Okay.

I should be updating my new fic. I should. It might have some potential. Except…. I got really pissed at all the "Hermione gets all drop dead gorgeous and Ron just LOVES the new Hermione." I mean after all, she's Hermione. And I take offence to all the "no more horrible frizzy/curly hair" I happen to have lots of that hair on my own head, thank you very much.

So yes. It's not great. But I just wanted to show Hermione is great the way she is!

On with it, then.

Hermione's Oh-So-Wonderful Makeover

I watch, bemused, as Lavander and Parvati corner Hermione as she's trying to fight across the pitch to congratulate me. As much as I love her compliments, it is pretty amusing to watch her try to get around those girls who are so unlike her – with their stupid make up, thoughtless remarks, and hatred for a dangerous adventure. I remember her complaining to me once about how they always are trying to change her into a clone, like they are, and now, I thank Merlin that she was always stronger than to give in to such stupid ideas.

After all, Hermione's perfect the way she is.

But for some reason, I see her scrunching her eyebrows and nose, which she does when she's making a tough decision (although it's usually about whether she should give a counter-curse on a test or not), and she nods and turns away from where Harry and I stand, basking in the glory of having won the cup our last year at Hogwarts. We shrug at each other, and slowly make our way through the crowds to the locker room. My cheek feels just a little bit cold where I knew she would have kissed me, were it not for those girls.

The party goes on for what seems like eternity in the common room – I sit on my favorite chair, eyeing the girl's stair case. Where the bloody hell is she? Finally I see the 7th year girls coming down. Lavander and Parvati seem to have corrupted Hermione. She has donned the silliest outfit I've ever seen in this drafty old castle (a horrendously short mini skirt and some sort of shirt that is barely able to stay up, since it doesn't even have sleeves). Her wonderful, curly hair has been straightened and now has an oily shine instead of the normal soft halo of light that usually surrounds her curls. Her face has all sorts of unnatural colors on it. Who is this girl anyway? Because this isn't my friend!

The three girls scan the room quickly and when they see me, Parvati and Lavander give her this little push towards me. Poor Hermione, she almost falls due to the odd sort of heels she's wearing (I wonder why she doesn't just wear her school shoes – I sort of thought they were cute.). It seems like forever, but finally, she's next to me, and sitting in this weird position like she wants me to see her clothes. Why would I want to see her in them if they make her uncomfortable? Her voice sounds far too high to be my caramel-toned Hermione.

"Hi, Ron. Nice game today – you were great."

Why is she talking to me like this? Hermione knows I like quidditch and all, but she's always despised it. Why is she acting like one of those silly sluts who'll say whatever makes you happy?

Now she's coming and sitting on my lap. Which she's always pointed out as just a stupid move for girls who want their brains loved, not their bodies (although hers is wonderful…). I do love her brain so much. Well, I mean not her brain… like… you know, just I love Hermione. Not the shell she happened to come in which is now going through some sort of medieval torture with all those short and hard to control clothes.

We talk a little bit (without her once asking if I've studied for the NEWTs yet today) and she giggles so much I wonder vaguely if she's been charmed to do it.

"So, um… do you want to go down to the kitchens and get some hot chocolate with me?"

Hermione hates the kitchens.

But I do sort of want some of those elves' hot chocolate, now that she mentions it, and I answer slowly, "Sure… I mean if you want to."

She cackles in that high voice and says "Of course I do!" then slides off my lap, grabs my hand, and holds it as we navigate our way through the people towards the Fat Lady.

We walk down slowly, and she tickles the pear, and throws open the door and orders our chocolates, just the way I like it. But the way she asks them. She doesn't crouch down, she doesn't say please, she just you know… orders it, and I guiltily think about how much she sounds like I do.

We're sitting and drinking, and she asks me slowly, as if she's scared of my answer, what she thinks of the new her.

"Ron…. I decided, you know, since I've never even had a boyfriend, maybe… you know…. Guys would like me more? What do you think?"

My mind instantly is completely jumbled. What is she THINKING!

I start yelling. I don't know why, but suddenly, I'm mad. "Hermione, are you crazy? Is that why you're wearing all this unseemly clothing, why you've ruined your gorgeous hair, why you're wearing all that powder and colored makeup? Is that why? Because that's stupid, it is. You're a brilliant witch. Can't you tell that I love you the way you were yesterday, and the day before that, and all the days before that?"

Instantly, I curse myself. Why the bloody hell did I have to blow up at her? Why did I have to tell her I love her? But why did she do all this? Why is she acting so fake for a boyfriend?

Hermione's cowering. "Well… umm…. Ron, you know, I thought maybe Parvati and Lavender were… right?"

My face contorts to a sneer. "Oh yes. Those girls are right. They know just how to be perfect little sluts, with no brains. They can tell you whatever's going on with the most popular star or whatever else you want to know. But only you can tell me all this stupid information about Hogwarts that I would never want to know. And you're 'the brightest witch of your time'. So bright, in fact, you let them change you into a plastic doll!"

Now she's changing into herself, and yelling right back at me. Ah, Hermione, it's good to have you back. "Well I'm sorry if you've been too thick to ever see me as a girl! I'm sorry that I love you! I'm sorry I wanted some attention, and that I came to a final resort. Merlin, Ron, and you call me thick!"

I draw out my wand and before I know what I'm doing, I do this nifty little charm so that Hermione can't make any sound. In a really pissed off voice, cause that's exactly how I'm feeling, I yell, "Good. Now that that's settled that we're both a bit thick then, I can do this!"

I kiss her.

Quickly. Lightly. A question kiss. And you know what she does? She takes off those shoes she's been wearing (I see now that her heel is horribly blistered, the poor girl) and she hits me over the head with them, so that it really hurts, and promptly goes back to kissing me.

And I never want her to stop.