So here is my first attempt at a Harry Potter story...obviously Ron and Hermione based, because they are just the best couple in the Harry Potter world, I say. Let me know what you think! Reviews are very happy things...

Get Over It

It happened again. They'd had another loud, blistering row that sent them both storming off to their dormitories, and they hadn't come out since. Harry shook his head, remembering what had started it all.

Neville carried a load of books in his arms as he made his way to the Griffindor House common room and he was struggling to keep them from tumbling out of his grasp. When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he quickly uttered the password (Flabbergast) and the painting swung open, allowing Neville to enter. Since his attention was more on the books than on his surroundings, he did not realize that Hermione had been walking towards him until he smacked right into her, the books flying, the force sending both to the ground.

Neville, horrified, began to apologize. "I'm sorry! I didn't—you just—"

He was interrupted by Hermione's hysterical laughter. "Oh Neville," she wheezed, trying to breathe, "You never change." Tears streamed from her eyes. Her laughter was accompanied by the snickering of the others in the common room, and Neville felt his cheeks begin to flame. He had just realized the position that they were in and hastily pulled himself off of Hermione and extended a hand to help her up, chuckling in spite of himself.

"What in the HELL is going on here?"

Hermione froze. Of all the times for Ron to show up, now was the worst. He had the tendency to blow things completely out of proportion, and seemed to support the belief that it was best to act first and ask questions later. And while Hermione was used to his behavior, she did not care for the implication that he was making right about now. Her own temper had become almost as fiery as his in the past few years, and she could feel it beginning to rise.

"What on earth do you mean by that, Ronald?" She asked acidly, and yanked Neville to his feet. The clumsy boy gulped, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from the line of fire as possible.

Ron's eyes narrowed. He had come down the stairs from his room to ask Hermione a question about their Potions essay and was greeted to the sight of her and Neville in a rather suggestive position, and his vision went red. He did not notice the books scattered all over the floor, or the other people present in the common room who would prevent the pair from doing anything of the nature he was thinking. All he could grasp was that Hermione, HIS Hermione, was in the arms of someone other than him, and his jealousy soared. Of course, instead of directing his ire at Neville, he chose to accuse Hermione instead.

"What do I mean?" He bristled, glaring. "I think you know exactly what I mean!"

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't!" She clenched and unclenched her fists. "Why don't you enlighten me? I'm ever so curious." By that time Neville had backed away to the safety of the large armchairs near the fire. The common room was silent except for Ron and Hermione, the spectators to their little display waiting for the outcome with baited breath.

"You think you can just plaster yourself on any old boy whenever you feel like it?" Ron snarled.

Hermione's jaw dropped. How dare him! "Are you trying to say that I'm a tramp? Is that it?" Her voice was rising. "Is that what you think of me? I was just trying to help him, you stupid ass! Are you blind?" She motioned wildly to the books.

Ron took the time to look, and he did in fact see the books then, but by that point it was already too late. He couldn't apologize now. "Is that all? It certainly didn't look that way to me!"

That was the final straw. "I HATE YOU!" Hermione burst out. "WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE?" Her eyes glinted, her hair falling out of its ponytail and into her face. "And what would you do if I did happen to like Neville, hmm? It isn't as if you have a claim on me. YOU DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE I WAS A GIRL UNTIL FOURTH YEAR!"

"FINE!" Ron bellowed. "SEE IF I GIVE A DAMN WHAT YOU DO! YOU'RE COMPLETELY MENTAL ANYWAY!"

"FINE!"

"FINE!"

With that, Ron and Hermione stalked off in two different directions, slamming their doors shut when they reached their respective rooms. Those in the common room stared at each other, wide-eyed. Some of their other fights had been bad, but this one ranked up with the worst.

Afterwards, Harry had tried talking some sense into both his friends, but they did not have much to say to him, let alone each other. It looked like they were going to have to work things out on their own. Harry sighed, contemplating whether or not he wanted to work on his assignments for tomorrow, but decided against it. His head was in too many places at one time, and it would be impossible to concentrate. Ever since the death of his godfather, he had sunk into a depression that went so deep he could not tell where it began and he ended. Though he tried his hardest to be cheerful, he found it difficult when so much was happening. Voldemort was on the rise, and only time would tell when he would launch his final attack on the boy who evaded death by his hand. The times were getting more dangerous, a fact that no one could ignore. Except for Ron and Hermione, of course. Harry smiled. His two best friends had been dancing circles around each other for much longer than necessary, and, even though they were not aware of it, their attempts at concealing the obvious provided him with endless amusement. The homework abandoned, Harry rose and went to fetch Hedwig. He was going to take a walk in the snow to clear his head.

By the time he returned, nearly two hours later, Ron and Hermione still had not emerged. It was around ten o'clock in the evening, and Harry, feeling exhausted, headed up to the boy's dorm, determined to get a few hours sleep before the nightmares started. He found Ron sprawled on his bed, staring moodily up at the ceiling. Harry cocked an eyebrow.

"You do realize that you're being an idiot about this whole thing, don't you?" He said, and Ron, not taking his eyes away from the spot they were fixed on, sighed.

"Isn't that always the way it ends up?"

Harry began stripping off his jacket and scarf, dumping them in an unceremonious pile next to his bed. He then went for his tie, loosening the knot around his neck. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"Not really, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

Harry snorted. "I think it's about time you stopped acting like a prat and just tell her how you feel. Everyone else knows. Don't give me that look," Harry responded to Ron's sharp gaze. "You honestly can't believe that you're hiding anything. We've all seen the way that you look at her." Ron blushed crimson, and lowered his eyes.

"Every time I try to tell her that I care about her, I end up saying something totally opposite, and that screws everything up. I know I overreacted today, but...you heard her. She hates me. She isn't going to want to listen to me now."

Harry shrugged into his pajamas, grinning. "She hates you every time the two of you fight. Either that or you hate her. That isn't anything new."

"I just get so jealous! And that makes me act like a jerk."

"Which brings us back to my point that you need to suck it up and tell her."

Ron sat up, a doomed expression on his face. "I know what I should do, I'm just afraid to do it. I don't want to lose her as a friend."

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Well, think of it this way. If you just leave things the way they are, you may end up losing her anyway. I don't know how much longer you two will be able to scream at each other before you both get sick of it."

I never realized that, Ron thought. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the inevitable. Harry was right. It was now or never. Getting up from his bed, he was about to head for the door when he paused. "Are you doing okay, mate? I'm sorry I was nasty earlier."

Harry brushed that off with a wave of his hand and a yawn. "Don't worry about it. Shoo. I'm going to sleep." He crawled into his bed, removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand next to it. "Good luck," he added with a crooked smile.

Ron croaked some sort of unintelligible answer, feeling ill. He was a walking bundle of nerves, but there was nothing he could do about that. For some reason, he decided to check the common room first, a little voice in his head telling him that she would be there. Sure enough, when he reached the bottom of the stairs, Hermione sat in one of the armchairs near the fire, her back to him. His heart began thudding in his chest. He could tell that she wasn't aware of his presence, and he was tempted to turn tail and head back to his dorm while he could, but he quenched that notion. If he was going to do this, it had to be now. Quietly, he walked towards the chair, seating himself opposite her. Hermione still gazed into the dancing flames, not moving. Ron took that to be a good sign: if she was dead set against listening, she would have left.
Well, here goes... "Mione, I'm...I'm really sorry for the way I acted. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I didn't mean them." He toyed with the frayed edges of the blanket that was draped over the couch.

"I know," Hermione replied softly, turning her head. Ron's breath caught. Her face was reflected in the light of the fire, giving her an almost ethereal quality. "Oh Ron, why do we always fight? I've never told you, but...it hurts me." She looked down. "Every time..."

"Me too," Ron replied, surprising even himself. Hermione's eyes locked with his, and he patted the spot next to him on the couch. She rose, and settled herself next to him. In a bold move, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder. "I guess we should stop then, shouldn't we?"

Hermione snorted. "I don't see how that's possible. It's in our nature."

Ron laughed. "True, true. But...what if I told you that I was willing to try? What if I told you that I would do anything to make you happy?" He turned and grasped her shoulders. "What if I told you that the thought of you being with anyone else but me rips my heart out?"

Hermione stared at the boy, now almost a man, whom she had fallen in love with years ago, her eyes filling with tears. She blinked furiously to hold them back, but it was no use. "Ron--"
He silenced her by leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. She was startled at first, but soon gave in, flinging her arms about his neck to hold him there, to assure herself that this was real, and not a dream. When they broke apart, they stared at each other in wonder, not quite believing what had just happened. Ron took a shaky breath.

"Well...I guess that settles that." With trembling fingers, he brushed the tears from Hermione's eyes. "You will be with me, won't you?" He asked in a tiny voice, his heart in his throat. "I haven't messed everything up, have I?" Even though they'd kissed, it didn't mean that she couldn't reject him. I may just be fooling myself. What if I only made things worse?

"Oh Ron, you great prat!" Hermione buried her face against his chest. "Don't you know that I've always loved you?" She whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You're my rock. I need you."

Ron's eyes went wide. All this time...he never knew. He thought that he would spend the rest of his life pining for her while she moved on to better things, fell in love with someone else. He'd been too blind to see what was right in front of his face.

"I'm already yours," she said when he remained speechless.

"But...even after all the things I said? You deserve someone better than me! I—"

"Shut up, Ron." She looked at him with an arched brow. "I think I'm old enough now to know what I want. Yes, you do tend to let whatever is in that head of yours out of your mouth without thinking, but that can be fixed." She grinned impishly. "Besides, you need looking after, and I am the best person to do that."

Ron stared at her, and burst into laughter. "So you'll be my babysitter? That's kind of kinky, really." A glint came into his eyes, and he kissed her again, a long, lingering kiss that did all sorts of things to Hermione's thought processes. The room seemed to be getting remarkably hot all of a sudden, which did not make any sense. She found herself desiring to get rid of offending articles of clothing that only served to trap the heat against her skin. Ron began trailing his kisses down her neck, which only flustered her even more. This kind of attention she was not used to, and she had no idea what to do about it.

"So I see that you two finally made up," a dry voice cut in. Ron, startled, rolled right off the couch and landed on the ground with a thump. Hermione blushed crimson, noticing that her blouse had somehow become unbuttoned during the course of a few minutes. Perhaps it was a good thing that Harry interrupted.

"Erm..."

Harry sniggered. "It's about bloody time." Ron's head popped up then.

"Spectacular timing, mate. I thought you were sleeping?" He said, a bit irritated.

"I was. I'm not anymore."

"Obviously."

Harry grinned, and a very fake yawn split his face. "My, I am tired, though. I think I'll head back to bed." With a mocking little bow, Harry left them. He would tell them about his nightmare later.

Hermione began buttoning up her shirt then, fixing Ron with an arch look. "And just what would you have done had Harry not come down?"

Ron smiled innocently. "Why, I would have kept my hormones to myself, of course."

"HAH!" Hermione jammed a finger against his chest. "I think not!"

"I would so!"

"Would not!"

"Would too!"

"WOULD NOT!"

The sounds of their arguing echoed through the empty common room. Harry, on the stairs, smiled. They wouldn't be Ron and Hermione if they didn't argue, anyway.