Nervous. Twitchy. Anxious. Scared, most definitely.

I'm restless, tapping my foot as I sit in the kitchen of my flat patiently awaiting her arrival. She asked for the follow up date, but I know why she did it. I don't think she will ever be able to look me in the eyes again after last night, and she's just coming over to break it to me easily. That has to be it.

I'm glancing down at my watch and back up at the clock, hoping that one or the other will be even a second slower. I don't want her over because I can't hear her say it because I just know she hated it, no matter what she said.

My mind goes completely blank and I'm only aware of two things: a distinct lack of feeling in my legs and a sad smile on the face of the woman beneath me. It's a look of total and utter disappointment.

"Ron?" she whispers over to me as I slump to the edge of the bed with a defeated sag in my shoulders.

"Ron?" Again. I don't want to look at her. No, that's an outright lie, I want to look at her but I can't face the laughter, the prodding, or the look of discontent on her face.

I'm an idiot, I keep telling myself. Hermione never wanted to be with me, she just got caught up in a wayward kiss that turned into something that she couldn't just avoid and had been too polite to break up. Why then did she agree to the second, third, and latest date? I push away that thought, considering it hopeless and too optimistic.

Finally I give in and speak up.

"'m sorry, about… about this. I'll just leave." But she grabs my shoulder and, with a strength that catches me entirely off guard, pulls me back on to the bed. I hesitate to turn around but eventually I look back at her. I can't quite place what I'm seeing on her face, so I assume the worst.

"What do you mean, 'sorry'? Just because you… well, just because I didn't – you know that's fine and perfectly ordinary." She's gently rubbing my arm now and I want to avoid any contact with her because of what it's doing to me, so I shrug off her tiny hand. I don't look back but I can feel the hurt coming from her.

"I was rubbish. It was only, what, a minute or two? I… you know, got off and you just…" I'm stumbling over my words, not entirely noticing what I had said to her, "I'll be going now."

I left after that, not paying any attention to her calling me back in. I was just delaying the inevitable now, especially after just leaving like that. However, she talked to me first thing in the morning over the phone she forced me to get and told me – she didn't ask – that she had to talk to me. I know what that means.

I glance back up at the clock and down again at my watch, hoping that time could just stop for a brief moment. I cared a stupid amount for this girl, a totally insane amount that - I'll only ever be able to admit this to myself now - made me go wobbly in the knees and ties up my tongue, and this was it. I sped it up, took the relationship to a level she was uncomfortable with, and then underperformed when she agreed to it.

I'm laughing, suddenly, because it's all a big joke to me. She'll come in with George and throw up exploding confetti, telling me they had planned this ever since fourth year and that I was on the front page of the Prophet. Yeah, everyone loves a good laugh at Ron's expense don't they? Now I want the time to fly, waiting for the influx of Ginny and the rest of my family to follow suit and point and laugh at me. Of course, it seems to slow down now.

I'll join in. Maybe I'll even work up the nerve to talk to the attractive waitress at the café just down the street and start a relationship with someone I won't disappoint every step of the way. After all, she doesn't really know me and if she laughs at my minute-man status I wouldn't really care.

But I shake that thought off almost instantly and renew my tapping. Nervous, nervous tapping. I can't even think about anyone else after that night, and it's going to make the whole thing worse. I might see if I could have that memory wiped or try it myself, just so I can get worked up over anyone else.

I tried not to look like I had just opened a Christmas present, but I could feel my eyes widen and my mouth turn into a probably hilarious grin when we finally tumbled into the bed. I know she could feel me pressing further into her thigh, and I know she was trying to hide her discomfort as best she could – and she did, she actually broke an extremely believable smile when she reached down and felt my erection. I probably would have ended an even more embarrassing awkward mess if she hadn't immediately moved her hands behind her back.

And that's where the childlike wonderment set in. I'd seen Lavender's tits, once, and they were nothing spectacular from what I could tell. They were just bits of skin that sat nicely and didn't do much other than what my body couldn't help react to, but Hermione was a bit different. I didn't immediately latch my eyes onto Lavender's, and I certainly didn't nearly break through my trousers when she moved my hand towards one.

She looked nervous, almost scared, when my hand covered hers and nearly half of the valley between the other one. She smacked my hand away after that and I was thoroughly put out. After that, though, things got worse. I didn't time it, I'm not fucking crazy, but it couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes.

Then there's a knock at the door. A small but forceful one and I know whose it is. I slowly make my way to the door and pull it ajar just the tiniest fraction. Hermione's standing outside, ready to knock again, when I see her. Her hair's tied back up around her, wearing a light jacket and smiling. She's fucking smiling at me… what kind of sick joke is this?

I don't say anything, unlock the door, and turn around before walking over to the sofa. May as well be comfortable when I'm plucked apart, right?

She steps in and I catch another smile, and this one is equally as sincere I think. Or at least I want it to be. I'm staring a little bit, noticing that I like it when her hair is tied up like this. The wilderness of curls is always, and will always, be her number one look, but her smile seems endless when her hair is tied up and I love it when she does it. If it's a genuine smile that means she's happy and, naturally, I am too.

"About last night," she interrupts my thoughts that must have seemed like a long, awkward staring contest, "I want to talk about it."

Here we go. Damage control time.

"Look, Ron, it happens. It was only the first time, for either of us, but it was…"

"Awful?" I butt in. She takes a turn to frown, and now I'm wishing I'd have shut my mouth.

"You thought it was awful?" I'm taken aback by the question. I couldn't last inside of her, and I could barely even put together words and a structured thought when we had sex.

"It was bloody brilliant… for me, at first y'know? You didn't… but I did." I can think the word orgasm or come but I can't say it to her? She hunches over slightly and pulls her hands over her chest, locking arms across her body and looks away from me. Biting her lip, she starts up again.

"You think you were the only one that enjoyed that? Just because I didn't…" Hermione closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, raises her brow, and continues at a rapid fire rate, "JustbecauseIdidn'torgasm does not mean that I didn't enjoy it."

I want to laugh again, mostly because she had to fight herself to say the word almost as much as I am now, but I keep my cool.

"Yeah, but I'm sure loads of guys would have gotten you going much quicker. Hell, get somebody like McLaggen in here and you'll be-"

I've been hit before. I've been smacked by mum on countless occasions, gotten into a fistfight with an angry Bill at Shell Cottage, even been hit by a few Bludgers but the open-handed smack on my face that interrupted me was painful on a few levels that I didn't really understand. The two obvious ones were surprise at the force behind it and the surprise that she did it at all, but holy hell did that hurt.

"If you think I'd rather be with an oaf like McLaggen you are seriously confused Ron. Possibly even delusional." She says it with such a matter-of-fact tone and a terrifying gleam in her eyes that I stay backed down, holding my probably red cheek, "I don't want to hear his name and mine connected by sex ever, ever again. Is that clear?"

I nod slowly, wondering exactly what was happening.

"And, for the record, I mean it. I liked it. I want it again, and I want it again with you, you dolt." Her face had calmed down from its beet-like quality from a moment earlier and I take my chance to speak.

"You do?"

She smacks herself on the forehead and sighs loudly. I guess I'm still not taking the hint.

"Honestly Ron, are you listening to yourself? Of course I do." It's my turn to be confused.

"Then why did you… why'd you smack me off your," tit, I'm thinking, "your breast?" She constricts her chest further than what it had been before and I'm left feeling more awkward than before. The constant back and forth was getting to be a headache, but at least she was openly telling me things rather than dropping what she called 'anvil-sized hints' on me.

"Well, I was… you didn't like them. You could probably barely feel anything. I didn't want to disappoint you, but I wasn't going to wear my bra when we…"

I let the long dormant laugh fire right out of me and interrupt this absolutely absurd train of thought. I look upwards and just keep going, letting my hands drop to my sides and let the hilarity of the situation come into focus: she thinks I was disappointed in her looks. When has Hermione Granger ever been this stupid?

"A-are you s-serious?" I managed to get out as my laughter dies down, "Hermione, didn't you see my face? I probably looked like I had just gotten a life-time supply of Honeydukes." She seems to remove some of the pressure from around her jacket and I see a creeping smile and a hint of a blush spread across her cheeks.

"You're damned gorgeous, Hermione!" She joins in a fit of laughter and shifts on the chair she's sitting in.

"Hardly," she says, still blushing. The hilarity's stopped and now her blushing is starting to agitate me a little bit, "I've gotten fat, my legs look like a chicken's, and let's not discuss other parts."

I'm more than a little bit mad now - I'm almost boiling over actually. She really thinks that, especially after just looking at her made my pants feel like they were two sizes too small?

"The fuck are you on about?" She shakes her head at my language, but I don't care, "Your legs are perfect, you're not even close to fat, and I just told you I'd rather have your tits than a hundred years worth of sweets." She looks at me again with a hint of confusion, along with a hint saying 'go on', and it only pushes me further. She likes hearing me say this.

"Let's discuss other parts shall we? Your hair? Perfect. The way your eyes light up when you smile? Bloody perfect, not to mention the smile. Yeah, even your smile is perfect. Whatever I felt in the bedroom isn't a millionth of what I feel when you smile. That's a fucking drug, Hermione." I'm not close to finished, but she doesn't let me. In a moment she had gone from a hint of a grin to a broad one fully fleshed out. It's reflexive, but I do the same.

"See? I couldn't help that." I point towards my mouth and try and make the grin even larger, and she follows suit, "I can help if you think you're ugly though. That's easy."

"And how do you plan on proving that to me?" She says, and I hear a hint of something else. Is she trying to be… seductive? I mentally shrug that off and continue bluntly.

"I'll give you a scenario: you undress, I have to take my pants off in fear of getting a friction burn."

"Yes, but that's simply your mammal brain taking over. You see me undress and you want to procreate." I'm enjoying this far too much, and I know she can see that as she glances downward and breaks character for a moment.

"I'll give you another then. Imagine that you're fully dressed, standing a few feet from me and talking like you're talking now, and that your hair is brought up all prim and proper." She's squeezing her lips together in what I know is her best attempt to stop from smiling again, "Guess how I react?"

"How?" She says as she stands up and pulls me from the sofa.

"Well, I'm sure you can see for yourself," I say, trying to keep this going as long as I can. She doesn't move her eyes from staring upward at me, but I can feel a hand creeping along my side and toward the zipper of my trousers.

"Oh, I think I will need to see some practical application. You know, to test your theory." Part of me doesn't believe what's happening, but another part of me is aware of what her hand is doing. Fully aware.

"See what I mean?" I lean and push my lips against hers, not able to continue a conversation anymore. She obliges and the kiss is somehow still on the forefront of my mind even as I feel a tiny hand slowly building up speed and accelerating my thought process from 'this is pretty cool' to a wall of noise and pleasure.

I must have blanked out for a moment, because now all I see is Hermione pushing me back to the sofa and taking her jacket off while straddling her legs over mine. She seems to remember our previous conversation and pulls my hands back up to her chest, and I nod and smile. Her face lights up in an instant, and somehow I'm even more aroused by that.

"What, did you think I would lie to you?" She smacks me playfully on my arms and I laugh, but soon we forget about what we said. It's all lost in a tumultuous rhythm of two bodies, and I grin through the sweat when I hear her voice break an octave higher than I've ever heard and I kiss the top of her head gently when she falls on top of me afterwards.

"Was that better?" I ask her through her now freely roaming hair. She turns her head up toward me and smiles again. Doesn't she know what that's doing to me?

"Much, much better."

A/N: I've never written anything that could be categorized as smut before. Like, ever. I've actually only ever read smut a few times and laughed doing so, but I think I got away with mixing a bit of fluff with a bit of something more. Re-reading this is still a bit funny to me and is probably the only time I'll be able to write it straight-faced, but you tell me how it is.