Ok, I know I promised I would have updated yesterday, but this chapter took longer than I expected to come out; anyway, it's longer than usual, so I hope you will forgive me :)

So, here it is, the Date! I hope you enjoy it; I had lots of fun writing it, really. As always, Read and Review!

Chapter 12: Of Dates and Old Bikes, Foul Snakes and Unfair Detentions

Hermione's POV:

" I don't know what to wear!"

I was in my room, still wrapped in the bath towel, standing in front of my closet and ready to freak out.

Almost the whole contents of my chest of drawers were spread on my bed, but it seemed to me that finding something, anything nice to wear that night was an impossible mission. It was as though everything made me look like a broomstick with bushy hair, a thing that, I knew, was irrational: I had gone out with Ron, Harry and the others a million times, and I never had that kind of trouble; I just threw on the first thing I found in the closet and went.

That was different, though, and the fact that I had never been on a date before didn't help.

Of course, when I was a freshman I went to the Christmas Ball with that exchange student from Bulgaria, Viktor Krum, but there had never been anything more; we were just friends, period.

"Mione, it's six thirty!" Emma called from the threshold with a huge grin on her face; the fact that I had a date with Ron delighted her, and she had spent the whole time bouncing around the house and chatting at top-speed about how much she liked him.

She looked at me, and her face fell almost immediately; she frowned, cocking her head to the side.

"Why aren't you dressed up yet? He will be here in, like, ten minutes!"

I sighed, plopping down on the bed.

"I know," I said, chewing on my lip.

"So, what's the problem?" my sister asked innocently, climbing up beside be and rummaging through the mess of clothes on the bed.

"You can put on those bootcut jeans you like so much, the dark blue ones – they are beautiful on you –, and then something…red, or blue, those are the colours that suit you better."

She lifted her big blue eyes on me, smiling encouragingly, and I hugged her, kissing the top of her head.

"Have I ever told you that you are a genius, honey?" I asked, grabbing the jeans and one of my favourite jumper, of a deep midnight blue.

"Yes, a few times," she said casually, grinning. "Now hurry, he will be here soon! And put on your makeup, like at Christmas; you were wonderful that night!"

Ron's POV:

"Aww, ickle Ronniekins has got a date!" Fred cooed mockingly, dropping down on my bed. I glared at him, rubbing my hair with a towel to dry it quickly; I already was nervous, I didn't need him to make things worse.

"Shut up," I muttered, throwing the wet towel at him and hitting him straight in the face with it. He didn't seem to care, though, and threw the towel on the floor, grinning broadly.

"So, little brother, who is she? Tell old Freddie which girl finally succeeded in getting a date with you; if I'm not wrong, you have never went out with anyone here at school, right?"

His expression suddenly changed in one of mock terror, and he jumped on his feet, his hands in his hair.

"Oh, don't tell me it's that Ravenclaw girl, the one who sent you all those Valentines last year, what was her name…"

I scoffed, glaring at him and trying to shoo him from my room, without much success. He loved to remind me of that girl, who pestered me for months in sixth year. A nightmare; I still shuddered at the thought of her following me around.

"No, thanking God it's not her," I said, giving up on my efforts to get him out and taking a white shirt from the drawer.

"So, who…?" Fred's voice trailed off as he thought, and I looked away, buttoning up the shirt and throwing on a grey hoodie.

"Ronnie…" he said, clapping my shoulder with a huge grin, "Isn't she, by chance, some beautiful Gryffindor bookworm with an American accent?"

I felt my ears go red at his words, and I pushed him away, ruffling my already ruffled hair and running out, jumping the steps to the hall two at a time.

"Georgie!" Fred called, close on my heels, as George poked his head out of his room. "I won the bet!"

George groaned, handing a five pounds bill to Fred as he passed. I would have discussed with them later the fact that they had been betting on who I was dating; I was almost late.

"You are too predictable, little brother," he told me, as Ginny appeared on the landing of the upper floor and ran down to join up, probably curious to hear what all that noise was about.

"What bet?" she asked, jumping the last three steps and looking curiously at the Twins.

"Ron's going out with Hermione!" they chorused, and Ginny squealed; it was in these situations I really wished I was an only child.

"Really?" she asked me, her eyes gleaming; I nodded curtly and grabbed my jacket, opening the door.

"If you are done talking about my private life, I'll go," I said, glaring at the three of them. "See you!" I called, rushing out in the yard.

The problem was, since I still wasn't eighteen – for only two months, but still – and didn't have a driving license, I couldn't borrow the Twins' car, and I couldn't pick Hermione up on foot. So, I had supplied with an old bike I found in the shed; it was still good despite its age, and worked pretty well.

Dad helped me fixing it during the weekend – of course, he didn't know why I suddenly felt the urge to go around on a bike – and it was now almost as good as new, more or less.

I jumped on it and ran off, taking a shortcut across the hill; if I was late because of Fred and George, they would have paid for that.

Hermione's POV:

I had just come out of the bathroom when the doorbell rang; I felt my heart jump in my throat, and I laughed of myself: I, Hermione Jean Granger, was nervous about a date. I could do well with school and exams, but when it came to going out with someone, the chicken in me came out easily.

"He's here!" Emma called jumping down the bow-window of my room, where she had been sitting for the last fifteen minutes watching the yard and waiting to see Ron coming.

"Good luck!" she said happily, bouncing by my side as I came down the stairs, careful not to trip on the way. That would have been the first time I went anywhere beside my house or the Weasleys' without taking my crutches, and that only added to my nervousness.

Aunt Elspeth was in the kitchen, and she poked her head out as I passed, smiling.

"Beautiful," she said with a nod, looking at me. "Well, have fun!"

She was way too happy to know I was going out with Ron, especially after I told her how he helped me when Emma was sick and she was still away.

"Thanks. See you later," I replied, taking my coat from the hook and slipping it on; then I took a deep breath and opened the door, smiling.

"Hey," he said, looking slightly embarrassed, his ears pinker than usual.

"Hey," I said back softly, blushing.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment; then Ron smiled.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

I nodded, stepping outside and closing the door behind me.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we descended the four steps to the yard; it was already dark, and I didn't have any idea of where he could take me in a walking distance.

"It will be a surprise," he said with a smirk, his eyes lit up with amusement.

There was a bike laid against the wall, and I froze for a moment as he got on it and looked up at me.

"Are you ok?" he asked, a little furrow forming on his brow as he spoke.

I nodded, attempting a smile. "It's just – I've never learnt how to ride a bike. I'm too clumsy I guess, and…" I trailed off, blushing.

He smiled then, outstretching his hand toward me.

"That won't be a problem," he said reassuringly. "You just hold on tight, and I'll do the rest."

I was still hesitating, and his smile softened.

"I won't let you fall," he promised, his voice so earnest it was impossible not to believe him.

I nodded, carefully climbing behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist; I would have never admitted it, but I was more than a little afraid. The last time I ever got on a bike I was seven, and it didn't exactly go well – I fell and broke my left wrist – so I didn't trust those things much.

But I trusted him, so it would have been ok.

Ron's POV:

The very same moment I felt her arms wrapping around my waist my heart skipped a beat, just to double its speed a moment later; she was holding onto me tightly, as though she was afraid to fall – which she probably was.

"Ready?" I asked her, smiling and turning my head a bit. She nodded against my back, her arms tightening a little more around my waist, and I started to pedal, carefully holding my balance so that I wouldn't scare her. It didn't take much to get into the town, and by then the shops were starting to close, their lights switching off behind the large windows.

I took a roundabout way to our destination, trying to confuse her and taking advantage of the fact that she didn't know the inner part of the town well. Eventually, I took a turn and stopped right in front of the Three Broomsticks, grinning.

"We have been headed here all the time?" she asked, widening her eyes, as she got down. "I didn't recognize the streets we passed in…Which way did you take?"

I smiled, shrugging. "Secret of the trade," I answered, opening the door for her to step in. She smiled at my gesture, blushing slightly, and I followed her inside. The pub was packed, as always at that time, and it looked as though there wasn't a single free seat. But, I had an ace up my sleeve.

Madam Rosmerta, the owner of the place, was a good friend of my mother, and she knew all of us Weasleys since we were still in nappies – that meant, she always had a place for us, and especially for me, since for some reason I had always been the one she liked the best.

So I had called her on Saturday, practically begging her to keep a table for me on Monday in a good place, a thing she assured she would have done.

She spotted me and smiled, pointing at somewhere near the fireplace in the back of the room; I grinned back and nodded once, leading Hermione to the place.

It was a small table for two right by the fireplace, in a warm, quiet place far from the noisy counter, where Rosmerta usually placed her 'golden list customers', as she called them (a.k.a. her friends).

Hermione gave me a puzzled look.

"You have a reserved table," she observed, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I shrugged, smiling. "Oh, I know people who know people," I said, playing indifference as we sat down.

It was warm by the fire, and she took her coat off, folding it on the back of her chair. It was a good thing she had turned for a moment to do so, because, I knew, I was staring.

Her hair was tousled from the cold wind outside, and it fell down her shoulders and back like a walnut-coloured waterfall; the deep blue of the jumper she was wearing highlighted the paleness of her skin and brought out the faintest pink tinge in her cheeks, turning her skin into cream and roses.

She turned back, and her gaze met mine for a moment, a hint of shyness in it. She had put on her eyes that same stuff she was wearing at Christmas, and it made them look darker somehow, almost liquid.

She blushed, but didn't avert her gaze; her teeth sank in her lip, a nervous habit of hers I had learned to recognize.

"Good evening! May I take your orders?"

I forgot how Rosmerta had a knack for interrupting moments.

We ordered, both of us a bit awkward for a few minutes, but then we started to talk again, and the embarrassment melted away.

Time flew by, and soon we were heading out, once again in the cold January wind.

"Ready for next destination?" I asked as she climbed behind me on the bike, more confidential this time. She nodded, and I once again took the roundabout way, turning often into secondary streets to confound her, making it hard for her to tell where we were going.

When I stopped in front of Florean Fortescue's ice-cream shop, I knew she was confused: the windows were dark, and the parlour was empty, looking as though it was closed.

"Why are we here?" she asked me, pointing at the dark place with a bemused look in her eyes.

I smirked, laying the bike against the wall and lifting a heavy vase by the door, taking the key hidden underneath. The previous summer, when Florean broke his arm falling from a ladder, I helped him with the shop every day for the whole holidays – and, of course, I refused to let him pay me for the job. So when I dropped by his shop during the weekend and asked him, he agreed to do me a favour for that night.

"Is this a secret of the trade too?" she asked, amused, as we stepped in the dark parlour. I grinned, taking her hand and leading her behind the counter, where Florean had placed a small booth with two chairs; a few candles created a circle of light around it – Florean must have left them lit closing the shop a couple of hours before, judging from the amount of melted wax around them.

"How did you…?" she trailed off, looking around in surprise. I smiled, holding out the chair for her, and she blushed, sitting down. I took two giant sundaes from the refrigerated counter and placed them onto the booth, while Hermione's puzzled gaze followed me. I wondered if she knew of that cute little furrow that formed between her eyebrows when she focused on something or when she was confused; she seemed unaware of those little things she did, of how enchanting they made her.

"Did you really do all of this," she said after a while, not looking at me and gesturing at the empty shop. "Just – just for…?"

I smiled, stretching out my arm and brushing the back of her hand with my fingers.

"For you?" I asked softly, smiling. Was she doubting that? I would have done much more for her, but that was the best I could organize in forty-eight hours of planning. I nodded, looking in her eyes. "Yes, I did."

Hermione's POV:

When we walked out, a little later, it was even colder than before, and thick clouds were gathering in the sky, threatening more snow. I climbed behind Ron on the bike and wrapped my arms around his waist once more, resting my cheek on his back; I could faintly hear his heartbeat under my ear, and I instinctively held him a little tighter as he pedalled in the dark streets to take me home.

Warmth spread in my chest having him so close; for some reason, being with him like that wasn't awkward, and the whole evening went incredibly well. I felt happy, and light as a balloon, a sensation that was new to me.

It started to snow just a few minutes after we left the ice-cream shop, and by the time we reached my house we were both covered in white, fluffy flakes.

We hurried to the door, laughing and half-stumbling on the frozen ground; Ron brushed my hair, trying to free it of some of the snow, without much success.

He was incredibly handsome, with his freckled cheeks flushed from the cold and his blue eyes bright with amusement…

Laughter died in our throats as our eyes locked; there was no Madam Rosmerta interrupting the moment now, though. Just he and I, alone, no one else…

He gently tucked a stray curl behind my ear, brushing my cheek with his thumb in the process; my skin felt hot under his fingers, like he had burnt me, but I wasn't feeling the pain yet. He caressed my cheek again, and my heart started to beat so fast I was surprised I was still alive, while my legs felt weak and wobbly, like they were made of jelly; I slowly closed my eyes as he drew closer, our faces merely inches apart.

He nuzzled my cheek, pressing his lips against my skin for the briefest of seconds; then he kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, my other cheek, his touch always so light, like he was afraid I would have shattered in his arms if he only held me a little tighter.

I was struggling to stay upright, and it seemed I had forgotten how to breathe; I had to force air in and out of my lungs, or I would have melted right there, in front of my door.

And then, with the softest of touches, his lips found mine, and everything else was blacked out, everything that wasn't him, the feeling of his hands so delicate on my face, of having him so close.

I don't know how long it lasted; maybe only a few seconds, maybe several lifetimes, I couldn't be sure as time seemed to have stopped in the exact moment he kissed me.

It was so sweet, and soft, and absolutely perfect, just like every girl dreams her first kiss to be.

When we parted, I slowly opened my eyes, and I found his blue ones staring into mine, a tender look in them. He was still cradling my face in his hands, and he gently ran his thumbs across my cheekbones, sending goose-bumps on my skin. I smiled, hesitating for a moment before standing on my tiptoes and kissing him again tentatively , my hands instinctively going to the back of his head.

He kissed me back ever so gently, while his hands threaded in my hair, pulling me closer, tighter to him, so that I couldn't move away. I didn't have the intention of doing so in any case.

When we eventually broke apart, we were both breathing shallowly, and it seemed I wasn't the only one to be affected by the kiss anymore.

He pressed his lips to mine one last time, his touch light as a feather, and he smiled.

"You know, I think I forgot to tell you how breathtakingly beautiful you are tonight," he muttered, twirling one of my curls around his finger.

I blushed, and his smile got wider.

"I'll see you tomorrow in class," he said, caressing my face. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I whispered back as he took his bike and disappeared in the dark fields.

I didn't know a heart could bear such an intense emotion.

Ron's POV:

It felt as my heart had grown wings and was about to fly right out of my chest; I couldn't help bit grinning as I sped in the dark fields towards my house, snow falling steadily now, covering my clothes and hair in white.

Every light was off in the house, which meant everyone was sleeping by then; good, no nosy siblings asking questions I wouldn't have wanted to answer.

I left the bike in the shed and silently walked in the hall, hanging my jacket before tiptoeing up the creaky stairs to my attic room, careful not to make too much noise on my way there, even if I felt so light it was as though I could have floated right to the landing in front of my door.

By the time I changed into my pyjamas and went to bed it was almost midnight, yet sleep was still far from getting me. I laid there with my arms behind my head, looking at the snow twirling slowly out of my window, while images from the previous hours crowded my mind: the way she looked that night, so beautiful she took my breath away, the feeling of her small hand in mine as I led her inside Florean's shop, the sensation of her lips moving tentatively against mine as I pulled her closer. The sweet scent of her hair, the way her small figure seemed to fit perfectly in my arms.

I closed my eyes, relishing in those memories; just a few hours, and I would have seen her again. It was the first time in my life I was looking forward to going to school, a thing that made me smile. I didn't think it would have ever been possible for me to long for something so badly; yet there I was, counting minutes.

The night would have never passed fast enough.

Hermione's POV:

The next morning I woke up even earlier than usual, the sun just starting to rise behind the thick grey clouds, shining on the snow-covered fields.

I stayed in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the fluttery feeling from the previous night still lingering in my stomach; I never thought just one simple kiss could affect someone so much.

Eventually I got up, stretching my arms above my head and walking to the bathroom; that morning there was no wobbliness in my legs, no weakness in my muscles. Maybe, just maybe, that would have been the day, when I could finally walk through the doors of the castle on my own feet, without extern support.

The warm water of the shower took away the last bits of sleepiness, and when I stepped out I felt better than I had in several months. I towel-dried my hair quickly, and then padded back to my room, singing softly an old songs by the Chicago I loved.

It took just a few minutes to dress up – God blesses school uniforms – and I picked up my grey Gryffindor jumper, smoothing it over my waist and arms until it hung perfectly; then I stepped out and descended the stairs just as Emma stepped out of her room, yawning, heading to the bathroom.

"Why are you dressed up yet?" she asked me sleepily, stopping for a moment to look at me. "It's early!"

I shrugged, bending to kiss the top of her ruffled head. "Don't know; I just woke up early today. I'll see you down for breakfast in a while, ok?"

She nodded, and I headed to the kitchen, from where an inviting smell of coffee and chocolate pancakes was already coming.

"Good, morning, Aunt," I said, smiling and pouring myself a cup of coffee. I sounded overly cheerful even to my own ears, but I couldn't help it; I just felt so happy that morning.

She smiled back at me, pushing a plate with a stack of chocolate pancakes in front of me.

"How did the date go?" she asked, looking at me from above her newspaper. "I heard you coming home yesterday, but as you immediately locked up in your room I didn't bother you."

I felt my face warm up, and I knew I had blushed.

"It went…well," I said, smiling. "Really well." It was such an understatement it almost felt as a lie.

"Well…" Aunt Elspeth shook her head, smiling. "Ah, how I wish I was still seventeen," she sighed, pouring herself another mug of coffee with cream. "You know, after my first date I had exactly your same look on my face."

I blushed even more, if that was possible, and in that moment Emma came down the stairs bouncing, a rubber band in her hand and a pout on her face.

"I'm trying to braid my hair, but it gets on slipping from my hands," she complained, handing me the rubber band.

I smiled, taking it from her hand.

"You sit down and eat your breakfast, I'll think about your hair," I said, finishing the last bite of pancakes and angling my chair so that I was facing her back. I quickly braided her hair, careful not to tug at her curls; they had grown several inches in the past months, and they now brushed the middle of her back, just like mine did. I suspected that was why she insisted on letting them grow, even if she would have never admitted.

"Done," I said, gently pulling at the long braid resting on her back.

She smiled at me, pushing her fringe from her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, grinning, before gulping down her milk and wolfing down the rest of her breakfast; then she jumped off the chair and ran upstairs to get her schoolbag.

I followed her with a sigh, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth and – a thing I rarely did – put a little makeup on my eyes; nothing too noticeable, only a little mascara.

Emma sat on the toilet as she waited for me to be done, watching me intently.

"How did it go yesterday?" she asked innocently – too innocently, I noticed.

"Fine," I replied, eyeing her suspiciously; she was smirking, which meant she knew something.

"Anyway, I didn't wake you up when I came back home, didn't I?" I asked, faking indifference and picking up my bag.

She stared at me wide-eyed for a moment before replying, too quickly: "Oh-no, no, I was asleep far before you came back."

Which meant she had probably been sitting on her bow-window the whole evening and had seen Ron and I coming back and-well, everything else.

That was just my supposition, though.

"Come on," I told her, throwing a quick glance at my watch. "Luna's father will be here in a matter of seconds."

It was with a new kind of self-conscience that I stepped in the school that morning, carefully balancing each of my steps to prevent myself from falling, but keeping my head held high as I reached my locker. I placed my hand on the metallic door and smiled triumphantly as I took it in: I had done it. I had really been strong enough to get free of the burden of my crutches, to stand on my own again.

A soft laugh escaped my lips as I stuffed my books in the locker, and I turned my head a little as I did so, looking for a familiar head of tousled red hair in the crowd of students.

"Hey."

I turned as I heard the soft greeting coming from behind me, and there he was, a smile on his lips and a shy, yet tender look in his blue eyes.

I smiled back, feeling a little shy myself, and chewed on my lip as I closed the locker shut with my hand.

"Hey," I said back, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder and taking a step towards him; he widened his eyes as I did so, his gaze, I knew, looking for the crutch that was always within hand reach from me.

It took him a moment to understand, and he grinned broadly, his eyes bright.

"You don't wear crutches anymore!"

I nodded, grinning back, and the next moment his hands were on my waist, and he was lifting me off my feet and spinning me in the air in one swift movement, under the curious eyes of several students.

I laughed at his exuberance, and he set me back on my feet, his ears becoming pinker than usual; he was still smiling, though, something that resembled pride in his gaze.

He reached out for my hand, gently intertwining his fingers with mine, and I blushed, looking down at our joined hands, as my heartbeat sped. It felt incredibly right to be close to him, no traces of the awkwardness I feared: just us, nothing else.

We walked to English still holding hands, drawing on us many curious stares – stares which multiplied once we entered the classroom, where everyone stared openly as we sat down in our usual seats; of course, they were used to seeing us together, but that was different.

A thing I noticed immediately, though, was the fact that focusing was pretty hard when I had him so close, sitting right beside me in the double desk; it was as though electricity buzzed between us, making me want to look at him, to inch closer to him. So concentrating on both staying right where I was and taking notes took much more of an effort than I thought.

Yet I wouldn't have wanted to seat anywhere else than right there when I was, squeezed in the desk with him, struggling to focus on McGonagall's lecture about modern poetry and its main subjects .

He walked me to each of my classes, every time keeping me close to him – holding my hand, or gently wrapping his arm around my waist, as though to steady me in case I tripped –, a thing that, I had to admit, I liked way too much. I liked the feeling of his arm around me, the knowledge that, walking around the school with me tucked in his side, he was claiming me, showing everyone that he was with me.

I saw more than one girl looking at us in ill-concealed envy, and one girl from Ravenclaw, a tiny sixth year with curly dark hair and almond-shaped green eyes, literally glared at me as I passed, looking murderous.

I made a mental note to myself to ask Ron who she was one of those days; she seemed to be pretty upset at the sight of us.

At lunch we all snuck into the library, two at a time, taking advantage of the fact that Madam Pince, the terrific librarian, was off-duty that day. We all sat at the long wooden tables among the bookcases, Ron and I, Luna and Neville, Harry and Ginny, and Fred and George with their almost-girlfriends, respectively Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, from the football team.

We talked and laughed, making much more noise than we would have dared to make with the librarian patrolling the place, and the break ended way too soon for my taste.

Next hour was Chemistry, so Harry, Ron and I almost ran away as soon as the bell rang, fearing what Snape would have done to us if we arrived only a minute late to his class; we luckily didn't have to discover it, for when we got there the classroom was still almost empty.

Those days it was freezing in the dungeons – it was like being stuck into a giant refrigerator – due to the low temperatures outside, and the Professor's total aversion to the idea of lighting a fire in the fireplace (which was covered in dust and cobwebs, giving me the idea it hadn't been used in ages) didn't make things any easier.

I shivered as soon as I entered the room, pushing the sleeves of my jumper over my hands in an attempt to warm up a bit, and I blushed slightly as Ron gently rubbed my arm, slipping in the seat beside mine. It seemed as though Harry had lost his desk mate in every class we shared, a thing he didn't seem to mind, though.

The hour passed painfully slowly, and by the time the bell rang we were all chilled to the bone – us Gryffindors, at least; the Slytherins seemed to be perfectly at ease despite the cold.

We walked out quickly, looking forward to the warmth we would have found in the upper part of the castle, but as I checked my bag I noticed I had forgot my Chemistry book in the classroom, so I ran back to get it, Ron following me lazily, in no hurry to get to our next class.

I grabbed the book, stuffing it in the bag, and went back in the corridor, wondering how I had suddenly become that distracted – to be honest, I knew exactly how, but it was embarrassing to admit that, even to myself; just as I was about to set my foot on the first step of the stairs, though, someone stepped in front of me, blocking the access.

I looked up, annoyance already growing in my chest, and, of course, there he was; Draco Malfoy, with his two huge, gorilla-like friends from the football team, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

He looked down at us, and when he saw Ron's hand in mine he sniggered, an evil glint in his steel grey eyes.

"The rumours I heard were true then: the Weasel and the Mudblood, together."

I felt Ron stiffening by my side, and I clenched my teeth, narrowing my eyes; I was really starting to be sick of that boy and his twisted insults.

"Step aside, Malfoy," I said rudely, my hands twitching around the strap of my bag.

His snigger became more pronounced, and his two friends mimicked his expression, like the good, obedient henchmen they were.

"Oh, I'm so scared: Miss Granger goody-two-shoes bookworm wants me to buzz off!" he said mockingly, looking slightly bored by the conversation. "You are just a filthy little Mudblood worth for nothing; just like the Weasel redheads, a shame for our heritage. Rubbish, all of you –"

He didn't have the time to end the sentence, though; or, for better saying, I didn't give him the time to do so. I was just so angry, angry at him for insulting me, and Ron's family…I lost it for good.

I had never been a troublemaker, but, if needed, I was capable of throwing a good punch.

And that was exactly what I did, hitting Malfoy square in the nose.

He cursed and pressed his right hand to his nose, which was starting to slowly drip blood onto the stone floor of the dungeons; I was sure I hadn't broken it, I hadn't put enough force in the hit. But still, he had gotten what he deserved.

My hand throbbed painfully, and my knuckles were red and stiff, but that was worth it.

At least, that was what I thought until Snape bolted out of the classroom and strode towards us, his dark eyes filled with anger.

"Fighting in the corridors is strictly prohibited! Twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for your irrational behaviour!" he barked, looking at Malfoy, who was letting out pitifully squeals while trying to stop the bleeding.

"And you, Weasley, why didn't you stop her from hitting Mr Malfoy? Enjoying the fight? Ten more points from your house, for your negligence," he added, his lips thinning more and more with every word. Ron looked at Snape like he wanted to kill him, but he didn't complain, probably knowing that saying anything would have gotten him in more trouble than he already was. The professor glared at me, but I didn't look down; I wasn't ashamed of what I had just done.

"Detention, for both of you."

Of course, the three Slytherins were coming clean out of it; I wasn't surprised, only disgusted. Leave it to the professors to be fair with the students in similar situations.

"Mr Goyle, I suggest you take Mr Malfoy to the infirmary; Madam Pomfrey will help him stop the bleeding and check his nose out. And you two," he turned back to Ron and I, who were still standing in front of the stairs. "I want to see you in my office at the end of lessons. Punctual."

With that he went away, strolling down the shadowy corridor and disappearing into his classroom, the long black coat he always wore fluttering behind him like a bat's wings.

"Remember, Granger," Malfoy choked out, still holding his nose, as Goyle dragged him up the stairs. "Payback's a bitch."

"There's no need for you to tell me; I just showed you the very concept," I snarled as he disappeared behind a turn; then I sighed deeply, plopping down on a step.

"I'm sorry I got you detention, you didn't have any fault," I muttered to Ron as he sat down beside me. I had gotten him in trouble, even if he hadn't done anything but standing by my side.

He grinned, shaking his head.

"Are you kidding? You have been bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed, eyes bright with amusement. "And besides, detention together can't be that bad, right?"

I smiled at his words, and nodded; I had never gotten any detention before, so I really didn't know what to expect, but he was right: together it couldn't be that bad.

He took my hand in his, the one I hit Malfoy with, and I winced; was it my impression, or it was swelling a bit? And man, it hurt like hell.

Ron made a face, his fingertips brushing against my offended skin with the lightest of touches; then he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it softly, lingering for a moment there. My heart fluttered at that small contact, and I wondered if it would have always been like that, if I would have had responded in such an intense way to everything.

"Come on, we are already late for our class, so it's pointless to join now; I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey, the matron; she'll get a look at your hand," he said, standing and gently pulling me up with him.

"By the way, remember me not to start a fight with you: I would risk my life in it," he added with a smirk; I playfully shoved him, and he grinned, leading me upstairs.

Luckily, by the time we got to the infirmary Malfoy and his friends were already gone; Madam Pomfrey, the matron – a thin woman with grey hair and a stern look on her face – was getting rid of a bunch of blood-stained gauzes, making me think that we had missed the Slytherins of seconds.

When we entered the room she looked up at us, crossing her arms over her chest; it was impressive how threatening she looked despite her small frame – she was several inches shorter than me, and I wasn't that tall.

"You are lucky, I just finished checking on a Slytherin boy with a nosebleed. He got into a fight, he said; he whined the whole time about how much it hurt. He'll get a good bruise, too. Though I must say, who hit him aimed well." She smiled for a moment before turning serious again. "What happened to you?" she asked then, her eyes focusing on the hand I was keeping close to my body.

I smiled sheepishly, blushing as I stepped forward.

"I'm the one who threw the punch," I admitted; I couldn't help but feeling slightly proud about it. It would have been wonderful, seeing Malfoy walking around the school with a bruised nose knowing that I did it. The satisfaction would have been worth ten detentions.

Madam Pomfrey gave me a smug look and gestured for me to sit on one of the two cots in the back of the room, carefully checking on my hand.

"You got quite the hit, I see," the matron said critically, flexing my fingers as I winced. "There's nothing broken, but I think you got quite close; you really must have hit the boy pretty hard."

Ron, who was hovering behind her, let out a low, admired whistle, and Madam Pomfrey glared at him.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class, Mr Weasley?" she asked briskly as she stood to get some bandages and stuff; it gave me the idea that she knew Ron well, as though she had seen him in the infirmary often.

Ron shrugged, fiddling with his hair and grinning. "Too late to join by now; I walked her up here after the fight to check on her hand," he said carelessly.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, rolling her eyes, and sat down in a small chair by the spot I was sitting, tightly wrapping the bandages around my hand, accurately twisting and turning them before tucking the edge in the tying.

"Here we go: keep it for a week, just to be sure, and it'll be ok in no time. Just an advice, though," she smiled a little as she spoke, "The next time you need to punch someone, let someone else do it – like our boy there; he has quite the experience with these things. You are strong, but small hands are not good in fights."

I smiled back, blushing, and thanked her; then I walked out with Ron.

"How come did she seem to know you well?" I asked as we sat on the stairs by the library; we still had a while before the bell, and we were in no hurry.

Ron's ears turned pink, and he smiled sheepishly, taking my gauze-wrapped hand in his and drawing soft circles on the bandages.

"Let's say that, between football injuries, chemistry accidents and a few fights with the Slytherins, in the last three years I have spent more time in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey than in class," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Then he looked down at our joined hands, and his smile grew wider.

"You know, she is right: you really have small hands," he said, placing his palm flat against mine. It was true: compared to his, my hand looked like the one of a small child.

He reached out with his free hand, tucking a stray curl behind my ear and brushing my cheek with his fingertips; I felt warmth spread along my cheekbones as I blushed, and there it was again, the same wobbly sensation of the previous night.

He leaned in, his face only inches from mine, and my eyes slowly closed as my breath stuck in my lungs.

He was so close…

The bell rang, and doors started to open in the corridor as the chatter of students filled the place.

Ron sighed, and we both stood, collecting our bags; Art Languages was at the top of the North Tower of the castle, and it would have taken us at least ten minutes to get there.

We climbed up the steep spiralling staircase of the tower – it was the shortest way up; the only other way to get there was to climb up to the last floor and then take a long series of stairs and corridors to the landing of the tower, a process which took no less than twenty minutes at a quick pace.

The smell of incense in the class was particularly intense that day, and I choked a bit as I stepped in, heading, as always, to the last desk in the back.

"Hey, where have you been?" Harry asked as we took our seats. "You weren't in Trigonometry, what happened? You were right behind me after Chemistry, and then…"

I made a face, blushing a little.

"I forgot my book in the classroom, and then we got… detained."

Harry gave me a quizzical look, furrowing his brow.

"Detained?" he asked, confused.

"Malfoy," nodded Ron, saying the name like it was an insult.

"What did the prat want?" Harry asked, leaning over the aisle to listen better.

"Offending us, as always. I don't think he will do that again, though," I said, smiling and showing him my bandaged hand.

"Wait – what did you do to your hand?" he asked me, widening his eyes.

I shrugged, playing indifference. "I punched him," I said earnestly, not feeling the littlest bit of regret.

"What?" he whispered loudly, causing several of our classmates to look at us curiously. He looked both incredulous and amazed, his face a comical mix of the two.

"She punched him, and I must tell you, mate, that was awesome!" Ron explained, grinning at me. "And they both ended up in the infirmary, Malfoy with a good nosebleed and our hero here with an injured hand."

Harry grinned, giving me a thumbs-up.

"You know, you will be the school hero as soon as the rumour will spread around a bit."

At the end of the hour I quickly called Aunt Elspeth to let her know I would have come home late that day – avoiding to tell her why, of course – and then sent Luna a text to tell her that I wouldn't have come home with her that day; then I hurried down to the dungeons with Ron, towards Snape's office.

It turned out that the above-named office was a small, claustrophobic room with no windows, lit only by a gas lamp hanging from the low ceiling. The walls were hidden behind tall shelves full of thick leather-bound books, alembics, scales and such, and inside it was as freezing as it was in the classroom, if not more.

"Good evening," Snape said coldly, looking at us as though we were particularly disgusting bugs. "Follow me, I will show you what your detention consists of."

Ron and I exchanged a worried look before following him along the dark corridor to what looked like a classroom disused for years with long rows of cabinets along the walls.

"Your task," Snape said, stepping forward and opening several of the cabinets , taking out large boxes of what looked like paperwork and placing them on one of the desks, "Will be to separate all these old reports of detentions in alphabetic order before placing them in the right cabinets."

Only then I noticed that each cabinet had a label with a letter on it; I frowned, how many reports could there be in that room?

"But they must be hundreds!" I said, discomforted.

Snape sneered, his black eyes bright with satisfaction.

"Oh, many more, Miss Granger. In this archive we keep every single report done from the beginning of last century to now. You should find the one about you and Mr Weasley among them. I will check on you in two hours; by then, I expect to see half the work done."

With that he left, closing the door behind him.

I sighed, plopping down on a chair. "We will never be done," I complained, taking the first box and looking at the names on the folders.

Ron sat down beside me, dragging two more boxes over.

"Come on, two hours is not much time to do all this work."

We started to divide the folders in piles, peeking curiously at the names on them, trying to find something familiar.

We soon discovered that there was an incredible amount of files about James Potter, Harry's father, along with three more names – Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. It seemed three cabinets only were reserved to the reports of their detentions, which filled several boxes.

We found as well reports on Ron's parents and older brothers, and lots of them on Ron and Harry themselves, most of them going back up from their second to fifth year.

"Hey, look!" I said, widening my eyes, as I read the name on a folder. "This is about my Aunt!"

Ron looked at it over my shoulder as I scrolled through the papers; then he laughed, pointing at something in the lower part of the sheet.

I read, and I started to laugh too, almost didn't believing what was written there: Aunt Elspeth's name, followed by the ones of Martha Malkin and Poppy Pomfrey – the matron! – was right above a long report on the detention the three of them had been given for 'causing a massive fight in the Great Hall between a large group of Gryffindors and Slytherins' and justifying the act saying that 'the Snakes needed to be taught a lesson'.

"Oh, my God," I breathed, closing the folder and placing it in the box. "You know, I feel even prouder of what I did to Malfoy; it seems I'm following family traditions!"

Ron grinned, taking the now full box to place it in the cabinet labelled with the letter G as I stood to get another stack of papers to examine. I looked back at him as he bent to put the box into place, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't see me, and I smiled when I saw he had specks of dust in his hair and on his nose from rummaging through the dirty, mouldy-smelling boxes.

He turned and met my gaze, a curious expression in his eyes.

"What's up?" he asked, brushing his dusty hands on his trousers before walking back to where I was standing with a pile of papers in my hands.

I smiled, placing the stack of forms on the desk and reaching out to remove the dust from his nose with the tip of my finger, feeling a slight blush colouring my cheeks as I did so.

Ron looked at me thoughtfully, with something I didn't recognize in his eyes.

"You are so beautiful when you blush," he murmured, running his finger across my cheekbone.

His words made more blood flood to my cheeks, and he smiled, his face so close the tips of our noses touched. And then, with a feather-like touch, his lips brushed mine, one, two, three times, sending an electric jolt along my spine to the tip of my toes. I pulled closer, my arms sneaking around his neck as his hands found their way to my waist, gently lifting me off my feet so I wouldn't have to reach as far. It made me feel incredibly small and safe, a thing I wasn't used to.

Too soon, we broke apart, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching outside in the corridor. Merely seconds later Snape opened the door and stepped in, finding us at work again, piling and stuffing the faded papers.

We both looked up at him, innocent expressions on our faces, as he made a brusque move of his hand towards the door, his lips thinner than ever.

"You may go; this time I have been kind with you, but mind my words: next time you two do anything that is even vaguely against the rules I will assure you are locked down here for much longer than two hours."

We nodded in silence, gathered our bags and ran away, wanting to put as much distance as we could between us and the dungeons. The Twins were picking Ron up, and they gave me a lift home, since it was on the way and I didn't have a clue how to get back on my own.

When the car stopped in my front yard the lights were on in the kitchen, and Aunt Elspeth was probably laying the table for dinner; it was later than I thought.

"See you tomorrow?" Ron asked from the car window, a smile playing in his eyes.

I nodded, smiling as I reached for the keys in the pocket of my bag.

"Yeah," I said, as the car started to pull back. "See you tomorrow."

I loved how hopeful that sounded.

So, that was it. Loved it? Hated it? Let me know, I love your reviews! My server has a problem though, it won't let me reply them, so THANK YOU! to you all who left your comments, they are wonderful!

Stay tuned for an update on next weekend: St Valentine's Day and Malfoy's payback are coming!