I own absolutely none of these characters, I truly wish I could say I did!
This story is set in Hermione's seventh year, away from the whole Voldemort thing :)
Enjoy, ok? :)
The Dance.
Chapter One
"Oh, Hermione! Don't even get me friggin' started!"
Ron's voice echoed throughout the crisp clear night as he bellowed after Hermione. She stomped her feet away from the castle, already feeling the chill hit her core that caused goose pimples to rise on her arms.
"Go away, Ron! I don't even want to look at you right now!" Hermione shouted flinging her arms in the air.
She hadn't looked back once since storming from The Great Hall; she worried the mere sight of the ginger haired boy would cause her to curse him to hell with her wand. Her heart hammered painfully against her chest, the cold evening air not helping the sensation.
"Then what, Hermione?" Ron yelled, matching her speed and following her, "You just expect me to stand by while you make a...a..."
"A what, Ron? A tart? A whore of myself?"
Hermione rounded on the boy, and he abruptly came to a halt as her severe and angry stare met his.
"No, not that for Christ sake! You just can't expect me to not say anything when you're gyrating against another guy in the middle of the dance floor for everyone to see..." Ron replied through gritted teeth.
"THEN ASK ME RONALD!" Hermione shouted, her voice breaking. "You missed your chance at The Yule Ball; I would have half expected you to have at least tried to talk to me about it. If you won't ask me, then don't expect me to hold back as if we have gone together. I'm my own person Ron; I can do whatever the hell I like!"
Ron looked at Hermione, stunned. He laughed horribly and looked away, covering his mouth and shaking his head.
"You know, Hermione? You really are something else sometimes..." He guffawed.
"I can take care of myself." Hermione muttered.
"You call having his hands roaming all over your body, practically feeling you up... That's you protecting yourself?" Ron challenged, his hand splayed back towards the castle where they had been.
"What did you expect me to do, Ron? Not enjoy myself?" Hermione asked.
"No, I expected you to be a lady!" Ron snapped.
A loud, echoing crack sounded into the night. Ron held his cheek as Hermione's hand was still in mid air, almost willing him to say something else to receive another blow.
"How dare you." She snarled through pursed lips.
Ron's cheek had immediately gone red on his pale freckled face; a clear print of Hermione's hand embedded onto him. He looked toward her for sympathy, but received nothing in return.
"Hermione, look..." Ron began.
"Don't bother; you've made it rather clear what you think of me."
Hermione scowled evilly, her eyes as dark as the night. Her pupils had widened in her anger and her brows furrowed so much they started to meet in the middle.
"I didn't mean for it to come out that way." He exclaimed quietly, widening his eyes and looking at the ground.
Hermione blinked in disbelief, shaking her head and turning around slowly to walk once more.
"Don't even think about following me." She spat over her shoulder as she heard his footsteps once again, "I want nothing to do with you."
A/N: Please will you let me know what you think so far?
