Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from J.K. Rowling's masterpiece. Don't sue me ; )
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Some Things Never Change
A sudden crash of thunder wasn't what had woken up Hermione Granger that night. She'd awoken just moments before to a nightmare, one that made her break out in a cold sweat and made shivers run through her body.
The nightmare had been an awful one. No dreams were happy since the second rise of Voldemort; how could they be? Everyone in the wizarding world, not to mention the Muggle world was at risk; condemned to death if the Dark Lord was not defeated.
Perhaps this was the reason that Hermione Granger had awoken on that night, with a dream about her friend that was too awful to begin to rethink. She slid from the bed, not pausing to put on a robe or her slippers, tiptoed down the stairs and up the ones to the boy's dormitories.
Just a quick look, she told herself silently, I've just got to be sure he's all right.
Not remembering which bed was his, she peeked through the waves of fabric surrounding the first three. Dean, Seamus, and Neville, each sound asleep, Neville snoring up a storm.
Hermione stopped at the next bed, hearing the slow rhythm of breathing. She peeled back the curtain and stared at the boy in the bed; his red hair tousled, his body curled into the fetal position. He's fine, she told herself, with a sigh of relief.
She couldn't resist leaning over the end of the bed to touch him, just to make sure he was breathing and this wasn't just a continuation of the dreadful nightmare. She stretched her fingers, balancing her weight across the bed, hoping against hope she wouldn't fall, otherwise she'd have an awful lot of explaining to do. She put her hand on his chest. Rise, fall. Rise, fall. Another sigh of relief crossed her lips, and she stretched her fingers a bit more, straining to touch his forehead.
The last stretch, combined with the fact that her legs were no longer touching the floor, and she had most of her weight balanced across the footboard, caused her to topple over on top of his sleeping body.
"AHH-" he started to scream, but Hermione was too quick. She clamped a delicate hand over his mouth, grabbed his wand from the bedside table, and, tapping the curtains, whispered a silencing charm.
By now, he had realized who was sitting on top of him, and he didn't move.
"Hermione?" he asked confusedly, as he was still partially asleep. "What are you doing?"
"Honestly, Ron," she said, not ceasing to act like a know it all, "What does it look like I'm doing?"
Ron looked around. She was lying atop his legs, trying to right herself. It was probably nearing two in the morning, and Hermione was in his bed, wearing a thin nightgown nonetheless.
"Er…I'm not sure…" he said, rubbing his temple.
"Well, isn't it obvious?"
"Well, come to think of it…No."
"Oh, Ron, obviously I had an awful dream, and I came to see you," she whispered furiously, angry that he had let his mind wander to anything of the sort.
"Oh…" he said, stifling a yawn, "I wonder why I thought something different," he said sarcastically. "Geroff my legs, you're hurting them."
She slid back towards the end of the bed, and sat up, pulling his knees up with them. Ron looked at her awkwardly, as she didn't move to leave. What was he supposed to do?
"Well, really," she said, seeming rather angry, "I suppose you aren't going to comfort me?"
Ron looked flabbergasted. She'd woken him up, scared him half to death in the dead of night; in the middle of a thunderstorm nonetheless, and she wanted comfort? Honestly, the nerve of her.
"Er…" he beckoned her to come closer, and she crawled across the bed towards him. As she came closer and he stared her in the face, from the moonlight streaming in through the curtains he could see that her eyes were red and she was biting her lip to keep from crying. "What happened?" he asked her awkwardly, putting a hand on her shoulder, then quickly pulling it away, as her nightgown was quite thin.
"I had this awful dream, Ron," she said, letting a stifled sob come out of her chest that sounded an awful lot like the snort of a Hippogriff, "We were all fighting You-Know-Who, and oh Ron, you were dead, and it was absolutely dreadful."
He patted her back very awkwardly. "Well, it was just a dream," he said quietly, "I'm right here." She buried her face in his chest, and he looked at her, amazed. This really must've affected her; he honestly had never seen her so upset.
"Thank you, Ron," she said, tears leaking out of her eyes and onto his chest. Yes, his chest. She pulled quickly away, and he looked down at his unbuttoned shirt.
"Er…Sorry about that," he said, his fingers stumbling to button him as his ears turned a brilliant shade of red that almost seemed to match his hair. "Sorry," he apologized again, "I wasn't expecting you to come here and blubber all over me."
She let out a snort of laughter through her tears, then placed her head back on his chest, though he hadn't finished buttoning back up his nightshirt. He figured he ought to stop trying to button it; Hermione was obviously so distraught she didn't mind.
"I get so worried about us," she whispered, "About what happened at the end of last year, about how He came back." She pulled her head from his chest once more and stared him straight in the eyes, "Ron, I'm so worried about our future."
He hadn't realized that she had emphasized the words "us" and "our" a bit more than any other words in the sentences. Ron patted her back again as she went back to crying on his chest.
"Hermione, don't worry, everything will be all right."
"How do you know?" she asked, "How could you possibly say that? Voldemort wants to kill Harry, and he'll be after us too, because we're his closest friends, Ron."
Now that she mentioned it, his words had been weak, trying to give her confidence.
"Well, then, you're right. We don't know that everything's all right, but we can't sit here and cry," he told her, a bit more confidently than before.
"Oh, Ron," she said, throwing her arms around his neck, this time making his whole face, not just his ears, go a brilliant shade of red. He felt his heart beating faster. He was quite close to her…Closer, in fact, than he'd ever been.
"You smell like mint," she whispered, putting her nose to his gangly chest. He shrank back from her touch.
"Er…my mum used to tell me to put on this…er…lotion…on my chest before I went to sleep, and it would stop me from having bad dreams." She looked at his quizzically.
"Is it magical?" she asked, "That is, does it really work?"
"I suppose," he said, "I've never had a bad dream since I've used it."
He reached onto his bedside table and opened the drawer below it, fishing around inside for the cylindrical tub. He grabbed it between his fingers and brought it out to her, opened it, and let her sniff it as he read the ingredients out to her.
"Hair of Erkling, feather of Fwooper, claw of Pogrebin-" He stopped when she realized that she was unbuttoning the top of her nightgown.
"Er…Hermione?" he asked uncomfortably, looking down at the tub, "What are you doing?"
"Honestly, Ron," she whispered furiously, "What does it look like?" She looked down at herself, stumbling to get the button undone, when she realized just what he was thinking. She immediately stopped, and blushed a shade of magenta.
"Just give me the tub," she said, and he handed it over to her. Should he turn away? Maybe look at the headboard until she was finished? Unfortunately, he didn't do either, he just stared at her as she stumbled to hold the nightgown open and place the green lotion on the top of her chest. "A little help?" she asked him.
He just stared at her. She wanted him to touch the top of her chest? How would he be able to act normal around her tomorrow?
"Er…" was all he could gurgle to her, and, if possible, his ears and face turned redder than before.
"Honestly, men," Hermione said angrily, then proceeded to awkwardly hold the flap of her nightgown back with one arm and use the fingers on her other hand to apply the lotion.
Almost impossibly, as he wasn't sure what gave him the courage to do it; Ron reached out and held the nightgown back as she put the lotion on herself. The mint smell was absolutely intoxicating when he was so close to her.
"Ron, your hands are just below my shoulders, nowhere else," she said knowingly, "You really can stop trembling." Her words and encouraging smile were hardly enough to make him feel comfortable so close to her, but he did stop shaking slightly.
They were silent as she stopped putting the lotion on herself and capped it, but to her surprise, he did not remove his hands.
"Ron?" she squeaked. He looked her brown eyes, suddenly realizing how very nice they were. He'd known her for more than six years and had never bothered to look at her this way.
"Oh…" he said, and fear shone in his eyes, "Sorry," he apologized awkwardly.
"It's all right," she said quietly. Ron realized then that he still hadn't removed his hands, and he quickly did, then started twisting his fingers around nervously.
They were silent for a couple of moments once again, until she reached out and put a hand on the side of his face.
"Hermione?" he asked confusedly, placing his own hand on top of hers.
"That dream," she said softly, "Ron, it was so real." She stopped, and he was silent. What in hell was he supposed to say to that?
He met her with a muffled noise, and began to turn fuchsia once again.
"Ron, I thought…I had to come and make sure that you were all right. I'm sorry I woke you up," she said, pulling her hand from his cheek and placing her feet on the side of the bed, preparing to get up. "Good night," she said quietly, but Ron reached out and grabbed her arm before she left.
"Wait-" he said quickly, "Don't go."
Hermione surveyed him intently. Why on earth would he not want her to go?
"Yes?" she asked crisply.
"I…I'm…I'm awake now…You can't leave just yet, I'm not tired anymore." Yes, he knew it was an awfully lame excuse, but something about the way she had looked at him tonight made him think twice about letting her go so soon. She'd been his best friend for more than six years, and yet, he'd never seen the vulnerability of her, the need for him. The need for Harry, yes, but never for himself. She needed to make sure that he was all right. She wanted to see him. The very thought of it made him proud.
Never mind that she dreamed he was dead. She had come to his four poster bed in the dead of night in the middle of a thunderstorm. She needed to see him.
He stared at her, the moonlight washing over her delicate body. He cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Erm…Hermione?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, Ron?" she responded, tucking a bushy curl behind her ear. He slid across the bed towards her, and slipped his arms around her waist.
What was he doing? What if she didn't feel the same as he did? She'd slap him straight across the face like she did to Malfoy in third year, wouldn't she? He looked at her again, watching her still survey him. Was it worth a slap in the face? He decided yes, and leaned in to kiss her, not knowing how she would react.
He pressed his lips against her own warm ones very tenderly, and, after recovering from the shock, Hermione placed her arms very delicately around his neck. Ron felt almost sure that she had kissed him back, and when they pulled away from each other, he blushed and put his arm behind his head embarrassedly.
"I…er…Well then…I…" He sputtered, groping the air for words, bracing his face for an awful beating.
To Ron's complete shock, the beating never came, and instead he felt her lips upon his once again, this time the kiss was less coy. He lay back on the bed below him and pulled her down on top of him, his heart beating faster than it ever had before. They broke away from each other and stared straight into each others eyes.
Hermione ran her hand through his messy hair while he placed one on her waist, confidence exuding from him. He'd kissed Hermione, she hadn't slapped him, instead she'd kissed him back.
"Thank you," she said softly, putting her face on his chest. Ron moved to the left, making enough room for her to lay beside him on his right. Hermione rolled off of him and he put an arm around her waist, suddenly tired again. "I'm going to go," she told him, though she, and of course he, wanted nothing of the sort.
"Don't-" he pleaded. "Stay here."
"Honestly, Ron, what would we tell Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Harry? Oh, we didn't sleep together, we just slept together? You're a ruddy idiot sometimes."
Some things never change, he told himself, but he clutched her waist all the more tighter.
"Well, we could tell them the truth," Ron said, knowing the moment the words came out he'd get a tongue lashing from Hermione.
"I had a bad dream about Ron so, after making sure he was all right, we ended up snogging in his bed and we fell asleep. Really, Ron. I'm surprised Dumbledore hasn't come in here and yelled at us already."
"I liked it better when we were kissing," he muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, my love," he said sarcastically, and buried his face in the pillow, pulling her closer to him.
"Ron?" she whispered.
"Yes, Hermione."
"I really do have to go."
"Isn't there a wake-up-early charm you could put on yourself?" He said it with obvious sarcasm, but it was even more obvious that she didn't notice it.
"Actually…" she thought about it for a moment. She took his wand from the bedside table. "Wacan newe," she whispered, tapping herself. "Six."
"What'd you do?" he asked her, even though he knew.
"I remember Professor Flitwick told us about-"
"Forget it," Ron groaned, "I decided I don't want to know."
"Some things never change," she said, thinking aloud, and he looked shocked. "What?" Hermione asked curiously.
"It's just…I was thinking that before too…"
Hermione interrupted him by a long kiss, then shook her head and began to laugh, realizing she didn't care. Ron didn't have to be perfect for her to care about him. She didn't know it, but he was thinking the same exact thing about her.
[ THE END ]
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Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed my fluffy Ron/Hermione fic. If you didn't like it, flame me, but I'm not going to change it. Thanks for reading. Leave a review.