Hermione whipped out her wand as she ran, pointed it at Ron and screamed "Wingardium Leviosa!" Unfortunately, either due to the jarring of her arm as she ran, or the fact that she was trembling uncontrollably, she missed her aim. Instead of making Ron float, the entire sand pit surrounding the hoops began to separate itself from the grassy field and started flying towards Ron.
FLUMP! Ron and the sand pit met at about twenty-five feet up. The floating sand pit trembled violently, then collapsed back into place with another, bigger FLUMP! taking Ron with it.
Hermione froze in mid-run so abruptly that Fred had to throw himself to one side to avoid crashing into her. She stared at him miserably as he was sprawled on the grass. Then she dropped her wand beside him and whimpered, "What have I done?"
Fred picked up her wand and jumped up. "Prob'ly saved his life, you did. He could've broken his neck."
"Right, instead he's now smothered to death! I feel SO much better," she screeched.
Just then George tugged at her and Fred's arms. "C'mon, Pomfrey and the medi-wizard are checking up on him." They ran towards the sand pit. The Gryffindor team had already landed beside the pit and were watching Madam Pomfrey and the medi-wizard working on Ron's injuries when they arrived at the scene.
"How is he?" panted George.
"Broke his collarbone and half his ribs. Shoulder joint, er, out of joint. Fell on the Quaffle. Might've swallowed some sand, too," Harry answered.
"Oh, Lord," Hermione gasped.
"At least he didn't break his neck," Harry said in what was supposed to be a comforting tone, not noticing that Fred had been desperately shaking his head, trying to stop him from saying that. Hermione DID notice, however, and she rounded on the two of them. "Will you stop trying to make me feel better?! I could've KILLED him! I-- I've bungled a spell! A spell any ruddy first year knows! I can't be trusted in an emergency! I lost control! What kind of a witch am I?" Her entire body was quivering.
"You're in love. You're entitled to lose control every now and then." George made the terrible mistake, as Fred and Harry had done before him, of trying to cheer her up. Which just proves that men sometimes have to have things beaten into their skulls before they get the point.
She rounded on George. "I don't know what I find more insulting: that you seem to think being in love is a disease that would make a reasonably sane person lose control, or that a woman in love is expected to make stupid mistakes and needs to be cheered up by people who can't even imagine what she's thinking or feeling!"
All three boys backed slowly away from her, hands held out in front of them in a gesture of complete and utter defeat, terrified looks on their faces.
After one last glare at the three idiots, she walked towards the pit, where Ron was sprawled on the sand, bathed in a purple light coming from Madam Pomfrey's wand. The medi-wizard was rummaging through his medical kit, pulling out vial after vial of nasty-looking potions, muttering to himself, "infection, inflammation, check, check, rejuvenation, right, right... Ah, here you go, Madam Pomfrey. The patient can take them at the same time." He set aside three vials of muddy-brown, slime-green and bogie-gray potions and opened them.
Pomfrey took the open vials and dumped all the contents into Ron's mouth. A tortured, terrified look appeared on Ron's face, and he was about to spit out the nasty concoctions when the matron clamped her hands over Ron's mouth and nose. He gulped, and Pomfrey removed her hands from his face. Ron turned slightly green around the edges of his face, and promptly fainted. Hermione shrieked.
"Ah, yes, well, that can sometimes happen," the medi-wizard intoned in what he probably thought was a professional-sounding voice. Memories of how that fraud Lockhart deboned Harry's arm when he was hurt by a rogue Bludger in their second year flooded her mind. Hermione wanted to strangle the prissy quack standing over Ron.
She rounded on the Medi-wizard. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The medi-wizard looked her up and down before answering, "Not that it's any of your business, young lady, but I'm a resident at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."
"Oh, a resident, are you? And how long have you been a resident at St. Mungo's?"
"One year, four months," was the proud answer.
"WHAT?! And St. Mungo's let you come to Hogwarts to treat Quidditch injuries? Most first year residents haven't even seen a bad case of multiple hexes, let alone treat broken bones."
"Young lady, I'll have you know St. Mungo's did not let me come here. Your Headmaster requested me to come here. I don't like the tone of your voice, or your questioning. It's enough for you to know that I am a professional. I have assisted in the treatment of several severe injuries," the medi-wizard huffed.
Hermione felt as though several veins in her head had popped. She instinctively knew that the quack was probably the only person St. Mungo's could send on short notice. Right. This means War. "Oh, are you? Have you, now? Let's see, then. Can you describe for us the nature of the injuries you helped treat?"
"Well, not that you would know anything about it, but those cases are described as Level Three in the Medi-wizard's Manual of Magical Maladies and Injuries."
"I do know something about it, thank you very much, so don't even try to intimidate me! Do you think I fell into the lake on my way to Hogwarts? Level Three injuries, my foot! Those include facial manifestations of hexes, such as but not limited to purple boils, tentacles and rabbit's ears! Have you treated any or all three of them? What is the prescribed method of treatment, spell casting to remove the superfluous appendages, or concocting a Banishing Potion? Or can they be used in tandem? Is it acceptable to use both methods in treatment? If so, which method should be used first? Have there been any recorded cases where neither treatment has been effective? If so, has the poor patient been living with purple boils on his nose or rabbit's ears since then?" Her voice got louder and louder, eventually rivaling the pitch and timbre of a Howler. She gestured wildly with her wand hand. Her wand shot multi-colored sparks almost at the medi-wizard's face.
"Er..."
"Right. About the potions you just made Ron swallow. Did you make them yourself?"
"Er, no. It's standard medical supply, however." The medi-wizard looked as though he was terrified of Hermione.
"Did you check the quality and potency of each potion?"
"E-er,... well..."
"Do you even know who makes the 'standard medical supply' potions at St. Mungo's? Do they make it in hospital, or do they have a separate facility for that? Have you even seen the entire hospital yet? How many rooms in St. Mungo's have you ever seen at all?"
The medi-wizard was probably one second away from peeing in his pants. Madam Pomfrey came to his rescue. "Miss Granger, that'll be enough," she scolded.
"And you," Hermione turned to Madam Pomfrey, "why didn't you turn this-- this-- ickle firstie back on his arse when you had the chance? You're neglecting your duty by letting wet-behind-the-ears quacks like this take care of injured students! That should be your responsibility!"
She didn't notice Ron had awakened from his fainting fit. "Hermione... Please don't...," he whispered hoarsely. But she was so angry she ignored him.
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sternly.
"And you," Hermione rounded on Professor McGonagall, "why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you cast a spell to break his fall? He's not just any student! He's Head Boy! And Quidditch Captain! He just won the Quidditch Cup for you! What kind of Head of House are you?"
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly.
"And you," Hermione turned to face the Headmaster. "Why didn't you do anything? How could you let this happen? Ron could've died. We could've lost him. I could've lost him. I could've lost the only man I'll ever..." She broke down. Why didn't anybody understand? She had just lived through her deepest fear. She had come so close to losing Ron. She would never be complete without him.
She saw Ron struggling to his feet. She wanted to stop him from exerting himself, but she couldn't move. She was feeling as though a hundred Dementors were gathering around her. He walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her, and she was warm again.
"Hermione," he whispered. "It's okay. The Boggart's gone now." She sighed into his chest and let her tears fall. Only he could understand her fears, only he could calm and comfort her like this.
"B-but, what if..."
"Trust me."
"I -- I know I can. It's just that I -- I'm scared that one day you'll be gone, that you'll go after all the years we've spent together and you'll take my heart with you and I'll die..."
The softness in his voice was only for her. "Hermione, listen to me. I love you. I promise I'll be with you as long as I'm allowed to stay in this world. You are my world." She sobbed into his chest. "I'll never leave you if I can help it, and if I can't, I'll have to be dragged away kicking and punching and cursing. That good enough?"
She nodded feebly, not thoroughly convinced yet, but desperately wanting him to continue comforting her. He held her closer, ran his hands up and down her back and kissed the top of her head. She sighed contentedly, not caring that the entire student body and the staff were looking on and listening. She closed her eyes, settled her head onto his chest, and listened to his heartbeat.
"You know, you really should apologize to the nice medi-wizard. After all, he didn't know what we mean to each other. He's just an ignorant, impersonal professional who hops around from patient to patient all day long." There was a hint of mischief in his voice that only she could catch.
"Hey, I resent that remark!" The medi-wizard seemed to have momentarily recovered his dignity, but it only took one withering glare from Hermione to make him cringe again.
"Go on, now. You know it's the right thing to do."
"No, it's not. He was mean to me, and his nasty potions made you faint!"
"Come on, love. You know he was just trying to help me."
"No."
"All right, all right, we'll come back to him later. Now then, you have to apologize to Madam Pomfrey."
"Do I have to? She knows I didn't mean it. I was distraught!"
"Yes, you do and you know it. Now go on," he spoke as though he was patiently dealing with a wayward child.
She turned to Madam Pomfrey without leaving Ron's embrace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you like that."
Madam Pomfrey accepted Hermione's apology with her mouth held very stiffly straight, as though she was fighting an almighty urge to laugh.
"Right," Ron said cheerfully. "Now, you have to grovel at Professor McGonagall's feet. She's our Head of House, and she deserves consideration and respect. Go on, start groveling."
"Can't I just apologize like any other student would?" She was bargaining for time, and she knew he knew it.
"No, you can't, no other student has ever screeched at her the way you did. Now stop stalling and start groveling."
She steered him around so she could face McGonagall without letting go of him. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean those things I said to you. I was just so worried about Ron, and instead of blaming myself for doing a spell wrong, I took it out on you. Please forgive me. I'll accept whatever detention you give me and do it twice over to make up for everything."
The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched as though she was suffering from a facial tick. "All right, Miss Granger, you don't have to be so melodramatic. Apology accepted. No detention for today, but I may call you to my office anytime I see fit."
"Now then," Ron continued. "For what you said to the Headmaster, complete and utter humiliation seems to be in order. You may start now."
Hermione turned to face Dumbledore, but rested her cheek on Ron's arm. "H-headmaster, I--"
Dumbledore cut her off. "Apology accepted, Miss Granger."
"Thank you, Professor," Ron answered for her. "Now then, how about--"
"I told you I don't want to apologize to him. He deserved it, and I'm not taking it back, so there."
Ron snorted, then turned to the medi-wizard. "Sorry, old boy, you heard what the lady said. Since she will not apologize personally, I will do it for her. Along with my apology, please accept my thanks for your assistance."
"Well,... I suppose that's all right. After all, the lady was distraught and she meant well. Right, then, if my services are no longer needed, I have to return to St. Mungo's."
Hermione could have sworn that the Headmaster's eyes twinkled in mischief while thanking the medi-wizard and asking Filch to accompany him to the horseless carriage waiting by the castle doors. However, she didn't have time to analyze Dumbledore right now. She wanted to hex the medi-wizard for being a pompous arse, and she wanted to hex Ron for making her look like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum.
She rounded on Ron. "What did you do that for? I didn't want to apologize, and I didn't need you to apologize for me! If you ever do that again I swear I'll--"
"C'mon, 'Mione, I had to do it to get rid of him. I didn't think he'd leave unless you apologized, and I wanted him to leave so I could be with you."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?!"
"Yes, I do. Now stop screeching and drawing everyone's attention to us! I can't kiss you with the whole bloody school watching!"
"Stop bellowing and ordering me around! The only reason people are looking at us is to see if I'll do what you tell me to."
"And you won't?"
"Why should I?"
"I'm your Head Boy!"
"Well, I'm your bloody Head Girl!!"
"Tut, tut, language, Miss Head Girl!"
"Shut up!"
"No, you shut up!"
"Both of you shut up and start snogging!" Harry called out.
"HARRY!" their voices rang across the field.
"I was just trying to be helpful! No need to bite my head off," Harry grumbled.
"SHUT UP!" they chorused.
"Mister Weasley, Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly behind them. They jumped and turned around awkwardly. Hermione could feel her whole face burning. Stealing a glance at Ron, she saw his ears turn a shade of red that had no known description throughout the universe. "I believe we have the Quidditch Cup to award to Gryffindor House," Dumbledore beamed at them. "And unless I'm mistaken, Mister Weasley will have the distinction of capturing the Most Valuable Quidditch Player award for the third time in his Hogwarts career."
The entire field erupted into cheers and applause. Ron turned to her, flashed her a brilliant smile, and kissed her in front of the Headmaster. Oh, and in front of the entire world as she knew it. But she didn't mind. In fact, she kissed him back. They ignored the whistling and the catcalling and the various shouts of "It's about time!" and "At last!" In fact, they continued kissing until Dumbledore cleared his throat right by their ears. They sprang apart. Dumbledore chuckled and motioned to Ron to take the Quidditch Cup floating in mid-air beside them.
As Ron took the Cup, he and the other members of the Quidditch team were lifted to the shoulders of the crowd and borne across the field. Shouts of "Go, go, Gryffindor," and "From east to west, Weasley's the best," rang out all over.
When the cheers finally died down, and Ron was safely deposited beside Hermione again, they walked back hand in hand towards the castle. As they were climbing the stairs towards Gryffindor tower, Ron staggered against her.
"What's wrong, love? Do you feel sick or dizzy?"
"No, not really. A little weak. Just hungry, I guess. I haven't eaten anything since last night." Right on cue, his stomach gave an almighty rumble. She really did try not to giggle hysterically.
"I still have the food you asked Dobby to bring me up in my room. Do you want that, or maybe you'd rather eat at the victory party?"
"Hmm, do I want to eat alone with the woman I love, or do I want to eat where there are lots of pretty girls adoring me? That's a tough choice to make." She hit him on the arm (the uninjured one, thank you very much). "All right, all right, let's go to your room, Head Girl. I am in serious need of counseling. I just won the Quidditch Cup, and I'm afraid I'm feeling very arrogant today."
"Oh, you need counseling, do you? I can do that right here, right now, in two little words: sod off."
"Tut, tut, language, Miss Head Girl!"
"Do you want to eat, or don't you?"
"I want to eat all right, and maybe not just food, eh?"
"RON!" He grinned and put his uninjured arm around her.
Cheers and applause greeted them as they entered the common room. But no one offered any comment when they only lingered for a moment to accept a few congratulations, then went up the stairs. She made a mental note to thank Harry and Ginny later, as they probably threatened to hex anyone who as much as batted their eyelashes the wrong way. As soon as they were inside her room, Ron grabbed a plateful of food, sat down at the foot of her bed and began to eat. She started scolding him almost at once.
"Don't eat too fast!"
"'M 'ungry!"
"You'll choke if you keep on eating like that!"
"Don' mag."
"What?"
"I said, don't nag."
"I do not nag!"
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't!"
"Yes, you do!"
"RON!"
"What?!"
"Ooh,..." 'He looks so sexy when he's irritated! Goodness, where did that thought come from?' "Just... just shut up and eat! But don't eat too fast!"
He put down his fork. "Honestly, woman, you're going to drive me nutters!" He stood up, set aside his plate and reached for a glass of pumpkin juice. As he gulped down the juice, a drop escaped from his mouth and trickled down his neck. She watched as the liquid made its downward journey across his skin. He looked so solid and powerful and alive. And she wanted him.
"Oh. Is that all I do, then?" She looked into his eyes and saw them turn dark and hot.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and started walking towards her. "Do you want me to show you what you do to me?" He looped one arm around her waist and placed his free hand under her jaw, his palm flush with her neck, his little finger poised over her pulse point. They exchanged a look of love and longing so intense that she whimpered as he stooped to kiss her.
She wanted every kiss to be gentle, every touch to last the entire night. At first, it seemed as though she would get her wish. Their tongues slid against each other slowly, lovingly, as if dancing a waltz. They removed each other's clothes one piece at a time, savoring the feel of exposed skin, until they stood only in their underwear. Her hands glided up his back, feeling his shoulder blades moving gently as he held her. She slid her hands down to his waist, then let them drift to the front towards his navel before beginning an upward journey to his chest. His muscles did not bulge out of his skin, which made his body look so lean and his skin deceptively smooth. But as she ran her hands over him, she felt his muscles flex and tense, revealing the hidden power that made her weak inside.
She was dimly aware that her hands were resting lightly on his chest, her thumbs softly stroking his nipples. Then several things happened. She felt him gasp against her mouth, his nipples stiffen under her touch, his body quiver in her arms, and his arousal press against her. She didn't know any spell that could do it, but she instinctively knew it was magic that was transferring the raging fire in his veins into hers. She knew he was engulfing her in his passion, and she let him take her. She opened up her whole body for him and let his hands and his mouth and his tongue explore every curve, every corner, from her mouth to the very pit of her. Then she invited him to seek out and fill her emptiness over and over until they fell into an exhausted sleep.
Some time later, she woke up feeling him shifting uneasily. She touched his injured shoulder and felt it was hot and throbbing. She reached for her wand on the side table by her bed, tapped his shoulder gently, and whispered, "Ferula." Bandages wrapped around the injured area, and the frown on his sleeping face disappeared. She smiled at him. Little did he know the real reason why she kept on calling him "Keeper boy" was because, well, it sounded like something one read about in romance novels, but he really did have her heart in his keeping. The fact that the concept had already been abused and exploited to death in fiction didn't change the truth she felt inside her. She carefully wrapped her arms around him and went back to sleep. But that wasn't the last time she woke up during the night.
She reached out for him in her sleep and her hand landed on empty space. But she could feel him somewhere in the room, and he was looking at her. She opened her eyes, and saw him sitting at the foot of her bed. She didn't quite remember what they said to each other, as her brain was still a little foggy, but apparently she had agreed to share a bath with him. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled across his shoulder in a fireman's hold and carried off to the bathroom.
Her brain and body finally woke up when they got into the tub, which was about half the size of a swimming pool. He sat her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back onto his chest and reached out to touch his injured shoulder. He had taken off the bandage, but the injury was still throbbing slightly. She heard him summon her shampoo bottle and felt his hands moving in her hair. He must have strained his shoulder somehow, because he gave a slight hiss of pain. She turned around and took the shampoo from him.
"There's sand in your hair," she said as she massaged his scalp. He smiled at her.
"So there is." He kissed her cheek and dabbed a bit of lather on her nose. She giggled.
Suddenly she remembered something she'd wanted to ask him all day, but she wasn't sure how she was going to go about it. 'What the hell, I've already made a spectacle of myself in front of the whole school.' "Ron?"
"Hmm?"
"I want to ask you... that is, I'm curious about something you, er,... I mean, when you... last night..." She couldn't go on.
His eyes widened a bit. "What can you possibly be curious about? You've already seen and touched everything there is to see and touch about me. Hang on, have you read about something, er, new, that... you want to try out?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.
She shivered at his words. "Well, I -- I just want to know if... if..." She cursed herself for being so tongue-tied all of a sudden.
"What, then?"
"Well, when you... when I... you know, when you did that thing... where did you... I mean, how did you know... was that..." 'Please, please make him understand.' He did.
"Oh, are you asking me if my first time was last night with you? Or are you asking me where I learnt to do all that, well, that?"
"Er,... both."
"All right, I'll tell you. I learnt everything I needed to know from..." He paused. She could have screamed at his pathetic attempt at suspense, had she not been burning with jealousy.
"Actual experience?! Who -- who --" 'Just tell me who she is and I will make sure she suffers a long, slow, torture-ridden death.'
He grinned evilly. "No, Miss Know-it-All, stop interrupting. I actually learnt it from a book."
Oh. Right. "What book?!"
"A little wizarding how-to book called The Beginners Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..."
"How to Make Them Moan and Groan All Night Long?!"
"You've read that book?!"
She felt herself blushing. "I checked it out of the library since, er, just before Christmas break. Can you believe Madam Pince actually wanted to put it in the Restricted Section?"
"Of course I do! All those moving pictures and the sounds that go with it! Why do you think I asked you for a Silencing spell for my room?"
"What?!"
"The twins gave me that book last year for my birthday. I tried reading it at the Burrow, but it was so loud! And Winky wouldn't help me put a Silencing spell on my room because she said I was being naughty, wanting to read it. So when I got my own room here I've been, er, reading it ever since. Not that I thought I could actually,... practice all that stuff. But it was, well,..."
"Er, educational?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Oh. Right. It was, actually." She started splashing the water around with her fingers and studied the bubbles as if McGonagall had asked her to transfigure them into bath buns.
"Hmm, I have a feeling there's something else you want to tell me."
Right. She may as well come clean, er, no pun intended. "Well, there's a -- a second volume to that book. It's called The Advanced Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..."
"How to Make Them Scream and Writhe With Pleasure and Beg You to Hurt Them All Night Long? Yeah, I've seen it around."
"Where? Here?" 'I thought I'd hidden that damn book! Crookshanks must have been clawing at it again.' She felt her eyes were at least as large as Dobby's.
"No. The twins gave it to me for Christmas. Hang on, you mean you've got that book from Pince, too?"
"Well,... yeah. It never hurts to -- do a bit more research, you know." 'Oh, that's really smooth. Next, he'll believe me when I say I'm the Heir of Hufflepuff!'
There was an unreadable expression on his face. "I see. But sometimes, you have to prove that all those facts are correct, don't you?"
"Of course! You have to test if the theory is sound and... Oh! Oh." She was starting to get the idea. "Ron?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think we can still get some eclairs from the kitchens?"
"Sure. But there's still a lot of food out... Oh! Oh. Hang on, I'll be right back." He grabbed one of her towels and wrapped it around him. He was in such a hurry, he nearly slipped on the tiles. She giggled even worse than Lavender Brown did when the Yule Ball was announced in fourth year. She slipped into her bathrobe, used a spell to shake out and freshen up the sheets, and lay down.
He was back so fast she wondered if he asked the elves to magic him into her room again. He was carrying a huge platter loaded with eclairs.
"Just so you know, 'Mione, I won't be able to look at desserts the same way after tonight." She really did try not to drool as he broke several eclairs in half and walked towards her.
She trembled as he smeared the creamy filling of the eclairs all over her body, then licked it off. Then he did it over and over and over, until half the eclairs were gone and her voice was froggy from screaming his name. Well then, turnabout is fair play, isn't it? So she had to break some eclairs in half and smear the creamy filling all over his body and lick it off and do it again and again until all the eclairs were gone and he was hoarse from moaning and growling. It was dawn before they fell asleep again, more sweaty and sticky than before they took a bath together. Luckily, it was Sunday.