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Wheeh! Pyro is updating. Just to tell the person who asked where Harry is, well, I don't like Harry that much, and besides, he's already the star of all the books! There won't be any Ron/Hermione smoochage, because they don't tell much about Ron and Hermione alone. They're always with Harry when their story is told. So technically, they wouldn't EVER kiss, because Harry would be right there. And that'd be, I dunno, uncomfortable? So there's your answer, ;)

Ooh, and more advertising for the ever-talented VanDerGirl, aka Justine. Go now!

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Hermione turned on her foot and started looking around for a way to get out of their brick maze behind Diagon Alley.

Ron looked at her curiously. "Whatcha doing, Her-my-ow-nee?"

She spun around slowly to face him and raised her eyebrows. "You said you didn't want to fail. And I know Snape would fail you, Harry, or I if we ever gave him a chance to. So are we going to do this, or are you just going to make up things all day and toddle around?"

His green eyes- or were they brown? Or bl- Hermione stopped herself from questioning her brain too much- Ron's eyes looked down at the smooth cobblestone ground, finally coming up to rest upon Hermione's book bag. He glanced at disdainfully, and then hard enough as if he could make it disappear. Which, really, he could, come to think of it. But then Hermione would bring it right back. So really, it wasn't any use to hope that it could hop over the 20 ft. wall.

"Well? Are you?" She asked again, waiting for his answer.
"Fine. I'll study. But only because you're one of my best friends in the entire world. Of course, Harry's a lot more f-" he stopped as Hermione glared at him furiously. "Fruity!" Ron finished. "Harry is very fruity! You're more- er, flowery."

She gave a small smile at that one. "Good to know, Ronald." She started walking around, her trainers making barely any noise at all on the cobblestones. Ron trailed after her aimlessly, not really caring whether they got out of there or not. He glanced at his watch after a minute or so, as Hermione muttered to herself on how to get out of there. It was 1:30 PM now, and he had gotten there at noon. His dad was going to be back in a half an hour, and if he happened to be very unlucky today, then his mum would probably come. She'd be furious. She'd probably even quiz him on how to do things.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, with terror in his voice. "Do you know how to get out of this place? Because I don't really remember how to get back to Trelawney's place."

She looked up at him, surprised. "What, now you want to get out of this place?"

"No. Actually, I'd stay here, except for the fact that my mum could come in a half an hour, and she's terrifying when she's angry," Ron explained, starting to actually look around with Hermione.

"I like your mother. She's nice."
Ron shook his head. "I don't think you've seen her *really* angry, Hermione. She's scary."

Hermione laughed, a light bubbling sound coming out of her throat that seemed to bounce on the walls. Ron's mum wasn't scary! Ron looked a little flustered by her laugh, which most of the time he managed to hide. "But she is! Really!" he insisted. "If she knew that I was wandering around the back of Diagon Alley instead of having lessons with you, she'd be furious at me- and even more furious at you."

She pursed her lips, finally taking her wand out of her book bag. "This is the only logical way to get out. Of course, besides retracing our steps, which could definitely take more than a half an hour, because I don't really remember where we came from. I just hope the owners of the store in front of us don't mind us barging in like that."

When Ron looked at her questioningly, she told him, "Oh. It's simple. I just have to tap the wall with my wand, mutter a bunch of stuff, and then a couple of bricks'll move out of the way."

"Just like that?" he asked, eyebrows raised. Seems like Hermione had been doing some extra homework over the summer. Not that it was unusual, but usually she just answered questions in class in a rapid fire manner. She didn't really put her knowledge to work unless she was asked to or absolutely needed to. She really wasn't a show-off at all, but Ron just liked to call her that. Hermione never took it to heart, unless you counted that one time in 1st year and that other time and that other time- all right, so he had irked her a little, but it really wasn't that bad. He hoped it wasn't, at least.

She shrugged her shoulders as if was absolutely nothing to perform a spell that nobody in the 5 year knew already. Her periwinkle blue polo shirt inched up her stomach a little as her book bag pressed it there, showing a miniscule bit of smooth, tan skin. It looked like the kind in those sunblock commercials, where they said the lotion was protecting you from the sun, but it really wasn't because the skin was all tan and gorgeous and how in the world did Hermione come into this?

"What in the world was with Hermione today anyway?" thought Ron, as Hermione faced away from him and glanced at a crumpled sheet of paper she had found in one of her books, supposed while he was staring so obviously at her stomach. Her hair was long and layered, past her shoulders, now a shimmering light brown smoothness that looked like chocolate. And her eyes were sparkling and she wasn't wearing any gunk or anything that most of the girls at Hogwarts wore last year. And her dark blue jeans sitting on her hips that flared slightly over the top of her trainers showed off her long legs in the unusually clear day in London. Ron looked at her back. It was a nice back, really. His eyes started to go lower before he clapped a hand over his eyes. "What the hell're you doing, Weasley? Stop it! That's your friend Hermione. BLAST- ENDED SKREWTS!" he reprimanded himself, mentally slapping his cheek.

But when the word "end" popped up in his mind, all he could think of was Hermione's backside which was muttering words very quickly (not her backside, her mouth) that made absolutely no sense to Ron. "So are you done yet?" he asked her loudly, glancing at his watch yet again. It was 1:36 now, and things were not getting any better.

Hermione didn't say a word to him, but just kept on going for 15 more seconds. Then, she deftly tapped the brick above her shoulder, and amazingly enough 7 of the bricks wide and all the way down to the floor started moving themselves outside at Hermione's feet, piling into neat little castle like structures. "There!" she said, satisfied with her work, dusting her pants off. She glanced inside the shop for a moment, then looked back at Ron, who had managed to force his hand off his face.

"Are you coming or should I tell your mother you got lost in the toilets?" she said mischiviously, sticking her hand out to lead the way.

"Tell her I blew up the toilet seats. That'll really get Fred and George," replied Ron, with the same tone Hermione had.
"Of course. Shall I say that you got blown up in the process?"
"Well, yeah! My gravestone could be made out of toilet seats."
"Ron?"
"Yeah?" he replied.
"That's gross."
"I know."

Ron and Hermione both stopped talking at the same time, then they tried to walk into the small space- but then things got a little, squishy. Both of them were pressed to each other, because they had tried to get in sideways. Exclamations could be heard from both parties.

"Ow! Hermione! Whatever happened to men go first?" Ron complained, having bumped his head into Hermione, who in turn thwapped his nose. Their proximity to each other was close. A little too close for comfort. Ron rubbed his nose, feigning mock hurt. Hermione, whose foot had been trodden on by a certain red-haired friend of hers, and her shoulder banged in uncomfortably by the brick arch only a little above her shoulder, was not happy. She squeezed into a dark, dark room in front of her with wooden floors. Ron squeezed in after her, standing behind her, his hand coming to rest on her bruised shoulder unconsciously. "You all right?"

"Fine." Hermione shook off his hand, because every time they touched things got- got- something.

Hermione stepped a little more into the shop. The windows in front seemed to have been painted white, so no one could see in. She could only make out silhouettes of things, and she had to squint even to see those. Ron stepped out beside her, brushing his arm with hers. That simple contact caused a small shiver of sparks to run up her arm, and her face to turn a deep color of red. Hermione was glad it was dark, because she knew that Ron would probably have been laughing at her if he had seen her. She took a step sideways away from him, pretending to look interested in a form that sort of looked like a mannequin. When she touched the fabric on the torso, she found that it was made of some sort of smooth feeling silk. It sort of looked like a dress in the dark. With a small dart of light piercing the painted windows, she could see a beautiful v-neck strappy dress, with small sapphires decorating the neckline.

Ron made no move to go next to her, except glanced at his watch yet again. 1:42. "Hermione? Can we go now?"

"Sure, fine." But Hermione was looking at the dress again with longing eyes. It was floor-length and absolutely gorgeous. Ron noticed her staring at it intently, as if it were some sort of spellbook with lots of complicated things in it. "Why is there a muggle clothes shop in Diagon Alley?" he asked her.

But Hermione didn't really hear him. "I don't know. Wow." It was the first time Hermione had really had an urge to wear something like that. Back in Bristol, she really didn't care about what she wore. Her parents were too proud about her schoolwork, and that's all she really cared about until she met Ron, Harry, Hagrid, and some of the crowd at Hogwarts. "I wonder who it's for," she murmured softly, forgetting all about getting out of the alley and studying with Ron. All she could think of was how beautiful this dress and how much she wanted to wear it to something.

Ron crossed his arms impatiently. What in the world was Hermione doing? It was just a dress. Then, he got a flash of Hermione wearing it. Fitting perfectly over all of her curves (which, he had only just noticed last year), and draping to the floor and her looking all sparkly and b- and AHHHHH! No! Not again. He forced himself to think of Hermione and Krum, which, for some reason, managed to unnerve him so much that he grabbed Hermione's arm away from the dress, and started tugging her blindly for the door. It really was hard to see in this kind of light.

"Ron! What are you doing?" Hermione asked angrily. "I just wanted to look at it for just a second and then you get all 'grrrr.'" Her lips pursed up and she walked back to the dress, looking at it just once more. It was gorgeous. And she could just imagine herself, dancing around a newly waxed floor, sliding around in ballerina slippers. The kind you could go up on toe on. Then, she turned around to face Ron. "We can go now," she said reluctantly, looking up at him, less than enthused.

He was staring at her with this intense look on her face that he got sometimes when they were studying with Harry, when he thought she wasn't looking. From past times, she knew that if she didn't say anything about it, he would keep on doing it until she told him to stop staring at her. But most of the times, she said nothing. Because it was kind of nice having someone staring at you, even if you don't know what the person was staring at. Even if you had broccoli in your teeth.

Ron stopped staring and scratched his shoulder absent-mindedly. "It's okay." His heart was pounding louder than Fred and George when they were making Hopping Hammers, a new gadget for their joke shop. The weird Hermione vibes were getting to him again, that was all. Heat exhaustion. That was it. "So, are we going or are we going to stay here forever?" he asked her softly. It was so quiet and so dark that his voice seemed to shake a little in the dark.

She strode over to him, right in front of him. He was tall, she remarked. At her stature of 5'6, he was only a couple inches taller. Maybe 5'11. Or 6 feet. His hair was somewhat spiky in the dark, and his dark eyes seemed to glint at her a little. "We could go," she whispered. Ron grinned.

"Or we could stay," Ron replied. Her vibes were really getting to him now. He could even smell her, for God's sakes. It was a good smell. Not flowery or anything. Just- Hermione smell. Sort of bookish. "Sort of bookish?" he scoffed at himself. Is that how you think of the girl- er, best friend who is currently here with you in this dark, dark room with only 15 minutes to spare before your father/mum comes and beats you down for not studying?

She nodded, grinning a little, showing perfectly white teeth that were straight. Not big at all anymore. "We could."

Oh God. Too close, too close, too close. Hermione was bordering on his Personal Space. Very, very personal, where things got close. He stepped back a little, bumping into the door. It was locked.

"But we shouldn't," he replied, gulping a little. He hoped Hermione didn't see that.

Hermione nodded. "Let me get the door." She came close to him again, then crouched down a little so she could fiddle with the lock with a bobby pin that was pinning her hair back. Hermione inserted it in, and twisted a little. No click. She twisted it again. No click. She twisted it once more, fiddling roughly with it. She was on her knees now, getting dusty on the wooden floors that hadn't appeared to be mopped in a long time. "Damn..." she whispered, uttering a curse word she never really used.

"Ooh. Harsh words from the Smarty Pants," said Ron, trying to shake off the little shimmers of sparks running through his body.

"Fine!" Hermione stood up abruptly, glaring at him right in the face. "If you're so smart, why don't you do it?" Like he could open the lock better than she could.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked at her. "Fine." He made sure to brush against her as he crouched down and grabbed the hair pin from Hermione's soft hand. He shoved it in, twisted it left, left, right, left, and the door gave a small click. "Hear that, Her-mee-own? That's the sound of-" Ron brought himself up to full height and brushed off his knees "-success."

She looked at him warily. "Hear that, Ronald? That's the sound of your overinflated brain." She grabbed the pin in his hand and put it in her pocket, looking at him defiantly. "That didn't mean anything," she told him, looking at the sloppily painted glass door. They both reached for the golden doorknob at the same time, their hands coming in contact mid-air. Ron could feel his face heating up, and could have sworn he heard Hermione say something like "oh, god" under her breath.

At the same time, their eyes snapped up and looked at each other. It was so dark in the room, but Hermione could see Ron's eyes. As well as could Ron, who saw Hermione's dark eyes before him. The air in the room was so static and tension filled it was almost painful, crushing his chest. He knew what he wanted, and he was pretty sure Hermione wanted it too. Ron came a little bit closer to Hermione, whose small hand had quivered a small moment when their hands were touching. He started caressing the palm of her hand with his thumb, the pad brushing over the small ridges and the smooth surfaces, his breathing getting rageddly as though she was causing him to feel all light-headed and weird and stuff. For one thing, he wasn't letting go of her hand, and it was making more little sparks shoot up her body. And they were wriggly sparks, too.

"Hermione?" Ron broke the silence, asking her something they both knew they really badly wanted to do at that point. His voice was low and odd-sounding- he didn't sound like that unless he really meant something.

"Yeah?" she replied, almost breathlessly. That was it. She wanted to kiss him, and damn Krum to the Snape's dungeons. Who cared about Krum? Krum who? Because the only thing she could think of was how Ron was brushing his hand against hers, and god knows it felt good. Really, really good. Her eyes landed upon his lips. His perfect, slightly pouted lips that were a little bit open. She bit her bottom lip, to try and control herself from reaching up and touching those perfect lips. Those freckled cheeks. His arms. Everything that belonged to him, she wanted to run her hands over.

Meanwhile Ron was having even more trouble controlling himself. He really badly wanted to kiss her. A lot. So much that it was almost driving him absolutely mad. But he knew that Harry would never forgive him if he did. Or maybe he would. Or wouldn't. At this point, touching her warm hand and her skin, getting those fiery little brushes, he couldn't possibly care about Harry. For some reason, he felt unbelievably nervous. And his heart was slamming against his chest and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He had to say something. He looked at his watch.

"It's 1:48 now," he said quietly, in the same voice. It was driving Hermione slightly insane, how it was a little gravelly sounding and not at all from when he was 13, 12, or 11.

She nodded slowly, resisting the urge again to fling herself into Ron's arms and kiss him till her knees were weak and the world was spinning and they were on the floor... "Studying," she reprimanded herself, closing her eyes shut, not being able to bear looking at him.

Ron stared at her intently. Her eyes were closed. "Do it!" his brain screamed. "Not in that sense, of course, but..." She was so intoxicatingly close. So real, and so there. So near to him that he was sure his brain was frying. He gently put a hand on top of her head, as if he was afraid Hermione would break. Hermione kept her eyes closed, but her heart was racing now. Ron slid his hand over her soft hair to her cheek, cuppingly it lightly as he lifted his other hand that was holding Hermione's palm to her face. Now, Hermione was breathing deeply. He was going to kiss her. She was so sure of it.

Ron kept one of his hands on her incredibly soft face, brushing his thumb across her cheek. He let his other hand trail down her neck, over her shoulder, down her arm, making the hairs there stand almost straight up. Then, he slipped his arm to her back. She was so warm everywhere. Hermione kept her eyes closed, and she was biting her lip again.

"Ron..." She whispered, pushing herself closer to him. Ron let his hand slide back up her back, then back down. Fleur was definitely nothing to this. Hermione was going to make him bloody explode. She gave an involuntary shiver. The effect he had on her was incredible. Ron slid his hand along the left side of her body, molding her curves as though she was the statue and he the sculpter, viewing his work. Hermione gulped, licking her lips and leaving them slightly parted. Her eyes opened half-way, giving her a dreamy look about her. She peered up into Ron's eyes. His look reflected her own. Want. Desire. All of it in one handy dandy package.

Ron's breath was getting rageddly again, every breath a chore. All he could think of and want to do right now was to kiss Hermione's glossy pouty parted lips, and he had to do it. Now. But his brain wasn't responding, and now one hand was cupping the hot skin of her neck, and one hand was entangled in her hair. He really wasn't sure what he was doing, but it felt so good and so wrong that it was right.

Hermione's chest was practically heaving. She'd never kissed a boy before. Not even Krum. The only person she'd ever wanted to kiss was Ron, and she'd never told anybody that. Ever. How was she supposed to do this?

Ron lifted up her chin to see him. And then, in one fluid motion, and without so much as a sound, his lips were on hers. Hermione was so shocked she didn't really know how to react, even though she knew it was coming. Then her instinct kicked her in the butt, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, and she stood up on tiptoe a little so then she could better access his lips. The sparks on her arm before were nothing compared to these ones. Ron skimmed his hands to the small of her back, savoring the warmness there. Then, they were pressed together so closely. All her senses were so alert as she moved her lips against his, slowly and torturously. Everything in the world made sense, because they were kissing and kissing and kissing and it was real. It wasn't a dream.

His lips sought her own out eagerly, his hands clutching the bottom back of her shirt in tight fists. It was so unbelievably perfect that Ron never wanted it to end and he just wanted to keep on kissing her, even if the world ended and You-Know-Who came to power and all of it. Her body molded against hers was making him clutch even tighter to her. And it wasn't even an open-mouthed kiss. Hermione was just amazed at the sheer wonderness of him holding her, kissing her, touching the soft and hot skin of her lower back. The little tremors running through her body felt so exquisite, and about 4 minutes flew by with them- kissing. Every touch of their lips was a dizzying spiral of desire, winding them up so thouroughly.

When they broke apart, Ron had her face in his hands, and Hermione still had her arms around his neck. Their eyes were linked, and both of them were breathing heavily. No rational thoughts entered their heads as they just stared at each other, so shocked that they couldn't remove themselves from each other. But then, realization set in upon their eyes, and they broke away abruptly, still having trouble breathing.

"Ron! Why did you do that?" Hermione looked at him, eyebrows furrowed, and her head down, arms crossed defiantly over her chest, trying to hide her body's obvious reaction.

Ron, who was at a loss for words, his hair rumpled rather adorably and his lips thorougly pouted, could only swallow heavily and bite his lip- only muffled words came out. The room was less dark now, and old porcelain dolls could be seen sitting akwardly on musty shelves.

"Well..." Was all he could say, rather bashfully. "Well..."

"Spit it out!" Hermione said, her tone softening a little from the anger filled question before. He looked so lost. Her body was telling her to run at him and kiss him til the world ended, but her brain won.

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"It's 1:54," said Ron, who was now letting out a big rush of hair pent up in his lungs. He was trying to save himself the embarrassment. He couldn't tell her- he wasn't even sure. He had just kissed her- because she was there, and what else was there to do but study? Study, kiss Hermione, or study? It really wasn't a hard decision for most red-blooded males.

Hermione pursed her lips and looked on the brink of yelling at him. All she did was look sort of humiliated and look towards the door. Ron felt this weird twinge in the bottom of his stomach. Dismay, or something.

"We have to go," he said a sort of monotone voice, gazing down at the ground. Instead of those few happy seconds afterwards, he was now feeling kind of sad- and angry. "Why her? Why now?" he asked himself, his brain ripped apart from anguish and escstasy.

"If that's all you have to say then- then-" she sputtered, grabbing the door angrily and forcing it open "-I'll see you next week. Same time. Same place." The girl walked out on Ronald Weasley, leaving him staring agape at her retreating back. Did she just ask him out? Whoah. Hermione just asked him out. "No, she didn't, you prat! We have lessons together, remember?" He took his hand and ran it over his lips. Hermione had just been there a second ago, kissing his lips.

Then, the big picture came in. They had kissed, then Hermione had wanted to know why he did that. And he couldn't answer that? What kind of an idiot did you have to be to not answer that? He guessed, in this instance, that you had to be a "Ron Idiot." He smacked his forehead in resentment. He had let her go? And his mum/dad were coming in 5 minutes? Oh, he just had the greatest life. Really, just spiffing.

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