Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all those associated belong to J.K. Rowling. But I expect you know that already, seeing as you've chosen this fic to read. Enjoy.
"Will you kiss me?" She stared at him in utter amazement, schoolgirl-innocent brown eyes wide with shock. "I said," he repeated, "will you kiss me?" Hermione's eyelids fluttered and a pasty white, petite hand flew to her mouth. Impatiently now, her companion demanded, "Will you or will you not kiss me?" She considered, running a sticky tongue along thin lips. She sat solemnly in a remote section of the Hogwarts Grounds, a tree branch length's away from Ron, who was as of now staring dejectedly off into the distance and scowling deeply. Hermione had to admit that his proposal was a good one. Here they were, nearing sixteen, and neither one of them, pathetically, had ever been kissed.
Hermione sighed. She wanted and needed to be kissed, but Ron asking her was both a letdown and a surprise. When she did kiss someone, she kind of wanted it to be special, with a special person. Even Viktor, who swept her off her feet and gave her a place to stay for one whole summer, did not engage in the teenage ritual of snogging with Hermione.
"We should, you know." Ron interrupted Hermione's thoughts, and she turned to face him. His tone sounded gentler now, more coaxing than demanding. "It would be downright embarrassing if we didn't." He pointed out. She had to agree.
"Would it be-just strictly platonic? No strings attached?" Hermione asked, speaking for the first time since Ron had suggested it.
"Of course," he assured, scooting a few feet closer to Hermione, a movement that sent unpleasant shivers up the girl's spine.
"Well…" Her resolve was softening. Did she really want her license before her first kiss? They were best friends, after all. How much could it hurt? "All right." She sighed. Ron smiled victoriously and placed himself at Hermione's immediate right. She held her breath as she might before jumping off the high dive or claiming a tremendous, see-through lie. She could smell Ron before she could taste him and the scent alone made her woozy, despite her qualms.
Kissing, Hermione decided, was in a whole not unlike riding a bike for the first time. There are the first few, wobbly pedals, the growth of confidence and speed, and finally the flying rush that seems near drinkable in its pleasure. She could only pray that she would not hit a curb and smack against pavement in an utter burnout, as she had during her own first bike ride. Hermione expected kissing to be this good. She had a critical mind: why would people make such a fuss over it if it weren't fantastic?
She was not prepared for the feeling she would get when the kiss ended, however. Leaning back, breath coming out in ragged gasps, she saw Ron. And for the first time in her entire life, she saw Ron.
Minutes ago, Ron was Ron, tall, freckled, redheaded Ron. One of Hermione's best friends. Now Hermione perceived Ron differently. He was handsome. Somewhere in the past few years, he had lost all awkwardness and began to fit into his own skin. He was no longer gangly, but instead lithe and still lean. A strong chin had balanced out the previously large nose and created a young George Clooney kind of impression in Ron's face. His eyes sparked a new fire in her, a fire of-what? Lust? Was that what she had became? Hermione shook her head fiercely and broke away from Ron's gaze.
"Well that was…different." He noted, clearing his throat and unceremoniously leaping down from the low tree branch. Hermione nodded absently, annoyed that she had let herself see Ron in a romantic way. What was she, ignorant? What self-respecting girl let herself become bedazzled by one little kiss? Following his lead, she jumped to the ground and headed into the castle, walking beside Ron, if not exactly with him.
"She is pretty," Harry exclaimed, with a slight intake of breath. Ron, beside him, smiled drunkenly, his eyes completely glazed over. Just across the room from them, standing so damn sexily it was hard not to drool, was Ivannah Blowalot. Ivannah, or Ivy, had just transferred from Trenton, New Jersey. She was not your typical beauty, but a woman whose seductive gaze could drop a man at five hundred feet.
Ivy could not be from Trenton, Hermione surmised. Trenton girls, judging from the American exchange students they had housed previously at Hogwarts, were not beauties. Not beauties like Ivy, anyway. What central Jersey girl had hair that luminous, eyes shaped that oval, lips that luscious? Even more dismal was the fact that there were no traces of makeup on Ivy's perfect face. She was either born deformed and had undergone numerous plastic surgeries, or was just plain lucky. Hermione couldn't stand her either way. She flirted incessantly, and obviously cared more about herself than any other person in the room. She didn't seem to notice that her ass was practically falling out of her mini skirt, or that it was evident that her cleavage was larger than a grown woman's was. From the lollipop she was lolling about in her mouth beguilingly, it was manifest that she possessed no gag reflex whatsoever. Hermione didn't even want to think about that.
All over the room, teenage boys were following Ivy's every alluring move with ecstasy. Even Snape had paused his hateful stare to marvel at Ivy's oh-so-popular buttocks. It being her first day at Hogwarts, she had not yet been Sorted, and took her time swaying up to Dumbledore and the Hat. She could feel each pair of male eyes on her lower back, and used the moment to turn, smile captivatingly, and twinkle her melting chocolate pupils.
"Blowalot, Ivannah?" The headmaster read from a transcript he held. Ivy winked, waved with charm pouring from her fingertips to the crowd, and pranced to a seat on the stool. Instantaneously, the hat burst into song.
She utilized the thirty seconds of prose wisely (or so the boys thought). Flipping back waves of mahogany tresses, Ivy batted her eyelashes and fingered a sterling silver bracelet that hung just the right length away from her ivory wrist.
Ron panted at his seat. He concluded that looking at Ivannah was agonizing, because of her sexy splendor, and not looking at her was equally tormenting, because of her comeliness. He didn't hear a word of the Sorting Hat's song, too transfixed on the natural, perfect curves of Ivy's body only a dozen or so yards ahead. Seated beside him, Harry was draped over his chair in a total lack of strength to function with.
"RAVENCLAW!" The hat shrieked, jerking the boys out of their reverie. The male members of Ravenclaw jumped to a standing ovation, whilst the other masculine beings (and some who were not) deflated unhappily. As the student body milled out of the hall, action over for the day, Hermione did not take her place next to Harry and Ron. Instead, she sought out Ginny in an utter panic.
"I can't believe it!" Hermione yelped to the fire-haired girl, upon finding her. Ginny nodded in solemn agreement, swiveling around her head to see not Ivy but the massive cluster of boys that surrounded her. Surprisingly enough, there were a few girls clamoring to associate with the already popular Ivy. Ginny frowned.
"She's intoxicated all of them," Ginny remarked disapprovingly. "I mean, every single guy must have a boner by now!" Sadly, her outburst was correct. Although teenage boys are prone to become aroused by even the smallest of sexual subtleties, it was clear that Ivy passed by the 'small sexual subtlety' mark and than some.
"Hey, Ginny," Hermione suddenly said, "would you like to sleep with me in my dormitory tonight? It's Friday, so we don't have classes tomorrow or anything. Besides, you can keep me from thinking about my hatred for that future playboy bunny too much."
"Well, I'm not sure I can help you out with that," she replied, "because I'm feeling a little pissed off myself. But I can sleep over anyway." Ginny smiled, and Hermione found herself grinning, in spite of Ivannah's upsetting arrival.
Later that same night,