Harry Potter Revelations

DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, as my license does not read J.K. Rowling, I must admit that these carefully crafted, wonderfully imagined characters are not my own. But then, I think you already knew that.:}  
  
A/N: As there are thousands upon thousands of HP fanfics out there, I am certain that parts of my story are similar to those of other stories out there. However, I can assure you that everything but the characters and the places came out of my own imagination. Consequently, anything said differently will be summarily ignored. I'm sure you understand.  
  
Ron scanned the grounds of Hogwarts school, desperately trying to find his best friend, Resident Bookworm Hermione Granger. Just moments before, she had lashed out in a blaze of fury, angry tears stinging her eyes, and promptly run from the building, leaving Ron gaping in her wake. What on earth had just happened? He had only been impatiently trying to weasel her test paper from her grasp, and failing miserably. They had just come from A History of Magic (a class which bored even the best of students), and Ron had noticed that Hermione was being unusually quiet. Even now, after five years of having attended the school, she still gloated whenever test papers were returned. And today had seen the return of one of the biggest tests of the year, the Mid-Quarter Exam. Expecting at least a smug smile and an inquiry into how he and Harry had done, the redheaded Gryffindor had been extremely surprised, and a tad bit worried, when she had quickly skirted around he and the Boy Who Lived and headed in the opposite direction.  
  
Coming to the conclusion that something was obviously quite wrong, Ron had excused himself from Harry's midst and followed after the fifth-year prefect.  
  
"Something wrong, Hermione?" he ventured, coming to walk beside the girl.  
  
"Go away, Ron," she replied, her eyes cast to the ground.  
  
Not the response Ron had expected. And where was the gloating grin? Odd, very odd indeed. He tried again. "'Mione, what's up?"  
  
"Why do you insist on calling me that?" she snapped, whirling on him. "It's not my name!"  
  
Whoa. Again not what he had been expecting. And why hadn't he noticed before how pretty she was when she was angry? He knitted his brow. Where had that thought come from? He had promised himself . . . Shaking his head and ignoring his temporary moment of insanity, he forged ahead. "You want to tell me what's wrong?"  
  
"I want you to leave me alone."  
  
This just would not do. Not only was he worried about his friend, his curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. He had to get to the bottom of this, and he had to do it quick. "Does this have something to do with our marks?" It was, after all, the only logical explanation. Grades were very important to his highly intelligent pal.  
  
He waited on the brink of impatience for her to respond. When she didn't speak, however, he made another attempt. "Hermione? Hermione, did you get a bad mark or something?" Still, she didn't answer, and the uncomfortable sensation that he was being ignored pervaded his brain. Deciding that he couldn't curtail the impatience any longer, he came to the conclusion that it was time for drastic measures. Taking a deep breath, preparing himself for the onslaught of high-pitched protests and possibly even violence, he made a swipe for her exam.  
  
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione screamed, back-handing him in the stomach (the deep breath had not helped). "How dare you?!"  
  
"I only wanted to help!" Ron choked out, massaging his stomach. Where had Hermione learned to hit so well? And how come her eyes had to glitter prettily whenever she began to scream at him?  
  
"I told you how you could help out!" she yelled. "I told you to leave me alone! Just because that wasn't good enough for you, you ignorant, selfish prat, doesn't mean that you had any right, ANY RIGHT!, going after my exam!!" And with that, she spun on her heel.  
  
"Hermione, wait!" Ron called after her, his voice becoming tinged with disbelief. What had he done wrong? He had only wanted to help . . .  
  
Unfortunately, he came to regret his words the moment Hermione followed his request. Spinning back around, her livid, watery eyes caused him to take two steps back, and the chill in her voice forced involuntary shudders down his spine. "Just. Leave. Me. Alone." And then she was gone, stalking toward the front door, leaving Ron gaping in her wake. *Smart move, Weasley. Crash and burn.*  
  
Any other day, he might have followed her directions. Any other day, he might have honored her request. Unfortunately, today, the day that the "Daily Prophet" had announced would witness the heaviest snowfall in the past five years, he knew that he had to go after her. She was too upset to think clearly, and he would never be able to live with himself if anything happened to her. Even though he had been trying to help, he knew he was partially to blame for her anger, and therefore had to go looking for her. Besides, he hated the fact that he had made her even angrier.  
  
So here he was, scouring the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, franticly searching for his bushy-haired best friend. Why was it that today of all days he had to go and make her so mad? Why was it that today of all days they had to get into such a bad fight? Whatever the reasons, he knew with certainty that the situation definitely was not looking up. He had been out here for half an hour, at the very least, and the only thing that had happened thus far was that the wind chill was intensifying, the snowfall had definitely turned into a blizzard, and the sky was getting increasingly darker. In fact, it was getting so dark that even by the light of his wand Ron could only see directly in front of him, and he was beginning to consider going back and getting help. Though he definitely did not want to leave Hermione out here alone, he didn't know what he could do to help her. Not if he couldn't find her, anyway.  
  
Just as he was about to turn back, however, he heard a sharp scream, and then a low moan of pain. "Hermione!" Ron shrieked, his heart leaping into his throat, and followed the source of the noise. If something had happened to her, he would never forgive himself. What seemed like an eternity later, but really was only just a few moments, Ron found his friend collapsed on the ground, holding her ankle in misery.  
  
"Hermione, what happened?" he cried, rushing to her side and dropping to his knees to inspect her injury.  
  
"Ron?" she choked out. "What - what are you doing here?"  
  
"I couldn't very well allow you to go traipsing around the grounds in the middle of a blizzard, could I? . . . oh, wow," he said a second later, after having examined her very swollen ankle. Damn him! If he hadn't fought with her, she wouldn't be lying here with such a horrible injury. When was he going to learn to think before he acted? Trying to keep the trembling out of his voice, he continued. "'Mione, this is bad. We've got to get you inside. Do you think you can walk?"  
  
Hermione looked at him as though he had just grown a second head, and Ron quickly realized the absurdity of the question. Of course she couldn't walk! He had broken her. He had broken his 'Mione. "Okay, look," he said, "I'm going to carry you to Hagrid's hut, okay? It shouldn't be that far away."  
  
Knowing that there wasn't much else they could do in this blizzard, Hermione nodded her consent, and a second later Ron was carefully lifting her from the ground. They walked in silence until they reached the hut, Hermione's arms draped around Ron's neck, willing herself not to cry; Ron silently cursing himself for hurting his best friend in the first place, and ignoring the feeling in his stomach that had begun the moment she had placed her delicate arms around his body.  
  
"Here," Ron said, cautiously laying Hermione down onto Hagrid's huge bed and forcing his lips into a wavering smile. "You just lay here and I'm going to see about making us some tea."  
  
"Okay," Hermione said lightly, her mouth forming a soft smile despite her pain. She had never seen Ron so gentle and caring. It was . . . nice.  
  
Several moments later, Ron returned and handed Hermione a cup of tea. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.  
  
"My ankle definitely hurts," Hermione replied, taking a tiny sip of the tea. One could never be too careful with what they digested when it came to ingredients from Hagrid's cupboards. "But I'll live."  
  
Several of Ron's facial muscles appeared to relax and the waver in his smile died almost completely away. "That's good," he said in relief, and then, "Don't you ever scare me like that again," he chastised.  
  
"I promise." Hermione shot him a small grin.  
  
The two were quiet for a few moments, each apparently lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, however, Hermione let out a whimper of pain and Ron's eyes flew open wide. "'Mione?" he asked franticly. "'Mione, are you okay?"  
  
Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione willed away the pain that had just attacked her ankle. "I - I'm fine," she said after awhile, reopening her eyes and forcing a laugh. "I don't know where that came from."  
  
Despite her ill-concealed bravado, Ron was concerned. Placing his cup on the table, he stood and walked to Hagrid's burrow. There had to be something with which to wrap Hermione's leg, something with which to alleviate the pain. Coming across a faded shirt, Ron plucked it out of the drawer and tore it into several strips.  
  
"Hold still," he instructed his friend, and waited while she took a deep breath. Then, gently taking hold of her ankle, he proceeded to bandage it with Hagrid's misused shirt. One strip . . . two strips . . . three - "There," he said at last, putting the final knot into the third strip, a smile flashing onto his freckled face. "As good as new."  
  
"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said softly, moving her hand to rest upon Ron's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. She had always known Ron could be a caring individual, but she had never known how much so until now.  
  
At the touch of her hand, however, Ron gasped. What on earth . . .?  
  
"Ron, are you okay?" Now it was Hermione's turn to be concerned.  
  
He nodded that he was. It was just that - when she had touched him like that - He could have sworn he had just stuck his finger in one of those Muggle plug-things Hermione had told him about this summer. *Oh, blimey! Not only did I break my best friend, I'm going insane.* "I'm fine," he assured her, unable to meet her eyes.  
  
"Then why are you gripping my leg so tightly?" she ventured.  
  
"Oh!" Ron started, realizing too late that he was still holding onto her injured leg. "I'm sorry," he said, placing her limb back on the bed. "Are - are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," she said amusedly, watching as his ears turned red. "I didn't hurt that part of my leg."  
  
"Oh . . . good."  
  
"Ron?" she questioned suddenly, fixing him with an intense gaze.  
  
"Yeah?" He still couldn't look her in the eyes.  
  
"Why did you come after me?"  
  
"Blimey, Hermione," Ron's face took on a look of surprise. "I couldn't just allow you to wander around in a storm alone, could I?"  
  
"No, I suppose not," she replied, ignoring his choice of words.  
  
"Of course I couldn't!"  
  
"Well, thank you for coming after me," she said. "I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn't!"  
  
At this suggestion, Ron really did shudder. What would have happened if he hadn't come after her? It was too awful to contemplate. In fact, he decided, he needed a change of subject. "Hermione?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"What was wrong before?"  
  
She hesitated. "Wrong?" she repeated, uneasiness obvious in her tone.  
  
"Yeah, you know. After class, when you wouldn't talk to me?"  
  
Hermione sighed and leaned back against the wall, her face turning itself up to the ceiling. "Why is it important?" she wanted to know.  
  
"It's not, I guess," Ron shrugged, not wanting to upset her again. "It's just . . . I don't like seeing you upset, and I thought you might want to talk about it. But if you don't . . ."  
  
Hermione paused for such a long time after this comment that Ron was certain he would never find out what had upset his bushy-haired best friend. But then, after a deep inhalation of breath, Hermione replied, "Well, if you must know, I didn't do very well on my exam."  
  
Ron's eyebrows shot into the air. She had told him after all. "Well," he said, trying to hide the giddiness that was a result of her confession, "you can always make it up in finals, right?"  
  
"You don't understand," Hermione replied, sighing.  
  
"What don't I understand?"  
  
"It's okay for someone else to mess up on an exam, but it's not okay for me."  
  
"Why not?" Ron asked, confused.  
  
"Because. It's just the way it is."  
  
The corner of his mouth turning up into an unsanctioned smile, Ron looked at Hermione quizzically. "Care to elaborate?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Come on, 'Mione," Ron prodded. "You'll feel better if you get it off your chest."  
  
"Why do you call me that?" She asked suddenly, for the second time that day.  
  
"Huh?" Ron replied dumbly, caught off-guard by the sudden change in topics.  
  
"'Mione. Why do you call me that? It's not my name."  
  
"Oh, uh," Ron stuttered, trying to hide the blush that was creeping up his cheeks. And now for a subject that he didn't with to elaborate on. "I - I don't know."  
  
"Uh-huh," Hermione replied, shooting him a doubtful look.  
  
"I just . . . I just do, is all."  
  
"Okay." Then, "Look, Ron, I'm going to get some sleep. Maybe then I'll feel a little better."  
  
"Yeah, okay," Ron said, standing up. "I'll just sit in the armchair while you rest."  
  
"Thanks," Hermione said, and lay onto the pillow, shutting her eyes.  
  
She didn't get to rest for long. "Hermione?" Ron spoke up, deciding that he didn't like the not knowing.  
  
"Hmm?" she answered, still not opening her eyes.  
  
"Why can't you mess up on one exam?"  
  
"Ron . . ."  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, "I just really want to know."  
  
Opening her eyes and sitting up, she fixed him with an unreadable expression. "I'll make you a deal," she began.  
  
"Okay . . ." Ron said uncertainly.  
  
"You tell me why you call me 'Mione, and I'll tell you why I can't mess up."  
  
Oh, no. Anything but that.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Please, Hermione. Can we come up with different terms?"  
  
"Nope," she said stubbornly. "I'll tell you if you tell me."  
  
"Okay," he said at last.  
  
"Good," Hermione replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "You go first."  
  
"M-me?" Ron stuttered.  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
Ron swallowed. "All right," he said finally, taking a seat beside her, yet sitting in such a way that he wasn't looking directly at her face.  
  
"Well?" she prodded when he didn't say anything.  
  
Ron took a deep breath, then rushed in with, "'Mione-sounds-like-'mine'-,- so-I-call-you-'Mione."  
  
"Uh, Ron?" Hermione let out a small guffaw. "You're gonna have to slow it down a bit."  
  
"Sorry," Ron said, his face beginning to match his fiery hair. He paused for several seconds, then, "'Mione sounds like mine."  
  
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Surely she had misheard? "So - when you call me 'Mione," she said slowly "you're . . . you're really calling me yours?"  
  
Ron nodded, blushing to the roots of his hair.  
  
Wow. Hermione had thought, particularly during the Yule Ball the previous year, that Ron might . . . but never had she dreamed . . . never had she truly believed . . . But he had just said . . .  
  
"Why didn't you ever tell me before?" she asked softly.  
  
"Because," he said, still refusing to look at her, "You were dating Krum, and then -"  
  
"I was never dating Krum, Ron."  
  
"But you went to visit him in Bulgaria this summer!"  
  
"I told you, Ron," she said, trying to keep her tone calm, "He was only ever just a friend."  
  
"Really?" Ron began picking at the bedspread, still refusing to look at Hermione.  
  
"Really," Hermione confirmed, trying not to smile at his obvious discomfort. She couldn't believe that after all these years, that he had finally . . . Still, she knew she owed it to him to change the subject. She didn't want him to feel to uncomfortable.  
  
"Okay," she said at last, resting her hand on the back of his own, thereby causing him to jump at the Muggle-plug effect. "My turn . . . The reason I feel like I have to get the highest marks is because . . ."  
  
"Yeah?" Ron prodded, venturing a look at her chin.  
  
"Oh, this is going to sound so foolish!" Hermione wailed.  
  
"'Mione," Ron said, raising his head so he was looking into her face, "Nothing you say is going to sound foolish."  
  
"Okay," Hermione smiled, steeling herself. A deal was a deal, after all. "I just feel like it's the only thing I've got going for me."  
  
"What?" Ron questioned, furrowing his brow. Surely she couldn't mean . . .  
  
"Well, Harry's the great wizard, and you're the great chess player, but me? The only thing I've got is my cleverness."  
  
"'Mione," Ron gasped. "That's not true!"  
  
"Isn't it? I can't think what else I have to offer. Every time we go up against dark magic . . . But now here I am getting bad marks."  
  
Ron was shocked. He had always thought he was the one with the doubts, the insecurities. Never had he dreamed that Hermione could feel this way, too. "Hermione," he said softly, tenderly, moving his hand to caress her cheek. Smiling as she gasped in surprise. "Don't you know how special you really are?"  
  
"Really?" Now it was Hermione's turn to question a statement.  
  
Ron's gaze turned serious. It was now or never. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he choked out, his voice trembling.  
  
"Oh, Ron," Hermione breathed.  
  
Then, as Ron's cerulean eyes met Hermione's own cinnamon brown, he found himself unexplainably, inexplicably drawn to her. He couldn't hold in his feelings any longer. Slowly inching his face toward that of his 'Mione, and finding her doing the same, he marveled at how beautiful she had become. She was the most beautiful witch in the world. And then, as their lips met for the very first time, and the magic coursed through his very soul, leaving his body tingling and numb, he knew that he had never wanted anything more.  
  
The kiss lasted for several moments, during which time Ron's previous thoughts and feelings were only more strongly confirmed, and both teenagers found themselves left dizzy and weak. Finally, Hermione broke it off, and Ron leaned his forehead against her own, gazing into her gorgeous brown eyes. "Wow," he said softly, and she nodded in agreement. It was the only word imaginable that could have described what had just happened.  
  
Then, "Hey, look," Hermione moved away and pointed outside the window. "The blizzard's stopped."  
  
"Well," Ron said softly, peering outside, "I guess we'd better get you to Madame Pomfrey."  
  
"I guess so," Hermione agreed, and Ron was pleased to note that she seemed rather reluctant. Still, scooping her up into his arms, he knew they would have more moments like this. Now that he had finally revealed his feelings, he was never going to let her go.  
  
"Hey, 'Mione?" he questioned as he carried her up the hill to the castle.  
  
"Yes, Ron?"  
  
"What WAS your grade anyway?"  
  
"Oh," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "I got an A-." 


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Romance