A Not-So-Horrible Prefect Duty

"Come on, Ron! We are going to be late!"

"Keep your head on, Hermione. Just let me finish this game!" Ron procrastinated angrily. Over the years, Harry's chess skills had improved dramatically. By their sixth year, Harry had actually almost beat Ron. Keyword: almost. But, for the first time in all of history, Harry was honestly, truly, beating him. Harry was wearing an expression like he had no idea what was happening. Ron was engulfed in concentration.

"Let him win for once, we don't have the time!" Hermione urged fiercely.

"No way! I am very proud of my undefeated record. And besides, if I let him win then I would have to let you win, which will never happen when I am around," Ron retorted proudly.

"No offense, Hermione, but you need to feel what it is like not to win every single time more than anybody else who has ever lived," Harry added, as he cautiously ordered his bishop to check Ron's king. Harry gave Ron an anxious look, concerned whether he rather screwed himself or not.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She should have known Ron would pull a stunt like this; he would do anything to shirk or prolong attending prefect duties. As if they weren't important or crucial to their status as students and eligibility for Headship or anything. Nope. To Ron, prefect duties were merely another chore to complete.

Hermione unconsciously began tapping her foot, which created a very irritating and steady annoyance to Ron.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," he responded reluctantly. With a strategic focus in his eye, he casually instructed his queen's movements, creatively checkmating Harry's king. He grinned cockily at Harry, who only sighed with comprehension. Ron turned, still sporting his arrogant grin, to look at Hermione. Her stomach flipped nervously.

"Alright, let's go, before you wear a whole in the rug."

She raised her eye brows reproachfully.

"Nice game, Harry."

"See you later."

"Have fun, you two."

Ron made a face at Harry as he reluctantly rose from his seat. Hermione practically sprinted to the portrait entrance, unhealthily eager to report to their duties, as Ron lagged behind and rolled is eyes at her promptness.

"Ron, you have known me for five years now, I think it might have leaked into your brain that I despise being late," Hermione said agitatedly.

"I reckon it might've, along with you despising people not doing their homework or cheating, you despising people braking rules, you despising people ordering around house elves, you despising Divination, you despising Slytherin gits, which I happen to agree with you for once--" Ron ranted rather willingly, but then noticed that she was about to open her mouth and start preaching about house elves or something repetitive and boring that he could recite word for word he had listened to so many times. He changed the subject before she could begin.

"So, what exactly do we have to do this time?" Ron asked her dully.

"Not much. The Great Hall is being decorated for Christmas--"

"Really? I thought it was being decorated for Halloween!" Ron exclaimed in mock-surprise. Hermione must have calmed down quite a bit, for she slapped his arm playfully, and a grin crept onto her face.

"--and we have to supervise it," she concluded proudly.

"Supervise what?" Ron asked in confusion, but a loud and rude raspberry-blowing poltergeist quickly flew over his head and zipped into the Great Hall.

"Never mind," he replied, nodding comprehensively.

Ron and Hermione wandered into the magnificent Great Hall. Hagrid was in one corner bearing one of the twelve enormous evergreen trees that would add its usual spectacular and breathtaking garnish. Other adornments were scattered around the gigantic hall, waiting impatiently to be added to the décor and cherished by all of Hogwarts. Several younger students, second and third years primarily, were scattered throughout, playing with the decorations. One had dumped a colossal carton of tinsel over another's head.

Tiny Professor Flitwick hurried towards them, grin brighter than the sun at noon. "Good, good, you're here! Now, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, I was wondering if you could you possibly help with the decorating, it seems we'll need some assistance if we want this finished by dinnertime and--"

In the few seconds that Professor Flitwick had turned his back, Peeves had curiously collected several strings of the shiny stringy material, and had attempted to strangle one of the third years, smiling wickedly.

Ron was paying attention to Flitwick's instructions, and noticed this immediately. "Er, Professor Flitwick--"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" he squeaked.

Ron nodded in the direction of the choking victim. Hermione clasped her hands to her mouth in horror. Flitwick scurried towards the asphyxiated and purple boy, laying at the mercy of the poltergeist. Ron and Hermione rushed to his side. After Flitwick had released the third year and swatted at Peeves, he mumbled, rather shaken, "We are going to revert back to the original plans; you supervise."

"I figured," Ron replied knowingly.

Several hours and plenty murder attempts later, Ron and Hermione were still watching with authority and critiquing the decorations. Hermione had, of course, gotten really to engrossed into the tradition, and Ron shook his head at her enthusiasm and gusto.

"You know, this would certainly compliment the silver features of the garland if it was placed here--"

"Oh! This would be perfect if it was put here--"

"This snow is so beautiful! It is so realistic! But I think there might be a tad to much here--"

"There are to many red ornaments here, let's move them here--"

"Hermione! I think they can decorate and coordinate the colors or whatever, on their own. Besides, if I hear you emphasize the word 'here' one more time I will, most likely, spontaneously combust," he said in a quiet, slow voice, as he grabbed her shoulders and walked her towards the center of the Great Hall, where she could see almost all of the décor. He looked at her as if worried for her sanity. More than usual, if you can imagine.

One of the second years, who had swapped many Christmas stories with Hermione, called her towards a more secluded alcove.

"Hermione! I want your opinion on the combination of these this shade of brown against this red. Can you come here?" shouted the short, spirited Gryffindor, who always wore her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Sure! So, Jen, did you pair up that chocolate brown and orange red because--"

"Hermione! I told you--I can't believe I'm the one preaching about following the rules! Come here, Hermione! Now look, you have me emphasizing 'here's now--"

Hermione jogged off toward Jen in earnest, Ron sprinting behind her. In the alcove there were three students. One was hanging garland over the archway, and the other two, Jen and her best friend Jasmin Bloom, a spunky and outgoing Ravenclaw who thought she was married to some Muggle actor named Orlando Bloom, were decorating a miniature wreath placed around a dwarf's neck.

Ron had finally caught up with Hermione, and he stood next to here, glaring reproachfully. Jen and Jasmin had burst into a fit of giggles, each clinging to each other for support. Ron and Hermione exchanged perplexed glances.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked angrily.

"I really don't--Uh-oh," Hermione said, eyes wide with horrified comprehension. "Jen. What. Did. You. Do? You didn't actually do...Oh no," Hermione grumbled, her cheeks pink with humiliation.

"What? Did the red and brown clash horribly or something?"

"No. Worse."

"Oh. The red was actually orange?"

"Cut it out, Ron!"

"Then what are you flipping out about?" he yelled, throwing his hands up in annoyance.

Hermione's hands covered her face. He could barely distinguish, though, her softly say, "Look up."

"Wha--"

And there, dangling innocently above them, was mistletoe.

Ron began to sputter; all authoritative attempts and anger gone. His ears were a brighter shade of red, a more concentrated hue than the mistletoe. Wondering how in the world to get out of this, he decided to play dumb.

"What's that?" he lied, rather miserably.

The girls laughed harder and harder, and began to tear with amusement.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione shrieked.

In between giggle relapses, the girls told the story. "Well...you see...when you try to get out of it....you....you....you..." Jen stopped there, unable to continue, suffocating from giggles.

Hermione continued to flush. She sighed uncomfortably. "When you try to get out it, you have to kiss on the lips, actually."

In reality, Hermione would never have minded kissing Ron. She wanted to kiss him. The truth was that she didn't want Ron, or anyone else, to know that she wanted to kiss him. That was the problem. She thought that was a slim-to-none chance of this ever happening, also. The funniest part was, Ron was thinking the same thing.

"Okay, let's just get this over with," Hermione announces, as briskly and businessly as she could force herself to sound. Her heart was pounding rapidly, almost dangerously fast. Her mind began to race, and frightening thoughts popped into her head. Never being kissed before, she didn't know what to expect to happen, or what it would feel like.

"Um. Um. Okay," Ron mumbled, cherry red.

Hermione tucked her loose hair behind her ears (it had become a nervous habit over the years). She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Then, she opened them.

Ron watched Hermione freak out. It hurt his feelings, thinking that she didn't want to kiss him. His self-conscious mind suddenly brought up one a favorite fifth year moments. Okay, one of his most favorite moments ever. When Hermione kissed him for good luck prior to his first Quidditch match. Ah, that was pure bliss.

He snapped back. He closed his eyes, and closed his fists in anxiety. He leaned in, hoping that his lips would reach hers, and not miss and cause a horribly embarrassing event.

But, he didn't.

As if he had been magnetically attracted to her, their lips met. His heart soared, and so did hers. Neither of them knew why, because they thought it would never last.

Ron got caught up in the moment, letting all apprehensions go. He never had any self-control, or will power for that matter.

Hermione was trying with all her might to control herself. She longed to wrap her arms around him and squeeze him tight. She never wanted this kiss to end. Hermione had floated into a heaven. A heaven of no limits. A heaven of no consequences. She gave in to the persuasion. She gave into her yearnings. She let it all go.

But what if he figured it out? What is he found out that she wanted to kiss him? What if he found out she wanted to throw herself into his arms, as she just had done, and have him never let her go?

And if he did, what would he do? He'd reject me, she thought. She couldn't, and wouldn't, let that happen.

Not now at least.

She pulled away abruptly. Ron stumbled forward, temporarily losing his balance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jasmin and Jen exchanged awed and mystified glances.

"Well, um," Hermione began in her acute manner, but it vanished immediately. She fruitlessly attempted to recover it.

Ron dug his hands deep into his pockets.

Hermione then realized that both of them were just standing there, so she quickly turned away from his tense, but very built body (as she had just discovered) and faced the girls.

"So, what did you need me to look at?"

Jen smiled mischievously and stared at Ron's hair, barely distinguishable from his flushed face. Jasmin simply replied, "Never mind, we decided that that orange red and brown fit perfectly together," as she looked Hermione straight into her chocolate colored eyes.

Professor Flitwick squeaked from behind Hermione, "Well, we have finished! Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, you may return to your dormitories."

Ron grunted, which seemed to be the only vocal sound he was capable to make.

Ron and Hermione walked hurriedly out of the hall, unusually far apart.

Neither of them said a word until they were in view of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Um, Hermione, let's not tell anyone about this," Ron advised wisely.

"I'll take it to the grave, trust me," Hermione firmly assured.

"C'mon, I'm not that bad of a kisser," Ron retorted. A few seconds later, he nervously asked, "Am I?"

They reached the Gryffindor Tower entrance. Not knowing why, Hermione felt compelled to sneak a glance at Ron. Their eyes met. Hermione blushed, but gave a nervous smile. Ron returned it. She suddenly felt very brave.

"I don't know. I might need to try it again, to verify my opinion."

Pleasantly taken aback, Ron said, with a lopsided smile, "Yeah?"

She nodded casually. "Yeah, I think so."

"You know what?"

"What?"

"We need more prefect duties like this," Ron said. Hermione to burst out laughing.

"I definitely agree," Hermione replied. She smiled contently, and ever so satisfied about her job well done.