Chapter Two- All I ask of you

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January wasn't the most scenic of months, but Hermione wasn't looking out the window to admire the winter landscape. Instead, the former paragon of time management was sitting at her desk, absently rubbing a lock of hair between her fingers and daydreaming.

She walked briskly into the Hall during breakfast. At the Gryffindor table, Hermione stopped and asked Harry and Neville, "Where's Ron?"

Their eyes looked past her shoulder. Turning, she saw the boy striding toward them. Hermione's heart pounded. Ron's arms supported her shoulders and knees as he swept her out of the chamber.

He carried her up flights of stairs to reach the Room of Requirement. Pacing with her still cradled in his arms, Ronald smiled into her eyes before asking her to open the door that materialized in the stone wall.

Returning his smile, Hermione turned the handle. Inside, he gently set her on her feet, asking, "Is it what you wanted?"

Her gaze travelled over the heather covered hills. In the distance, colourful pavilions marked the area where the Highland Games were held. Hermione nodded, admiring the kilt Ron now wore, thanks to the room's magic. She admired the long legs beneath the plaid too.

A slightly calloused masculine fingertip traced her lips. His heated gaze approved the low, round neckline of her gown. Unable to wait until after they'd danced and enjoyed the Games to have a kiss, Hermione boldly threaded her fingers through fiery locks.

She reached up while bringing the boy's head down to hers. The world narrowed to the circle of his arms, the feel of his lips, and the scent and texture of the heather he lowered her onto. Hermione sighed at the sweet ache his body created in hers and…

"Are you still working on that essay, Granger?"

Hermione deduced that one of her roommates had just asked her a question. Calmly, she decided on a reply that would make it appear that she'd been listening, "Yes."

Apparently, it was the correct one. Julia, an energetic blonde girl, grinned impishly. "Wow, this must be a record or something; you not finished with a measly quarter scroll essay in a half hour. Are you feeling okay?"

Stiffly assuring the girl that she was, Hermione dipped her quill in ink and ruthlessly suppressed the urge to continue the daydream. She had schoolwork to do. After diligently scribing the short essay comparing and contrasting Arithmancy with Muggle Numerology, Hermione rolled up the scroll and tucked the assignment into her school bag.

Her roommates had already left to head toward the Hall for dinner when Hermione left the dorm. She felt relieved not to have to walk with them. It wasn't that she disliked the girls. They were perfectly nice. She just wanted to be alone in order to think.

Descending the girls' staircase, Hermione admitted to herself that ever since Ron had kissed her in the tree house, her life had become somewhat disordered. That struck her as ironic, since they didn't have to sneak around anymore.

Harry had found out that she and Ron were going together. Less than a week after they'd returned from Christmas Holiday, Neville had misread Snape's directions, and botched his 'Elixir of Secrets'. The disastrous potion gone wrong had caused his classmates to blurt their most private thoughts.

Hermione had tried to hold out against the fumes, but it was no use. She'd blurted out that she'd kissed Ron before rushing from the dungeon. Harry told her that afterwards, Ron had confessed to kissing her- lots.

Thankfully, Harry had found the situation funny. He hadn't been mad that his best mates had kept their new closeness hidden. That was a relief. Although she missed the excitement of meeting in secret, it was rather hard to put 'clandestine rendezvous' into an organizer.

It was even more impossible to pencil in spontaneous moments of romance into her daily planner. That played havoc with her formerly clockwork schedule. For example, she might arrange her day and allot an extra fifteen minutes onto patrolling for impulsive snogging with Ron.

He'd want thirty minutes, or even forty-five.

It always seemed like such a good idea at the time. Later, Hermione would notice that she was flossing her teeth to please her mother in the 'brush hair 100 strokes' time slot, or finishing an essay in place of 'six chapters of an intellectually stimulating novel before bed, not The Princess Bride.' On each occasion, a panicky feeling overwhelmed her.

Last night, the dichotomy of her life became too much to ignore any longer. While on patrol, her boyfriend had suggested making sure that no one was making out in the Room of Requirement. She'd known no one would be…until after they got there.

Had she gently reminded Ron that he had a Divination essay due? Reasonably suggested an alternative, perhaps that they awaken a half hour earlier in the morning and meet there before breakfast? No, she had not. Instead, she had giggled and asked if they could have the Highland Games theme again. It had been after midnight when she'd returned to her dorm. Ronald probably hadn't scribbled one line of his essay, and it was due next week!

Taking a calming breath, Hermione opened the door to the Great Hall. She remembered her daydream and winced. Surely that was all the proof she needed that a dangerous level of emotionality was insinuating itself into her previously well-ordered existence. She had to do something! Determined, she marched down the aisle.

Unfortunately, the sight of Ron laughing with Harry made her intention to discuss the situation melt like a snowflake in the sun.

-

Ron had awakened that morning with a smile on his face that had stayed put all day. It was Friday, Hogsmeade Weekend was tomorrow, and Hermione was his girlfriend. Life didn't get any better than that. Sure, the Chudley Cannons could win the League, Harry could act less temperamental and Snape could get struck by lightning, but he didn't need that stuff to be happy.

He was a simple bloke. He'd even looked up a simple poem, well, poetic line, for Hermione. Okay, maybe he'd done it hoping she'd be impressed and snog him later, but wasn't a need for love the most basic one of all?

At dinner, he kept an eye out for Hermione while trying to cheer Harry up. His best mate was like a malfunctioning broomstick, his moods always swinging up and down. Remembering one of Fred and George's favourite Quidditch curses, he broke into a grin. "Next time Malfoy's trying to grab your broom tail and slow you down, yell this- Bloody Bollocky Blagging Bastard! C'mon, give it a practice go. If you wait until he does it, you'll say 'Blastard' for sure. That ruins the whole thing."

Harry was horrid at the tongue twisting imprecation. He couldn't stop putting an 'L' behind the first letter in every word. It was hilarious. While the friends were laughing, Ron saw Hermione. His grin stretched wide. He could tell she'd been trying to smooth her hair down again. He'd have to fluff it out later- with his fingers.

Ron remembered his manners and stood, waiting for his girlfriend to have a seat before sitting beside her on the bench. His friends snickered at his action, but they'd never been pushed against the wall behind Emma the Enchanting and snogged silly on account of their 'sexy good manners' had they? If Mum had told him the real meaning behind that old saying 'virtue is its own reward', he'd have behaved gentlemanly a whole bloody lot sooner!

"Hello, Ron."

Smiling, he wished that he could afford jewels to match Hermione's eyes. Maybe he could work at Weasley Wizard Wheezes over the summer. Realising that he'd been greeted, he said, "Hello, Hermione."

Spotting the wheat rolls she liked, Ron stretched out a long arm to snatch the basket and offer it to his girl. He pointed to the rolls. "A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, and Thou Beside me..."

Her face lit up. "Omar Khayyam, that's so sweet! Thank you!"

The guys around the table looked more impressed than Hermione with his smooth move. He smirked at Neville silently mouthing the words and then smiled at his girlfriend. They both turned their attention to their food.

These days, Ron made a real effort to break the habits instilled by a lifetime of eating with brothers who talked around a mouthful of food to get a word in at the dinner table. Chicken hanging out the side of his mouth might seem funny to Fred and George, but it didn't amuse the girl beside him. Nor did it make her want to kiss him.

A snicker brought his attention to green eyes glinting with laughter. Did his pal find him using a linen serviette instead of his sleeve entertaining? Accidentally jabbing Harry in the side with his elbow, hard, Ron asked, "Do you want to go to the library after dinner, 'Mione?"

She nodded in her cutely serious and seriously cute way. "Yes, I do. I want to check out a book and talk with you about something."

-

On the way to the library, their shoulders brushed when he leaned down to covertly sniff soft tresses. He wasn't stealthy enough, because Hermione teasingly demanded, "Are you sniffing my hair?"

He grinned. "Yeah. I think all that time we spent with Sirius rubbed off." Manoeuvring her over against the wall, he bent and playfully snuffled her neck and face before taking a deep whiff of her hair and informing the giggling girl, "The smell of strawberries makes me howl. Ah-wooo!"

"I always knew you were a mutt, Weasley."

Malfoy stood nearby with his sniggering cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. The goons were conditioned to laugh every time the Slytherin smirked, and the git had the nerve to call him a dog. The pressure of Hermione's fingers asked Ron not to do something rash, like choke the git with his bare hands. For her, he ignored the slur and started to walk away.

Behind them, the sneering prat had to keep running his mouth, "I suppose if he's a mutt, boys, that makes Granger his…OW! You hexed me, you psychopathic weasel! Wait until I tell Snape you used your wand outside class. For a Stinging Hex, you'll have detention so long…"

The scowling boy stalked toward the dungeons, muttering threats, toadies scurrying to keep up. Hermione smiled. "Malfoy's not as smart as he likes to think he is. Snape said just the other day in Potions that if he doesn't see it, he doesn't want to hear about it. I think the professor's getting tired of Slytherins running to him when they should solve their own problems."

Ron scoffed, "Right…He wants them to start hexing us, more like."

She pulled him into motion with an 'honestly Ronald' look on her face, but he knew she was putting on a front. Her lips were twitching. Inside the library, Hermione started acting nervous, not meeting his eyes and taking her time reaching a bookcase in the back right corner of the enormous chamber. She took a slim green volume off the bottom shelf.

Ron lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you already read Quidditch Through The Ages?" He took the book. Pointing to the list of borrowers, he said, "See? You checked it out after me and before Harry."

Hermione shook her head, looking miserable. She took a deep breath. In a small voice, she confessed, "I checked it out…but…I didn't read it."

He almost teased her that he was gobsmacked there was a book in the library she hadn't read, but the expression on her face stopped him. She looked embarrassed.

Hermione said, "I tried to read it, really I did. It was just so…so boring…and I didn't want to learn about the evolution of the broomstick, or the changes in the game since the fourteenth century. I'm sorry."

Seamus' last girlfriend hadn't looked that upset when she'd admitted to cheating on the bloke with his Potions partner. It was almost funny, but Ron knew better than to smile. He'd seen his dad get kicked to the couch for making light of his mother's feelings. Arthur's son was smart enough to learn from his father's mistakes.

The best thing he could do was look sympathetic and to wait for her to tell him exactly why she'd shared that bit of information. Personally, he didn't care if she ever read the bloody book. He'd just skimmed it himself, concentrating on the part about the Cannons and the description of their glory days back before 1892, when they won the league twenty five arse kicking times.

To encourage his girlfriend to open up, Ron did what Bill once said helped with Fleur. He held her hands in his. She smiled. "I want to read this book now so I can understand why Quidditch is so important to you."

That was nice, but he could've told her the simple truth. He was a guy. It was a cool sport. It was fun to play and almost as much fun to watch. End of story. Ron had a feeling Hermione was looking for some kind of deeper, philosophical reason, though. If she found one, he was willing to let her think that was his motivation if it made her happy.

His girl had another confession to make, "There's something else…" Hermione said, "I want you, just for tomorrow, to use a day planner with me. If you give it a chance, I think you'll see how time management makes the day go better and maximises our enjoyment."

Feeling like that bobble-head Viktor Krum figure he'd had fourth year- before the arm mysteriously got ripped off, Ron kept nodding, saying agreeably, "Sure. That's fine with me." She looked so pleased, he couldn't laugh. Instead, he said smilingly, "I know what would maximize our enjoyment right now."

-

Hermione had never thought of herself as the type to snog in a library, but at the moment, it seemed the only logical thing to do. While his mouth moved over hers, she thought, How interesting that his lips are firm and soft at the same time. It's such a lovely paradox. Almost as much a contradiction as calloused fingertips that should feel rough against my skin feeling good instead…like a lick from Crookshanks. Best not to share that imagery- he's still not overly fond of my cat.

Her thoughts scattered when Ron's tongue slipped between her lips. She'd never been fully kissed before they'd come together on New Year's. Hermione smiled inwardly at her former idea that a deeper, more intimate exploration of a boy's mouth would be unpleasant. Maybe with someone else it would be, but with Ronald, the experience was breathtaking.

"Miss Granger! Mr. Weasley! Cease that inappropriate display at once!"

The awful tones of the librarian reminded Hermione of those ominous warnings pasted into books. The consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them. She looked at Ron. His eyes were imploring her to think of something fast and get them out of this mess.

Hermione met Irma Pince's narrowed gaze and said, "Madam Pince, It's not what it looks like. Ronald was rescuing me. Something at dinner…allergic reaction…toxic shock syndrome…strikes without warning…" She said earnestly, "I was unable to breathe. He kindly gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." Turning to Ron, Hermione exclaimed, "You saved my life!"

Ron looked torn between alarm and laughter. Hermione had to look away to keep her composure. The librarian nervously fingered her vulture-like neck and repeated, "Something at dinner…most likely the bouillabaisse. French food is not to be trusted, with all those sauces covering who knows what." The bony woman stated, "Since you have always behaved with utmost propriety before, Ms. Granger, I will take you at your word. Go straightaway to the infirmary and allow Madam Pomfrey to make sure that your condition does not worsen."

Hermione asked, "May I check out a book first?"

The stern, beaky features softened. "Of course you may."

-

After a quick stop at the infirmary for a stomach upset remedy, just in case Pince checked, the couple returned to Gryffindor house. Inside the common room, small groups worked on preparations for the Hogsmeade Weekend party the following night. Hermione waved to Harry and Colin. As Ron walked her to the girls' staircase, he said, "You really were amazing back there. You had me worrying that you had that toxic shock whatever

"Thank you."

She was just about to say goodnight when Ron took a deep breath and blurted, "Tomorrow night, at the party...I was wondering… Even if they never play a slow song, will you slow dance with me anyway?"

Hermione felt her heart turn over at his request. Before she darted up the stairs, she answered with words that expressed more than Ron realised,

"As You Wish"

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A/N- All right, I admit it, I'm a hopeless Princess Bride fan, and want every reader to become a romance junkie along with me! C'mon, who can resist the part where Buttercup realises that when Westley said 'As you wish', what he really meant was 'I love you'!