"Oh!" she exclaimed as pain shot through her eye and it immediately began to water. "Bugger," she muttered, dropping the mascara stick onto the counter and grabbing a tissue with which to blot her eye.
It should not be that hard to put on a little make-up. She had heard Lavender and Parvati talk about it for years; if they could do it then certainly she could. . . . At least that's what she'd thought before she'd actually tried.
Tossing the tissue into the trash, Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was still wearing the jeans and t-shirt she'd put on that morning — she had no idea what she was going to wear for the date, despite the fact that it was in two hours — her eyes were both red and watering and her hair was even bushier than usual from the heat, as she had been standing in the loo with the broken air vent for the last hour.
This was ridiculous. It should not be this hard. Sighing, she realized there was only one real option. "Mum!" she shouted down the stairs, "I'm going by the Burrow to see Ginny!" It took a little while to get past her mother, who seemed unable to handle Hermione going on a date, but eventually she made it to the Burrow and she headed straight for Ginny's room. Her frustration had been building with every moment, and she was ready to let loose on her one close girl friend.
She burst into the room, declaring, "It's hopeless, Ginny!"
She should have knocked, though, because Ginny wasn't alone. Harry was there, too, and he was lying across Ginny's bed, and Ginny was on top of him, and his hands were in her hair and they were snogging and her hands were — "I'm sorry!" Hermione cried, slapping her hand over her face and turning away.
There was a blush blooming in her face; she did not need to see that. This day was getting better and better. "Hermione," Ginny said, a sigh evident in her voice.
"Hi Ginny!" Hermione said a little breathlessly, squeaking out a moment later, "Hi Harry!"
"Hi Hermione," he replied, his tone amused. No one said anything for a moment and Hermione had no idea what was going on, although she wasn't about to risk looking. That picture of Ginny . . . straddling Harry was going to be burned into her mind for a week.
"Is there something you need, Hermione?" asked Ginny.
"Ah — yes, actually, yes. That's why I'm here. I need to talk to you. Now. It's important."
"I guess I should go, then," said Harry and Hermione heard shuffling sounds.
"That'd be nice," Hermione replied. A moment later she felt a hand on her shoulder and she nearly leapt through the air, her heart hammering at the sudden contact.
"You can open your eyes," Harry told her. She dropped her hand and looked at him with slight mortification. He gave a crooked smile.
"Thank you," she said slowly, mustering a smile. He chuckled to himself and disappeared out of the room. Hermione turned to Ginny, who was sitting on her bed looking at Hermione with an appraising eye. Her hair was particularly mussed, and Hermione wondered for a moment if any of the Weasley brothers knew that Harry had been alone with Ginny in her bedroom. She would guess not.
"Excited for the big date?" Ginny asked her.
"No!" Hermione exclaimed, pushing aide thoughts of Harry and Ginny and all of that. "I'm making a fool of myself, Ginny!"
"The date hasn't started yet."
"And I've already managed to make a fool of myself! Look at me. I mean take a really good look. Do I look like someone ready to go on a date? No. I don't. And I can't believe I'm even being that girl, the one that gets ready to go out hours in advance, but I am — I can't help it! — and it's not even working!" She stopped pacing to look over at Ginny and found her friend trying to swallow a smile. "You're laughing at me!" Hermione accused.
"Only a little," Ginny replied. When Hermione could only glare in response, Ginny went on, a new sincerity to her voice. "You don't have anything to be worried about, Hermione. It's not like this is your first date. You've gone out with boys before."
"Only two, and that's different," Hermione replied.
"How?"
"Because . . . because this is — this is Ron." She stared at Ginny, willing the other girl to understand.
"I'm not sure we're looking at this from the same angle," Ginny finally said. "Which, I suppose, is for the best, because if I viewed my brother the way you did that would be a little, or, you know, a lot . . . incestuous."
"You're really not helping," Hermione told her.
"You don't need help!" Ginny told her, smiling. "It's not as though you don't know if Ron likes you or not. You two already snogged, didn't you?"
Hermione felt flames rise in her cheeks. "Over two months ago," she muttered. "And I was the one who initiated it. What if he . . . what if he just responded because it was the polite thing to do?"
"And then, two months later, he asked you to go on a date . . . to be polite?" Ginny countered. Hermione looked away. She knew she was being silly. She knew Ginny was right. And she had been thrilled when Ron had asked her, albeit in an nervous, rambling way, to go out on an actual date with him. But all reason seemed to have left her a few hours ago.
"Come here," Ginny instructed, patting a spot on the bed, which Hermione reluctantly sat on. "Hermione, Ron wants to go on this date, and wants to be with you, as much as you do. Everybody knows it. He knows it. You know it, too. Stop worrying so much. This date is going to be amazing."
Her voice was so sure, but Hermione couldn't help herself: "You don't know that. I mean . . . what if he realizes he made a mistake? Sure, when I'm the only girl around it seems like it'd be a good idea to go out with me, but what if . . . I'm not exactly a great beauty, Ginny."
"First of all, you're selling yourself short. Second of all, he's not with you for your looks, Hermione. That doesn't matter to him."
"He went out with Lavender Brown."
"And he was miserable the entire time," Ginny said knowingly. Hermione certainly liked to think that about his entire . . . relationship with her old roommate, but how could she — or Ginny — know that for sure?
"But I just don't . . . I don't know how to be a girl. I don't know how to dress or act or . . . and I can't even put on make-up! Do you know how many times I stabbed myself in the eye, brutally, with a mascara stick? And, Merlin, I don't even like make-up. It's the most ridiculous thing in the world. A girl puts all this effort into making her eye make-up just so and then if she so much as touches her eye once, she smears the stuff and has it across her face like a nasty bruise. It's ridiculous."
"You don't have to wear make-up, Hermione."
"Yes, I do! I want it to be like it was at the Yule Ball. I want people to stop and say, 'Wow, she's pretty!' I mean, it's not like I want that all the time, but it'd be nice once and while. And I want Ron to think. . . . But that's not possible! I'm not like you!"
"What does that mean?"
"You — you know. You're all . . . and stuff. You know."
"No, actually; what am I?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You're all — all smooth skin and pretty, shiny hair and soft curves and — and all the things girls are supposed to be!"
Ginny laughed. "Merlin's beard, Hermione. Listen to you! You are pretty, and even if you weren't, even if you were an absolute hag, Ron would still want to go out with you. My brother might be as daft as a doorknob, but he's smart enough to know how amazing you are. You could go on the date dressed like that and he wouldn't care."
"I think you're getting us confused. You could put on a potato sack and chop of all your hair and Harry'd still like you," Hermione countered, not meaning to sound jealous but merely pointing out the obvious. "We're not all that lucky."
"Actually, the boy's a little attached to my hair."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I know what you mean, and I also know that you know how ridiculous you sound!" Hermione sighed. Again, Ginny was right. She really was. Yet. . . . "Look, if it's really that important to you that you look fantastic tonight, I'll help you. I'll help you with your hair and your clothing and your make-up. Just relax and know that it really doesn't matter."
Hermione nodded. "Thanks," she said sheepishly.
"Alright, let me get a few things that might help with your hair and then we'll go back to your house. . . ."
Ten minutes later Hermione was rubbing some sort of product into her hair as Ginny had suggested and Ginny was rooting through Hermione's closet. She thought back to the Yule Ball and the amount of gel it had taken to get her hair under control. It had been way too much work. But Ginny seemed to think a little of this and a little of that would help, so. . . .
"Oh. My. MERLIN! What is THIS?" Ginny held up a floral shirt.
"That's a blouse," Hermione told her, a little defensive.
"This, this here?" Ginny said. "This is not a blouse. This is drapery pretending to be a blouse."
"I — I like the colours!"
"You are never, EVER, going to wear this again, do you hear me?" Ginny tossed the shirt aside and went back to pawing through Hermione's clothing. Hermione sighed. She had wanted Ginny's help. Finally Ginny emerged from the piles of clothing holding a slim black skirt and a blue tank-top. "These'll do," she said.
"I can't wear those," Hermione protested. "The shirt is . . . I mean, it's got that sparkly strap right there and it looks . . . I don't know, not like me."
"Then why'd you buy it?"
"My aunt picked it out. It was a present."
"Well, Hermione, your aunt has much better tastes than you. I like it. It's fun. The sparkles are fun." She threw the shirt at Hermione.
"Fine, then, but I definitely can't wear the skirt."
"Why not? It is the one article of clothing you own that a nun wouldn't wear. Well, that and the sparkly blue top. Hence the outfit I have chosen for you."
"I wore it to my great uncle Morty's funeral!" Hermione said, exasperated.
"Oh," Ginny replied, frowning, "um, okay, just don't tell anyone else that." She held out the skirt. When Hermione only stared, she added, "did you want my help or not?" She nudged Hermione with the skirt. "Go on. Change. You're going to look gorgeous."
Hermione sighed, muttering under her breath. But she took the skirt.
Ron better be worth it.
Hermione had to admit she was pleased. She didn't look half bad as she and Ginny returned to the Burrow. She had told Ron she would meet him there; it was easier than having him deal with her parents. He'd met them, of course, but things were awkward enough between her and them due to the whole wiping-their-memory-of-her affair, and she really didn't want to make everything more complicated.
Ron, Harry, and Percy were all sitting at the kitchen table, and Mrs. Weasley was bustling around among steaming pots and pans. The Weasleys would be having dinner soon, but then so would Ron and Hermione. She had no idea what Ron had planned for their date, but she was positive it would involve food.
"Missed us?" Ginny greeted as they walked through the door.
Harry looked up, his eyes going bright as he smiled at Ginny. Hermione couldn't help but smile, too. She had never seen Harry so utterly happy for so long. It had been rather awkward between Harry and Ginny the first week of summer after the final battle, but once they had gotten their act together, the entire Weasley family had taken Harry and Ginny's relationship as a reason to believe the sun would still shine.
"Blimey, Hermione, you look brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione's eyes were drawn to him. Little butterflies exploded in her stomach, and she suddenly didn't care so much about Harry and Ginny. She wasn't sure if he'd tried to make himself look nice for the date, but his green button-up shirt was at least clean and ironed, which was something.
"Thank you, Ron," she replied. "You look nice, too."
"Thanks." They stared at one another.
"So . . . are you two going?" asked Harry, and when Hermione tore her eyes away from Ron to glance at her friend, it was to see a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"Yes," Ron said, standing up so abruptly he bumped the table and Percy's pumpkin juice spilled all over his lap.
"Ron!" he exclaimed, annoyed. Mrs. Weasley was smirking, but she didn't look away from her stove or say anything. Ron didn't seem to notice. He hadn't taken his eyes off Hermione. She was well aware her face must be burning.
"Let's go then," Hermione murmured.
"Yeah," Ron nodded. No one moved.
"Psst," Ginny said, mockingly quiet, "this is the part where the two of you actually leave."
A person could probably have fried an egg on Hermione's face at that point. "Right," said Ron, and he stepped around the table, bumping it again. He grabbed Hermione's hand. She hoped he didn't notice how sweaty it was. Why was it sweaty? Why was she nervous? It was Ron. She had known him since she was eleven. Then again, as she had told Ginny — it was Ron. It wasn't Viktor or Cormac or any other stupid boy in the world. It was Ron. She had been waiting for this since she was fourteen years old.
They left the Burrow and the prying eyes within it and started out across the yard. They had to walk a little while to pass the Apparation boundaries, and the walk was quiet. His hand was warm around hers. She tried to think of something to say. She came up blank. "What'd you do this afternoon?" he finally asked.
"Oh, you know . . . read. And yeah. I — I read. What did you do?" She was not about to tell him she had spent the entire afternoon freaking out over him.
"Played Quidditch with Harry."
"That's fun."
"Yeah. We practiced a couple new plays and he even let me have a go on his firebolt."
"That was nice of him."
"Yeah."
It shouldn't be that awkward. It shouldn't. They had been best friends for years; it wasn't as if Harry had been so talkative he kept the conversation to himself. On the contrary, Harry usually felt the need to contribute the least to conversations between the three of them. So why couldn't she think of anything to say?
Wind blew then, and it made Hermione aware suddenly of the sweat beading on her hairline. It was the middle of summer and it was hot out. Her hair was bound to become bushier than a squirrel's tail by the end of the night. All the product she had used wouldn't help. She swallowed uncomfortably. She was starting to feel silly. The high-heels Ginny had made her wear pinched her toes.
But the wind also sent a whiff of Ron's cologne — was it cologne?— at her, and she suddenly felt the little butterflies going wild inside her again. She smiled. She was on a date with Ron Weasley.
"What're you smiling about?" asked Ron.
"Oh, I'm just . . . excited about our . . . date."
"Me too." They grinned at one another. And then Ron stumbled over a tree root, yanking painfully on her arm. When he regained his balance, his face was beet red. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's fine," she assured. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the walk. When Ron came to a stop, Hermione had to ask. "Where are we going?"
"A — a restaurant," he answered. "It's Muggle. Maybe you should — maybe you should just side-along with me."
"Okay," she agreed. She took a step towards him and he reached out his hands and it was so awkward it was painful; Hermione could nearly hear Ginny laughing in her head. But a moment later Ron had an arm around her waist and his chest was flat and firm against hers, and God, he really did smell good.
The restaurant to which he took her was a fancy one on some sort of waterfront boulevard, the sort of place that was would have been beautiful to look up at a night sky full of stars and walk out on the docks, but which was overflowing with people out on the town for the night. She eyed the lines outside the restaurant apprehensively. "I don't know if we'll be able to get in there," she told him.
"I got reservations!" he replied proudly. Her hand in his, he dragged her past the groups of people gathered out in the street outside the restaurant and right up to the maitre d' standing behind a desk and looking rather harassed. "I have a reservation," Ron told him.
"For?"
"Weasley. For two. Weasley for two."
The man looked down his list. "Ah! Alright, follow Henry. Henry! Enjoy your meal."
Hermione didn't get a chance to say thank you before the man was addressing another couple. Ron still holding her hand, they followed the waiter to a table in a back corner. Hermione was impressed. Ron had actually made reservations correctly at a fancy restaurant. She flushed with a kind of pleasure: Ron didn't do this sort of planning, but he had for her. Henry handed them menus and was gone in a flourish, promising to be back to take their drink orders in a moment.
"This is fancy," Hermione told Ron. There was a high chandelier and a second floor that had no center, allowing its occupants to look down to the ground floor. Most of the people around them wore suits and cocktail dresses; Hermione felt a little underdressed. "I'm surprised you could get reservations."
"I got them four days ago," Ron said, pride still clear in his voice. She gave a small smile, looking down at her menu. She scanned it once, twice, three times. Apparently at restaurants like this there were only a few selections. She looked at it a fourth time. She could order a salad, maybe. . . . She glanced up at Ron to see his eyes bulging slightly as he read his menu. It occurred suddenly to Hermione that he had no idea the type of cuisine that would be at a place like this.
The waiter was back. "And what would you like to drink?" he asked. "We have a fine selection of wine. . . ."
"Water's fine for now," Hermione told him. The man looked at Ron, who slowly put down his menu.
"Ah, yeah, what she's having."
"A water?" the waiter asked. Ron nodded. "I'll be right back," the waiter assured. Ron looked back down at his menu.
"So," Hermione said, "what do you think you're going to get?" She tried to hide her amusement.
"Er . . . maybe the — the oie braisee aux m-marrons." He looked up at her with wide eyes. "What, exactly, is that, do you think?"
"Braised goose with chestnuts," she answered, trying not to smile.
"Oh," he said, his ears tinging pink. "Well, yeah, I might get that, because I always like my — my goose . . . braised."
Hermione bit her lip. "Ron," she began, lowering her voice and leaning towards him. "Do you actually want to eat a single thing on that menu?"
He gulped. "Not really. . . ."
"Then why did you pick this place?" she demanded, her voice still a whisper.
"It was a recommendation!" he replied defensively.
"From who?"
But he didn't answer; they were both quiet as the waiter brought back their water. "Ready to order?" he asked.
"We're going to need a few more minutes, please," Hermione requested, smiling at him. He gave a nod and left again. Hermione looked back at Ron to see his eyes reading over the menu yet again. She let an idea take root in her mind and begin to grow.
"What — what are you going to get?" he asked.
Biting back her smile, she replied, "I don't want to eat anything on this menu, Ron."
"You — you don't?"
"Let's leave."
"You want to leave?" he asked, looking from side to side as if someone were going to come clobber her over the head for such a suggestion.
"Do you want to?" she asked.
"Yes, please!" he immediately said, his eyes bulging. She let out a little laugh. "Come on, let's go!" He started to standup.
"We can't just get up and go!" she said, not sure exactly what she did want to do at this point.
"Look around!" he told her, "nobody's watching!"
She glanced around. "I suppose . . . I mean, we haven't ordered anything. I don't see why not." No one way paying any attention to them. He stood, grabbing her hand.
"Come on, then!" and he made a beeline for the door, dragging her behind him. She laughed, clamping her free hand over her mouth a moment later, as though the noise would give them away. There weren't really doing anything wrong, but somehow she felt as if she were doing something exhilarating and dangerous. When she and Ron escaped out onto the street, they were both grinning.
"So much for your impressive reservations," she said.
"That is the last time I let Fleur advise me."
"You got advice from Fleur? Smart move, really."
"Hey! She's a girl and you're a girl; I figured it worked!" She only laughed, and they were both a little pink as they moved down the street. She didn't know what they were going to do now, but she didn't really care. Ron was going on about all the ridiculous things on the menu and hadn't people ever heard of good, normal food? and Hermione felt like the date was finally going right.
Half an hour later they were sitting by themselves on the edge of a dock, their legs dangling over the edge, the only light provided by a buzzing dock lantern a little ways away. They had purchased food from a market stand, greasy food that would have made that maitre d' and waiter at Ron's chosen restaurant have a fit to see consumed, and it was spread around them now as they ate, talking as if it were any other night.
"— woman replied that she didn't see what was wrong with giving her husband a love potion to keep him from divorcing her for another year so she could have a chunk of his inheritance," Ron said, "I mean, she just came right out and told us. I almost wish I hadn't asked why she wanted to buy an entire box of the stuff."
Ever since Ron had begun working at the shop with George, he had been regaling her with tales of the shop, its customers, and the misadventures that came of running it. Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "Some people." As Ron took another giant bite of his sandwich, she finally declared, "God, these heels are so uncomfortable!" and she reached down to pull them off. She had been wanting to do that all night.
"Why'd you wear them, then?" Ron asked, thankfully having swallowed before saying anything.
"I wanted to look nice," she replied.
"You always look nice. Could have worn jeans and a t-shirt and I'd think you look nice." He said it so casually, without a blush or a pause or any mumbling, that she felt herself blush. It was as if it were such a fact to him that he didn't even think before saying it. Ginny had been right. Of course, Ginny was usually right in these sorts of matters.
"You know," she said, "this isn't much like a date."
He frowned, looking over at her. "Whadda 'ooean?" he asked.
"We talked about this, Ron. Swallow before speaking. You were doing so well earlier!"
A moment later, he repeated, "What do you mean?"
"I mean . . . we're sitting here eating and talking and we've done this a thousand times before. Sometimes with Harry or with Ginny, but by ourselves, too. How is this any different than the times we've done it before?" As much as she'd wanted to get out of that fancy restaurant, the idea of it made the date more of a . . . date. Right now it seemed as if they were simply two friends enjoying a meal.
"It's different because we're on a date."
"But we haven't done anything to — to you know, mark it as a date," Hermione told him, shifting slightly and pulling her legs up under her as she faced him. "We should do something that'll make it like a date."
"Like what?" He shifted to face her as well.
"Um . . . what did you do on your dates with Lavender?" She didn't really want to hear the answer, but. . . .
"Well, we didn't exactly go on any actual dates," he said slowly, looking pained. "It wasn't really that kind of a relationship."
"What did you do with her, then?"
"Ah, we, well, you know — and yeah and stuff like that. Yeah."
"Are you aware that wasn't an actual answer?"
He nodded and she smiled a little. She didn't want to hear about what he did with Lavender. Why had she asked that again? "We could see a Muggle picture," he suggested.
"We've done that with Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Isn't there anything we can do that would be something he's never done with us? Something that's just Ron and Hermione?" It sounded so silly, but —
"I'm sure there's something we can do that's — that's Ron and Hermione." Their names laced together sounded strange coming from him, but she liked the sound nonetheless, and the thoughtful look on his face right at that moment was so adorable that she found herself grinning a little.
There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on longer and longer. "Harry and Ginny went ice skating," Hermione finally said, breaking the quietness that had sunk in around them. "We could do that."
"But that's something Harry's done," Ron pointed out.
"Not with us," she countered. "And Ginny said it was their best date yet. She said that afterwards, Harry —"
"I don't really want to know about how great a date between my little sister and my best mate went, Hermione," he told her, making a face. She rolled her eyes dramatically. Some things would never change. "And I don't care if it was a good date for them. We can come up with something else. Something better."
"Like what?"
"I'm still thinking."
She considered him for a moment. "We could just . . . talk."
He glanced away from the water to look at her. "Talk about what?"
"I don't know . . . I mean, I know we've talked with Harry, but forget about that. It's stupid. We could talk about . . . personal things or something. As a way to get to know each other and all. That's something you're supposed to do on dates."
"But we — we already know each other," Ron said, as if pointing out the most obvious thing in the world.
"We don't know everything about one another," she argued.
"I know everything about you," he told her.
"You do not!" she said. He definitely did not know everything about her. "There are a great many things you don't know about me, Ron Weasley."
"Fine, name one," he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest confidently. "I've known you since we were eleven, Hermione. I know everything about you." She felt annoyance rise up in her. "Come on," he prodded, "just one."
Straightening up, she told him, "The first time I was kissed, it was by Viktor Krum, and it was the most awkward thing ever and all I could think about was if kissing you would be better." There. He hadn't know that. He could only stare at her, and his ears were a flaming red now. "Did you know that?" she asked coolly.
"No," he admitted. "But I know lots of other stuff," he added pathetically. She gave him a triumphant glare and then took a hefty bite of her sandwich. She wondered suddenly if he would kiss her again at the end of the date. She wanted him to. But would she have to kiss him? He had asked her out, yes, but the last time. . . .
"So what do you want to talk about?" he asked, scratching at the back of his neck.
"Ah . . . I don't know. Is there anything you want to talk about?" she asked softly. He shook his head. Things had gotten very awkward again and Hermione cursed Merlin for it. Calling up her courage, she said, "Actually, I think there's something I want to talk about. Something I've been meaning to ask you, really, but the timing was never right."
He met her gaze, and she realized what she had always known but which still managed to startle her in a delightful way whenever she saw proof of it again: he had the most amazing blue eyes. "Yeah?" he encouraged.
She shifted slightly where she sat. "Why did . . . why did the Horcrux show you — why did you see . . . what you saw?" She truly had been meaning to ask him about it, but getting the words out wasn't very easy. She knew he had seen her and Harry . . . kissing, but it seemed such a strange and foreign thing to her. When had there ever been any hint of that sort of relationship between her and Harry? He was her best friend, of course, but he was also like her brother.
"I — I don't know," Ron answered, looking out across the dark water. He shrugged.
"It's okay," she said. "Never mind." She thought the uncomfortable silence would slip over them once more, but he spoke again, his voice slow and soft, as if he were thinking out each word the moment before he said it.
"Harry's my mate, you know? He's my best friend. And he's a great mate. But . . . he always gets everything. And I'm not saying that he doesn't deserve everything or that he asks for it or that he wants it or, you know, I'm not blaming him for anything!" he said this part hurriedly, as if to make it well known. "I guess I'm just saying that . . . I never really . . . it never really made sense to me that he wouldn't get you, too. That — that you would want me and not him. Why wouldn't you be like everybody else?"
She let his words settle in her mind. "Ron . . . it was never Harry. It was always you. It was ever only you. Just you." She stared at his profile, waiting for him to turn to her.
"I know that now," he said quietly. "I just. . . ."
"Harry's great, Ron. But he'd never be enough for me that way. You would be. You . . . will be." She felt as if she were baring her soul sitting there, and it was suddenly a great deal hotter than it had been a few minutes ago. She stared out across the water, then glanced backwards. The crowds had thinned out a great deal. She looked at Ron, at the water, and felt a strange kind of daring building within her.
"We could go skinny dipping," she blurted.
Startled, Ron turned to her with a shocked expression. "What?" he asked. "You want to —?"
"It's something to make the date more . . . memorable. And we've never done it with Harry. I don't think he's done at all, in fact," Hermione told him, trying not to blush and failing terribly. It was wrong for a person to blush as much as she had in the last few hours. "I mean, if you want to, or —"
"I want to!" he immediately agreed. She laughed a little at his enthusiasm, and time seemed to pause for an instant as they smiled at one another. "Ah, where should we . . . ?" he began finally, glancing around.
She followed his gaze. The crowds had thinned, yes, but there were still people around. "We could go down beneath that bridge. . . ." She began to describe the spot her father had used to like to sail model ships on the water, and soon enough they were making their way down there. She couldn't believe she had actually suggested that they. . . .
It would involve her being . . . naked.
They finally reached their destination; there was no one there, just as Hermione had wanted. It was particularly dark down there, and she felt it only made the heat of her face even more obvious. She looked over at him, able to see his pale face outlined in the darkness. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked softly.
She stared for a moment, readying herself, before exclaiming, "No! Oh!" She covered her hands with her face, embarrassment twirling around her. "I'm sorry!" she whined. "This was a terrible idea. I can't go skinny dipping!" To her surprise, he began to laugh, and the next thing she knew, his arms were circling around her. He tugged her hands from her face.
"I didn't really expect you to go through with it," he told her, grinning a little.
"Lavender Brown would go skinny dipping with you," Hermione told him bitterly.
"As fun as that would be," he made a pained face that's association with Lavender secretly delighted Hermione, "the problem is that Lavender isn't you. And I'd take you clothed over her skinny dipping on any day." He grinned at her and she at him, and she wondered why they had waited two months to go out like this, why they had been awkwardly skirting the issue when all along something wonderful had been waiting for them.
"We'll just go dipping, then," he declared suddenly, and she didn't have time to squeak out more than a single squeal of protest before he scooped her up in his arms, walked into the water and dumped her. The water was freezing and she broke through the surface sputtering and furious with him, her wet hair stuck to her neck and face.
"RON!" she shouted angrily. He only laughed, already pulling her into his arms again. She tried to shove him under but it didn't work, and he looked far too smug for his own good. "You can not just do that to a person," she told him. But then she realized he must be able to feel every meager curve that she possessed because she was soaking wet and wrapped up in his arms.
And she forgot that it was ten at night, they were knee deep in dirty London water, and he had just dunked her under. There was something about the look on his face, something so very Ron, that she did again what she had done so long ago when he'd defended the House Elves and proved he was so much more than the thick-headed boy he appeared to be: she kissed him.
She was freezing cold, but his lips were warm on hers, and it was so much better than the simple kisses Viktor had given her, so much better even than the first kiss she and Ron had shared, and she wondered briefly what it would be like if every kiss was better than the last, and she tried to memorize his taste, the feel of his hands in her wet hair, and — and then she stopped thinking altogether, because his tongue had slipped into her mouth and . . . and he was Ron.
It was nearly midnight when they returned to the Burrow. Hermione wore Ron's coat, his hand held hers warmly and confidently, and it took them a while to get from the Apparation point to the house itself, as they stopped every few yards to kiss one another. Hermione marveled at how she had gone so many years without being this happy.
When they stepped into the Burrow kitchen, they were met with a bright flash of light and smoke; Ginny stood on the stair steps, a camera in hand and a large grin on her face. "I didn't know it was raining," she said, her eyes running up and down Hermione.
"It wasn't," Hermione replied, and Ginny's smile widened. She raised her camera up and took another picture before Hermione could protest. Hermione only laughed; the giddiness in her chest could not be denied. She turned to Ron, and felt rather silly when she declared, "Let's give her something to take a picture of," and then she grabbed his collar and brought him down to her height for yet another kiss.
Ginny's camera flashed, Ron kissed her so ardently he lifted her up off her feet, and when he kissed along her jaw to her ear and whispered hotly, "You're my girl now, aren't you?" Hermione felt a certain victory over Lavender Brown, her own bushy hair, and mascara sticks.
"Yes, Ron, I'm your girl now."
Fin.
On Any Day by MagEd
Chapter Notes: J.K. Rowling is the creator of the Harry Potter universe and she owns everything within it; no infringement is intended by my humble writing!
Chapter Endnotes: I don't often write Ron/Hermione, but I had to get this written once the idea was in my head! I have no idea how often their first date has been written -- I can imagine it being a popular thing to write -- but I wanted to give it my own spin :) Please review and let me know what you thought!