A/N:  Thanks a million times to everyone!  Here's the update!

Disclaimer:  All JK's, not mine.

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Ron woke up the next morning and immediately noticed that his head was swimming.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what, exactly, had his emotions in such high drive, but he felt as if he were somehow feeling enough for ten people.  The sun was shining very brightly through his window, and he turned away from it, pulling his blanket tighter to this chin.  As he did this, though, he realized that the sun must have come out after the major storm the night before.

And remembering the storm made remembering everything else very easy.

He remembered going downstairs and seeing his mother at the kitchen table.  He thought about all of the things she'd said last night and felt horrible that she was feeling all of those things.  He'd come back up to his room with the intention of pondering all the worries and everything she'd confessed to him, but he had soon got distracted.

Very distracted.

When Hermione had shown up at his bedroom door dressed in her tiny little pajamas, he'd quickly forgotten that he'd even seen his mother a few minutes before, much less been able to remember what she'd said. 

Ron felt something in his stomach tighten as he remembered the way she'd burst into tears for no good reason and then switched quickly to giggling and playful.  That was just like a girl; he couldn't even begin to fathom the way they worked or why they had to be so damn emotional all the time.  Hermione had remarked once that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon; if that were true, then he would measure her emotional range to be the size of a swimming pool. 

He remembered most of their conversation accurately, the way she'd gone on and on about how she was so glad he was okay and how she was happy that they were friends.  He remembered her agreeing that they didn't really fight all that much, just bickered and occasionally exchanged, what did he term it, friendly taunting.

And then her toenails.

Those sparkly, girly pink, unbelievably adorable toenails.  And he'd teased her and accused her of being too much of a girl; she'd rolled her eyes and remarked that it was nice of him to notice.  And, of course, he'd opened his big, stupid mouth and told her that he already noticed.

Damn, did he notice.

He still wasn't sure why she'd switched from discussing her toes to wiping dirt away from his nose, but he was most certainly sure what the little jump of his insides in reaction to her touch meant.  When she'd been leaning into him, her face just a few inches from his, he'd wanted so badly to do so many things he had never dared before.

But then, just like that, she was sliding off his desk and bidding him goodnight.

Ron had recovered rather quickly from his mini-fantasy about what exactly he'd like to do while she was sitting there on his desk in front of him; he'd stood up, too, and asked for a goodnight hug, if for no other reason than to be able to touch her again.

He definitely hadn't expected her to kiss him.

His heart sped up at the mere memory of it, and he rolled over to his stomach and buried his face into the pillow.  She had kissed him. 

And not on the cheek, either.

Of course, it was possible that she had meant to kiss him on the cheek and simply misaimed.  If this had been the case, though, surely she would have looked horrified and embarrassed and apologized immediately, if for no other reason than to express that it had been an accident.  She hadn't done any of that, though; she'd simply nodded her head once and said, "Goodnight." 

And then she'd left.

It had taken Ron forever to drift off to sleep after that.  What was she playing at, just running off like that?  Didn't she know that he was in total shock and having major trouble believing that she'd actually put her lips on his? 

She put her lips on his.

She kissed him.

Hermione.

Not even bothering to fight the silly little smile that was occupying his face at the thought of her.  He didn't know what to make of her half the time, considered her slightly insane, and didn't even try to figure her out the majority of the time.

But still...  God, she was just perfect.

It hadn't even been a very engaging kiss, just barely a peck and that was it.  And his lips were still burning.

He'd wanted to kiss her for so long, wanted to do so much for so long, that he couldn't quite grasp that she'd actually done it.  Truthfully, he'd always expected that it should be him who should make the first move, but apparently, she was a bit braver than he was.  She'd gone and done it and now it was done.

Maybe it was a sign that he should take the next step and actually do something about it.  Perhaps it was a test to see if he had the guts to do anything else.

Well, if she wanted guts, she'd get guts.

There was one thing he knew for certain.  Now that she'd kissed him, he was damn well going to kiss her back.  And the sooner the better.

But what was the best tactic for going about this plan?

He couldn't very well go downstairs and kick Ginny out of her own bedroom and then snog Hermione senseless.  Could he?  No, of course not; Ginny would never go for that.  But then again, he couldn't very well ask her to come back up to his room because that might appear a bit sketchy, and if not sketchy, definitely desperate.  And he did not want to appear sketchy.

He'd just have to play it by ear.

Yes, that's right.  By ear.

Feeling quite confident with himself, Ron rolled out of his bed and stood up, shivering in the morning chill.  He could do with a shower, as he certainly didn't want to make his move on Hermione and stink at the same time; he somehow didn't think she'd enjoy that too much.

Grabbing some clean clothes from the pile on his floor where his fresh laundry lay, he hurried down to the bathroom, resigning himself to not think about Hermione for the moment.

Naturally, this did not work because his life, after all, was one big irony.  Hermione just had to be leaving the bathroom at the exact same time Ron reached it, and he cursed the Fates under his breath.  Of course, the first time he would see her after she kissed him would be in the early morning when he had neither brushed his teeth, combed his hair, put on clean clothing, or bathed.

She started slightly when she saw him, and he was pleased to see that she seemed at least a little uneasy, as she glanced down the hallway in what he knew was an effort to avoid making eye-contact.


"Um, good morning," she said, her voice breaking oddly.


Ron remembered the goodnight she'd given him the night before and hoped for many repeats.  Not voicing this hope, though, he replied, "Yeah, mornin'."

"So, ah," she seemed to be thinking of something to say.  "The shower's free."

Ron stared at her for a moment and saw that she was still quite intent on not making any sort of eye-contact with him.  Instead of commenting on this, though, he simply nodded and said, "Yeah, okay."

And then he went into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed to himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.  It amazed him to no end that his heart was racing the way it was.  After all, all she'd said was good morning and that the shower was free.  Why did his heart feel like it was going to explode out of his chest at any moment.

Hermione had already been dressed and ready for the day, and Ron hadn't missed the fact that she'd apparently dressed for a hot day.  He figured that she must have seen the bright shining sun and planned on a rain-free and rather warm day, as she'd been dressed in just a pair of denim shorts and a yellow shirt that was just bordering on being too short.  Of course, he wasn't complaining or anything, but her ensemble certainly made talking to her like a normal human being a bit more difficult.

After a considerably cold shower, Ron, too, dressed for the day, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and finishing off his outfit with a worn pair of trainers.  After all, there was nothing really better than plain old simplicity.  He brushed his teeth and ran his fingers through his hair until it was only damp and not soaking anymore, and then he went downstairs to breakfast.

He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to get used to the kitchen being so quiet in the morning.  He'd grown up as one of seven children and actually hadn't even understood the meaning of quiet until five of them were out of the house. 

His mum was at the stove and smiled at him when he walked in; it was a warm sort of smile that told him she was a little more okay than she'd been the night before.  "Eggs, dear?" she asked kindly.

Ron shook his head and sat down at the table beside his father.  Ginny and Hermione were strangely absent.  "No, thanks.  I'm just going to have toast."  He reached for a couple of slices and started buttering them when his father spoke.

"So, did you sleep well?  You didn't have any problems, did you?"

Ron knew that his dad was only concerned because it had been his first night out of the hospital.  He glanced at his mother, who shook her head just slightly.  "Uh, yeah, it was fine."

"Well, that's good," his dad continued.  "If you have any problems we're supposed to let the Healers know."

"No, I'm okay," he said dismissively and then tried the sly approach.  "So, where's Ginny?"

"Have some juice, dear," said his mother firmly, filling his glass with orange juice.  "And she and Hermione are outside playing football."

Ron nearly choked on the sip of juice he'd just taken.  "What?!"

"Yes," said his mum with a slight grimace.  "They've been out there for a bit now; I can't believe Ginny finally talked Hermione into it."

"Hermione is teaching Ginny to play football?"  It really couldn't be true.

"I suppose so.  That's what they said anyway.  Are you sure you don't want any eggs?"

"No, I'm all done, thanks," he said quickly, wiping his mouth and dashing for the door that led to the backyard. 

The scene before him was not one he was sure that he would ever likely forget.  It seemed as if his mother had been telling the truth, and Ron suddenly forgot everything else, as he didn't know whether to be completely amused or strangely turned on by the sight of Hermione, indeed, playing football.  It was definitely something to look at...

"Ron!" Ginny shouted, "Think fast!"  And she kicked the ball right at him; out of instinct, he caught it and stared at it as the girls ran over to him, both of them giggling like mad.

"Great catch!" said his sister as she panted for breath and put her hands on her knees.  "You'd make a great goaler."

"Goalie," said Hermione, still giggling.


"Oh, right.  Goalie," Ginny said nodding. 

"Where the hell did you get this from?" Ron asked, staring down at the football in his hands.

"Dad got it, I don't."  She shrugged and held her hands out.  "Now give it back, so I can practice."

"Ginny, you've completely lost it," he said seriously. 

"I haven't, either," she said defiantly.  "Football is the number one Muggle pastime, isn't that right, Hermione?"  Hermione nodded, a smug look on her face.

"You aren't a Muggle," he said, staring at her with raised eyebrows.  "You're supposed to like Quidditch."

"I can like whatever I want," she said, straightening up and snatching the ball away.  "Besides, Dean's not a Muggle, and he adores it."

"Oh, screw Dean," Ron said, scowling. 

"Who's to say I haven't already?" said Ginny dismissively, and with that, she took off back across the yard, leaving both Ron and Hermione stunned in her wake.

When Ron finally managed to close his mouth after his jaw dropped nearly to the ground, he started sputtering.  "She... she better not've..." 

"She hasn't," said Hermione briskly.  "But it wouldn't be your business if she had," she added with another confirming nod. 

Ron opened his mouth to tell her that it damn well would be his business, but then he realized that Hermione would probably tell him off if he said that.  So, instead, he just glared slightly and then said, "I thought you didn't remember much about football anyway."

"Turns out I do," she said with a shrug.  "And Ginny's quite good, by the way.  I need to go back," she swung her head in the direction of his little sister who was now doing something entirely silly looking that involved bouncing the ball from one knee to the other.  "You can play, if you want."

Ron's first thought was to roll his eyes and say that he had much better things to do, but then he considered the possibility.  So far, he had never been able to even get Hermione up on a broom, much less get her involved in any sort of Quidditch scrimmages.  There was something strangely attractive about girls and sports, and if this was the closest thing he was going to get to an actual sport, he was willing to take the opportunity.

"Okay then," he said nonchalantly, even adding an unbiased shrug of the shoulders.  "It can't be that hard, right?  Just kick the ball and that's it."

Hermione grinned.  "Yeah, pretty much."

He followed her back across the yard where Ginny picked the ball up and stared at him.  "So you're playing then?"

He shrugged again.  "Why not?"

Ginny eyed him very peculiarly for a long moment and then glanced once at Hermione before rolling her eyes and mumbling something.  Ron chose to ignore her very obvious snide remark and said, "So, what do I do?"

"You catch this," said Ginny and immediately swung her foot at the ball and kicked it roughly to him, catching him totally off-guard and hitting him hard in the stomach.  The breath left him in one swift movement, and he clutched at it.  "On second thought," she said airily, "maybe you wouldn't make such a great goalie."

Ron wondered what god hated him so much that he couldn't have been an only child.  Glaring at his sister fiercely, he reached down and picked the ball up, thrusting it straight at her and catching her directly in the stomach as well.  She hissed and grabbed the ball, shooting him an extremely hateful look. 

Hermione stood to the side, seeming quite amused by the situation.  "Here's an idea," she said breezily.  "How about we just kick the ball and not actually play?  Here, Ginny, pass it to me."

Ginny, still scowling at Ron, set the ball down and kicked it in Hermione's direction.  Ron watched fascinated as she easily stopped it with her foot and kicked it to him.  Going on instinct, he followed what she had just done and kicked it back to Ginny.

They went on like that for awhile, running around the yard and kicking the ball back and forth to each other until Ron actually started thinking that maybe football wasn't all that bad, though it still had nothing on Quidditch naturally, and since they weren't even playing for real, he couldn't really judge it accurately.

About an hour into their game, though, the backdoor opened, and their mum stepped outside.  "Ginny!" she called loudly, halting the game, as all three teenagers looked toward the door.  "Ginny, I need your help in here!"

Ginny grumbled something, and Ron found himself smirking.  It was her own fault that she was now expected to help out in the house; after all, she'd been pretending to enjoy it for the entire summer.

"I'll help," offered Hermione, looking at Ginny.


At her words, though, Ron shook his head.  "No, don't."  Both girls looked at him strangely, and he realized how incredibly stupid he'd just sounded.  Rushing to cover up his slip, he said, "You know, Ginny's the one who's been lying and acting as if she likes helping out."

Ginny rolled her eyes and marched toward the house looking entirely pissed off.  Hermione, however, just stared at him.

"What?" he asked, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

"You should be nicer to her.  She was really worried when you were in the hospital, you know."

The last thing Ron wanted was to be dealt a guilt trip regarding Ginny.  "Look, she's my sister; we have to act like that."

Hermione raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Besides, I wanted to talk to you."  Ron considered this a very brave move on his part.

Of course, Hermione somehow managed to play it all smooth and just looked expectantly at him.  "About what?"

Ron knew perfectly well that him saying, 'Oh, about the fact that you kissed me last night,' was about as ludicrous as anything he'd done so far in his entire lifetime.  Instead, he settled on, "Oh, you know, anything.  Just general stuff."

She seemed to know that he was being rather blasé about everything, but luckily, she didn't comment.  She just nodded her head and said, "Okay."


"Want to go down by the pond?" he asked, a little too quickly.  It was, in his opinion, the best spot in the yard because it was far enough away from the house that it was impossible to see. 

"Yeah, sure," she said airily and followed him down the hill to the pond where he'd spent so many days during his childhood swimming playing.  "This must have been fun growing up," she said, as if reading his mind.

He nodded, feeling more and more nervous by the second.  "Yeah, it was."

They sat down on the bank, which was damp and soggy from last night's storm.  It didn't matter, though, as both of them were sweaty and now covered in mud from their impromptu game of football.  Ron couldn't help but think that dirty Hermione was just a tad bit cute.

Okay, a tad bit was an enormous understatement.


Come to it, actually, cute was an understatement as well.

Ron wanted a bit more of the small talk, but he couldn't bring himself to talk about anything; everything just seemed so stupid and pointless.  He wanted more than anything just to get to the point, and he realized far too late that his mouth apparently left without his brain.

"So, what was last night about?"

Oh, god, he thought immediately.  Way to be subtle...

Hermione turned a nice shade of pink and stared out at the water; she appeared to be chewing on the inside of her cheek.  Her answer came a very delayed moment later.  "I didn't mean to start crying."

She spoke calmly as though her statement was completely rational, as though it made perfect sense and answered his question quite well. 

"I'm not talking about the crying," he said quietly, following her lead and gazing out over the pond.  It was easier when they weren't looking at each other.

"Oh?" she said casually, a little too casually.  "What are you talking about then?"

Was she actually going to make him spell it out?!  Ron suddenly felt his courage diminishing and had to literally force a reply.  "You know what I'm talking about."

She didn't answer, just looked at the water as though she'd never seen it before.  Finally, she said, "No, not really.  A lot of things happened last night, so I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific."  Ron could hardly believe that she could be so... Hermioneish about the whole thing!  Was everything business to her?

Giving up on his roundabout questions because he was so completely irritated with her, he finally just blurted it out.

"I'm talking about when you kissed me!"

He forced himself to look over at her and found that she had not so much as flinched at his words, though her cheeks were now bordering on red.  Her eyes were very wide, and she seemed completely enthralled by the water, leaving Ron to wait for what seemed an eternity for a response.

"Oh, that.  Yes, I did."  She seemed so casual about it that Ron almost worried that she didn't think it was that big of a deal at all, a thought that scared him because it was such a totally huge deal to him.

"I know you did," he said, through slightly gritted teeth.  "I want to know why."  He was surprising himself by being so forward, but he realized that he was definitely not going to get any sort of help from her.  It seemed to be up to him.

"Why?" she repeated, still not catching his eye.  "Oh, you know, just... because, well, you know."

"No, I bloody well don't know!" he said loudly, finally losing all of his patience.


Hermione jumped slightly at his outburst, and her gaze finally left the water, only this time to focus on the ground below her.  She picked at a blade of grass and said, "Well, you should know," very quietly.


Ron let out a very aggravated breath and grabbed her forearm, forcing her to at last look up and make eye-contact with him.  She glanced first at his hold on her arm and then at him; he was pleased to see some uncertainty there.  "Well, I don't," he said flatly.  "So, if there's something you want to tell me, you should tell me."

There, he thought triumphantly, that should settle everything.

To his surprise, though, Hermione yanked her arm out of his grasp and fiercely said, "You're the one that's supposed to be doing the telling.  That's your job."

"Says who?" he asked defiantly.

"Says everybody!"  She narrowed her eyes at him.  "That's the proper way to do it, and if you were polite at all, you would know that."

He was dumbfounded by the fact that they had switched so easily into arguing mode.  Still, though, he wasn't about to give up.  "Yeah?  Well, I guess I'm not polite because I think that's stupid!"


"Of course you would!" she said irritably.  "You don't care at all about the way things are supposed to be done!"

"And how is that, Hermione?"

"You were supposed to kiss me first!"  She looked on the verge of crying.  "And you're supposed to be the one who says you like me!"

Ron suddenly felt very bad, and he felt all urges to continue their argument fade away.  Very, very quietly, he did what he considered to be a very, very brave thing and said, "I do like you."

Hermione stared at him, her eyes still watering.  For a long moment, she said nothing, and then she said, "Really?"

He felt his face heat up, but he knew he'd already gone and started it; he couldn't very well leave it without finishing it.  Nodding, he said, "Yeah.  I do."

A grin crept across her face, and she blinked away the unshed tears. 

He didn't know what force was driving him, but he decided to follow her advice, to an extent anyway.  Without pausing to think about what he was doing, he leaned in and kissed her quickly, drawing back almost immediately in much the same manner she'd done the night before.

"Is the second kiss okay?" he whispered.  "Sorry about the first..."

She bit down on her lower lip and smiled shyly.  "You can try it again," she said softly.  "Because practice is a very important fundament in perfection.  It helps to build on past mistakes and improve-"

"You talk too much-" he mumbled before pressing his lips back to hers again.  This time, though, he didn't pull away immediately; he let his lips linger there for a bit before finally drawing back and looking at Hermione.  Her eyes were closed, and they fluttered open at his gaze.

"That was rude," she breathed quietly.  "I do not talk too much-"

But he cut her off once again, this time kissing her a bit more forcefully.  Little bolts of shock seemed to run through him on instant, and he pressed his luck a bit further by lifting a hand to neck and pulling her closer.  The tiny little noise that Hermione made seemed to send his nerves into overdrive, and he was quite positive that this was one thing he would never grow tired of.


Later, he wouldn't remember much of the next twenty minutes, only that they did a lot more practicing and that Hermione had been right- practice certainly did help in learning to improve.  His mind seemed to drift away, and all he could notice was the here and now and nothing but Hermione.

It wasn't until the rain started falling again that Ron even seemed to realize that he was actually in reality.  He had somehow ended up in a sort of reclining position with the back of his head in the mud, and Hermione halfway on top of him.  He would have given all the money in the world to recall the exact details of how they had ended up that way, but all coherency in his brain seemed momentarily dysfunctional. 

The impending downpour seemed to alert Hermione to their situation, as well, and she drew away from a rather intense kiss and took a moment to catch her breath before saying, "It's raining."

He wanted to tell her that there was no need to point out the obvious, but the words seemed too long and too hard to say at the moment.  Instead, he just nodded and said, "Yeah..."

"We need to go inside," she whispered, sitting up and leaving Ron feeling extremely crestfallen.

Knowing she was right, he managed to nod again and say, "Yeah..."

Hermione stared at him for a moment longer before once again leaning down and kissing him full on the lips.  With that, she pushed herself into a standing position, giving Ron a good look at just how dirty and muddy she'd become.  Many, many naughty things entered his head at once, and he didn't even notice that she'd gone until she was halfway to the house.

Ron was well-aware of the fact that he was literally lying in mud, but he couldn't find the energy nor the motivation to move.  The rain was having a rather desired cooling effect on him, which was good since his body seemed to be burning up all over.

Nothing seemed real, and Ron raised one of his hands to his shoulder and pinched hard.  Feeling it, though, convinced him that he was not, in fact, dreaming, and that he had spent nearly half an hour snogging with Hermione.

In the mud.

Oh, oh, oh...  Life was just lovely.

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Next Up:  Harry!

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