A/N: Erm...I know the past few chapters have been really short. Sorry
(thanks to SummerShines for telling me)...so now I'll put this up right
away to make up for it. I also combined chapters two and three.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's except for Bloth and the plot.
I know I stand in line
until you think you have the time
to spend an evening with me
And if we go some place to dance
I know that there's a chance
you won't be leaving with me
And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place
and have a drink or two
And then I go and spoil it all
by saying something stupid
like 'I love you'...
-'Something Stupid', Robbie Williams with Nicole Kidman
"Mr. Weasley disagreed quite strongly with your theories, Miss Granger." Hermione turned blank eyes onto her paper. It was awash with red. There were editing symbols scattered about, coupled with phrases like 'awkward sentence structure', 'lopsided argument', and 'not enough statistics'.
'When did Ron get so smart?' She wondered. In her daze, she noticed that her inky fingers had left prints on the parchment. She barely heard her professor's droning; it was rather like a faint buzzing in her ear than anything else.
"...working for The Daily Prophet, he WOULD be the type to spot these things, Hermione. Don't be too hard on yourself." Had her ears stopped functioning correctly?
"He works for The Daily Prophet?" Dr. Bloth looked a tad irritated.
"Yes...I just said that...Anyway, he mostly writes on the Dark Wizard trials that are still going on...I think he's also a correspondant on the Chudley Cannons front as well. If I recall correctly, their editor-in-chief placed him in the news department when he first signed on. He's friends with all the right people; the Potters, Finnigans, Malfoys...although why the Prophet would want to interview that Pansy woman, I have no idea." He looked down on her sternly before his face relaxed into a benign smile. "Well, I'll leave you to your writing." As he left Hermione heaved a huge sigh of relief, her mind switching gears again. She didn't get The Daily Prophet; express owls were sent across the Atlantic just to get it there on time, so it had an exorbitant subscription rate. Consequently, Hermione had subcribed to a local paper, The Weekly Overseer. It was much cheaper, but she missed the high-quality writing of the superior British paper. Turning her attention back onto her work, Hermione's eyes scanned the battlefield of cross-outs and corrections, stopping on a small note scribbled hastily towards the bottom of the page:
Dinner? Circle your answer. YES NO
Rolling her eyes, Hermione picked up her quill, poised over the word 'no'. But then some notes slipped out of her folder. Ron's thinly-veiled taunt about denial and running away glared back at her in her own handwriting, complete with a bullet and explanation following it. "Ron Weasley, get ready to feel my wrath." A hunter-green circle looped itself neatly around 'yes,' and she watched as the ink slid around, forming new words.
I'll pick you up at seven. Wear some nice Muggle thing.
Curious, Hermione waited for the ink to move back to the original words and then circled 'no'.
I'll come around at seven. Wear something nice.
"I should have known."
**********
"Whoa! What are you up to tonight?" Hermione's roommate, Angela McVicker, grinned at her from the doorway.
"Catching up with an...old friend." She picked up a vial of sweetly scented perfume, a soft flowery fragrance that brought to mind early spring mornings. She sprayed it across her pulse points generously. Her reflection looked back at her with a satisfied expression and Hermione barely checked a conspiring smile. Nutmeg-brown curls framed her face, sleek and shiny. Just the right amount of makeup...she particularly liked her lip gloss; (a CliniWitch special collection item) it added a fresh, dewy texture to her soft pink lips. A cream-coloured dress framed her curves in all the right places, dipping in the front to show off a taste of cleavage, yet demure in the fact that it stopped at the knee. She liked the way she looked right now: young and innocent. Perfect. As she bent down to fasten the strappy heels onto her feet, she asked, "Am I dressed well enough?"
"Hon, you look perfect." Angela gave her the thumbs-up before jamming her hands into the pocket of her Sweetwater All-Stars jumper. "But I suggest you bring a cloak, it's kinda cold." As she shrugged into a similar-colored coat, the doorbell sounded downstairs. "You stay right there, I'll get it." Hermione shot her a grateful look before going back to the coat. It wasn't a thick fabric, but she wore it nonetheless. She had just finished when the soft, polite conversation ended and the door banged open. "Oh Herm, he's to DIE for!" Her friend squealed. "It's official: I now have a fetish for red- heads. Let's go." The two headed down the stairs and entered the living room, where Ron was sitting.
"Hermione." His cool, suave demeanor was something she'd have to get used to...however, that was eclipsed by what was a very male appreciation of her appearance. "You look great."
"Thank you." She made sure her smile was beguilingly innocent.
"Ready to go?"
"Uh-huh." After a few rather innapropriate comments, ("Make sure you do EVERYTHING I wouldn't do!") Angela waved the two off. Ron was walking at an easy pace, swinging the keys of his car with his right hand. The Jaguar logo stared back at her. She was quite aware of his discreet, frequent glances in her direction, and it made her feel a little embarrased and shy. "Honestly, it's only Ron," she muttered.
"Pardon? I didn't catch that."
"Oh, nothing." She shook her head, coming to a stop in front of a shiny, brand-spanking-new sports car. Ron unlocked the door, opening it with a casual courtesy Hermione found she rather liked. A moment later they were on the road.
She didn't break the silence at first, being too busy studying his features. Street lights and moonbeams played across his face, which had been sculpted quite favorably by time. It was no longer the face of a harsh, clumsy, tumultuous young teenager, but the face of an sure, intelligent, and lethally handsome man. Hair short and a little bit spiky, yet by the looks of it soft...still divinest Weasley-red. His black suit was a study in good taste; obviously tailor-made, it emphasized a cut, fit physique. The wiryness had filled out a bit. Her eyes flicked back to his face and from her first glance she knew he was enjoying the fact she had spent a long time doing nothing but stare at him.
"So where are we headed to?" Ron was too busy changing lanes to answer at first. But once they reached La Jolla Village Drive, he answered. "A friend of mine lives in Torrey Pines, and I asked her to recommend some good restaurants. I booked us a table at an Italian place." He honked the horn angrily as they were cut off. "I hate driving. Especially since Americans drive on the other side of the road."
"So why'd you drive? To show off this expensive car?" He flashed her a grin and turned down another street. "I know where we're going...it must be Shores. Right next to the beach, am I correct?"
"Full marks. Go to the top of the class." After this small gibe they lapsed into silence again.
"You know...you could've just asked me about restaurants." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards.
"Yeah, well...I'm a big boy now and I don't need Hermione to give me all the answers anymore."
"I never gave you answers!"
"Oh yeah." His voice took on a high falsetto tone. "'If you didn't PROCRASTINATE until the last minute, Ronald Jeffrey Weasley, then you wouldn't need ME to give you any answers. Besides, it's HIGHLY unethical, and as Head Girl I have a responsibility-" He shortened his 'tirade' at Hermione's glare. "'HONESTLY.'" The sight of his sparkling blue eyes induced her to giddy laughter as they pulled into the parking lot. "Well, we're here."
*********
Hermione watched the bubbles rise to the top of her glass of champagne. Since Ron was footing the bill, she didn't really feel the need to scrimp on this meal. She picked at her appetizer, occaisionally spearing something on the end of her fork.
"How's DeWalin treating you? Number one student, I expect." She shrugged nonchalantly, hiding the embarassment well.
"Yes, I am, actually...how's The Daily Prophet?" Ron looked surprised.
"How'd you know I worked there?"
"Bloth told me." He nodded, frowning a bit.
"That guy...he really LOOKS like he'd be named Bloth, doesn't he? All pudgy and red and pimply, with all that white hair on top. Actually, now that I think about it, he looks more like a strawberry gone moldy." Hermione snorted with laughter, but quickly contained herself and shot him a glare. "What? He does...oh, it's that 'respect your professors' junk. Look, in college I made fun of all my teachers, sometimes right to their faces, and I still graduated."
"You went to college?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, I went to college. Do you think the Prophet hires people right off the street?"
"Sorry." A fiery red eyebrow lifted upwards lazily.
"What's this? Hermione Granger actually apologizing for something?"
"I do when I'm wrong."
"I guess you HAVE changed." This wasn't going at all like she wanted.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think? You're a smart girl." They were interrupted by the waiter, who set down their main courses and refilled their glasses. At her refusal to answer him Ron deftly changed the subject. "So how's life in general? Having fun?"
"Yes, I am, actually. It's great living on your own-"
"With no restrictions holding you down." She looked up, surprised.
"Yeah." The soft clicking of high heels grew louder as another couple was seated a few tables away. "What about you? Started your own brood?"
He gave a look she couldn't even begin to decipher. "No. No mini-Weasleys from me." A muscle in his jaw worked. "No wife either." For some reason Hermione flushed under his intense gaze.
"That's too bad. All the girls are missing out on something great."
"But not good enough for you."
"Ron..."
"Sorry. Just got a little carried away. Forget I said anything." The rest of the meal was peppered with polite conversation. Ron watched people dancing to the slow beat of a mini-orchestra on the patio outside. "It's a pavane."
"A what?" She followed his gaze to the couples.
"A pavane." He stood up suddenly, holding out a hand. "Care to dance?"
"All right." Hermione slipped her hand into his, a small electic charge shooting up her arm from this seemingly harmless contact. Once they were dancing it intensified. It was delicious, how nicely his hand fitted into the small of her back and how she could lean her head on his shoulder...just like that...it was perfect. "I haven't danced like this in ages." Her voice came out as a husky whisper next to his ear and she could feel his muscles tense a bit.
"I did, just last week." She lifted her head to look at him. He was trying to maintain composure.
"Really? I think dancing's rather intimate...if you're with the right person."
"Hermione." This time he was determined. "What are you playing at?"
"Who said anything about playing?" He cupped her chin, tilting her face upwards.
"Stop this."
"Stop what?"
"Stop...stop baiting me."
"Ron, we're both normal young adults. Surely you can handle a little flirting?"
"Sure, I can handle flirting...but not from you." She stepped back a little. The pads of his fingertips brushed across her waist as he let her go, sending another tingle through her. "Oh, and now you're backing away?" She walked away quickly.
"Would you mind taking me home?" Hermione had rushed down the steps leading to the beach, and she wrapped her arms around herself defensively.
"Apparate." He walked down to the water's edge. "I'm staying here." He removed his shoes and socks, shrugging out of his jacket afterwards. With his shirtsleeves rolled up and pants cuffed to the knee, he looked younger and more vulnerable.
"I can't." He turned to look at her.
"Yes you can. Step one: lift wand. Step two: think of destination. Step three-"
"I can't concentrate hard enough." She sat down on the soft sand. "I'll wait until you're done." Ron made no reply, only plopped down next to her.
"Your hair looks nice." He tucked a couple of escaped curls behind her ear. "But I like it best when you just leave it alone."
"Ron, don't."
"Huh? You don't want me to compliment you?"
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
"I've heard that somewhere before." He sifted some of the sand through his fingers. "Plaigarism's a bad thing, 'Mione. You could get sued."
"So? I'm not scared of anything."
"You're scared of me."
"Scared of you? Don't make me laugh." She scooted closer to him until there was barely an inch separating them. "Nothing can shake me."
"Not even mountain trolls?"
"Nope."
"Liar. You were about to keel over. But then again, that could've been from the stench." Hermione laughed. "Seriously though...why are you scared of me?"
"I thought we proved this already. I'm not scared of you...I guess I'll have to show you then, won't I?" And with that she kissed him. Caught off- guard, Ron nearly toppled to the ground. She found herself deepening it further. It was a draining, passionate, sensual kiss, the kiss of a man who had held himself in check for too long. His mouth ravaged hers and she pressed herself against him, earning a harsh groan from Ron before she pulled away and slapped him across the face.
"Ouch! What the hell was that for?"
"I...I DON'T KNOW!" She stumbled up, wand hand poised.
"Hermione...Hermione, wait."
"Leave me alone, Ron!"
"Let me take you home. You could get splinched. You're not in any condition to Apparate."
"Don't tell me what to do." She raised her wand hand.
"There are Muggles here; they'll see you." He reached out to grab the wand from her hand.
"Don't touch me." He recoiled.
"What? Do I repulse you all of a sudden?"
"YES! My life was fine, going smooth until YOU came here and messed up everything!" She turned away. "You make me so confused."
"It doesn't have to be this way with us, Hermione. I...I still love you. You know that, don't you?" Their argument was interrupted by another voice.
"Hermione? Hermione Granger?" A man walked down towards them. "How's my favorite ex-girlfriend?"
"Not very well, actually. I want to go have some fun."
"I'm game."
"Okay, wait for me." She collected her stuff before turning to Ron. "Ron, this is my life. I'm independent, I don't have any baggage to carry around, and I can't deal with this right now. I don't want a commitment."
"You're scared and you know it."
"However you want to rationalize it is fine with me. Goodbye, Ron."
A/N: Please review!
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's except for Bloth and the plot.
I know I stand in line
until you think you have the time
to spend an evening with me
And if we go some place to dance
I know that there's a chance
you won't be leaving with me
And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place
and have a drink or two
And then I go and spoil it all
by saying something stupid
like 'I love you'...
-'Something Stupid', Robbie Williams with Nicole Kidman
"Mr. Weasley disagreed quite strongly with your theories, Miss Granger." Hermione turned blank eyes onto her paper. It was awash with red. There were editing symbols scattered about, coupled with phrases like 'awkward sentence structure', 'lopsided argument', and 'not enough statistics'.
'When did Ron get so smart?' She wondered. In her daze, she noticed that her inky fingers had left prints on the parchment. She barely heard her professor's droning; it was rather like a faint buzzing in her ear than anything else.
"...working for The Daily Prophet, he WOULD be the type to spot these things, Hermione. Don't be too hard on yourself." Had her ears stopped functioning correctly?
"He works for The Daily Prophet?" Dr. Bloth looked a tad irritated.
"Yes...I just said that...Anyway, he mostly writes on the Dark Wizard trials that are still going on...I think he's also a correspondant on the Chudley Cannons front as well. If I recall correctly, their editor-in-chief placed him in the news department when he first signed on. He's friends with all the right people; the Potters, Finnigans, Malfoys...although why the Prophet would want to interview that Pansy woman, I have no idea." He looked down on her sternly before his face relaxed into a benign smile. "Well, I'll leave you to your writing." As he left Hermione heaved a huge sigh of relief, her mind switching gears again. She didn't get The Daily Prophet; express owls were sent across the Atlantic just to get it there on time, so it had an exorbitant subscription rate. Consequently, Hermione had subcribed to a local paper, The Weekly Overseer. It was much cheaper, but she missed the high-quality writing of the superior British paper. Turning her attention back onto her work, Hermione's eyes scanned the battlefield of cross-outs and corrections, stopping on a small note scribbled hastily towards the bottom of the page:
Dinner? Circle your answer. YES NO
Rolling her eyes, Hermione picked up her quill, poised over the word 'no'. But then some notes slipped out of her folder. Ron's thinly-veiled taunt about denial and running away glared back at her in her own handwriting, complete with a bullet and explanation following it. "Ron Weasley, get ready to feel my wrath." A hunter-green circle looped itself neatly around 'yes,' and she watched as the ink slid around, forming new words.
I'll pick you up at seven. Wear some nice Muggle thing.
Curious, Hermione waited for the ink to move back to the original words and then circled 'no'.
I'll come around at seven. Wear something nice.
"I should have known."
**********
"Whoa! What are you up to tonight?" Hermione's roommate, Angela McVicker, grinned at her from the doorway.
"Catching up with an...old friend." She picked up a vial of sweetly scented perfume, a soft flowery fragrance that brought to mind early spring mornings. She sprayed it across her pulse points generously. Her reflection looked back at her with a satisfied expression and Hermione barely checked a conspiring smile. Nutmeg-brown curls framed her face, sleek and shiny. Just the right amount of makeup...she particularly liked her lip gloss; (a CliniWitch special collection item) it added a fresh, dewy texture to her soft pink lips. A cream-coloured dress framed her curves in all the right places, dipping in the front to show off a taste of cleavage, yet demure in the fact that it stopped at the knee. She liked the way she looked right now: young and innocent. Perfect. As she bent down to fasten the strappy heels onto her feet, she asked, "Am I dressed well enough?"
"Hon, you look perfect." Angela gave her the thumbs-up before jamming her hands into the pocket of her Sweetwater All-Stars jumper. "But I suggest you bring a cloak, it's kinda cold." As she shrugged into a similar-colored coat, the doorbell sounded downstairs. "You stay right there, I'll get it." Hermione shot her a grateful look before going back to the coat. It wasn't a thick fabric, but she wore it nonetheless. She had just finished when the soft, polite conversation ended and the door banged open. "Oh Herm, he's to DIE for!" Her friend squealed. "It's official: I now have a fetish for red- heads. Let's go." The two headed down the stairs and entered the living room, where Ron was sitting.
"Hermione." His cool, suave demeanor was something she'd have to get used to...however, that was eclipsed by what was a very male appreciation of her appearance. "You look great."
"Thank you." She made sure her smile was beguilingly innocent.
"Ready to go?"
"Uh-huh." After a few rather innapropriate comments, ("Make sure you do EVERYTHING I wouldn't do!") Angela waved the two off. Ron was walking at an easy pace, swinging the keys of his car with his right hand. The Jaguar logo stared back at her. She was quite aware of his discreet, frequent glances in her direction, and it made her feel a little embarrased and shy. "Honestly, it's only Ron," she muttered.
"Pardon? I didn't catch that."
"Oh, nothing." She shook her head, coming to a stop in front of a shiny, brand-spanking-new sports car. Ron unlocked the door, opening it with a casual courtesy Hermione found she rather liked. A moment later they were on the road.
She didn't break the silence at first, being too busy studying his features. Street lights and moonbeams played across his face, which had been sculpted quite favorably by time. It was no longer the face of a harsh, clumsy, tumultuous young teenager, but the face of an sure, intelligent, and lethally handsome man. Hair short and a little bit spiky, yet by the looks of it soft...still divinest Weasley-red. His black suit was a study in good taste; obviously tailor-made, it emphasized a cut, fit physique. The wiryness had filled out a bit. Her eyes flicked back to his face and from her first glance she knew he was enjoying the fact she had spent a long time doing nothing but stare at him.
"So where are we headed to?" Ron was too busy changing lanes to answer at first. But once they reached La Jolla Village Drive, he answered. "A friend of mine lives in Torrey Pines, and I asked her to recommend some good restaurants. I booked us a table at an Italian place." He honked the horn angrily as they were cut off. "I hate driving. Especially since Americans drive on the other side of the road."
"So why'd you drive? To show off this expensive car?" He flashed her a grin and turned down another street. "I know where we're going...it must be Shores. Right next to the beach, am I correct?"
"Full marks. Go to the top of the class." After this small gibe they lapsed into silence again.
"You know...you could've just asked me about restaurants." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards.
"Yeah, well...I'm a big boy now and I don't need Hermione to give me all the answers anymore."
"I never gave you answers!"
"Oh yeah." His voice took on a high falsetto tone. "'If you didn't PROCRASTINATE until the last minute, Ronald Jeffrey Weasley, then you wouldn't need ME to give you any answers. Besides, it's HIGHLY unethical, and as Head Girl I have a responsibility-" He shortened his 'tirade' at Hermione's glare. "'HONESTLY.'" The sight of his sparkling blue eyes induced her to giddy laughter as they pulled into the parking lot. "Well, we're here."
*********
Hermione watched the bubbles rise to the top of her glass of champagne. Since Ron was footing the bill, she didn't really feel the need to scrimp on this meal. She picked at her appetizer, occaisionally spearing something on the end of her fork.
"How's DeWalin treating you? Number one student, I expect." She shrugged nonchalantly, hiding the embarassment well.
"Yes, I am, actually...how's The Daily Prophet?" Ron looked surprised.
"How'd you know I worked there?"
"Bloth told me." He nodded, frowning a bit.
"That guy...he really LOOKS like he'd be named Bloth, doesn't he? All pudgy and red and pimply, with all that white hair on top. Actually, now that I think about it, he looks more like a strawberry gone moldy." Hermione snorted with laughter, but quickly contained herself and shot him a glare. "What? He does...oh, it's that 'respect your professors' junk. Look, in college I made fun of all my teachers, sometimes right to their faces, and I still graduated."
"You went to college?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, I went to college. Do you think the Prophet hires people right off the street?"
"Sorry." A fiery red eyebrow lifted upwards lazily.
"What's this? Hermione Granger actually apologizing for something?"
"I do when I'm wrong."
"I guess you HAVE changed." This wasn't going at all like she wanted.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think? You're a smart girl." They were interrupted by the waiter, who set down their main courses and refilled their glasses. At her refusal to answer him Ron deftly changed the subject. "So how's life in general? Having fun?"
"Yes, I am, actually. It's great living on your own-"
"With no restrictions holding you down." She looked up, surprised.
"Yeah." The soft clicking of high heels grew louder as another couple was seated a few tables away. "What about you? Started your own brood?"
He gave a look she couldn't even begin to decipher. "No. No mini-Weasleys from me." A muscle in his jaw worked. "No wife either." For some reason Hermione flushed under his intense gaze.
"That's too bad. All the girls are missing out on something great."
"But not good enough for you."
"Ron..."
"Sorry. Just got a little carried away. Forget I said anything." The rest of the meal was peppered with polite conversation. Ron watched people dancing to the slow beat of a mini-orchestra on the patio outside. "It's a pavane."
"A what?" She followed his gaze to the couples.
"A pavane." He stood up suddenly, holding out a hand. "Care to dance?"
"All right." Hermione slipped her hand into his, a small electic charge shooting up her arm from this seemingly harmless contact. Once they were dancing it intensified. It was delicious, how nicely his hand fitted into the small of her back and how she could lean her head on his shoulder...just like that...it was perfect. "I haven't danced like this in ages." Her voice came out as a husky whisper next to his ear and she could feel his muscles tense a bit.
"I did, just last week." She lifted her head to look at him. He was trying to maintain composure.
"Really? I think dancing's rather intimate...if you're with the right person."
"Hermione." This time he was determined. "What are you playing at?"
"Who said anything about playing?" He cupped her chin, tilting her face upwards.
"Stop this."
"Stop what?"
"Stop...stop baiting me."
"Ron, we're both normal young adults. Surely you can handle a little flirting?"
"Sure, I can handle flirting...but not from you." She stepped back a little. The pads of his fingertips brushed across her waist as he let her go, sending another tingle through her. "Oh, and now you're backing away?" She walked away quickly.
"Would you mind taking me home?" Hermione had rushed down the steps leading to the beach, and she wrapped her arms around herself defensively.
"Apparate." He walked down to the water's edge. "I'm staying here." He removed his shoes and socks, shrugging out of his jacket afterwards. With his shirtsleeves rolled up and pants cuffed to the knee, he looked younger and more vulnerable.
"I can't." He turned to look at her.
"Yes you can. Step one: lift wand. Step two: think of destination. Step three-"
"I can't concentrate hard enough." She sat down on the soft sand. "I'll wait until you're done." Ron made no reply, only plopped down next to her.
"Your hair looks nice." He tucked a couple of escaped curls behind her ear. "But I like it best when you just leave it alone."
"Ron, don't."
"Huh? You don't want me to compliment you?"
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
"I've heard that somewhere before." He sifted some of the sand through his fingers. "Plaigarism's a bad thing, 'Mione. You could get sued."
"So? I'm not scared of anything."
"You're scared of me."
"Scared of you? Don't make me laugh." She scooted closer to him until there was barely an inch separating them. "Nothing can shake me."
"Not even mountain trolls?"
"Nope."
"Liar. You were about to keel over. But then again, that could've been from the stench." Hermione laughed. "Seriously though...why are you scared of me?"
"I thought we proved this already. I'm not scared of you...I guess I'll have to show you then, won't I?" And with that she kissed him. Caught off- guard, Ron nearly toppled to the ground. She found herself deepening it further. It was a draining, passionate, sensual kiss, the kiss of a man who had held himself in check for too long. His mouth ravaged hers and she pressed herself against him, earning a harsh groan from Ron before she pulled away and slapped him across the face.
"Ouch! What the hell was that for?"
"I...I DON'T KNOW!" She stumbled up, wand hand poised.
"Hermione...Hermione, wait."
"Leave me alone, Ron!"
"Let me take you home. You could get splinched. You're not in any condition to Apparate."
"Don't tell me what to do." She raised her wand hand.
"There are Muggles here; they'll see you." He reached out to grab the wand from her hand.
"Don't touch me." He recoiled.
"What? Do I repulse you all of a sudden?"
"YES! My life was fine, going smooth until YOU came here and messed up everything!" She turned away. "You make me so confused."
"It doesn't have to be this way with us, Hermione. I...I still love you. You know that, don't you?" Their argument was interrupted by another voice.
"Hermione? Hermione Granger?" A man walked down towards them. "How's my favorite ex-girlfriend?"
"Not very well, actually. I want to go have some fun."
"I'm game."
"Okay, wait for me." She collected her stuff before turning to Ron. "Ron, this is my life. I'm independent, I don't have any baggage to carry around, and I can't deal with this right now. I don't want a commitment."
"You're scared and you know it."
"However you want to rationalize it is fine with me. Goodbye, Ron."
A/N: Please review!