Author's Note, Disclaimer, etc.: This is my first posted attempt at HP fanfiction after a long while of X-Files fanfictionry...i appreciate all feedback (good or constructive) but please be nice :) I don't own nor did I create any of the characters herein, they all belong to the magnificent JK Rowling. I'm just playing with them for a lil while :)
Hermione Granger had just had herself a good, hard cry. (How could I lose control like that??) She fumed internally as she paced the corridor outside the Gryffindor Common Room. (Right there, on the steps of the Great Hall, of all places - and over Ronald Weasley, of all people!)
"You, There!" A rugged, wizened voice called from a painting of two old wizards, usually engrossed in discussion in their armchairs.
"Bit late for all that pacing , I'd say!". Hermione ignored the voice and changed direction, heading back from whence she'd come nearly a half-an-hour before. Her long skirt caught under one heel, and she heard a sickening rip. She heaved a disgusted sigh at this latest hell of her already hellacious evening.
The clock high on the cluttered wall began to sound, and Hermione was amazed to find the chimes didn't stop after two tolls, as she'd expected, but continued on for one more exclamation of the late hour. Realizing the time, the latest she'd ever been to the common room, she sighed resignedly and turned back to stand in front of the portrait which marked the entrance.
"Mistletoe," she spoke dejectedly to the snoring, rotund woman who called this painting home, who snored on obvliviously. "Mistletoe!" she repeated impatiently, but the Fat Lady dozed on, apparently under a spell cast, perhaps, by the now-empty brandy bottle laying askew on her slumbering lap.
"Ugh! Ronald Weasley, this is all your doing!" Hermione exclaimed to no one in particular.
"Oh yeah?" A familiar voice behind her slurred, "and how do you reckon that one out?
Hermione winced and then rolled her eyes. (It would be him, wouldn't it?) She thought. She didn't turn, but crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side.
"Been sharing bottles with the Fat Lady, have you Ronald?" Hermione intoned tartly.
"Don't change the subject, you," Ron said with a poke to Hermione's shoulder.
"Turn around, 'Mione, look at me," he requested in a tone Hermione didn't recognize. She hesitated.
"Please." This was a tone clearly recognizable to Hermione as being pleading and almost resigned. She turned, eyes on the floor.
"Now what's this I'm being held responsible for?" Ron inquired. Hermione, eyes still on the floor, flushed but remained silent.
"Fine, have it your way, 'Mione," Ron huffed, and rapped smartly on the door concealed by the Fat Lady's painting, but to no apparent avail. "Wake up, woman!" He exclaimed, head thrown back in frustration. The Fat Lady's deep snores remained regular and uninterrupted, however, and Ron sank exasperatedly down the wall to the floor, coming to rest with his head on his lanky knees. Hermione attempted once more to change the subject.
"And what've you been up to all this time, Ronald"
Ron rose from his squat against the wall, and seemed to consider his answer. He said: "Watching you pace the halls. Been nearly an hour, actually." Hermione, who had finally raised her eyes to Ron lowered them again. She took a deep breath and regained her composure.
"And?!" She demanded. "It's none of your business what I was doing!" She finished, brown eyes blazing.
"Oh, but I think it is, seeing as how apparently it's all my doing"
Ron stepped closer to Hermione.
"I'm sorry, 'Mione." Ron looked genuinely contrite, and Hermione was stunned into momentary silence by his change in attitude. Quickly, however, Hermione once again managed to find use of her vocal cords.
"You should be!" She exclaimed, turning from Ron, who looked quite surprised at this very un-Hermione-like outburst, to pace once more in front of him.
"YOU are the reason I've been pacing for nearly an hour, YOU are the reason I'm locked out of the bloody Common Room," her eyes widened at the vulgarity which had never before passed her lips. "YOU are the reason I'm a pacing, cursing lunatic! I don't curse! It's you and your bloody petty jealousy! And your bloody cowardice." She added this last softly, regretting it almost at once. Her pacing came to a stop directly in front of Ron once more, and the hard, angry look in his darkening eyes turned her regret to something different.
"Don't you dare call me a coward." Ron replied barely above a whisper as he leaned in closer to Hermione.
"But you ARE, Ronald! Don't you see, you should've asked me to the Yule Ball long before you did! And then we wouldn't have to deal with this ridiculous jealousy of yours, would we, Ronald?" She fairly spat his name.
"I'm not a coward," he whispered vehemently, his lips inches from Hermione's. She knew what was on his mind, he was so close his breath ruffled the strands of hair hanging in her face.
"Show m-" Hermione was interrupted as Ron closed the last few inches between them to smash his lips against hers.
She tensed.
And then lost herself in his kiss. It was fierce and almost feral in its longing, and then it was soft and sweet, and almost, Hermione was afraid, remorseful. And then it was over.
And Ron was walking away.
"Wh - Ron!" Hermione called after him. "Ronald!" He kept walking down the stairs almost disappearing out of sight, until finally Hermione shouted, "I was right! I was bloody well right! You coward!" She screamed this last and Ron froze momentarily, but Harry had chosen this inopportune moment to pop out of the portrait hole. By the time Hermione turned back, away from Harry's drowsy inquiries, Ron was gone.
"Ugh!" Hermione grunted in disgust and pushed herself past Harry and into the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry, looking sleepily bewildered, followed, finally waking the Fat Lady with the bang of the door shutting.
"Password??" She inquired of the open air, a decided slur to her speech.