Hello people! I wrote this thing in Geometry about a month ago, and thought that I would post it today, for I have a SNOW DAY!!!!! le woot! So here it is. Oh, by the way... a reader asked me recently if I had any other email to contact me on. My alternate email is: NO.
Enjoy...
GLAD
Harry was coming back to the tent after his watch when he heard the raised voices.
"...if you don't like my cooking-," Hermione was saying heatedly.
"All I'm saying, Hermione, is that I need to eat some actual food for once!" Ron interjected.
"Well, this is the only food that we CAN eat at the moment," Hermione shot back.
"You mean, it's the only food you know how to make," Ron interrupted.
With a sigh, Harry began to walk away from the tent. He would take the next watch. Maybe they would be finished by the time he got back. In the tent, Ron was saying,
"If we just accio'ed food from a nearby village or something, then we could-,"
"Yes, and I'm sure none of the muggles would notice if their breadbox suddenly flew away out of the window," Hermione cut across him sarcastically. This statement amused Ron, and he almost started to laugh, but Hermione shot him such a scathing look that it was instantly turned into a false cough. Ron sat at the table and simply looked at Hermione. He sighed resignedly and said,
"Hermione, you're the brightest witch of our age. No, listen," He said, as Hermione opened her mouth to say something. "You could take a gerbil, transfigure it into a dragon, and make it tap dance if you wanted to, but you can't conjure up some decent food? You can't honestly tell me that you like this rubbish," He gestured at the bowl of watery broth that sat, rather pathetically, on the table in front of him.
"Fine! If you don't like it, you can just do it yourself!" Hermione said firmly. Ron stared at her. She looked so beautiful, standing there in front of the stove, yelling at him: with her hands on her hips and her gorgeous curls messily thrown into a ponytail. He found himself wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers through that wonderful hair. He snapped back to reality, and heard Hermione saying,
"I can't be good at everything, Ronald. Besides, cooking's never been my strong point." She turned to face the kitchen sink, and began to wash the dishes.
"Hermione," Ron started, standing up from the table.
"And you know what?" Hermione continued, ignoring the fact that Ron had been speaking, "If you're going to complain, complain to Harry." Ron took a few steps closer to her. Hermione kept ranting, but now looked more and more flustered every time Ron took another step closer.
He didn't know what he was doing. It was as though his body was being controlled by someone other than him. All he knew was that he wanted Hermione.
"Hermione," Ron said again, but, once again, Hermione cut across him.
"I'm tired of being the one that does all of the work. I'm not going to do everything for you. If you would just help...I'm not your-," Suddenly, Hermione's eyes shut, and she shivered as Ron ran his thumb down the line of her jawbone. Ron was still walking forward, taking Hermione with him. He walked forward until Hermione hit the counter. He put his hands on her hips and brought his face closer to hers.
When their lips first met, Ron could feel Hermione struggle a little bit, obviously annoyed that he had cut her off in the middle of a rant. After a moment, though, she gave a contented sort of sigh, and kissed him back in earnest. He took one of his hands, which were still resting on her hips, and ran it up her side to grip the back of her neck. Neither one ever wanted to let the other go. Finally, however, the human need for oxygen overtook them, and they broke apart. A moment later, Ron said, "Not my what?"
"I'm not your mother," Hermione replied breathlessly. Ron gave her a lopsided grin.
"I know," he said, "I'm glad." And he leaned into her again.