A/N: So, I have found that I generally write better and faster while I am not supposed to. Last year I wrote many of my (so far unpublished) stories in science class. This, along with my next story to come, The Flat (add me to author alert to be the first to read it), is a little something I wrote while I was supposed to be writing essays for summer reading. Yes, anything but that... Enjoy!
Games: A Ron/Hermione Fanfiction
Above Ron's head, the clock ticked. Out the window, a sleeping bird rustled its wings restlessly. Below his bedroom, a sneeze echoed up the stairwell. For a second he wondered which one of his brothers was up at this time of night. To be honest, it had already passed into morning, Ron learned as he craned his neck towards the constant ticking.
The clock read 1:37, and Ron let out a groan as this new information sunk in. He had barely gotten any sleep in the past week, and obviously this wasn't going to change soon.
Now, he wasn't awake just for the sake of being awake. He honestly could not bring himself to close his eyes, the reason being a certain bushy-haired brunette. She was slowly and thoroughly driving him crazy without even being within a twenty foot radius of him.
After their fateful, heated kiss during the final battle, two weeks ago as of tomorrow, he noted, Hermione had not said a word to Ron other than "Good morning", "Good afternoon", and "Good night." As hard you may think it is to avoid someone who is living in the same house as you, she was doing a bloody good job.
When Ron would try to talk to her, and most of the time not even about that turn in their friendship, but the God damn weather, she would hastily come up with an excuse and disappear until he stopped searching for her. And that was probably difficult, because he would roam around the Burrow for hours on end, looking for Hermione. Although he never really planned out what he would say once he found her (if he found her), he hoped something would come to mind.
Actually, he had had a conversation with her that lasted longer than one minute. About four days ago, Ron had cleverly managed to corner Hermione when his mother had sent them both to de-gnome the garden.
Desperately, he had tried to think of something to say to her back, as she was turned around.
"So, fine weather we are having here, huh?" He said as he simultaneously mentally slapped himself. Suddenly he was glad that she couldn't see him.
She nodded, still without making eye contact.
Ron rapidly raked his brain for something else to say, afraid that she would mistake the silence as an end to his ingenious conversation.
Without thinking, he blurted out the first thought that seemed decent enough. "You wanna come play Quidditch with Harry, George, Bill, Ginny and me later?"
He gave himself another mental slap. He had known for years that she didn't like Quidditch. She had told him on numerous occasions. He cringed just thinking about it in the present moment, where he lay on his bed reminiscing.
"No thank you," she had replied, a bit too polite and completely unphased. Ron's brain felt as if it may bust a hole in his head sometime soon.
"Hermione," he moaned, almost wined, unable to stand it any more. She couldn't spend the rest of her life ignoring him, could she? If she could then Ron was in for a rough life.
Then suddenly, for the first time since the battle, she looked at him. She really looked, studying and reading his face, as if it was the last time she ever would. Ron no longer had any emotions to hide, so he literally put his heart on his sleeve for her. He wanted her to see through his eyes to his brain, so maybe she could gauge how much her silence was hurting him.
For a second, he could have sworn that he saw something glitter in her eyes; some unknown emotion, something along the lines of hope.
But he figured he must be delusional because just as quickly as she had turned in the first place, she went back to her original position, searching for gnomes. She went back to acting as if nothing had ever happened. Ever.
And that was the extent of their conversation.
So Ron, being Ron, feared the worst and stopped even trying to talk to Hermione at all. He began to avoid her in the house, leaving the room when he heard her coming. If she happened to step outside when he was there, he would appearate immediately to his room, now fearing humiliation and rejection that had already happened.
Of course, this activity did not go unnoticed by Harry and the Weasleys. No one worried about either of them at the beginning, though, because they had watched the same sort of escapade happen before between the two for years. This was just another stage in their relationship.
Still, Ron was not so sure.
He spent every night thinking about Hermione, not unlike this one. There were so many questions that he needed answered. He at least needed to have him as a friend again, or else he feared he might fall into the deep, gaping hole of depression.
She thoroughly puzzled him. Why had she kissed him? And then why did she act as if it had never happened? Had it been a mistake? Surely she couldn't have mistaken him for someone else, but maybe she thought she was about to die, so she didn't mean it the way Ron wished she had. But what did that look in the garden mean? She was a living mystery to poor Ron as he lay, alone in his room.
Abruptly, his train of thought was interrupted by a soft knock on his bedroom door. At least, he thought he heard something.
Dumbfounded, he sat and stared at the door for about ten seconds. He was just starting to believe that he had imagined it and truly was going insane when another knock sounded.
Grabbing his wand off his nightstand, he slowly and silently threw the blankets off his body and strided towards the door, wondering who would want to see him at this time of night. Preparing for the worst, he aimed his wand at the door knob and softly muttered "Alohomora." The door clicked and swung open, revealing what Ron saw as his dreams come true.
There stood Hermione, timid and nervous looking. Her normal, strong willed being seemed to be hiding, as she looked up to meet Ron's eyes and smiled tentatively.
"Hi," she greeted him shortly, this time not breaking eye contact.
Not knowing exactly what to say, Ron scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Um… hi," he responded just as shortly. "Did you want to, I don't know, come in?" In another circumstance, his comment could have been qualified as sarcastic, but he was much to confused and tired at the moment to be thinking up anything smart-witted.
As she stepped into his room and he shut the door behind her, her eyes still never left his face. This confused him, as it was a very sudden change from her ignoring state.
"We need to talk." He looked into her eyes again and he saw a glimmer of the other Hermione, the bossy, know-it-all that he had met way back in first year.
In two long steps, he returned to his bed, but this time he perching on the side, facing her. "What about?" he asked, although a voice in the back of his head told him that he right well knew the direction that this conversation was about to be headed.
"You do know," she accused, as if reading his thoughts.
"Say it then," he challenged.
"Wha-no! You say it." She briskly walked until she was standing directly in front of Ron where he sat on the bed. Looking down on him, she frowned. "Why have you been running away from me?"
This hit him like a ton of bricks. "Me running away from you?" he fired back, starting to grow frustrated. "Since the battle, I have been trying to talk to you. Do you know how I felt? Torn and broken. That's how. In fact, this has been the longest conversation we have had since. And do you know why? You, Hermione Granger, have been avoiding me. I only just recently gave up. I know you: when you put your mind to something, there is no backing down. So tell me again, why did you come here?"
To his ultimate surprise, she did not at all do what he expected. As she looked at his face, she began to shrink back as a tear rolled down her cheek. When she realized this, she covered her head in her hands, sobbing gently as she moved to sit on the bed next to Ron with a plop.
"I missed you," she sobbed into his shoulder. The new contact startled Ron, but he tried to comfort her by rubbing her back in soothing circles. It was like a spear through his heart, knowing that he was the bloke who made her cry.
"Shh," he breathed into her ear, pressing his lips to her hair, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair. He closed his eyes in a moment of pure bliss, until another sob escaped her lips.
Breaking away from him, she looked up and studied his face yet again, but this time there was the ghost of a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.
"I missed you too," he whispered.
She smiled a full, true smile and in a mess of curls, threw her arms around him, burying her face in his soft t-shirt once again.
"But you never did tell me why you weren't talking to me."
At this he felt her body stiffen. "It isn't really that important, actually," she told him earnestly, but he could tell that this wasn't the truth. Suddenly, an idea came to him.
"Hermione, have you ever played the game truth?"
"No. Why?"
He smiled slyly down at her, where her arms were still wrapped around his torso. "I just thought it would be fun to play."
"Well, tell me the rules," she requested as she unwound her arms from him and sat cross legged on the bed, facing him. He did the same so that they mirrored each other.
"Okay. It's pretty simple. We just ask each other questions, back and forth. The twist is that any question can be asked, and you have to tell the truth."
She nodded, biting her bottom lip subconsciously.
"You can ask first then," Ron told her.
"Anything?" she asked. It was a rhetorical question. "Why do you scratch your neck when you're nervous?"
"I don't know. It's a habit, I guess. Describe your best friend."
She laughed, and it was music to Ron's ears. "Well, let's see… He is tall, incredibly tall. With red hair, I might add. He loves food more than anything in the world, and hates school. But he listens to what you have to say and can be sensitive. His emotions do range a bit more than that of a teaspoon, as far as I am concerned. Is he anyone you might know?" She added the last part on innocently, batting her eyelashes and trying to suppress her giggles.
"Sounds like a decent bloke." Ron's ears turned bright red as he smiled shyly down at her.
"My turn," Hermione warned as she leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. "Why don't you like Vicky?" She asked, imitating the way Ron said his name: dripping with sarcasm and hatred.
Ron looked down suddenly, his confidence gone. After a moment of his silence, Hermione urged him to continue.
"I won't laugh, promise," she told him solemnly, removing one of her elbows to draw an "x" across her heart.
At this, Ron was the one who laughed, but he became serious as he remembered the question he was to answer.
"Fine," he sighed after a great internal battle. He knew he couldn't back out now. It was his idea to play this game in the first place.
Matching her pose by leaning forward onto his knees, he took a long breath out. "I was jealous." He shrugged casually, as if it was no big deal at all for him.
"Of Viktor? Why?"
"Hey! It's my turn to ask, remember?" He was glad for the excuse.
Hermione sighed, frustrated. "Fine," she pouted, and for a second Ron lost his train of thought as he watched the way she pursed her lips. Breaking out of his fantasy, he had a thought. She kissed me with those lips. There is no lying about that.
With this newfound courage from his epiphany, he fired away. "Why have you ignored me for the last two weeks?"
She looked down as she answered him quietly. "I thought… I thought that you thought… I was afraid that you didn't like me." As she spoke, a slight blush came over her cheeks, but, trying to hide it, she began to study the pattern of Ron's bedspread.
"But I do like you! Hermione you are my best friend!" he exclaimed before he gave himself a chance to think about the true meaning of her words.
"Ron," she cringed. "That's not what I meant."
"Oh," was all Ron could muster.
"So, do you like me?" she asked, hastily adding "as more than a friend, I mean?"
"Yes." He answered surely and without hesitation, not wanting to scorch her heart with anticipation, the way his was feeling.
He was amazed at how much that one word affected her. She squealed like a little girl, giddy with excitement. Once she had calmed, she stared deeply into Ron's blue eyes, trying to read his thoughts. As she studied him, she realized that his expression was an emotion that she had never seen before, and most definitely not on him.
Abruptly, both of them became conscious of how close their faces had become. Immediately disregarding this new realization, though, Hermione surprised Ron yet again. Releasing one of her arms, she ran her hand through his hair, leaving it to settle on the back of his neck.
"I have another question for you," Ron started softly. Hermione nodded. "But, it is more of an experiment. Is that alright?"
"Mhm," Hermione sighed.
Slowly, Ron began to move forward towards her, a fire burning behind his soft eyes before he closed them. He paused, their lips merely an inch apart, and Hermione's eyelids fluttered closed too.
In an instant, Ron gently pressed his lips against hers, savoring the striking taste of her strawberry lip balm. She kissed back with hunger and eagerness, loving every second of it as he was.
"Ron." She whispered his name against his lips, making his whole body tremble. In a moment of need to get closer, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and as he did so she put both arms around his neck, running both her hands through his hair over and over again.
She pulled back after a bit, needing precious oxygen. As they sat, smiling like fools, Ron put his hands on either side of her face, cradling it gently as she blushed deeply.
"I need to tell you something," he told her earnestly. "I lied before, you know, about liking you." He stopped and realized what he had said. A look of agony dawned on her face.
"Wha-," she began to exclaim accusingly, looking hurt, but Ron stopped her.
"No, no, no. That isn't what I meant. Let me finish," he assured her, placing another kiss on her forehead, cheek, nose, and lingering a bit longer on her lips before pulling back to look at her again. "I have been thinking about this for a good part of the last three years. Actually, since I saw you with Krum at the Yule ball. I don't like you; I'm in love with you." He whispered the last part, but she had no trouble hearing it.
Hermione launched herself at him, much like she had that day nearly two weeks ago. She stood on her knees so that her head was slightly higher than his and kissed with so much passion, Ron felt he might be dreaming. With her hands still clasped at the back of his neck, she tried to pull him closer, leaning onto him so that their chests were pressed together.
To support her weight, Ron wrapped his arms more tightly around her waist, accidentally brushing his arm against the bare skin on her back, making her moan into his mouth. Chuckling into the kiss, he began tracing patters on her back where her shirt wasn't covering it, making her moan even loader.
Abruptly, Ron fell backwards, because his muscles had gone weak at the sounds she was making. So naturally, she fell with him, where they both landed with a thud on Ron's mattress, Hermione partially on to of him.
Hermione began to laugh, so Ron couldn't help but laugh along too. Keeping the giggling Hermione in his arms, he rolled over onto his side so they were both lying on the bed.
Sobering up, she rested her head in the crook of his neck. "Perfect fit," she mumbled lowly, more to herself than too Ron. But he heard and let out a final chuckle, his chest vibrating underneath her head.
Taking one of the hands that was wrapped around her waist, she began to play with his fingers, until he realized what she was doing and wove their fingers together. "Do you really mean it?"
"Mean what?" Ron joked.
She whacked him gently. "You prat."
"Of course I do."
"Then say it," she challenged as she craned her neck to meet his eyes.
"Hermione Jean Granger, I love you."
She began to laugh and cry at the same time, burying her face in his chest, breathing in his scent. She felt his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand and shivered involuntarily. She smiled as she felt him kiss the top of her head and felt him inhale the smell of her hair.
"Since fourth year? What took you so long?" she asked jokingly, laughing again. She knew far well that Ron would take his time getting around to things important.
"I didn't know if you would feel the same. I guess I was afraid of rejection," he stated.
"Well I guess you got lucky, because I love you too, you prat."
A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! I would love some reviews… Did you love it, hate it, or what?