultaneously go punch the person that had brought this on, if he were honest with himself.

Once she had settled some, Ron got Hermione to share her story with him. It took some coaxing, but eventually Ron was sitting patiently, listening as Hermione recounted the events that had brought her to tears.

It hadn't started out so bad, she said. Some random kid in the library had called her a nerd. She'd been upset, but had been able to ignore it. Then it got worse.

Apparently, this kid had called her a pizza face, poodle-haired, and a whole host of other unpleasant words Hermione refused to repeat. Ron had to clench his fists tightly and dig his fingernail into his skin to keep his anger in check as he listened to Hermione recount the growing list of insults.

She wouldn't have been so upset normally, she said, once her story was fully retold, but it had just been such a miserable day, and this was the straw that just about broke the camels back. Whatever that meant. As it was, she'd barely made it out of the library before she'd started bawling.

Ron listened to her say this, and some of his anger dissipated, only to be replaced by a crushing sadness. His Hermione was so strong, and yet here she was, believing she wasn't strong enough. He told her that it was ok; nobody likes to be name-called. Nobody.

They sat in silence for awhile after that, simply enjoying each others company, lost in their own thoughts. Ron had something to say, but took a few minutes to form the words in his mind before coming out and saying it.

"Hermione," He began, making sure he had her utmost attention before continuing, "You don't want to be like them. Parvarti and Lavendar I mean. They are pretty, I'm not going to try to deny it, but seriously, that's all they've got going for them. They're shallow and superficial. They follow dating tips out of gossip mags and follow the rest of the population around like sheep. You're not like that, and that's something you should be proud of. You're a real person, Hermione. You're smart, and funny, and sweet, and caring, and brave, not to mention cute and pretty without even trying, and you should never overlook that. Sure, those girls can probably spout out cosmo's top ten most scandalous couples in about a millisecond, but you, you've memorized the entire ancient rune alphabet. You know Gamps laws of elementary transfiguration like the back of your hand. You're you Hermione. And that's an amazing, wonderful person those girls only wish they could be.

"Oh Ron, do you really mean that?" Asked Hermione, her eyes glistening with tears, though whether they were old or new was difficult to tell.

"Every word," he replied sincerely, looking her right in the eyes as he did, "Trust me Hermione, you're the type of girl guys fall in love with."

Then, more softly, and only to himself, "I would know."