BEING (MORE THAN JUST) FRIENDS WITH RON

Disclaimer: Although I pray every night before I go to bed that I'll wake up and be the richest woman in England who has Sirius Black as her slave, God hasn't done that one for me yet. So nothing and nobody belongs to me.

A/N: Another little idea for a little piece of fluff between Ron and Hermione. Enjoy and review!

I have often wondered why on earth I am even friends with Ronald Weasley. I put it down to my extremely fragile mental state during that awful encounter with Quirrell's troll back in my first year. But honestly, I couldn't have picked a more annoying git to call my friend. Right now he's mooning on about why exactly I have to write a seven-foot long letter to Viktor if we're not going out, whilst at the same time Lavender Brown is sitting next to him twittering like an idiot and twirling her hair. I don't know what Lavender sees in him though. Ron Weasley is just…well he's the gangly red-head with dirt on his nose that I met for the first time on the Hogwarts' Express five years ago. Okay, so maybe all that Quidditch practice has given him more of a body, and his hair is looking nicer now that he's growing it a little, but he's still got this little smudge of dirt, right there…

My fingers are itching to just march up to him right now and rub it off, now that it's almost midnight and Lavender's gone to get her beauty sleep. But Harry's just come in from his late-night detention with that awful Umbridge woman, and I've managed to get another bowl of Murtlap essence for his hand.

Ron is still muttering under his breath about Titanium the Terrible (he's getting him all mixed up with Tibellus the Tiny and can't understand what's so terrible about a dwarf who started his own toffee-making business) and his parchment is covered in more black marks than actual words.

"Oi, 'Mione," he grunts at me.

What am I? One of his stupid Quidditch friends who answers to 'oi'? I'll have you know that I will never answer to anyone who says—

"OI!"

"Yes, I heard you the first time Ronald," I say in my most pleasant voice. I have to be patient when teaching this boy manners. It took me three whole years to teach him that cutlery was actually useful for something other than miniature swordfights with Fred and George.

"Help," he moans, thrusting his blotted piece of parchment at me.

I swear, he only speaks in monosyllables. Take our conversation this morning, for instance.

Me: How was Quidditch practice?

Ron: Shite.

Me: I saved some toast for you guys if you want to go outside.

Ron: Thanks.

Harry: You know, Ginny actually asked me if I could help her with some of the stuff we've been doing in DA, so I might head off. Thanks for the toast, Hermione.

Now, there's a boy who can actually hold a decent conversation with you that doesn't rely solely on Quidditch or hexing Malfoy.

This essay is total rubbish. I'll be up all night (and morning) rewriting this so it actually makes sense (I mean, come on, 'Titanium the Terrible might have been able to stick everyone in a giant vat of toffee and take over the world'?). And what thanks will I get?

"I was just thinking up the perfect attack on Malfoy, actually."

Oh no, not again!

"It's pretty complex, I'm thinking we'll need at least six people in on the plan..."

"Ron," I try to interject. He doesn't stop.

"…The hexes are simple enough, just your average Jelly-Legs, Confuctious…"

"Ron," I try a little louder.

"…possibly one of Ginny's Bat Bogey hexes—"

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

"I think there's just one person on the top of the Astronomy Tower who you didn't wake up," he mutters feebly.

"I don't care what the spell is to bewitch shoes to tap dance, I am sick of your stupid plans to jinx Malfoy! You don't need to tell me all about them! Just go and jinx him for Merlin's beard, nobody needs to hear about it!"

"I can see I've been a bit of a bad influence on you," he says with a grin. True, I muse; I should be telling him all about his duties as a Prefect…

"Well, seeing as the only person you listen to is Lavender whilst she's drooling all over your robes about how nice your hair looks, all messy like that," I imitate Lavender's girly high-pitched giggle and Ron smirks, lounging back in his chair.

"Well, someone's jealous," he drawls.

I'm blushing. I know it. Why am I blushing? I'm not jealous.

"Of course I'm not jealous!" I snap a little louder than I meant to.

"You're jealous that another girl thinks my hair is sexy," he deepens his voice theatrically and I almost smile. Almost.

"What do you mean 'another'? You're telling me that more than one girl finds this carrot mop of yours 'sexy'?"

"Ah, don't kid yourself 'Mione. You know you just can't resist these gorgeous locks of mine."

Why, that arrogant, insolent…!

I bite my lip to stop myself from chuckling in a very unladylike manner.

"What? This mess? Gorgeous?" I ask as I tug at a particularly long strand at the nape of his neck.

"Gorgeous." He confirms. I don't feel like laughing anymore. That feeling has been replaced by a much different one…

"And my dark, brooding eyes, rugged good looks and to-die-for body don't help either," he adds, totally serious.

I snort.

"You can't be serious. Really, Ron, you think I fell for your, what was it, 'rugged good looks and to-die-for body'?"

"Don't forget the dark, brooding eyes," he adds as I get to my feet, about to return to bed (where I belong at 12:30 in the morning). When I don't answer he grabs my wrists and swivels me around until those 'dark, brooding eyes' are inches away from my own.

"What was it then?" he asks in almost a growl.

"What was what?" I try to sound nonchalant.

"What was it? That made you fall for me?" his arms feel comfortably familiar around my waist and I smile as I think of how absurd this whole thing is.

See, I have often wondered why I am even friends with Ronald Weasley, let alone why I'm dating him.

A/N: There's this little button down there that's just itching to be pressed, yes, that one that says 'submit review'. :)