Summary: Never in his wildest dreams did he think that he would be professing his love for Hermione to McGonagall... What the bloody hell was the world coming to? Ron learns first hand that, yes, you can die from complete and utter humiliation.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any relating plots or characters.

Inadvertent Confessions

By Ardent Ly

Never in his seventeen years of living did Ron Weasley think that he would die of complete and utter humiliation. He always fancied the idea of meeting his Maker dueling some Death Eater or high-class criminal or perhaps even in the hands of a loose dragon when he visited Charlie in Romania. When he was feeling particularly festive, he would entertain the idea of dying a tragic, heroic death, like being killed by some rogue Bludger after he had won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor.

But no, he was going to die with his face all pasty, ears an unflattering shade of red, and left eye mid-twitch all because he was idiotic enough to hand in his never-meant-to-be-see-by-another-soul love letter. Honestly, who died like that?

It had all started with a spat about something or the other they had gotten into earlier that day. Having lost in another battle of the wits – not unusual, seeing as his opponent was the wittiest witch he had ever come across – he decided to take out his rage onto the parchment meant for the Transfiguration essay he had due the next day. His words started out bitter and callous, with even the long, sharp strokes of his quill expressing his anger. Somewhere along the line, however, he got into talking about the way her irises would glowed caramel whenever they had a row and the way he wondered if her infamously untameable hair was as soft as it looked. Eventually, the notorious three words spilled out onto the parchment, but he felt no shame. It was the first time he had ever really allowed himself to express it, even if only using ink and paper. He went off in a complete tangent after that, even repeating it a few more times for good measure. Satisfied with his work, Ron had signed his – what he admitted to be a love – letter with a flourish, all the rage gone and replaced with a bliss he could only feel for loving Hermione Granger.

His contentment, of course, just had to be interrupted by a dose of idiocy when he realized too late that the scroll tucked into his rucksack was not his letter, but his essay. Thinking on it now, he made a fist, moulding his fingers into the roll of parchment in his right hand.

"Now, where would I be if I were a batty old spinster hell-bent on ruining children's lives with essays?" He mumbled to himself. "The Transfiguration classroom! Of course!" With a set destination, he pumped his long legs down the corridors and ever-shifting staircases, praying to anyone who would listen that McGonagall hadn't left for the night. He brushed off the startled gasps and inquiries from the paintings he passed along the way and successfully dodged every ghost in his path, disliking the shivers that wracked his body every time he walked through one. He was just about ready to collapse by the time he reached the classroom and that was the state McGonagall found him in as she opened the large double doors, clearly ready to settle down for the evening.

She looked upon him in unveiled curiosity. "Mr. Weasley? My goodness, you've never been one to come by for a friendly chat, so I daresay, what are you doing here so late in the evening?"

He squirmed under her gaze, his skin flaming unintentionally. "Uh, you see, Professor, I was in the library earlier, reading up on the, er, subject that you were teaching us last week and I know it's a little late, but I wanted to add some new information to my essay." He presented his crumpled essay. "So, uh, here you go."

McGonagall made no move to receive it, but merely raised a sharp eyebrow in suspicion. "I'm sure what you have already submitted will be acceptable, Mr. Weasley. Now, I suggest you hurry along to your dormitories; it's almost past curfew." She replied in a clipped tone.

"No! I mean, you see, uh, I also realized that I didn't quite reach the twenty-five inch requirement, and I know how particular you are about essay length. Please, Professor, let me hand this in!" If she was surprised at his pleading tone, she didn't show it. The tight-lipped witch continued to stare at him with her eyebrow still high on her forehead, the expression on her face telling him that she was trying to determine just what he was up to.

"Come now, Mr. Weasley, enough of this. As you well know, I am not one to accept late assignments without an appropriate reason." She shifted through the pile of parchment levitating at her side. Eventually, she stopped at one and separated it from the rest. "Ah, here is your paper. It's not as lengthy as I had instructed it to be, but I'm sure that you will make up for those lost marks with the quality of your content." She nearly jumped from her seat as a terrified "Don't!" brought her eyes up from the page and back to the red-headed boy in front of her. The anxious look on his face had been replaced with one that made him appear as if he were in physical pain. "Really, Mr. Weasley, what is the meaning of this?"

Ron began to wrack his brain for an excuse – any excuse – to keep her from reading his besotted words. Blimey, he was never writing another letter again! After painfully gasping through nonsensical, half-arsed explanations, he sighed and gave up his plight. "Alright, you see, Professor, I accidentally handed in a letter instead of my essay." Both eyebrows were raised now and much to his relief, she lowered the parchment back onto her desk.

"I see, Mr. Weasley." She said mildly, perching her rounded spectacles a top her head. "And may I inquire the nature of this letter? You do realize, of course, that as Deputy Headmistress, it is my responsibility to ensure the well-being and safety of all the students, and so if this a threatening letter of some kind –"

"It's nothing like that," he was quick to reassure, desperately trying to keep her eyes on him and away from the words that may well be his undoing. "I promise. It's just a letter. Utter nonsense really, I was just writing to my brothers to see if they could send me a pair of their old Quidditch gloves. Y'know, for the game next week." He began to sweat profusely under her critical stare, praying to every deity he could think of that the old bat would believe him.

Lady luck refused to throw him a bone. "I wasn't aware that you would be playing next week's game, Mr. Weasley. From my understanding, Professor Snape has issued both you and Mr. Potter detention for –" She peered disapprovingly at the detention slip resting among her list of other memos. "– 'unnecessarily disrupting his class.'"

"He set it for Saturday?" The red-headed boy exploded, momentarily forgetting his current dilemma. "But, he can't do that, Professor! He knew Harry and I would be playing that day! You have to do something, Professor; otherwise Gryffindor will lose the Cup!"

"I'm afraid it's out of my hands, Mr. Weasley. You should know by now that there are consequences when you break school rules." McGonagall replied firmly, readjusting herself after his forceful statement. "As for the game next Saturday, I'm sure Miss Weasley and the others will be more than capable of handling themselves on the field. Now, I must insist that you head back to your dormitory." The old witch was just about to turn and leave when Ron stepped fully in her path, having just been jolted back into his present situation.

"No wait, please, Professor! I need that letter!" The desperation in his voice sickened even him, but he knew any shred of pride he might have left would disintegrate completely if he allowed McGonagall to get away with his letter.

"Really now, Mr. Weasley, what is the meaning of this?" She demanded, pulling his treasure further away from him.

Nearly in hysterics, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "It's a love letter!" He admitted unintentionally, finally cracking under the pressure. The blues of his eyes popped out prominently in abashment, his face blanching just as he predicted. "So, erm, I really need it back, please, Professor. It's… erm…bloody hell... I never meant for anyone else to see it. You've seen my work; I'm not very good with my words." Ron was almost positive that he had been possessed as his mouth continued to move, and he had to physically restrain himself from searching the corridor to see if perhaps Peeves had hexed him into babbling. "I know she probably thinks I'm a right git and the last thing I want is for her to read about how much I like her hair! The smartest witch at Hogwarts deserves better than a stupid letter, after all, and –" He whitened even further at another inadvertent confession, the tips of his ears looking ready to burst into flames at any moment.

The reaction set on McGonagall's face was not what he anticipated at all. She looked relieved and inordinately pleased, reactions he was not used to seeing whenever she was addressing him."Well, Mr. Weasley, I urge you to take care the next time. You never know whose hands something like this may just fall into." She advised as she handed him his curled up his letter, sounding strangely amused. "And might I impart a bit of advice?" He nodded numbly. "Letters are meant for sending, not keeping." Her disguised encouragement did nothing to ease him, but he muttered a low thanks regardless, handing her his assignment. "Now, do get to bed. I believe we have class tomorrow morning." He turned to leave with preamble, managing a quick "Good night!" and turning the corner before he could embarrass himself any further.

Grinning uncharacteristically wide, she slipped back into her darkened classroom, looking smugly at the dazed young witch looking just about ready to collapse down to the floor. "The same goes to you, Miss Granger. I understand that you've had a… particularly eventful night, so I will turn a blind eye tonight if you choose to visit the Gryffindor common room before heading to the Heads' quarters. Run along now."

Slowly, as if sleep-walking, Hermione gingerly picked herself up and headed towards Gryffindor Tower, her body was practically humming with giddiness. "He meant it… he really meant it. And he likes my hair." McGonagall heard the girl sigh atypically as she breezed by her. She felt a maternal pride as she saw her unofficial favorite student look happier and much younger than she had ever seen.

The older witch smiled for the umpteenth time that evening, shaking her head at the silliness of young love. "I do hope he gets around to realizing that he misspelt "adoration" in the third paragraph." Locking up quickly, she changed her course of direction, choosing instead to visit the dungeons. "Now, to collect my winnings."

There you have it! I hope you all enjoyed it! I think Ron is just absolutely adorable, don't you? I hope I stayed in character, I had a particularly hard time trying to portray Hermione's reaction at the end. I know she may seem rather air-headed, but I'm fairly confident that any girl, regardless of how studious she may be, would feel downright giddy if she found out the boy she loved felt the same way hahaha.

All the very best,

Ardie