A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. With so many things to do, it's hard to find the time. But I will update sooner next time. Please Read and Review! Keep in mind, this is NOT a R/Hr.

Chapter Eight: Evening Misadventure

Ron and Hermione felt it best to leave the club to avoid anymore of Harry's antics. Stepping out into muggle London, the couple had just gotten into a taxi.

"If you're upset, I'll be glad to take you home," Ron looked at his date nervously, noticing the menacing expression on her face.

"Upset? Why?" Hermione asked bitterly without looking at him, "Because I saw Harry with Florence Nightingale? I don't care who holds a knife to him," she added, enunciating very clearly, "I certainly wish I had the chance."

"Well, uh," Ron said timidly, now assured of his solicitous fears that she was upset, "Is there someplace you would like to go?"

"Yes, I feel like staying up all night tonight," Hermione's face softened, "I know, lets go to the fair," she suggested cheerfully.

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On impulse, Hermione suggested they go on the Parachute Drop machine whose scarlet grill-work tower, with its brilliantly lighted umbrella-shaped scaffolding, was visible from every part of the Fair.

Ron looked up anxiously at the ride, intimidated, having never been on such a muggle contraption before. The skeleton chair, just wide enough for two people, was hauled by wires to the top of the tower. Then, when it reached the scaffolding, it was supposed to be electrically released into a drop that sent the parachute over the top billowing out in great folds, easing the riders into a landing that was no more than a bump when they reached the bottom.

He took a deep breath as he sat down next to Hermione. After the attendant strapped the belt tightly over their lap, he gave the signal to the operator. Before he knew it, Ron felt himself ascend higher and higher into the sky.

Ron sat there, rigid, tried to look everyone but down. It was one thing flying around on a broom, but to have absolutely no control and be at the mercy of some mechanical wires was completely nerve wrecking. As they sway back and forth in the air, Hermione lets out a joyful glee, "It's so wonderful and carefree!"

They stop swaying. Ron closed his eyes, preparing for the drop. There was a loud pop as their seats shook. He opened his eyes and realized that they were still at the top. Nothing was moving.

Hermione had no sooner closed her eyes against the plunging descent before she reopened them in terrified knowledge of something wrong. The excited cries of the spectators below were evidence enough that the machinery jammed.

"We're stuck," Ron observed, looking up at the wires.

Hermione impatiently started moving about, frustrated by the constraints of the belt lap and rocking the ride in the process "Well why don't they do something about it?" she said impatiently.

Now now, keep calm Mione, "Ron comforted her by holding her arm, preventing her to rock the seat any longer, "Don't be frightened, it's much better to stay where we are."

It was closer to half an hour before they were released. And during that time a sudden shower came up and the rain pelted mercilessly into their faces. Ron had insisted adamantly on whipped off his jacket and placed it protectively over Hermione's shoulders, at the same time, wrapping his top coat about her knees, so that only her hat and a few tendrils of her hair were wet.

"You're soaked through," Hermione said sympathetically.

"Its nothing," Ron assured her gallantly with a smile.

As the storm abated, he started to sneeze violently.

"You're catching a cold," she observed.

"It's only a little sniffle," he remarked as he sneeze again.

"You know what Harry does if he sneezes twice in one evening?" Hermione remembered grimly, "He goes to bed with four hot water bottles a quart of firewhiskey, and a red woolen cap over his head. You ought to see him in bed with his red woolen cap. The moment we get down, we're going to your flat to get you some dry clothes," she said decidedly.

They were released almost immediately then, but in spite of Ron's insistence that he was all right, his voice left no doubt that the cold was well on its way. As quickly as they could, they made their way back to Ron's flat where with a flick of her wand, Hermione cast a drying spell on him.

"Would you excuse while I get into something more comfortable?" Ron said as he walked into the bedroom.

Hermione responded with an odd look. After casting a drying spell on herself, she went over by the fireplace to warm up while she waited. A few minutes later, Ron came out of his bedroom faultlessly groomed in white tie and tails, as though he were going to the opera.

Hermione chuckled in relief as she examined him, "Is that your idea of something more comfortable?"

"Well, I only have one dinner coat," he replied.

Hermione walked over to him by the doorway, "Don't tell me you expect to go out again in your condition," she protested.

"This hasn't been much of an evening for you," Ron told her regretfully.

"Don't you ever think about yourself?" Hermione asked, touched at his consideration. "What you need, young man is a little medical attention," she said firmly, eyeing a bottle of firewhiskey on a table across the room.

"Oh, I feel fine Mione, really!" he insisted.

Despite Ron's protest, Hermione headed over to the table, grabbed the bottle and a glass, and proceeded to pour him a stiff drink. "Now, you sit over there," she instructed, pointing to the comfortable couch by the fireplace.

"IS that ALL for me?" Ron observed the glass full of firewhiskey.

"Yes," she answered, handing it to him, "Now, all in one big gulp."

He sat down, looking at the glass uncertainly, "Oh I don't drink liquor," Ron said, "I just keep it for Harry, and friends."

"You mean you never drink liquor at all?"

"I haven't anything against other people drinking it," he explained, "But I just never seemed to get around to breaking training, from my Quidditch days, you know."

"But this isn't alcohol, Ron, its medicine," Hermione corrected him.

"If you think I ought to take it----"

"Yes I do," she insisted, "One big gulp now."

Hermione observed as Ron dutifully downed the entire fiery contents of the glass as though it had been so much water.

"Well, don't you feel it? Doesn't it burn you or anything?" she asked.

"No," he said casually, "I've tried this before and it's very interesting. I don't mind the taste of it. Only thing is, my metabolism must be very high, cos I'm sorry to say, I'm not one of those strong, silent men, who could hold their liquor."

"Well, I don't know anyone who could hold it as well," she said as she poured another drink of an equal size to the first, "I don't think one is going to do you any good."

"I think another one would be mistake," Ron said sagely.

"But its just medicine," Hermione rebutted, "It kills the germs," she handed the glass back to him, "All in one gulp now."

Ron raised the glass, "All in good health," he cheered before downing the drink.

"What a constitution," she exclaimed, witnessing Ron's drinking abilities in astonishment.

There was no intermediary stage to what happened after he had obediently finished the second draught. He took a deep breath as a goofy expression surfaced on his face.

"Uh oh," Hermione said, "Maybe that second one WAS too much."

He hiccupped, "Miss Hermione," he slurred his speech, "I have long had a deep affection for you. But I would not like to do anything under the stimulus of alcohol, which might embarrass you. My only fear is that I may not---act like a gentleman."

Ron stood up, as jerkily as though he were a puppet on a string. His entire body had gone as rigid as though he were holding it together by an effort of will. Except for a slight swaying, he made his way to the couch across from her, his clean-cut scrubbed look not deserting him even now.

It was so obvious that he meant what he had said. That he had restrained his feelings for a long time and that, in spite of the stilted words he had used, he was deeply in love with her. And yet, his only concern was that she should be neither affronted nor disturbed.

Hermione lets out a small laugh, "Well, I always say that a man's true character comes out when he's had one drink too many," she told him, "Do you want to know the basic difference between you and Harry? You give him one too many and he tilts forward at you. And you Ron, you lean backwards."

Ron swayed his head from side to side struggling to keep it up, "Thank you."

"I'll tell you something else," she confessed, "All evening I've been waiting for just one little suspicious move from you. There isn't one man in a thousand who wouldn't take out a girl in my position and not try something, no matter how faint it would be, it would still something. And look how wonderful you're acting."

"Thank you," he said, now trying to use the palm of his hand for support.

"Very first time I went out with Harry," she recalled with a sigh, "He ruined a brand new dress robe that I had, he was just awful. Didn't change the whole first year we were married. I used to think maybe it was the things he ate. I tried changing his diet around and everything."

"Thank you," Ron repeated monotonously, unsuccessfully keeping his eyelids open.

"I've had a wonderful evening Ron," Hermione smiled, getting up, "I'm going to leave you now. You cover up warm in bed and get a good night's sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning."

Ron stood up mechanically and gazed into her eyes, "I intend on taking you home Mione."

"Oh absolutely not Ron," Hermione said.

"Thank you," he replied with a bow.

"Good night Ron," she turned away and made her way over to the door.

"Good night Mione," Ron followed to see her out.

Hermione abruptly turned back around, "You're probably dying to kiss me and haven't got the nerve."

"That's true," he admitted sheepishly.

"You may," she turned her cheek.

Glowing, Ron leaned down toward her, then drew back, "I mustn't, I have a cold," he mentioned ruefully.

"That's very considerate," she said lifting her face up again. Gently, he touched his lips to her cheek. It was not a kiss that made her heart change its beat, but it was sweet, and oddly comforting.

"Thank you," he said.

"That's another basic difference between you and Harry," Hermione remarked bitterly as she strolled towards the door, leaving him behind, "Colds never stopped him. He had the measles once. How I didn't get the measles, I'll never know!" She stepped out of the door and turned to Ron one last time in a much softer tone, "Good night Ron."