A/n: Ages, right? But I'm coming back, swinging.

The dementor glided slowly closer. My teeth rattled with the sudden coldness. Growing up with two dentists as parents, I recollected that teeth-chattering was very bad for your jawbone, and could result in excessive clenching and grinding, which just isn't good for your molars.

While I thought about this, and how my now-perfect-teeth-thanks-to-Madam-Pomfrey-and-her-teeth-shrinking-charm-abilities would no longer be so perfect and maybe Ron would cut his tongue on my newly-jagged molars if he ever Frenched me, the dementor came to a halt right in front of me.

"Fear me," it said.

"What?"

It tilted its head (or its hood, rather, under which I can only assume is some sort of head. Or maybe it's just a giant pair of lips or something, you know, for the much dreaded and generally feared Kiss? Must remember to ask Harry), as if to say "Are you dense?"

"No I'm not dense," I said, forgetting that the dementor only said this in the sad world of my imagination.

It was the dementor's turn to look confused. As much as a creature with no visible facial expressions can look confused. "What?"

Something was definitely off here. As far as I know (which is a long ways, let me tell you. I didn't read half the Hogwarts library and interview all the portraits on floors three through six for beans), dementors don't have the ability to chat with their victims. And I was pretty sure it was highly uncharacteristic of said creatures to scratch (again, I could only assume) its nose, at least not while on the pretense of being scary.

"Nothing," I said, and without further warning, I pounced on the "dementor" and poked my wand straight into its hood.

"OWWWWWW!" it howled, flailing backwards with me on top. It was like that horrid carnival ride my mother dragged my on when I was nine. He bucked and jumped just like the stupid "Rodeo Randy's Bucking Bronto Ride". The room blurred as I was being swung round, my head banging into the phony dementor's shoulder again and again. Luckily, this time, I managed to hold down my dinner.

However, just as I was congratulating myself for not spewing sick over everyone, a very large-and very human-fist flashed suddenly out of the robes, and swung spectacularly into my chin.

Pain exploded into my jaw as tiny white stars popped in front of my eyes. I was flying backwards, through blackness and I remembered nothing more.

Wet. That was the first sensation that came to me as consciousness slowly crept back. Wet on my chin. Someone was dabbing something on it, I thought, as I blinked.

"Hey," said Ron, grinning down at me. "Nice of you to join us," he said in the perfect cinematic cliché. Like it isn't mandatory that in every film where the hero's lover regains consciousness, only to find her true love leaning over her, tending to her wounds etc. etc., he must say those six words to her, and therefore seem terribly clever and witty etc. etc. etc.

But I let it pass. "What happened?" I asked, inwardly wincing. Another typical line. You'd think this dialogue was written for us in some terribly cliché and predictable romance novel. Or fanfiction.

"Ron, here, Stupefied all of those Death Eaters, and really clocked the guy who hit you," said Seamus, a look of nostalgia washing over him. "I came over as soon as I heard of those large ladies shouting. Woman's got a set of pipes," he said, nodding appreciatively.

"Both of them, being Muggles, are getting their memories wiped right now," said Ron, still dabbing some white potion (not unlike the stuff Fred and George gave me to clear up the punching-glove-in-a-box-induced black eye, years ago) on my chin, but also looking at me intently. "Are you alright?"

His blue eyes shone with concern, and I struggled to fight down a blush. This was happening more and more frequently. It was getting silly.

"Hermione?" he said, quietly.

And without thinking, I kissed him.

My stomach exploded with a shockwave of electrical current, coursing into my arms and legs like lightning, filling my limbs with a lead-like weight, and at the same time inducing the sensation of flying, or falling. My stomach plummeted thousands of feet, while I was still laying there under Ron. And only when I realized that he was kissing back did I pull away.

"I-I mean," he stammered, and I could just tell. It was a mistake. He hadn't meant it. He never wanted to-how could I have been so stupid? I had completely shattered the small bubble of hope that was growing over the past couple of days, that we could be good friends again, and maybe I could find out why, beyond all reason he had not written to me in years.

I scrambled out from under him and ran through the bar's exit, bowing my head to hide the small streams running down my face before Apparating to Ginny's place.

"There you are I've been trying to reach you for ages, I forgot to tell you not to get carnations, Harry's allerg-what's wrong?"

"I've messed up everything," I said, in spite of myself. Yep, I realize this is another one of those "lines found in more than seven movies, especially chicflicks". But I didn't very much care at the moment.

"What's my prat of a brother done to you? This time, I should say," said Ginny as she flicked her wand at the kettle on the stove, which shrieked as steam poured out of its spout.

I shook my head. "It's not him," I said as she passed me a cup of Earl Grey tea in a small blue china cup. "Well, it is him," I said to the skeptical look she threw me. "I mean that it's not him that's done something to me. It's the other way around, actually."

She waited for me to continue as I paused, taking a long sip of the scalding-hot drink. "I kissed him."

She looked at me, her eyes widening. "That's wonderful!" she said at last, jumping up to hug me, and then stopping halfway, almost comically, as if she had run into an invisible brick wall..

"Why were you crying, then? What happened?" she asked as she slowly sat back down.

I took another small sip, and put my cup down, lost in thought.

"He didn't-well he didn't exactly say-but I'm sure I saw-well he didn't like it."

"This is Ron we're talking about?"

"Yes."

"Ron Bilious Weasley?"

"Ye-his middle name is Bilious?"

She nodded. "The same Ron Bilious Weasley that's been pining after you for –what-ten years now?"

"I blinked. "I don't know about Hogwarts, but he certainly didn't after-he never wrote-"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Because he was scared!"

"Of-of me?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes you! He's only liked you since your third year, and ever since he's acted like a complete idiot around you, picking fights and the like. He's like the little muggles Mum used to read to me about, putting their fancy's pigtails into the inkwell, just because he likes her. Ron only just realized what an arse he'd made of himself in front of you the whole time you two were at Hogwarts, and he was so embarrassed he moved into the dorms of the Auror-Training Base and never spoke a word to you since. Until a few days ago, that is."

I stared at the redhead in amazement. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," I said. She nodded, sympathetically. "How do you know all this?"

She shrugged. "Overheard Harry and him having a chat in Harry's apartment while I was stopping by to pick up some-ah-lost garments."

She had that mischievous glint in her eye. I shuddered at the mental picture.

Ginny glanced at her small kitchen clock, declared it was much too late for me to travel home by myself, and insisted that I stayed the night.

She unfolded the futon in her den, gave me a couple of blankets, a pillow and suddenly hugged me.

"The prat'll come round. You'll see."

The next morning I woke up tangled in impossibly twisted sheets, that had wrapped themselves around my legs so many times that it took a good couple of tugs to get free. It had been a fitful, almost sleepless night, as I relived the kiss over and over (which was nice), but also agonized about what would happen when I'd see him again. My initial plan was to avoid him like the plague, but as he was my other best friend's best man, while I'm Ginny's Maid of Honor (same wedding, of course. This whole thing would be just silly, otherwise), we were bound to meet sooner or later.

Please, Merlin, let it be later.

I was sifting through the refrigerator, trying to find orange juice, when hard tapping noise came from the window. It was a delivery owl with the Daily Prophet. Since Ginny was not up yet, I fished into my purse and dropped two bronze knuts into the Barn Owl's leather pouch. I then untied the newspaper and watched the bird disappear into the grey sky.

I slapped the Prophet onto Ginny's kitchen table and went to have another look in the fridge. And did a double-take. Right on the front page was Ron, grinning sheepishly up at me. The headline blared: MINISTRY AUROR ROUNDS UP DEATH EATERS-exclusive interview inside!

I flipped to the article and read:

Ministry of Magic's Junior Auror Ronald Weasley, 23 was reported to have single handedly captured eight Death Eaters, now re-named Roguers by the public for their redundant loyalty to the deceased He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Only their leader, Draco Malfoy, son of notorious Lucius Malfoy, did not go quietly, and allegedly knocked out three of his fellow Roguers with a Trip Jinx. "He's really the hero," says Weasley, "Malfoy had already knocked out half of his cronies by the time I acted. Also, my friend Hermione Granger helped disarm one of them, who had on one of those fake dementor suits, which are charmed to give off the effects of a real dementor. We have no idea why he was dressed like that, but we think it was to try to scare Hermione, who is a Muggleborn, as their sick idea of fun. But of course, she's way too intelligent, and did not fall for the idiot's trick." These costumes, called Dementor Disguises, can be found, ironically, at the popular joke shop Weasley Wizard Wheezes, run by Ronald Weasley's older brothers George and Fred Weasley. Draco Malfoy had no comment for the Prophet, except "I'll be back, Granger."

Now that just takes the cake.

A/n: For Black Hawk Down, my summer reading book, bringing back the need to procrastinate, and therefore write fanfiction. Also, I know the whole "he didn't mean it" plotline is The Oldest plot in the book, but it fit here, and I'm keeping it. Unfortunately I can't update in the next two weeks because I have to do all of my summer vacation homework that I've neglected to do over the last two months, and then I'm going on a family trip to Hershey, PA. I've got idea, though, about what's coming next, so it should be a LOT faster than last time.

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