Disclaimer: I don't own Ron. Stop reminding me of it.

Author's note: This one-shot was previously titled 'Promise Me," and I thought it was absolutely magnificent because I got like a katrillion reviews...then I re-read it last week and was like "Oh Sirius, this is Horrid. Yes, with a capital H. So I spent about two hours, editing and re-writing it, and now it's quite a bit more in character (although Ron is still a bit...gah. It's hard for me to write Ron, let's just say.) Reviews would be greatly appreciated, and I would also like to mention that I will be taking down the two sequels to this, as I've fixed it so it doesn't need a sequel, and frankly, they suck. Also, now that I've re-written it, the ending's a bit AU. Thanks.

Dedication: To Katt, 'cause she dedicated her story to me, and she's the only one I can rant to without telling me to shut up...and also, she's just plain awesome.

She looked over at him in the corner and sighed. He was 'sitting' with heragain. It hurt her to even look at them. But she tried to act as though he was insignificant. Of course, she failed miserably, but at least she was trying. Blinking furiously, she looked around for Harry, needing him to distract her. Harry was, conveniently, nowhere to be seen. She glanced over again. She didn't know how long she could stand this. Not speaking to him was one thing, but trying to push him out of her fantasies was something else entirely. Who else was going to snog her in an empty broom cupboard when they ought to be doing nightly rounds, Malfoy?

Drawn to him almost magnetically, her brown eyes widened as they locked with his blue ones. A spark of pure electricity shot between them and then she looked away. This was ridiculous. She had to get out. She pushed open the portrait hole, needing to leave, needing to get away before he saw her cry. She fled to the empty Transfiguration classroom. Sitting on McGonagall's desk was oddly comforting. As tears began to stream down her cheeks, she heard the heavy oak door swing open. Someone was making their way toward her. She didn't open her eyes; she'd know those footsteps anywhere…It was Ron.

She felt him slide up onto the desk next to her, felt his long arm slip around her shoulders. She pulled away.

"What do you want?" she said coldly, opening her eyes but refusing to look at him.

"I want to know what's wrong with my best friend," he said, grabbing her hand. She yanked it away.

"I don't know, why don't you just ask him?"

"Who?"

"You said there was something wrong with your best friend, so why don't you go ask Harry what's bothering him?" the words came out harsher than she'd meant them to.

"I want to know what's wrong with you, Hermione!" She could hear the frustration in his voice. Still she wouldn't look at him.

"Don't pretend that we're suddenly friends again," she said sharply. "Last time I checked, we weren't speaking."

"Maybe I want to talk to you," he muttered. Finally, she looked up at him. He looked like a little boy, staring morosely down at his lap. She felt some of her anger slip away. It was hard to stay mad at him. She sighed.

"Well that was before – " Hermione broke off, realizing what she'd been about to tell him. He looked down at her, his sea-blue eyes questioning.

"Before what?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter." He stared at her hard. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"It's Lavender, isn't it?" he said softly. She shook her head and closed her eyes, trying desperately not to cry. "Hermione. Please. Merlin, why can't we just…" He broke off, made a frustrated noise, and looked at her. She was staring hard at the floor hard and biting her lip fervently. "Hermione, look at me." She didn't move. "Hermione, look at me." She shivered. He didn't boss her around much, but when he did, she lost her breath. Still, it didn't mean she was going to obey him. Ron sighed, then reached down and gently tilted her chin so she was forced to look at him. She averted her gaze, glaring at the windowpane, which showed quickly descending darkness and a sky streaked with rain.

"It's Lavender, Hermione, I know it is. I don't know what's wrong with you, you're supposed to be my best friend." The words came out bitterly, even for him.

"That's just it. Friends. I don't want to be just – I mean, God Ron – don't you get it? You're so dense sometimes, you know that?" she laughed humorlessly. "You honestly expect me to be happy that you're snogging the sluttiest, most trashy little…girlin the sixth year?"

"I don't know why you care! Since when have you been interested in my love life?" He snarled. "And Lavender's never done anything to you – why the hell do you hate her so much?"

"Do I have to bloody spell it out for you?" she shrieked. "Because, because – Oh Ron, don't you get it? – Because she gets to sit in your lap, and play with your hair, and hug you, and …and call you pet names, and …she gets to – to kiss you." What had started out as an angry tirade had turned into a speech so quiet that he had to physically lean closer to her to hear what she was saying. She was nearly the same colour as his hair now, and determined not to look at him. He could barely believe it. Was she saying what he thought she was? The plan – the subconscious plan that had been toying with the edges of his mind and eating away slowly but diligently at his conscience – had worked. The plan in which he went out with Lavender to make Hermione jealous, which he would not even admit to himself that he had formulated, had worked. Brilliant. Now all he had to do was play dumb. Considering he was with Hermione, this wouldn't be a problem.

"Well that's not Lavender's fault," he snorted. She looked at him disbelievingly.

"That's what you say? Ronald, I swear to God – " she broke off, then regained her composure. "I have just told you my deepest, darkest secret, which I have been carrying around, locked inside me since – since Halloween in First year, for heaven's sake. And maybe I wasn't very direct with myself, but I think even you should be able to decipher what I've just said."

"Well, obviously, I haven't, so maybe you ought to put it in simpler terms," he snapped, hating himself for the venom laced in his voice. She glared at him vehemently, and he was sure that if it were up to her, he'd be dead and buried right now, probably sans a certain part of his anatomy.

"I LOVE YOU, RON! THERE! ARE YOU HAPPY? NOW I'VE SAID IT AND NOTHING BETWEEN US WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN, AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

"Really?" he said lightly, raising his eyebrows. Hermione flushed deeply, wrapping her arms around herself. She really wanted to kill him right then. She hated him for leaving her hanging there – after spilling out that horrible confession, and all he could say was, 'really.'

"Is that all you're going to say?" she asked bitterly. "Not even, I'm sorry, Hermi-" But she was cut off as her wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him.

"Oh, no. I've got something to say," he growled, making her shiver delightfully. "But it's just going to have to wait, isn't it?"

"Why-?" But she was interrupted again as he kissed her fervently, as though he were a dying man and she was his last hope. Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into him obediently.

He quickly realized that he kissed Hermione differently from Lavender. He was very careful with Lavender, never touched anything he wasn't absolutely positive he was allowed to touch, was painfully aware of how he moved his lips against hers, how she was much too sloppy about what she did with her tongue – he shuddered. Kissing Hermione was different. He found he didn't need to ask permission before he touched her. He knew somehow, it was all right. It was all right that he was pulling her shirt out from her skirt, where it was usually tucked in neatly, in accordance with the Hogwarts uniform policy, and letting his hands roam, tracing light patterns onto her bare stomach and up, further…He also found that it was completely possible to lose all of his self-control when he kissed Hermione. He was much too rough with her, rougher than he'd ever been with Lavender, knowing he was bruising her lips with his own, and the small of her back, her hips, where he gripped them painfully, leaving bite marks on her neck and shoulders – but she certainly didn't seem to mind. Somehow he managed to maneuver her back against the desk, then lift her up onto it – all still while kissing her– which made up for some of the considerable height difference.

Another thing he liked about kissing Hermione was that she made him work hard before she let him know how well he was doing. Lavender's moans and sighs and 'oh Ron's' were all just a little too exaggerated - and frequent - to be completely believable. He could tell that Hermione was holding back, trying not to moan – she didn't like him letting him get too full of himself. He smirked. Let's just see how she feels when I'm finished with her… He knew practice with Lavender had made him a much better kisser, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

"Ron…you're amazing..." she murmured, breaking away for a moment to catch her breath. He smirked.

"And you're rather amazing yourself – especially like this," he growled, taking in her current state. Her hair was a mess – more disarrayed than usual, even. Her school blouse was about halfway undone – when had that happened? – And she was very flushed, breathing heavily, and gazing at him adoringly – until she noticed his blue eyes making a full sweep of her body. Quickly, she drew her knees up to her chest.

"Honestly, Ron," she scolded, though he could see a shadow of a smile threatening to break through. "You have no morals whatsoever." He raised his eyebrows.

"Does 'getting you fully undressed' count as a moral?" he asked teasingly.

"Ronald Weasley – " Her temper flared instantly.

"I'm kidding," he said hurriedly. "I'd never make you do that, unless you were ready, of course."

"Good," she said sternly. "Now, where were we?" He leaned in to kiss her again, but just as their lips brushed, they heard a small cough from the doorway. They winced in unison, then turned around slowly to witness the intruder. Most unfortunately, it was Snape. Hermione gave a little gasp and hurriedly began to fumble with the buttons on her blouse. Ron could only stare at his Professor, unable to speak.

"And exactly what do you two think you're doing, defiling that desk?" Snape asked, sounding slightly disgusted. Hermione turned (if possible) even redder.

"We – we were, I'm so sorry, Professor, we didn't mean to – we – we...got carried away – "

"That's quite enough, Granger. I'm not interested in excuses. Let's see...I think thirty house points each should be adequate, and a week's worth of detention. In separate classrooms," he added menacingly. "Now get out of my sight, the both of you, before I take off more points for being out after curfew."

They both muttered a quick, "Yes sir," And scurried past him and out into the hallway, before sprinting flat out back to Gryffindor Tower, before Filch or Peeves came along.

"You know," Hermione gasped, trying to catch her breath as they stood outside the Portrait Hole, preparing themselves to enter the Common Room, "You said - before you kissed me, I mean," she blushed prettily, "You said you had something to say to me."

"Oh that," Ron said, grinning, "It was nothing really, just...I love you." Hermione smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. She meant to be very quick about it, so they could get inside before Snape came along again, but he wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. She sighed. This was...perfect.

Well, It would have been, anyway, if the Fat Lady hadn't interrupted them.

"Really now, dears, I'm thrilled that you're finally together – which reminds me, I need to collect my money from Vi now, but take it inside, will you?"

"Bugger off," Ron said, rudely.

"Ronald!"

"Er...sorry."

the end