Part Two: Enjoying the Celebrations

Hermione gasped softly as a tingling sensation swept over her. Ron is—oh my God, he's kissing me! Snogging, more like… Ron kissed her more passionately, causing her to sigh into his mouth with happiness.

But something wasn't right with the picture. She had fancied Ron for so long; it was amazing to finally be doing what she wanted with him…but frankly…

He was a terrible kisser. Yes, she probably was just as bad, but wow. It's a weird emotion, feeling pleasure and repulsion at the same time. It'll get better, we'll practice, but for now…

She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back gently.

Ron, as far as Hermione could tell, was very disappointed, but he complied to her wishes. "What is it, Hermione? Is something wrong?"

"Erm…I think we should go up to the party in the common room. All of Gryffindor's probably waiting to celebrate with their keeper," she lied, smiling flirtatiously.

"Why don't we stay out here awhile? They can wait." He looked toward her hopefully.

"No," Hermione insisted, "I don't want Snape or someone to nab us for being out after-hours."

"Okay," Ron agreed reluctantly, taking her hand in his (albeit awkwardly) as they walked up the stone castle steps, into Hogwarts, and up to Gryffindor Tower.

They climbed through the portrait hole to find an array of red and gold decorations. The whole of Gryffindor had joined in the festivities, driven by the excitement of the victory.

Ron and Hermione edged through the thick crowd and discovered Harry in the center of the room, where Colin Creevey was retelling the capture of the Snitch. Harry was trying to look modest about the ordeal, but was failing miserably. He glanced up to see them coming.

"Hey, I was wondering where you'd gotten to," Harry said. "Er…is everything all right between the two of you, now?"

"Never better," Ron replied, a bit red in the ears. "I think I could do for a butterbeer. Would you like one, Hermione?" He smiled at her.

"Sure," she said breathlessly, as Ron released her hand.

Harry noticed. After Ron had gone, he commented, "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

Hermione flushed a brilliant pink. "That he does," she managed to say.

"Why would that be, Hermione?" Harry further questioned, meaning to tease her.

"Ask no questions, Harry, and I'll tell you no lies," said Hermione, despite her uneasiness at this turn of conversation with him. Harry did not speak again, but only smirked knowingly.

Meanwhile, over at the refreshment table, Ron was waiting for Jack Sloper to open another crate of butterbeer.

"Hi, Ron!" exclaimed a very peppy voice from behind him. He turned around, and there was a heavily made-up face in front of him.

"Hey, Lavender," he greeted her, half-revolving back to lean against the table as he waited.

"Amazing job at the match," she fawned, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Oh, thanks," said Ron, brushing it off.

"Really spectacular," Lavender persisted, placing a hand on his bicep. "You must work out a lot."

Ron shifted from her grasp uncomfortably. "Um, yeah, Harry has practices often. They're pretty grueling," he added conversationally. "Would you hurry up with that butterbeer, Sloper?" he hissed through gritted teeth, watching the former Quidditch player's futile attempts at opening the crate.

This threat motivated Sloper. Within seconds, Ron had a butterbeer in each hand.

"Oh Ron, how thoughtful of you!" Lavender squealed, reaching for one of them.

"Actually, that one's for Hermione," Ron said, tugging it away.

"Hermione Granger?" Lavender scoffed. "Why would you be fetching her a drink?"

"Well, she is one of my best friends," Ron defended Hermione, annoyed at Lavender for holding him up. Of course I'm getting Hermione a drink. What's Lavender playing at?

All of a sudden, everything clicked into place. Lavender wanted him to get her drink; she had been sending him—what were in his opinion—the weirdest signals all year, but now it made sense. Too bad for her—now I'm with Hermione…I think. "Later, Lavender," he said, squeezing past her and Dean Thomas.

"Hey," Hermione greeted Ron once he returned. Harry had excused himself to speak with Neville, though Hermione had her suspicions of his true intention.

Ron handed her a butterbeer, and she took it gratefully. They both sat down on a nearby loveseat. "A total of seven people," she told him, "have come up to me, merely smiling at me. One fourth year even congratulated me, as if I had won the Quidditch match."

"Weird," agreed Ron, popping the cap off his bottle and taking a sip. "What's even weirder," he continued, "was Lavender just trying to latch onto me like a leech."

"Oh," Hermione said curiously. "I did hear an inkling about her liking you."

"How?"

"Girls' dormitory, Ron—it's the place you hear these sorts of things."

"So she…likes…me?"

"I suppose."

Ron looked bewildered. "Wow."

Hermione smacked him on the back of the head. "Don't you think for one minute about going after her, Ron Weasley!"

"And why not?" he joked.

"You're mine." Hermione blushed deeply, hardly believing the words coming out of her mouth.

"I'm what?" he wanted to hear her repeat it.

"You're evil, Ron, for making me say that again!"

"Okay, but what else am I?"

"You're mine," she confirmed bravely.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," he grinned like an idiot. He stole a quick peck on her cheek.

"Good," she said in relief, also smiling.

Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Gryffindors rejoiced the night away. Or, at least, until Professor McGonagall called the party to a close near midnight, refusing to believe that the first match of the season deserved that much celebration.

A/N: If you don't like this chapter, I'm sorry…not my best work at all. I don't know much about kissing, either than what I've read in books and fan fiction…sad, but true. Sixteen, and never been kissed. It's not bad, but for my writing purposes, I would like to experience it a little.

Whatever.

There's a parody alternative that I will post separately for this part, but there are two more parts of this ficlet to come.