A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, particularly the peeps who
have been putting them up after every chapter. I'm so grateful, you don't
know how much it helps! It's always so much funner to write if there are
people actually reading it. =) BTW…if anyone has any songs that would
pertain to the basic plot of the story, please e-mail me the lyrics (I like
to put the relevant ones in the beginnings of the chaps., if you haven't
noticed. Thanks to the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh power!…That's a
lot, I think.
Disclaimer: Rowling's stuff you'll recognize. Mine you won't.
Here is my confession
May I be your possesion?
Boy, I need your touch
your love, kisses, and such
With all my might I try
but this I can't deny...
And I play it off but I'm dreaming of you
and I keep it cool but I'm freakin'...
I try to say goodbye and I choke
Try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it
It's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near...
-'I Try,' Macy Gray
"Ugh…" Hermione rolled out of bed the next morning with a splitting headache. She had been out clubbing way too long, getting home at two in the morning. She had tried to forget about what had happened the other night; it didn't work as the brief, passionate kiss she and Ron had shared still etched into her mind. Running her hands down her wrinkled dress, she frowned at the stain marring it. Obviously a shot of Firewhiskey. Her hair was in elegant disarray, rich chestnut curls spilling out from the sleekness of the other night. She winced as she passed her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was mostly gone, leaving a much more natural face than she was used to seeing. Slipping out of her dress, she rummaged around in her chest of drawers and pulled out a large button-down men's shirt that one of Angela's brothers or something had left there a couple of years ago. She ran a tired hand through her tousled hair and trudged towards the kitchen. "Need caffeine…and food. Mmm, food." Summoning a bagel and some fruit towards her, she set the coffee maker and gathered her copy of the Overseer from the owl that had been tapping at her window for the past half- hour.
"Coffee doesn't go very well with that," her roomate said as she pushed open the front door, laden down with bags. "You only just woke up? It's almost noon."
Hermione shrugged. "I stayed out a little too long last night." Angela dropped her purchases onto the ground, sitting down across from her at the table.
"So how'd it go with Ron?"
"Not very well. He insisted on dredging up stuff from our past that I'd really prefer to not talk about." She chewed on a piece of bagel thoughfully. "He says I'm in denial. I think it's the other way around." The coffee machine clicked off as Hermione padded over to it, pouring herself a generous mugful.
"Really?" Angela twisted a strand of blonde hair around her index finger. "Since you won't tell me what kind of stuff he insisted on talking about, I can't really comment on that, Herms. Sorry." She leaned over and snatched a grape before sliding one of the bags to her. "I got you something too, to thank you for letting me borrow those blue dress robes."
"You didn't have to." Nevertheless, Hermione pulled out the package curiously. Wrapped in tissue paper were some crisp new men's dress shirts. She laughed.
"You always take them from my brothers when they come over, so I thought I'd get you some of your own."
"Oh, that's just because I love them so much. How are they doing, anyway?" Two of Angela's three brothers worked in the American Ministry of Magic; the other was a reserve on the Fitchburg Finches quidditch team.
"Well, Travis and Tom are still toiling away at the Ministry. Mark might be bumped up from the reserves soon; it depends on whether or not their star Seeker'll recover from his bout of quidditch elbow. Broke his arm about eight times already." Hermione looked horrified. "Don't worry, I don't think he'll catch it…you know, he thinks you're cute. Should I set you two up?"
"Erm…let me think about it." Her eyes looked strained and troubled as she stared down into the brown depths of her coffee. "Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy-"
"Actually, he isn't. But he has had a crush on you for a while, and I thought you might want to get to know him a bit. It's okay though." Angela pulled a face. "He has groupies throwing themselves at him right and left…he was Witch Weekly's number two most beautiful person last year."
"Who was number one?"
"It was a tie between Kirley McCormack…you know, the guitar player? And that one Gladrags model, Ginny Weasley."
"Ginny Weasley?" A wistful smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "We were friends at Hogwarts."
"Pity you didn't keep in touch with anyone from over there."
"There weren't many left to keep in touch with," she replied bluntly, sending her dishes to the sink, where they automatically began cleaning themselves. "The Final Confrontation decimated us."
"Oh God, Herm…I'm so sorry-"
"It's alright. It happened a long time ago." She flashed her a smile, speaking firmly in a tone that implied finality. "It all happened in the past and that's where it'll stay."
*********
"So how did that affect your relationship with your family?" Ron sat in the courtyard of DeWalin, Turbo-Speed Notetaking Quill freshly inked and ready to go.
"Well, they weren't sure if I should come or not…they're really overprotective and at the time, the Voldemort Reign was still in full swing. It took a lot of convincing on my part to get them to let me come here." Ron's hand, aided by the quill, zipped across the paper. His mouth was turned up in one corner, forming into his trademark lopsided smile. Despite his need to remain serious, this kind of gentle digging for answers excited him. Journalism turned out to be the push Ron needed to excel in school. The inquisitive attitude and forwardness needed in the profession was already a part of his personality; he just needed to focus it in one direction.
"Ah…but you still felt safe here once term started, correct?" The girl blushed as she looked into his intense blue eyes.
"Somewhat. I mean, Death Eaters got into Hogwarts, right? If they could break in there, they could do it anywhere. I just made sure I was on guard all the time and cast protective spells around myself at night. I don't know if it would have been effective against dark magic, but it made me feel safer." At the mention of Hogwarts, Ron went quite still. Images of the gory, mangled bodies of the dead flitted through his head. Dean Thomas, Colin Creevey, Professor Snape, Nurse Pomfrey and countless more…all dead. He could still see his ashen-faced friends watching as the caskets of families, lovers, and confidants were lowered to the ground. Every single funeral was excruciating to witness. "Are you okay?"
He shook himself. "Yeah, I'm fine…er…" He looked back down at his notes. "Denise." The girl smiled at him sympathetically, taking his hand in hers.
"You're British, right? So you went to Hogwarts…I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me." He made a motion with his other hand as if to wave it off. "Oh, you know who you should interview? Hermione Granger. She went to Hogwarts too…do you know her?"
"Oh, Ron and I are old friends." The aforementioned young woman was presently standing in front of their bench, staring down at them. It wasn't noticable to the casual observer, but Hermione's eyes were flashing in anger and…was it jealousy? "I'm willing to do the interview if you want one."
Ron wasn't a casual observer. He (quite deliberately) squeezed Denise's hand, thanking her for her time. The girl blushed again and quickly excused herself, gesturing for Hermione to seat herself.
"Was that some kind of lame pick-up technique? 'Let me interview you and by the way, can I get your number?'"
"No, it wasn't." He frowned down at his hands. "I was talking to her about the Voldemort years." Hermione flinched; not from the name but from the memories it evoked.
"Why can't you people put the past in the past?" Her eyes were shooting daggers at him, but instead of cowering under that gaze he sat up straighter and looked squarely back at her.
"For the same reason there's a History of Magic class. To learn from what happened in the past and make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Yes, but it's all still fresh in our minds."
"No, really?" Ron shook his head in disbelief. "In case you forgot, I was there too. I experienced the same things you did, but came away with a different perspective on it." He sat back, looking at her sideways. "You always used to drone about gaining perspective on life…I can't think of anything more life-altering than the Voldemort years." Hermione said nothing. "Were you serious-you know-about the interview?"
She rolled her eyes. "I forgot how the journalist's mind works. Empathizing and sympathetic on the outside, canniving and blunt on the inside."
He frowned. "I know many people in my profession that care deeply about the public. They've made it their life's work to enlighten them about issues that they should be informed of. You have to be blunt around some people that are stubborn or won't give you the truth-"
"What YOU think is the truth," she injected testily. "Don't you remember Rita Skeeter? And what does Harry think of all this? Does he know about your job?"
Ron sighed. "Rita Skeeter worked for Witch Weekly…of course she overexaggerated things. I can't account for every single journalist, okay? And Harry's fine with what I'm doing; in fact, I help keep articles on him to a minimum." Again Hermione was amazed by the change in him. Instead of having a blazing row about something stupid like textbooks or Yule Ball dates, they were having an (to some extent) intelligent debate about a feasible topic. "Hello? Anybody home?" Ron waved his hand in front of her face. "Earth to Hermione."
"Stop it." She grabbed his hand in an effort to get it away from her face.
"I didn't know you were so forward." He threw an arch glance in her direction and she blushed. Her smaller hand was enveloped by his larger one, his warm palm flat against hers. His eyes deepened in their mischevious expression. "My hand is so much bigger than yours."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"No, it's a pick up line. After I say that, I'm supposed to do this." He gave her a smouldering look that made her knees weaken and laced his fingers through hers. "Good, huh?"
Hermione shook her head, hastily extracting her hand from his. "It's corny."
"But it worked. I saw your eyes widen…your knees were all wobbling even though you were sitting down." He ran a hand through his hair, which effectively made her want to do the same. "Why can't you admit the fact that you-"
"We've already been through this, remember? I told you the answer to what you're going to ask in seventh year." Ron, who had been scratching at the stubble dotting his cheeks, stopped. He stared at the ground morosely.
"'Mione, why do you insist on stringing me along like some puppet?"
"I'm not. You're flirting with me and I'm reciprocating. It's all in good fun."
"This is FUN? So you're saying you have some sadistic pleasure in leading me on?"
"I'm just trying to make you see that we wouldn't fit together at all."
He made an exasperated sound. "The reason we're not getting along is because you insist on being so difficult!"
"Difficult? Whatever do you mean?" She offered him a saccarhine smile.
"Like last night. You came downstairs all dressed up in white, looking like the innocent. Then you come on to me…hell, you KISSED me…and then you slap me and leave to go out with your ex-boyfriend."
"I'm in charge of my own actions. You can construe whatever you want. I already told you, I care for you as a friend."
"Oh really?" He stopped for a moment, effectively checking his temper and putting on the eager, passionately fervent attitude that had been shaped by journalism school. It was as much a facet of his persona as his red hair. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"
"I'd…well, I'd-erm…" She looked back at him helplessly. "Slap you."
"Let's test that theory, shall we?" He leaned in close to her, and Hermione felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. "Gonna slap me now?"
She could feel his breath stir the hairs on her forehead. The sun set his eyes on fire, the blue lighting up and producing an electric quality. She shook her head slowly. "No." 'Dammit, dammit, dammit!' her mind screamed. He moved in still closer.
"I should be kissing you now, right?" He smirked at her. "I know you want me to."
'Fucking prat,' her mind scolded again. 'Two can play at this game.' "Please? If you wouldn't mind." His eyes widened in surprise. She licked her lips, then looked up at him with wide brown eyes. "Or I guess I could do it myself." She pulled away suddenly, glancing around the almost deserted courtyard. "Maybe I should just find someone else."
"Hermione…"
"Some older guy. Maybe a pre-med. Or…ooh, maybe pre-law."
Ron's voice became more urgent. "Hermione, stop this…"
"Or maybe a Quidditch player. I mean, Viktor was so polite and gentlemanly."
Ron's temper flared up at the mention of Krum. "He was hideous! Looked like he had caterpillars above his eyes instead of eyebrows! He waddled around like a penguin! He couldn't even pronounce your name correctly…"
"He treated me with respect."
"I treated you with respect."
She laughed harshly. "Always making fun of me for reading, leaving me out of things you shared with Harry, not noticing I was FEMALE until fourth year…yeah, that's really respectful." Hermione fully expected Ron to spontaneously combust, he was so red. But instead of yelling, he exhaled slowly.
"Why do we always have to argue?" She looked up at him. He looked weary, self-mocking almost.
"Because that's how we ARE. Can't you understand that, Ron? We're always going to argue, so logically a relationship between us wouldn't work."
"Will you just for once not think logically?" He stood up, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"No."
"You seem to do that with all your other boyfriends…or am I not an ordinary boyfriend?"
Hermione wouldn't answer.
"Ah…that's it, isn't it?"
"No, it's not." She exhaled deeply. "Look, Ron…after the Confrontation, I wanted to be a normal young woman. I wanted to be independent. And I knew-" She stopped abruptly.
"You knew what?"
"Nothing." She changed back into the Innocent, much to Ron's annoyance. "I have to get home and finish this editorial. It's due in two weeks."
He eyed the cover and a smirk flitted across his face. "What class is it for?"
She stared back at him, puzzled, until a sheepish expression dawned on her face. "Print Journalism."
"And you're having trouble with an editorial?" She nodded mutely. "Did Bloth tell you that my forte is writing editorials?"
"You're a correspondant for the Chudley Cannons."
"On the side…and those are sports editorials." He grinned at her rakishly, making her heart skip a rapid succesion of beats. "Tell you what. Let's go to a real newspaper office and we can see how it's really done."
Her mouth dropped open. "But you work for a British paper…"
He rolled his eyes. "We can Apparate, remember? Or do you still not feel up to it?" She shot him the patented Hermione Granger Death Glare.
"I can Apparate fine, thank you very much."
"Then you'll come?" The tone of his voice was hopeful.
"Yes."
As they trooped to a still more deserted area of the courtyard to Apparate, Ron turned to her. "Oh, I almost forgot something…" he leaned in close. Her breath came faster all of a sudden, and it looked like he was going to kiss her. "You need your passport across borders." He zipped her bag back up (it was slung across her shoulder) and handed it to her, smirking at her obvious discomfiture.
'Damn,' she thought.
A/N: Review please!
Disclaimer: Rowling's stuff you'll recognize. Mine you won't.
Here is my confession
May I be your possesion?
Boy, I need your touch
your love, kisses, and such
With all my might I try
but this I can't deny...
And I play it off but I'm dreaming of you
and I keep it cool but I'm freakin'...
I try to say goodbye and I choke
Try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it
It's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near...
-'I Try,' Macy Gray
"Ugh…" Hermione rolled out of bed the next morning with a splitting headache. She had been out clubbing way too long, getting home at two in the morning. She had tried to forget about what had happened the other night; it didn't work as the brief, passionate kiss she and Ron had shared still etched into her mind. Running her hands down her wrinkled dress, she frowned at the stain marring it. Obviously a shot of Firewhiskey. Her hair was in elegant disarray, rich chestnut curls spilling out from the sleekness of the other night. She winced as she passed her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was mostly gone, leaving a much more natural face than she was used to seeing. Slipping out of her dress, she rummaged around in her chest of drawers and pulled out a large button-down men's shirt that one of Angela's brothers or something had left there a couple of years ago. She ran a tired hand through her tousled hair and trudged towards the kitchen. "Need caffeine…and food. Mmm, food." Summoning a bagel and some fruit towards her, she set the coffee maker and gathered her copy of the Overseer from the owl that had been tapping at her window for the past half- hour.
"Coffee doesn't go very well with that," her roomate said as she pushed open the front door, laden down with bags. "You only just woke up? It's almost noon."
Hermione shrugged. "I stayed out a little too long last night." Angela dropped her purchases onto the ground, sitting down across from her at the table.
"So how'd it go with Ron?"
"Not very well. He insisted on dredging up stuff from our past that I'd really prefer to not talk about." She chewed on a piece of bagel thoughfully. "He says I'm in denial. I think it's the other way around." The coffee machine clicked off as Hermione padded over to it, pouring herself a generous mugful.
"Really?" Angela twisted a strand of blonde hair around her index finger. "Since you won't tell me what kind of stuff he insisted on talking about, I can't really comment on that, Herms. Sorry." She leaned over and snatched a grape before sliding one of the bags to her. "I got you something too, to thank you for letting me borrow those blue dress robes."
"You didn't have to." Nevertheless, Hermione pulled out the package curiously. Wrapped in tissue paper were some crisp new men's dress shirts. She laughed.
"You always take them from my brothers when they come over, so I thought I'd get you some of your own."
"Oh, that's just because I love them so much. How are they doing, anyway?" Two of Angela's three brothers worked in the American Ministry of Magic; the other was a reserve on the Fitchburg Finches quidditch team.
"Well, Travis and Tom are still toiling away at the Ministry. Mark might be bumped up from the reserves soon; it depends on whether or not their star Seeker'll recover from his bout of quidditch elbow. Broke his arm about eight times already." Hermione looked horrified. "Don't worry, I don't think he'll catch it…you know, he thinks you're cute. Should I set you two up?"
"Erm…let me think about it." Her eyes looked strained and troubled as she stared down into the brown depths of her coffee. "Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy-"
"Actually, he isn't. But he has had a crush on you for a while, and I thought you might want to get to know him a bit. It's okay though." Angela pulled a face. "He has groupies throwing themselves at him right and left…he was Witch Weekly's number two most beautiful person last year."
"Who was number one?"
"It was a tie between Kirley McCormack…you know, the guitar player? And that one Gladrags model, Ginny Weasley."
"Ginny Weasley?" A wistful smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "We were friends at Hogwarts."
"Pity you didn't keep in touch with anyone from over there."
"There weren't many left to keep in touch with," she replied bluntly, sending her dishes to the sink, where they automatically began cleaning themselves. "The Final Confrontation decimated us."
"Oh God, Herm…I'm so sorry-"
"It's alright. It happened a long time ago." She flashed her a smile, speaking firmly in a tone that implied finality. "It all happened in the past and that's where it'll stay."
*********
"So how did that affect your relationship with your family?" Ron sat in the courtyard of DeWalin, Turbo-Speed Notetaking Quill freshly inked and ready to go.
"Well, they weren't sure if I should come or not…they're really overprotective and at the time, the Voldemort Reign was still in full swing. It took a lot of convincing on my part to get them to let me come here." Ron's hand, aided by the quill, zipped across the paper. His mouth was turned up in one corner, forming into his trademark lopsided smile. Despite his need to remain serious, this kind of gentle digging for answers excited him. Journalism turned out to be the push Ron needed to excel in school. The inquisitive attitude and forwardness needed in the profession was already a part of his personality; he just needed to focus it in one direction.
"Ah…but you still felt safe here once term started, correct?" The girl blushed as she looked into his intense blue eyes.
"Somewhat. I mean, Death Eaters got into Hogwarts, right? If they could break in there, they could do it anywhere. I just made sure I was on guard all the time and cast protective spells around myself at night. I don't know if it would have been effective against dark magic, but it made me feel safer." At the mention of Hogwarts, Ron went quite still. Images of the gory, mangled bodies of the dead flitted through his head. Dean Thomas, Colin Creevey, Professor Snape, Nurse Pomfrey and countless more…all dead. He could still see his ashen-faced friends watching as the caskets of families, lovers, and confidants were lowered to the ground. Every single funeral was excruciating to witness. "Are you okay?"
He shook himself. "Yeah, I'm fine…er…" He looked back down at his notes. "Denise." The girl smiled at him sympathetically, taking his hand in hers.
"You're British, right? So you went to Hogwarts…I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me." He made a motion with his other hand as if to wave it off. "Oh, you know who you should interview? Hermione Granger. She went to Hogwarts too…do you know her?"
"Oh, Ron and I are old friends." The aforementioned young woman was presently standing in front of their bench, staring down at them. It wasn't noticable to the casual observer, but Hermione's eyes were flashing in anger and…was it jealousy? "I'm willing to do the interview if you want one."
Ron wasn't a casual observer. He (quite deliberately) squeezed Denise's hand, thanking her for her time. The girl blushed again and quickly excused herself, gesturing for Hermione to seat herself.
"Was that some kind of lame pick-up technique? 'Let me interview you and by the way, can I get your number?'"
"No, it wasn't." He frowned down at his hands. "I was talking to her about the Voldemort years." Hermione flinched; not from the name but from the memories it evoked.
"Why can't you people put the past in the past?" Her eyes were shooting daggers at him, but instead of cowering under that gaze he sat up straighter and looked squarely back at her.
"For the same reason there's a History of Magic class. To learn from what happened in the past and make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Yes, but it's all still fresh in our minds."
"No, really?" Ron shook his head in disbelief. "In case you forgot, I was there too. I experienced the same things you did, but came away with a different perspective on it." He sat back, looking at her sideways. "You always used to drone about gaining perspective on life…I can't think of anything more life-altering than the Voldemort years." Hermione said nothing. "Were you serious-you know-about the interview?"
She rolled her eyes. "I forgot how the journalist's mind works. Empathizing and sympathetic on the outside, canniving and blunt on the inside."
He frowned. "I know many people in my profession that care deeply about the public. They've made it their life's work to enlighten them about issues that they should be informed of. You have to be blunt around some people that are stubborn or won't give you the truth-"
"What YOU think is the truth," she injected testily. "Don't you remember Rita Skeeter? And what does Harry think of all this? Does he know about your job?"
Ron sighed. "Rita Skeeter worked for Witch Weekly…of course she overexaggerated things. I can't account for every single journalist, okay? And Harry's fine with what I'm doing; in fact, I help keep articles on him to a minimum." Again Hermione was amazed by the change in him. Instead of having a blazing row about something stupid like textbooks or Yule Ball dates, they were having an (to some extent) intelligent debate about a feasible topic. "Hello? Anybody home?" Ron waved his hand in front of her face. "Earth to Hermione."
"Stop it." She grabbed his hand in an effort to get it away from her face.
"I didn't know you were so forward." He threw an arch glance in her direction and she blushed. Her smaller hand was enveloped by his larger one, his warm palm flat against hers. His eyes deepened in their mischevious expression. "My hand is so much bigger than yours."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"No, it's a pick up line. After I say that, I'm supposed to do this." He gave her a smouldering look that made her knees weaken and laced his fingers through hers. "Good, huh?"
Hermione shook her head, hastily extracting her hand from his. "It's corny."
"But it worked. I saw your eyes widen…your knees were all wobbling even though you were sitting down." He ran a hand through his hair, which effectively made her want to do the same. "Why can't you admit the fact that you-"
"We've already been through this, remember? I told you the answer to what you're going to ask in seventh year." Ron, who had been scratching at the stubble dotting his cheeks, stopped. He stared at the ground morosely.
"'Mione, why do you insist on stringing me along like some puppet?"
"I'm not. You're flirting with me and I'm reciprocating. It's all in good fun."
"This is FUN? So you're saying you have some sadistic pleasure in leading me on?"
"I'm just trying to make you see that we wouldn't fit together at all."
He made an exasperated sound. "The reason we're not getting along is because you insist on being so difficult!"
"Difficult? Whatever do you mean?" She offered him a saccarhine smile.
"Like last night. You came downstairs all dressed up in white, looking like the innocent. Then you come on to me…hell, you KISSED me…and then you slap me and leave to go out with your ex-boyfriend."
"I'm in charge of my own actions. You can construe whatever you want. I already told you, I care for you as a friend."
"Oh really?" He stopped for a moment, effectively checking his temper and putting on the eager, passionately fervent attitude that had been shaped by journalism school. It was as much a facet of his persona as his red hair. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"
"I'd…well, I'd-erm…" She looked back at him helplessly. "Slap you."
"Let's test that theory, shall we?" He leaned in close to her, and Hermione felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. "Gonna slap me now?"
She could feel his breath stir the hairs on her forehead. The sun set his eyes on fire, the blue lighting up and producing an electric quality. She shook her head slowly. "No." 'Dammit, dammit, dammit!' her mind screamed. He moved in still closer.
"I should be kissing you now, right?" He smirked at her. "I know you want me to."
'Fucking prat,' her mind scolded again. 'Two can play at this game.' "Please? If you wouldn't mind." His eyes widened in surprise. She licked her lips, then looked up at him with wide brown eyes. "Or I guess I could do it myself." She pulled away suddenly, glancing around the almost deserted courtyard. "Maybe I should just find someone else."
"Hermione…"
"Some older guy. Maybe a pre-med. Or…ooh, maybe pre-law."
Ron's voice became more urgent. "Hermione, stop this…"
"Or maybe a Quidditch player. I mean, Viktor was so polite and gentlemanly."
Ron's temper flared up at the mention of Krum. "He was hideous! Looked like he had caterpillars above his eyes instead of eyebrows! He waddled around like a penguin! He couldn't even pronounce your name correctly…"
"He treated me with respect."
"I treated you with respect."
She laughed harshly. "Always making fun of me for reading, leaving me out of things you shared with Harry, not noticing I was FEMALE until fourth year…yeah, that's really respectful." Hermione fully expected Ron to spontaneously combust, he was so red. But instead of yelling, he exhaled slowly.
"Why do we always have to argue?" She looked up at him. He looked weary, self-mocking almost.
"Because that's how we ARE. Can't you understand that, Ron? We're always going to argue, so logically a relationship between us wouldn't work."
"Will you just for once not think logically?" He stood up, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"No."
"You seem to do that with all your other boyfriends…or am I not an ordinary boyfriend?"
Hermione wouldn't answer.
"Ah…that's it, isn't it?"
"No, it's not." She exhaled deeply. "Look, Ron…after the Confrontation, I wanted to be a normal young woman. I wanted to be independent. And I knew-" She stopped abruptly.
"You knew what?"
"Nothing." She changed back into the Innocent, much to Ron's annoyance. "I have to get home and finish this editorial. It's due in two weeks."
He eyed the cover and a smirk flitted across his face. "What class is it for?"
She stared back at him, puzzled, until a sheepish expression dawned on her face. "Print Journalism."
"And you're having trouble with an editorial?" She nodded mutely. "Did Bloth tell you that my forte is writing editorials?"
"You're a correspondant for the Chudley Cannons."
"On the side…and those are sports editorials." He grinned at her rakishly, making her heart skip a rapid succesion of beats. "Tell you what. Let's go to a real newspaper office and we can see how it's really done."
Her mouth dropped open. "But you work for a British paper…"
He rolled his eyes. "We can Apparate, remember? Or do you still not feel up to it?" She shot him the patented Hermione Granger Death Glare.
"I can Apparate fine, thank you very much."
"Then you'll come?" The tone of his voice was hopeful.
"Yes."
As they trooped to a still more deserted area of the courtyard to Apparate, Ron turned to her. "Oh, I almost forgot something…" he leaned in close. Her breath came faster all of a sudden, and it looked like he was going to kiss her. "You need your passport across borders." He zipped her bag back up (it was slung across her shoulder) and handed it to her, smirking at her obvious discomfiture.
'Damn,' she thought.
A/N: Review please!