The Magic of Exams

Author's Note: Adult situations ahead. If you are easily offended, or an itty bitty kiddy, do not proceed :-) This chapter will be the first I have ever written of a ship that is not Draco/Ginny. It's Ron/Hermione and I would really love for you guys to read and review. I tried my bestest. :-)

Also, in response to the previous chapter, some people stated that Draco's "state" was not properly explained. Welll, I'm actually trying a new style of writing that dabbles with POVs. It's called omniscient limited, where the narrator's knowledge extends to the thoughts, actions and words of one character, but not to the thoughts of all the others. In the previous chapter, Ginny was my one character. Her feelings, thoughts and emotions were explained in great detail, whereas I left Draco's to the imagination (i.e. he may have entered the broom cupboard horny, or started thinking dirty things the moment he saw Ginny). If, per se, this story gets enough of a good response, I may decide to do the POVs of the characters who weren't explained in a separate story, or separate chapters.

Doing What in the Dormitory?

The Gryffindor Common Room seemed to be filled with life, wide-eyed youths chatting noisily, their mouths moving this way and that. It was a friendly atmosphere, warm and welcoming as the orange flame that crackled happily in the hearth. It cast long shadows over the walls of the dimly lit room, illuminating plush red and gold armchairs and other accessories of much the same colors. The walls were the only thing grey, the tapestries adding some oranges, yellows and other pleasant colors to the room. In the center was a squat table, covered in too many students' homework and study notes, and outside the two windows, darkness could be seen. Rain splattered against the windows, the evening dark as night because of the angry thunderclouds that blotted out what had been a beautiful day. Before, everyone had been on the grounds enjoying the sunlight, and now Hermione Granger found herself couped miserably up in her Dorm, curled around a pillow on the window seat. For warmth, she had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, her pyjama-ed toes curling from the chill.

She was lost in contemplation, but her emotion was quite visible on her face. She was depressed, her face lined with an afflicted sorrow. Her bushy, chocolate brown hair fell in frizzy strands around her angular face, the faded freckles on her nose and slightly pursed lips giving her a type of prettiness. If you asked any boy, though, they would say her most captivating feature would have to be her eyes, a mixture of chocolate brown and hazel, that were now puffy from the crying she had done.

The reason for much of her crying was one fiery redhead--and miraculously, not the one it usually was. This time it was the youngest Weasley who had rendered her so dejected, and Hermione maintained she had done nothing to deserve it. Short of telling Ron about the redhead's escapades, of course. But she had only been trying to help after hearing those positively awful rumors of what Thomas had done to Lavendar. Of course, Lavendar was not a completely reliable source, even if she claimed the facts were first-hand...but it was better safe than sorry, right?

The Gryffindor know-it-all sighed. She was stressed out and had probably over-reacted on many counts. It seemed that this week too many people were acting strangely, and today even she had fallen in with the crowd. She should have carefully thought over the consequences of her actions before actually telling Ron anything--and once telling him, she still could have remedied the situation by not behaving so irrationally out in the Common Room this evening. She knew how Ginny's temper was, and crying and getting all flustered was not going to help an apology.

'Ah, the whole school is on an uproar because of exams,' she thought to herself idly, twisting her hands nervously around. Tomorrow, all the seventh years had their Transfiguration exam--the one that would count for their NEWTS--and yet Hermione had only read over the textbook chapters twice, and the notes thrice. She found her chest seizing in panic, worrying if she would fail and yet, unlike herself, feeling too downtrodden to go collect her study materials from her satchel. Failing Transfiguration would be the worst thing ever. She tried not to think about it.

The Dorm was decorated in much the same colors as the Common Room. Red and gold, with the occassionally different color where someone had strewn a vibrant article of clothing on the floor, or over the wardrobe. Only Hermione's "section", as she liked to think of it, of the room was clean. Her four-poster bed was made up every morning (a task she refused to leave to the often horrified House Elves), all her clothing in use folded neatly on her bronze chest, and all that needed cleaning already down the chute. Her bedside drawer was orderly, and her satchel took its familiar place against the chest at the foot of her bed.

She was all about neatness and order, and yet around exam time she fancied she felt as wild and out of order as the hair on her head. She always worried (excessively, if what she did could be considered simply excess), and regularly forgot to put things back where she had found them. Exam week was not a good time for Hermione Granger, no matter how collected she managed to seem to the others.

She sighed, and gave a bit of a start when she heard the door to the Dorms creak open. She turned, her frizzy hair formed a halo around her face as she made out Ron Weasley. She had grown so accustomed to him and Harry, and even some of the other boys, finding their way up to her Dorm, that she no longer even questioned how they got past the wards. He shut the door gently behind him, and Hermione could just make out a look of concern on his face. He knew, then, that her tears were partially his fault. More than either of them, Ron had probably conducted himself the worst.

He pushed his lips together and his eyebrows drew down a little. It was a face she was used to, when he was regretful and searching for the right words to say. He stood there, his tall, lanky form looking oh, so awkward and out of place. Hermione still could not help but smile at his appearance, though--his hair was mussed up and stuck up a little at the back, his shirt rumpled and untucked. He looked flustered, his tie lost. The red of his hair contrasted, as usual, with the tan of his face and the abundance of freckles splashed over his skin. Nervous looking blue eyes watched her, his large nose giving him a comical look. Still, to Hermione, he looked positively handsome.

She blushed a little at the thought, looking away and out the window where the grounds were being pelted with he heavy droplets. Trails of water skated down her window, and she placed a hand against the cool glass. "'Mione," Ron said suddenly, and she turned to watch him come over to where she was seated. He sat himself down awkwardly. She found she sort of loved the way he was so awkward. "I'm really sorry about the whole thing. Dean's nose and all."

His ears were a lovely shade of red and Hermione found that she could not find it in herself to get angry. The silence was growing so nicely between them as she eyed his ears with a look of utter devotion, that she almost forgot to reply. "It's okay," she murmured, pushing on a small smile.

He grinned at her, happy that his apology had been accepted, running his fingers through his hair in relief. "That's good, that's good," he said, before going still and silent once again. He stared out the window, before leaning forward to press his forehead on the glass where her hand still was. They said nothing for a while, just remaining in a type of companionable silence. Hermione looked outside, too, ocassionally sneaking glance at Ron--and though she could not see it, he snuck glances at her, too. "I like your pyjamas," he said suddenly, before his cheeks turned an attractive shade of beet red.

Hermione almost chuckled aloud. "Thank you," she said in reply, thoroughly enjoying his presence, "I like them, too."

He looked up, then, and gave her his widest smile. A few of his teeth were a bit crooked, and Hermione could not help but again notice his nose--but the smile made her heart flutter. "I-I was wondering 'Mione," he said, uncertainly, "that if, if, you know, when exams are over...you could maybe, I mean, you don't have to or anything--but maybe, maybe you could come to Hogsmeade with me?"

Hermione flushed and hoped he could not see the redness of her cheeks in the dim light. She felt a tingle of happiness race through her. "You mean, you mean like on a date?" She was aware that her eyes were probably very wide, very surprised.

"Yeah," he said, and the look on his face was one of agitation. It looked like he was battling with himself--an internal battle, so Hermione looked on, staring at him in awe, her lips slightly parted. Before she knew what had happened, though, the space between her and Ron (that had seemed quite reasonable before) was suddenly closed and his lips captured her bottom one, kissing her with an undue amount of gentleness. She gasped, and he pulled back, and all of a sudden that wonderful sensation was gone. She stared at him, and he didn't look at her, his eyes on his lap fidgeting nervously. "I-I didn't mean--" And then she had kissed him, hooking a trembling hand around to the back of his neck to pull him closer. One of his hands grasped that one, the other going softly to her cheek.

They pulled apart, Hermione smiling happily. "I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you," she said with a note of finality in her voice. Of course, Ron gave her a bark of a laugh that seemed to release all the nervous tension he had been harboring, before leaning in to, with a slight more confidence, kiss her again. This time his tongue brushed her lip and she opened her mouth submissively, her hand clutching his shoulder in sudden self-consciousness. Her shawl had tumbled to the ground with all her moving, and she was vibrantly aware of her tank top--and bra-less-ness.

One of his hands accidently brushed her breast (as she had feared), and they broke apart, Ron, for once, a shade lighter in red than Hermione was. He stuttered his apology as she reached for her shawl, trying to hide her face. "S-sorry, I mean, I-I didn't mean to, to--"

She straightened up, the goosebumps that had risen along her arms, and the embarassing way her nipples had hardened, hidden conveniently by her shawl. "It's okay, Ron," she reassured, although she stilled blushed, "I..." she hesitated, unsure of what she wanted to say. He sat before her, his eyes flitting nervously from her face to his hands, and she found he looked far too handsome, made her heart beat far too fast, for her to say anything. However, her traitorous mouth found itself in motion, and to Hermione's horror, it said, "I sort of liked it." Ron's eyes widened, and so did Hermione's. She immediately hid her face. Had she just said that to Ron Weasley?

He cleared his throat a little, leaning back against the wall, adjusting himself so that one leg was beneath him, the other dangling to the ground on his perch. "Well--" he hesitated, and she wondered what he thought of her now. Suddenly, that space that had gathered between them again was closed, Ron leaning all the way forward to plant a hesitant kiss on her forehead, his hand sweeping the shawl off of one shoulder to rest on the skin there. "I-ah, I liked it, too," he said against her hair, and to Hermione's surprised she found she had thrown her arms around him, holding him tight to her chest even as the rest of her shawl fell away. Her lips were very suddenly pressed against his neck, laying a trail of butterfly kisses there, as a nervous coil of something gathered in her stomach.

Ron pulled her away, his grip firm on her arms, their mouths seeking eachother out, to clash in a whirlwind of passion Hermione wasn't aware either of them possessed. She found herself pushing Ron gently to lean against the wall, both his legs coming up to bend in such a way that she fit neatly in between, half laying on his chest. The rain still fell outside, but she couldn't hear it. All she wanted to do was touch Ron. Their lips parted and she found herself kissing his nose, his cheeks, his neck, whatever she could reach, in a slow but desparate vigor. "Her-Hermione," Ron stuttered, his voice husky in her ear, "What are we doing?" Hermione pulled back, realization on her face. What were they doing? She licked her lips, opening her mouth to answer, only to find that Ron had claimed them again, kissing her heatedly. His hand found her breast through her tank top, and she moaned into his mouth as he gently began to knead it, a finger flitting hesitantly over the pebbled nipple.

She didn't know what she was doing, but all thought had, yet again, rushed out of her head. This was Ron, the boy she had loved since forever. Her fingers found themselves fiddling languidly with his shirt buttons, reluctant to take them off. Her mind had that much control, at least. Enough control that, despite her unconscious whimpers for more, she still blushed and touched him demurely. Two buttons popped out of place and she slipped a hand into his shirt to graze over the soft skin there. He groaned, his hand leaving her breast to unbutton the rest of his shirt, as he looked her in the eyes meaningfully. It was a slightly strange moment, to Hermione, watching Ron unbutton his shirt for her. But the thought that he did, indeed, want her to touch him seemed to spark something inside her, and as soon as the buttons were undone her lips took off where her hands had started. He lay back for a moment, evidently enjoying the feel of her lips on his chest, but when her teeth grazed his nipple he was back into action again, biting down on her neck as he made to pull her tank top off of her.

Tank top off, Hermione felt suddenly very exposed, and she covered herself shyly. However, Ron pried her arms gently away, kissing the swell of her breast with a tenderness that made her moan. When his hot mouth engulfed her nipple, she wriggled in liquid pleasure, her whole body tingling for him. "Ron," she breathed his name like a sigh as he disengaged himself long enough to peer into her eyes. He smiled at her, a nice smile, one she was familiar with, but his eyes were dark with desire. She knew in an instant what he wanted from her, with his eyes that dangerous shade, and she shivered with the knowledge. A type of expectant delight took her over, as she slowly, with his eyes still on her, pushed down her pajama pants, knickers and all. She huddled, hiding herself, as he unbuckled his pants, watching her intently. "The-the bed," she motioned, and his eyes lighted on it as though it had once been forgotten. He nodded, and to her surprise, picked her up. He carried her over, dispensing her on it with a clean movement and laying across her, between her open legs.

"'Mione," he said affectionately, nuzzling her neck before kissing her collarbone, "Are you sure?"

She pushed him off gently, rising to pull the curtains of her four poster closed around them. With not much ado, she retrieved her wand from her bedside table, uttering the Contraceptive Charm (which she had read in a book) towards her flat stomach. "Now I'm sure," she said softly, placing her hand on his cheek and kissing him. Again they became a tangle of limbs, kissing eachother with extended fervor, but still, Hermione's stomach held a small seed of nervousness. She had never done this before, and she heard it hurt...but this was Ron, sweet Ron, her best friend--her love. By the time he positioned himself at her entrance, she was sure of what they were doing. Happy, in a word, that she was doing it with him. He pushed in with little ceremony, kissing her forehead and grunting in ecstasy. She didn't hold anything against him, even the small pain--it was probably his first time, too. Slowly, with what seemed like no rhythm at all, he began to rock into her, taking his time to peer into her eyes and kiss her delicately.

Eventually his movements became frantic , his clumsy thrusts hitting her just so--sending small waves of pleasure through her. She forgot about her previous discomfort--it no longer even existed--and thrust back at Ron just as clumsily. She held his shoulders, ran her hands down his back, until finally she just settled for the bed sheets, wrapping her legs around him as he continued his slightly uncoordinated rocking. Finally, she felt him stiffen, something warm suddenly flooding her as he shook above her, his eyes closed and his teeth biting his lip, hard. "'Mione," he shuddered, collapsing exhausted onto her chest, and she wasn't quite sure why she felt...unfinished. Moments past, and she stroked his hair caringly; eventually he rolled off her, his hand finding hers. They lay there for a while, before he suddenly coughed, "S-sorry." He sounded abashed, a little ashamed.

"Wah-Why?" she asked, puzzled. She was abruptly aware of her nakedness--of his nakedness.

"I-ah, I didn't wait for you."

She was a little confused--then she remembered. She had learnt about this in a Muggle book (though she'd never admit to reading it). "To-" she couldn't say the clinical term, she just couldn't, "To finish?"

She heard him swallow. "Yeah." It was silent for a while, and she looked over at him. His ears were red. "I want you to finish."

His words sent a little tremor throughout her body. "How?" she asked.

"I-I'll do it," he told her, sitting up determinedly, "I didn't wait, so now I should." She blinked in confusion--what did he intend to do? But he had already tugged her into a sitting position. He pulled her with him, adjusting himself so that his back was propped on a few pillows against the head board of her bed. She leaned against his chest, her back snug with his front as he moved his legs to encircle her and his hands played nervous designs over her shoulders. "I want you to feel nice, Hermione," he murmured into her ear, and she shivered in pleasure. He was so close and so warm, and it was comforting to be like this. She relaxed into him further, content, letting her head loll encouragingly against his shoulder. She felt him kiss her neck, sliding his lips down to play on the skin of her shoulder. Slowly, his hands began to drift over her body and she closed her eyes to stop herself from blushing at the sight of it. Those large hands slid easily against her arms, the pads of his fingers alleviating whatever discomfort she had imagined. Two of his fingers found themselves on the swell of her breast, testing the soft skin before moving to encompass her nipple. He rolled it between his fingers and Hermione gasped her approval, her eyes fluttering open and her back arching against him.

"Ron..." she murmured, turning her head to bury her face against the side of his neck. His other hand skated down her stomach towards her core, and she grasped his legs with her hands. Slowly, the fingers found her curls, feeling the soft texture of them before venturing lower. Again Hermione found herself gasping as his fingers slid over her heat; she was still slick from before and one of his fingers wiggled its way inside. His thumb brushed some place wonderful as this happened, and Hermione heard herself groan--but it did not sound like her at all. It was wild and exotic and, as if in response, Ron's fingers tweaked her nipple and he bit her shoulder gently. It was wonderful, to her. She could feel the warmth of his body behind her as her own body seemed to heat up rapidly, and the way he was touching her was driving her crazy.

As his thumb began to make sweet circular motions against her hot flesh, the finger inside her gently probed further in, then out again. It was not the same feeling she had had with him in her, but it felt sinfully good as well, and despite herself she rocked her hips towards his hand. Curling inwards, she closed her eyes, finding his shoulder and biting down to stop the whimpering noises that escaped her mouth. "Let go, 'Mione," Ron said softly into her ear, and she found herself doing just that moments later, tumbling haphazardly down some wonderful cliff. Her whole body seemed to convulse with the wonder of it all and Ron's fingers carried her dutifully through, not stopping once. Finally, she relaxed against him, her breath coming in harsh whispers that she tried in vain to gain some control of. Minutes passed and they lay there in silence, Ron's hands now stilled and coming to rest on her thighs, her own still holding onto his legs. "I think I love you," Ron breathed suddenly, incredulously.

Hermione found herself grinning. "I think I love you, too." She wiggled against him and laughed a little when she felt something hard pressing against her buttocks.

"So have you seen Ginny since what happened today?"

Hermione knew instantly what he was talking about, and yet she could not bring herself to sober up at the mention of it. "Well..." her voice sounded light, carefree, "I haven't, so I asked Luna to go look for her."

She could feel Ron frown behind her. "Looney Lovegood?" he questioned.

"Mhmm," she replied, snuggling up against him. They were quiet for a moment, and then Hermione alighted on a subject she could relate to. "So...have you studied for Transfiguration yet?"

Author's Note: First time I've ever written anything but DMGW. It would be nice if you guys gave me some feedback on how you think I did, but I know a lot of you expressed a dislike for this ship and a preference for a chapter with the dashing Blaise Zabini as a participant of some steamy pre-exam stress-relieving. Still, if you bothered to read this, please give me some opinions! It would be greatly appreciated.

And, never one to disappoint, the lovely Blaise Zabini will be showcased in the next chapter. I would have put his scene in place of this, but I am trying to achieve some continuity in the story, so Ron and Hermione had to go first. Anyhow, if you guys have any other pairings you'd like me to write (or just a favorite character you'd love to see with anyone), I would be more than happy to incorporate them into this story. I'm aiming for at least five chappies.

Read & Review! Thankies.