"Stage Fights" by Quidditch, Anyone?


Treatments Available


"Weasley, how can I treat you if I'm not even allowed to see what I'm treating?" Madame Pomfrey scolded Ron. Hermione sat shyly beside him on a spindly wood chair.


Ron groaned and removed his hand from his mouth. Would Madame Pomfrey know what it was? Would she take one look at him and know exactly what happened? Will she go and tell George and Fred and Harry and Ginny and-


All right, he had to calm down. On the bright side, he'd rather have her see it than all of Gryffindor asking him what happened to his shiny red, swelling lips.


"Hmm... do anything to hurt yourself Weasley?" she asked very suddenly, making Ron jump nervously.


"Erm... no, not-not that I can remember," he responded. He tried with all his might not to look at Hermione.


"Well, it's definitely curable."


Ron heaved a Ron-sigh of relief.


"But it may take a bit," she finished. Bugger!


"Lucky for you, this should speed up the process a great deal," she told him while rummaging through a drawer full of tubes and patches and what-nots. She tossed him a shiny metal tin about the size of a coat button and instructed him to use it three times a day until he looked normal again. When he first applied it, his lips looked perfectly fine.


"It won't last long," Madame Pomfrey said. "So remember to use it!"


"I will," he promised. She smiled approvingly and turned away to do whatever extras do when the two main characters have a heart-to-heart talk.


"So... that's good news!" Hermione piped up. "You can't even tell anything's wrong at all!"


"Yeah," he fumbled with the tin absentmindedly. The two stayed quiet for a moment, but with good reason. Really, what could either say? "Sorry I accidentally contaminated you when you were assaulting me?" "Oh, that's all right... happens to the best of us, really..."


Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, I have loads of work to do. Better be off to the library." With one last weak smile and awkward pause, she left Ron very much alone.


He ran a finger across his mouth to see if it felt right. It did, but that was really the least of his worries. His hand ran up to his forehead and stopped at the bridge of his nose while he thought of how stupid he had acted. Now, what one earth persuaded him to do such a thing? Just a second before all he could think about was how he couldn't make it obvious that he liked her. So what did he do? Why, leaned over and laid one on her, of course! I mean, wasn't that what everyone is supposed to do when they don't want their best friend to know they're in love with them?


Ron suddenly shuddered. He'd never even thought of that 'l' word until just now. He didn't really think he was 'in love' with Hermione; that was that sort of let's-get-married-and-spend-the-rest-of-our-lives-together thing. This was was just his... first crush. Though he didn't know much, he did know better than to think it would last, which is why he never told her.


He covered his face entirely in his broad hands. He didn't care much about how his sticking-up hair created the illusion that his hands were on fire; he had too much on his mind.