A/N: Bonjour. It's me, Coeur De Lion again, after such a long time. I've
had a bitter case of writers' block, so I've decided until someone helps me
figure out what to do, I'm uploading a R/Hr story that I absolutely
looooove. So hopefully you'll love it, too. And then everyone would be
happy, right? Right. So, here's the first chapter of the new story. Hope
you like it. Oh, and don't forget to review. Because if you do, I will
love you. Bisou bisou. Kiss kiss. Ah yes, flames are used to roast
marshmallows. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my other stories. If you
like L/J, go check them out. And thanks and love to my best friends who
encourage me in my writing. They know who they are. On to the story.
Ron Weasley, Head Boy, Keeper of Gryffindor Quidditch Team and Best Friend of the Boy Who Wouldn't Die, was exhausted, to say the least. After a 280 to 190 win over Slytherin, all Ron wanted was a bath. He was feeling rather sweaty, sticky, and smelly. In short, disgusting.
Ron trudged down the hallway toward the statue of Boris the Bewildered. He leaned heavily against the door, softly saying Custard Squiggles. He sighed, contented to enjoy a long, hot bath all alone, without having to worry about anything. The past few weeks had been rather stressful (to put it lightly). Harry, the newly elected Quidditch Captain of Gryffindor, had increased the number of practices to five times a week, and while Ron had improved immensely since 5th year, and was enjoying it thoroughly, coming back to Gryffindor Tower covered in mud was not Ron's favorite cup of tea.
He enjoyed the weekends, such as this one when, usually after a game, he could come to the Prefects' Bathroom, lock the door, and soak all alone until he looked like a redheaded prune. Ron smiled and turned the knob, anticipating the solitude.
Except, as he found out, after walking in and feeling his jaw hit the floor, he wasn't alone.
Hermione Granger, Head Girl, Resident Bookworm of Gryffindor Tower, and also Best Friend of the Boy Who Was Still Living, was relaxed.
The week had been tough, with Professors McGonagall and Snape piling on much homework in preparation for the Newts, which were only seven months away! Hermione also, though not yet having to use a Time Turner, was still taking more classes than anyone else. Her workload was double the amount of Harry and Ron's combined. However, she often liked to relieve some of her tensions with long baths in the Prefects' Bathroom, such as the one she was enjoying right now.
Yes, Hermione had crept down to the Prefects' Bathroom in order to achieve some peace and quiet. It was the perfect time to be there too, right after the Quidditch match, when everyone would be celebrating the win in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw houses, or bemoaning their defeat in Slytherin. No one would even think of coming to the Prefects' Bathroom for at least a few more hours. Aside from the candle-filled chandelier, Hermione had lit a few extra sweet-smelling candles and placed them strategically around the room, giving it a dim shadowed look. Moaning Myrtle was nowhere to be found and the mermaid in the painting had disappeared, off to visit another work of art. Hermione had charmed the library book, Quidditch Through the Ages to be water-proof. She was wearing a swimsuit for decency's sake, but she really needn't have bothered, because she had locked the door.
Or had she?
Hermione couldn't remember. So, not wanting to risk it, she stood and suddenly her stomach lurched.
The door had begun to open.
Ron Weasley, Head Boy, Keeper of Gryffindor Quidditch Team and Best Friend of the Boy Who Wouldn't Die, was exhausted, to say the least. After a 280 to 190 win over Slytherin, all Ron wanted was a bath. He was feeling rather sweaty, sticky, and smelly. In short, disgusting.
Ron trudged down the hallway toward the statue of Boris the Bewildered. He leaned heavily against the door, softly saying Custard Squiggles. He sighed, contented to enjoy a long, hot bath all alone, without having to worry about anything. The past few weeks had been rather stressful (to put it lightly). Harry, the newly elected Quidditch Captain of Gryffindor, had increased the number of practices to five times a week, and while Ron had improved immensely since 5th year, and was enjoying it thoroughly, coming back to Gryffindor Tower covered in mud was not Ron's favorite cup of tea.
He enjoyed the weekends, such as this one when, usually after a game, he could come to the Prefects' Bathroom, lock the door, and soak all alone until he looked like a redheaded prune. Ron smiled and turned the knob, anticipating the solitude.
Except, as he found out, after walking in and feeling his jaw hit the floor, he wasn't alone.
Hermione Granger, Head Girl, Resident Bookworm of Gryffindor Tower, and also Best Friend of the Boy Who Was Still Living, was relaxed.
The week had been tough, with Professors McGonagall and Snape piling on much homework in preparation for the Newts, which were only seven months away! Hermione also, though not yet having to use a Time Turner, was still taking more classes than anyone else. Her workload was double the amount of Harry and Ron's combined. However, she often liked to relieve some of her tensions with long baths in the Prefects' Bathroom, such as the one she was enjoying right now.
Yes, Hermione had crept down to the Prefects' Bathroom in order to achieve some peace and quiet. It was the perfect time to be there too, right after the Quidditch match, when everyone would be celebrating the win in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw houses, or bemoaning their defeat in Slytherin. No one would even think of coming to the Prefects' Bathroom for at least a few more hours. Aside from the candle-filled chandelier, Hermione had lit a few extra sweet-smelling candles and placed them strategically around the room, giving it a dim shadowed look. Moaning Myrtle was nowhere to be found and the mermaid in the painting had disappeared, off to visit another work of art. Hermione had charmed the library book, Quidditch Through the Ages to be water-proof. She was wearing a swimsuit for decency's sake, but she really needn't have bothered, because she had locked the door.
Or had she?
Hermione couldn't remember. So, not wanting to risk it, she stood and suddenly her stomach lurched.
The door had begun to open.