Author's Note: A lot of the REAL story line is lost on these. As I said in my profile (which I hope you read), this is just for fun and has no real meaning or anything. If you don't like it, don't read it. If you do, thanks.
"A Wide Receiver and a Brain"
"You don't have anything you can wear?!" he exclaimed, wide-eyed, throwing his hands in the air.
"No, Ron, I do not have any spirit-wear," she said very slowly, walking away and rolling her eyes.
"But, Hermione! Harry and I are playing tonight. You have to show your support."
"Isn't it enough that I'm going?"
Ron sighed defeatedly, "I guess. I just thought . . ."
Hermione spun on her heel to glare at him.
"What do you want me to wear?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but frowned, "I don't know, really."
Grumbling angrily, she stalked away but, remembering something, he caught up with her and they kept pace with one another through the hall.
"If you really wanted to show your support, you could wear my away jersey."
She stopped and made a face at him.
"Your jersey?"
"Yeah, why not? Unless you want to wear Harry's."
"I don't," Hermione informed him, matter-of-factly.
"Then will you wear mine? Then people will know who you're supporting. Girls do it all the time."
"Yeah, girlfriends of the players. I am NOT your girlfriend."
"And I'm not asking you to be. It would just mean a lot to Harry and I if you at least wore school colors for us. Please, Mione?"
"I'll wear the damned jersey," she consented before walking to her class.
"Your brother is huge!" Hermione declared, holding out her arms and looking at herself in the mirror.
"Why are you wearing this again?" Ginny asked, frowning at her friend.
"I don't own any spirit-wear."
"Why couldn't he just let you have one of his shirts? Why the jersey?"
"I don't know. It shows that I'm supporting him or something."
"Wear Harry's. 'Potter' is a much nicer name to have scrawled on your back than 'Weasley'."
"I will not wear Harry's. Anyhow, Harry isn't hell-bent on giving me school pride."
Ginny was eyeing the garment thoughtfully.
"But it's just so big on you."
"I know. This is stupid. I'm not wearing it."
"No, I bet we can tie it."
"It smells," Hermione stated, holding the front up to her nose.
"Bad?"
"Well . . . like Ron."
"Bad, then."
Hermione shrugged, shaking her head slightly and taking a deep breath before letting the fabric drop from her hand.
"Nice jersey, Hermione. When'd you join the team?" Neville asked, sitting down next to her with Luna.
Hermione glared at him and he leaned back to read the name.
"Why aren't you wearing Harry's?"
"Why does everyone keep thi- It was Ron's idea and I AM NOT WITH POTTER ANYMORE."
Ginny snorted and Neville held up his hands, palms out.
"Touchy, touchy."
He saw her halfway through the second quarter.
"Holy hell."
"That's a contradiction in terms, Ron," Harry muttered, dusting some dirt off his helmet.
"Holy . . ." he tried to think of something else, but finished with, ". . . hell."
"What? Did someone put liquid heat in your jock strap?"
Ron made a face but checked his pants to be sure.
"No."
"What then?"
"Oh, just . . ."
Harry turned on the bench to scan the crowd, trying to find what had caught his friend's attention.
"Is that Hermione in your jersey?"
Ron raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
"He's looking at you," Ginny pointed out.
Hermione caught Ron's eye and smiled.
"Go, Ron!" she shouted, waving a fist half-heartedly in the air.
"Holy hell."
"What now?"
"She just cheered for me."
Harry quirked an eyebrow and moved to sit with someone else.
"You know, I don't remember Ron being very good at football," Ginny started, "but he's doing rather well."
"Whoo! Go, Ronnie!" Hermione shrieked, jumping up and down as he made a touchdown.
"Ronnie?"
She stopped mid-hoot and sat down.
"I have no idea where that came from."
"You need to stop getting into this. It's just football."
"I like football," she responded, defensively.
"Since when?"
"Oh, they kicked a home run!" Hermione said, looking back to the game. Neville and Luna heard this and looked at one another thoughtfully as if to make sure the other heard it, too.
"It's a field goal, Hermione," Ginny corrected. "And thank you for proving my case."
The offensive line filed off the field and Ron, taking off his helmet, was promptly bombarded with other teammates. Even with everybody surrounding him, she saw him smile at her.
"Ech. He's all sweaty and gross," his sister commented, crinkling her nose.
"They're all sweaty and gross," Luna piped up from Neville's other side.
"It's football. It happens," Neville put in.
"It's not so bad."
Ginny made a face and scooted a few inches away from the jersey-clad girl.
"How much longer do we have?" he asked, twisting in his seat to get another look at her through the people standing and milling about. "And why is everybody standing?"
"Would you turn around and pay attention?"
He caught sight of Hermione talking to his sister and took the opportunity to study her without fear of being caught.
"Earth to Ron," Harry droned, waving a hand in front of his friend's face.
"How much longer, Harry?"
"None. The game is over Ron. We just won."
He didn't so much as turn around when he mumbled, "Great, Harry."
Harry sighed in exasperation and dragged Ron off the field after the rest of the team.
"Do you want me to give it to him, or can you take it?" Hermione asked Ginny as they descended the bleachers. "I really don't want to take it home with me."
"I don't want to deal with it. Just go give it to him."
"Okay, then. It might take him a bit to get out, you don't have to wait for me."
"You can walk with us, if you'd like, Gin," Neville offered. "We're going that way."
"Are you sure, Hermione?"
"Yeah, that's cool. The boys will walk me home if it gets too late."
"Okay. Later."
Hermione made her way toward the locker rooms and sat down on a bench to wait for him to come out. Several players exited, looking at her oddly, but never verbally acknowledging her presence.
"Hermione?" someone said when the door opened again.
"Hey, Harry."
"What are you doing out here? Where's everybody else?" he asked, sitting down next to her.
"I was waiting for Ron so I could give him his jersey back."
"He was just getting out of the shower and into some jeans when I came out. It'd be alright if you went in there, everyone else is gone."
"Oh, thanks, Harry."
"Do you want me to wait and walk you home?"
"No, I'll get Ron to do it," she assured him. "You need to get started on that essay."
"Yeah, yeah . . ."
Getting to his feet, he kissed her forehead and waved as he left.
"See you, 'Mione. If you want to, you know, help me with my essay, just call."
She watched him leave and stood.
"Ron?" she called, opening the door.
"Hermione?"
He looked around a corner, jeans on and a shirt in his hands.
'And hello,' she thought to herself, but quickly shook the thought out of her head.
"I, uh, just came to give you your jersey back," Hermione explained, looking away.
"Oh, thanks," he said, stepping out from behind the locker toward her and waiting for her to give it to him.
"Um, well . . ." she mumbled, realizing that she was still wearing it and turning away from him to pull it off. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she paused and looked at him.
Within seconds, she found herself pressed up against a locker in a kiss and not being bothered. Dropping his shirt to the floor, Ron gripped the jersey with both hands while hers roamed over his bare shoulders, up his neck and into his damp ginger hair. He moved his mouth her neck and she trailed light touches down his back to his jeans. Hermione momentarily fumbled with the button, but recovered quickly, only to have him pull away and take her hands.
"Where are your parents?" he asked, breathing heavily and resting his forehead against hers.
"At a dental convention until Monday night," she explained, easily freeing herself from his loose hold on her and watching as her fingers dipped into the waistband of his boxers.
He gasped when she found him and she smiled.
"Your hands are freezing," he remarked quietly when she looked at him, but did nothing to remove her.
"They always are."
"I think we should go to your house."
"Why?" she frowned, bringing her hands out and placing them on his chest, discontent.
He straightened the jersey where his fists had wrinkled it and pulled her to him.
"We're not doing this in a locker room."
"Yeah, we are," she corrected, kissing him and reaching for his zipper, but he stopped her.
"Your house. Now."
Hermione giggled as Ron hastily tugged a t-shirt over his head and chased her out of the locker room.
"I know a shortcut," she told him, when they made it to the street. One hand holding his jeans up, he followed her through several back yards. She stopped in the shadow of a maple tree and he bowled her over.
"This is not your house," he laughed when she tried again for the zipper.
She grumbled when he pulled her to her feet and they set off again.
A few moments later, she was unlocking her front door. As soon as they were inside, she backed him against the door with kisses, undeterred by his earlier postponements.
He attempted to push her away, but she tripped and took him with her as she fell to the floor in the foyer.
"Your room?"
"You said my house."
"Fair enough."
"It would be most uncomfortable if your parents walked in right now," he thought aloud, head resting on the welcome mat.
"Good thing they won't."
"But what if they did? We both can't be laying here naked. Put the jersey back on," he smiled, reaching for the garment and draping it over her.
"What is it about this jersey?"
"I don't know, but I like it."
She kissed his chest and rested her cheek against him.
"Does this make you my girlfriend?"
"No, Ron, it was just sex."
"But it was first-time sex. Doesn't that mean something?"
"It means a lot. Just not that."
"So I'm still not your boyfriend."
"Right."
"But we are free to have sex whenever?"
"Right," she smiled, "Whenever."
He grinned.
"Cool."
"Your bed is a lot better for this kind of stuff," he remarked, adjusting the blanket around himself.
"Yes, quite," she agreed with a pained face.
He rolled onto his side and propped his head in his hand.
"Are you okay?"
"I don't think I'm going to be able to walk in the morning."
"Are you mad at me?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Shutup."
"I didn't mean to."
"I'm not mad, Ron. Just sore."
He made a face.
"I told you."
"And I don't care."
"Grumpy."
"Afflicted."
"Would it help if I said 'I love you'?"
"No. Let me be in pain in peace."
Ron nodded and laid his head on her tummy.
"You don't really love me, do you?" she wanted know.
"Not like I probably should."
"Good."
"Would you like me to carry you?"
"No, I can make it."
Ron watched her incredulously as she made her way to the door of her bedroom the next morning. She stood up straight, but hissed when she tried to take a step and he got out of the bed.
"Let me at least walk with you," he said, taking her arm, as she spread her feet apart and began to waddle. "If I knew you'd be hurting this bad, I'd not have done it."
"After seeing you out of the shower, I'd have made you."
He smiled a little and stayed with her until they reached the bathtub.
"Here's your stop," Ron told her, letting go of her and scratching his head with both hands, making his hair stand on end. He placed a kiss on her forehead and turned to leave.
He heard running water as he made his way back into her room, but just as he started to reach for his boxers, she called for him.
"Ron?"
"Yes?" he responded, standing in the bathroom doorway.
She turned a shy look on him and asked, "Can you help me? I almost lost my balance."
"Of course."
He held her steady while she stepped into the tub. His hands lingered on her sides as he made sure she was firmly on her feet. Even after he released her, though, he watched her for a moment before she cleared her throat.
"Thanks."
"Oh, right. Yeah, no problem," he stuttered, turning away quickly, suddenly desirous of underwear. Before he'd gotten a mind to leave, she placed a hand on his back.
"I could still use a hand . . . or whatever else you have free.," stated Hermione. Smiling and no longer embarrassed, he stepped in behind her and shut the curtain as she pulled the lever to start the showerhead.
"Thank God you have those grippers on the bottom of your tub," he gasped, leaning into her and resting his forehead on her shoulder. She bit her lip and watched the water cascade down his back. "I nearly lost traction several times."
"Maybe you shouldn't be so . . . rough."
He scoffed, "I haven't heard you complain once," looking at her as water streamed down his face.
"I can't walk, Ron," she reminded him.
"You're the one who called me into this shower."
"Well, while we're in the shower, maybe you shouldn't be so . . . forceful," Hermione corrected herself. "And you can put me down, if you'd like."
"I wouldn't like, actually."
"Put me down."
"You can't walk."
"I haven't tried since I got in here."
"If you couldn't walk before, you can't walk now."
She raised her eyebrows and said, "Oh, is that so? Think you're something else, don't you?"
"I am."
"Put me down."
"Have it your way, baby cakes."
"Don't call me baby cakes ever again."
"Have it your way, baby cakes."
She glared at him as he let her down and stepped back. Promptly, she slid down the wall to rest on the bottom of the tub.
"I'm so glad you can stand, Hermione," he laughed, stepping out of the tub and starting for the door.
"Help me, you brat."
"No, you can walk."
"Please help me?" she whimpered, holding out her hands helplessly.
"I've always been a sucker for damsels in distress," he told her, pulling her to her feet and hefting her in his arms.
"I'm not distressed. Just broken."
"How broken?"
"Broken."
He set her down on her bed and looked at her expectantly.
"Broken enough to be unable to dress yourself?"
"I have to get dressed?"
He quirked an eyebrow.
"You can't possibly want to go again already."
She made a face at him.
"I just don't feel like getting dressed. It's Saturday. I could lay in bed all day."
"You could," he agreed, slipping his boxers on, running his thumbs under the waistband a few times and letting it snap against his abdomen.
"Do you have to do things like that?" Hermione demanded, suddenly seeming angry.
"What? Put clothes on?"
"The . . . the . . . snappy thing with the underwear," she grumbled, waving generally in his direction and looking away.
He smirked.
"You get off on the weirdest things, Hermione Granger."
"Get out of my room."
"I thought I told you to get out of my room."
"I knew you didn't mean it," he kissed her forehead. "You know, you have a very kissable forehead?"
She frowned up at him.
"You do. You've got this spot, right here," he kissed her again, "that's just very kissable."
"Harry likes to kiss me there."
"Liked," he corrected.
"Well . . . or likes."
"Does he kiss you a lot?"
"Just about every time we're together."
It was Ron's turn to frown.
She snorted, "What? Don't even tell me that bothers you."
"Oh, no. It's not that. I just don't get him sometimes."
"Don't try. He's Harry, and that's that."
He studied her for a moment longer and kissed her forehead several times in quick succession..
"What was that for?"
"I'm taking a shower," he said, ignoring her and rolling out of the bed.
"If that's an offer, you know I can't."
He got back into his underwear and pulled the blanket off her.
"Excuse me?"
"Just looking," he smiled.
She sighed in exasperation, but did nothing to cover herself again.
"I should take a picture," he declared suddenly.
"And no, why would you do that?"
"I wanna remember this, you know . . . in case."
"In case what?"
"In case we never do this again."
"Why wouldn't we do this again?"
"I can't hurt you all the time just for ten minutes of good sex every once in awhile."
"I'm not that bad off."
"You can't move. You're disabled."
"Just for the weekend. Give me a few hours at least."
"Oh, give YOU a few hours? Why don't you give ME a few hours. You're a fiend."
She grinned.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
He smiled at her and opened her dresser drawers, rifling through her clothes.
"What are you doing?"
"Dressing yo- oh, hey. Look at these," he chuckled, pulling a glittering thong from the top drawer and stretching it in his hands.
"Put that away. Stop going through my drawers."
"No, I like it. You shall wear this."
Climbing back into the bed, he reached for her feet.
"Kick," she muttered, attempting to kick him away, but her legs weren't cooperating with her brain and only her foot twitched.
He laughed at her and slipped the skimpy undergarment to it's rightful place and made sure the band snapped against her sides when he let go.
"Must you?"
"Let's see what we can get to cover your top half."
"My top half?"
"Yeah, those. Or," he bit his lip, "we don't have to cover them. I'll take you downstairs topless. I have no problem with that."
"Second drawer on the left."
"Right then."
He went to the drawer she indicated and tossed several aside before proclaiming, "Aha!"
"You're kidding me."
"I'm not," he smirked, twirling black lace on his finger as he knelt beside her on the bed. "Sit up."
"What shirt am I wearing?"
"Sit up."
"I will not wear that. It's nearly uncomfortable."
"Nearly?"
"Nearly."
"Sit up. I want to see you in it."
"Then you can put it on me while I'm laying down."
"Oh, really?"
"Oh, really."
Ron straddled her waist and narrowed his eyes, holding the bra up in front of him to frown at it, then, look back at her.
"The concept is simple. The technique is allusive," he muttered, tapping his chin with one finger.
She laughed and snatched it out of his hands only to have him reclaim it.
"No. I'm dressing you, remember."
She sighed and let her arms drop to the bed and he put her arms in the straps, pulling them up to rest on her shoulders. He sat back on his haunches and eyed her thoughtfully.
"And now, how to clasp it?" he wondered aloud. Grabbing both ends, he leaned close to her and slipped his hands under her back, causing her to arch up. "And hello, there," he smiled and she bit back a grin, choosing to seem annoyed instead.
"Just clasp the damned thing."
"I'm trying, Mione . . . and it's not working."
"It's not rocket science."
"It's not running a football either. Would you please sit up?"
"No."
Grumbling, he brought his legs around and sat squarely on her thighs, pulling her up.
"Come here."
He pressed her to his chest and hooked her shoulder under his chin, squeezing her sides with his knees to keep her from falling back as he worked at the clasp.
"And . . . I've got it. Whoo," he cheered for himself.
Letting her go, she flopped back on the bed, looking dejected.
"Don't look so down. We had to get dressed at some point," he told her, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes. She forced a smile, but, even though she'd never say it out loud, she was disappointed that he'd gotten the hang of it and didn't have to hold her up anymore. The more he fumbled with the clasp, the longer he held her. "Why weren't you wearing this under the jersey?"
"I had no reason to."
"Sure you did. You were going to sleep with me after the game."
"Believe me, Ron. That was not my agenda when I decided to go to your locker room."
"Sure it wasn't. You saw me in that game and couldn't resist me."
"I'll agree that you were quite attractive, all sweaty-like, but not irresistibly so. I think it was me, on the other hand, being irresistible in the jersey."
"Yeah, though, for the life of me, I can't figure out why."
"RON!"
"That's not what I mean, Hermione. I see people in jerseys all the time and I've never had the sudden urge to not only deflower them, but screw them until they couldn't walk."
"I don't want you to say deflower ever again."
"Maybe it's because you had my name across your shoulders. Like I'd claimed you and you were mine, or something," he said thoughtfully.
"You haven't claimed me."
"Oh, but I have. A special part of you is mine."
"We had sex, Ron. We did not confess our undying devotion to one another."
"Thank God. I'm just 15. I don't need a relationship. But sex is good."
"Amen."
"And you need a shirt."
She smiled as he got off her and went to her closet.
"Would you like some ice?"
"Actually, yes, that sounds quite nice," Hermione consented as he laid her on the couch. Ron retreated to the kitchen and found an icepack in the freezer, bringing it back to her. "Thanks, baby," she whispered, taking it from him.
He knelt next to the couch and leaned on the cushion beside her.
"You just called me 'baby'."
"I called you 'baby' all night."
"You called me several things last night, but that's beside the point. I'm not giving you 'earth-shattering pleasure' at the moment, and you still called me 'baby'."
"Don't think anything of it. . . . 'Earth-shattering pleasure'?"
"Heard it somewhere. If you're going to call me 'baby' . . ."
"I told you not think anything of it."
" . . . then I shall call you . . ."
"Hermione."
"Sugarplum," he smiled, tapping her nose with his forefinger.
"You won't."
"Peaches?"
"Why fruit?"
"You can be peaches. And I can be your banana dreamboat."
"You'll be a banana split if you ever suggest that again."
Ron grimaced and thought for another moment.
"I'm going to call you bedbug."
"I do not bite."
"Sure you don't," he scoffed, standing
"Where are you going?"
She grabbed his jeans and tugged him back down beside her.
"I need to take a shower."
"You took one this morning."
"Getting laid under a shower spray doesn't constitute as cleansing. I'll be right back. Are you going to miss me?"
"You wish."
"I'd take you with me, but you won't let me call you bedbug, sweet cheeks."
"I prefer bedbug to sweet cheeks."
"How about I just call you 'lover'. It's the proper term isn't it?"
"I don't like that."
"Then I'm just going to randomly spout off pet names whenever I want."
"I'll never call you 'baby' again . . ."
"Cutie pie."
" . . . if you don't . . ."
"Cuddlykins."
" . . . want me to."
"Sex fiend."
"Just pick one, Ron, I'm really not particular."
"Okay, sugarplum," he decided, kissing her.
She glared at him when he pulled away and he smirked.
"Is that ice melted yet, my little bed monster?"
"You really think you're something."
"Don't deny your attraction to me, cuddlykins."
"Oh, Ronnie, I would never."
"Ronnie sounds so much better when it's accompanied with, 'don't stop'."
She blushed and he grinned at her.
"Don't miss me too much," he admonished, getting up and starting for the stairs.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to relax. The shower started to run a few moments later and she smirked to herself, knowing for a fact that she had a very naked young man in her house.
Her front door opened and she jumped so violently that she nearly fell off the couch. On impulse, she chucked the ice pack at the door, partly out of defense, but mostly because if it was her parents, she didn't want to be questioned as to why she needed an ice pack where she needed the ice pack.
"Hey! Is that any way to greet your cutest and bestest guy friend?" Harry wanted to know. "Throwing ice at my head?"
Hermione took a few calming breaths and motioned for him to come inside.
"Oh, it just you. Be a dear and bring it back."
He picked up the projectile weapon and handed it to her.
"What do you need ice for? Bump your head?"
"Not quite," she answered, replacing the ice pack.
Harry smirked.
"But Hermione, I've only been here ten seconds. You must really want me bad."
She snorted and shook her head, "No, sorry. That's not it."
He flopped down into an armchair and he watched her amusedly.
"Now, why in the world would you need ice there?"
"That's my little secret."
Just then, the door to the bathroom opened and Ron called, "Bedbug? You're out of shampoo."
She heard Harry gasp and refused to look at him.
"Look in the cabinet under the sink. There's usually an extra bottle down there."
"Oh, thanks, peaches."
The door shut again and she chanced a glance at Harry.
He had stopped breathing and sat, gaping at her.
"Harry?" she tried.
His mouth snapped shut and he closed his eyes tight, pursing his lips and shaking his head.
"No. Don't speak," he ordered, turning his head a little.
Ron started singing random lines from Grease as he washed his hair.
Hermione smiled and Harry looked livid.
"I can't believe you," he spat.
"What?"
"You had sex with Ron? But you're with . . ."
He stopped and his head fell back.
" 'No one' would be the correct ending to that sentence."
He laughed bitterly.
"No one? NO ONE?"
"Shut up, Harry."
"No. My best friend is upstairs taking a shower in the home of my ex-girlfriend who is nursing the loss of her virginity on the couch."
"I don't feel like arguing about this right now. I'm in pain."
"Serves you right. I thought you didn't like Ron."
"I didn't."
"But you slept with him?"
"It's just sex, Harry."
His eyes widened.
"Is that why we never had sex? You liked me?"
"No, I was fourteen and you didn't want to have sex with me, either."
"I wanted to, I just thought it would be weird for both of us. I would have, many times."
"It would have been way weird. It's good that we didn't."
"So I can't ask you over for emergency homework help anymore?"
They both knew this didn't refer to science projects and essays.
"Why not?"
He was confused.
"You have a serious boyfriend now."
"He's not my boyfriend."
Harry made a face as though his head might explode.
"He's just your sex buddy?"
"Basically."
"That calls you bedbug and peaches?"
"That's his thing."
The water turned off.
"Don't make a scene, Harry."
"I won't. I'm done caring about it."
"Hey, Hermione, do you want to dry me o. . ." Ron called, emerging wearing a towel and grinning like a fool until he saw Harry. "Oh, hey. Harry."
"Howdy, Ron," the other boy smiled.
"What are you doing here?"
"Your sister called wondering where you were. Guess she didn't know that you were getting some Anatomy help from Hermione, here."
Ron descended the stairs tentatively.
"I, uh, guess I forgot to call them."
"Well, being the friend that I am, I told them that you'd stayed with me but had left this morning."
"You seem agitated," Ron pointed out.
"Noooo," Harry said, a little too emphatically and Ron looked down at Hermione. She shook her head.
"It's just sex, you know that, right?"
"So I've been told."
"Does it bother you?"
"Why would it bother me?"
"She's your ex-girlfriend."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot."
Ron made a face and started for the stairs. "I'm going to get dressed and we'll talk about this more in a minute."
Once he was out of sight, Hermione threw the ice pack at Harry again.
"I told you not to make a scene. Go up there and talk to him."
"Why?"
"Because I said so, dammit. I'm in pain and you've pissed me off. Now get up there and fix it."
Harry rolled his eyes and stomped up the stairs.
"Ron?"
He knocked a couple times on Hermione's door.
"I'm not in there," the red-head answered, peeking his head out of the bathroom as he zipped his jeans. Harry moved to lean against the doorjamb
"Sorry about all that. I was just confused," he attempted as Ron pulled a shirt over his head.
"I had no idea we were going to do that, honestly."
"Ron, it's fine. I'm happy for you, really. Did you do it a lot or just the once?"
"Four times," he grinned, grateful that he could tell somebody.
"No wonder she can't move."
"You really need to get a girlfriend, dude," Ron told him. "Sex is good."
"Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
"Oh, she explained it, then."
"A little. That's not to say I understand completely, but she explained. Do you like her?"
"When she wears my jersey, I like her a lot."
"What about now as she's immobilized on the couch with an ice pack between her legs?"
He smiled involuntarily.
"I don't mind."
"So you like her?"
"We're friends."
"No, Ron. Do you like her?"
"I don't love her."
Harry shook his head.
"Then why did you sleep with her?"
"It just happened."
"Four times?"
"Well, no. It just happened the first time, in the foyer. The two times in her bed and the one in her shower were experimental."
"You did it in the shower?"
"Yeah, up against the wall under the showerhead."
"Whoa."
"Yeah. You really need to get a girlfriend."