The Kiss That Wasn't

The Kiss That Wasn't

By like a falling star

She had been thinking a lot during the train journey from Hogwarts to King's Cross. Heck, she had been thinking a lot these past few days. A lot for her, even, and Hermione Granger did think a whole lot more than others generally did.

What puzzled her, though, was that no matter how much she thought, thought, and then thought some more, she could not reach a conclusion. She had tried looking it up in the library and, to her utmost disgruntlement - and disappointment in her favourite place in the world - the library, for once, did not have the answers. She had even gone so far as to ask Madam Pince, but the stern librarian only chuckled, her eyes misted in fond memory, and said that sometimes [though such times were few and hard to come by], the answers to 'certain conditions' could not be found in books.

It confused her a little and upset her a lot, for, if the sacred store of books did not have the answers, then there was little hope that she might find the answers elsewhere. Being a clever witch, however, Hermione did not dwell on it and hoped that it would soon go away but it hadn't, and it had inflamed, even, on seeing Ron stammer in front of Fleur. It was all rather bewildering.

Apparently, being rocked back and forth on a rumbling train did little to speed up her thinking process and, when the Hogwarts Express pulled into platform nine and three-quarters, Hermione found that her thoughts had flocked back to right where they had started.

"D'you need help with your trunk?" Ron asked gruffly as they struggled with their trunks.

Hermione wondered vaguely at the stirring warmth in the pit of her stomach that had become somewhat familiar over the past few days, which somehow materialized whenever Ron was around. "Oh, it's all right, I can manage it myself." She threw a glance over her shoulder. "Where are Harry and Fred and George?"

"Somewhere behind, I reckon. Lost in the crowd," Ron said. "C'mon, let's wait for them here."

They carried their respective trunks to a corner before plonking them down on the floor. Ron sneaked a glance at her. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but didn't quite know how to put it.

Hermione noticed. "What is it, Ron? Out with it; I know something's up."

"Well." Ron glanced around, as if checking to make sure that no one was listening. "You- you aren't really planning to go to Bulgaria this summer, are you, Hermione?" He had an anxious look on his face, and the tips of his ears were fire-engine red.

"Bulgaria." Hermione repeated, as if the thought had never even occurred to her. She felt glad, for some reason, that Ron had thought to ask her this, and wondered remotely why she did not feel more annoyed at Ron's persistence in bringing up this topic. "No, Ron, I doubt I'll be going, what with You-Know-Who's return and all. It would be dangerous."

Ron's face lit up at first, then fell a bit at her last words. "I don't suppose you're coming to The Burrow, then?" he said, looking disappointed.

"No! I mean, I am going to The Burrow. If you want me to, that is. After all, Victor isn't my best friend, you are."

A relieved smile broke out on Ron's face. A sudden thought had occurred to him, and it looked to Hermione as though he were struggling an internal battle. "Do... do be careful, though, Hermione. I mean... I don't want to be responsible if anything... if anything happens to you. Not that it would, of course. I mean..." Ron laughed nervously.

Hermione couldn't fathom why it was thudding so, but there it was, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. She noticed that his eyes were very, very blue. And that his hair was so adorable when it was tousled, like it was now. And suddenly she wasn't thinking. Not one bit. Her thinking quota had been used up during the past few days. And Hermione tiptoed and pressed her lips against Ron's cheek.

Ron's face burned, and Hermione could feel hers burning as well. She unconsciously brushed her fingers against her lips, where they had made contact with Ron's skin. She was positively mortified, and her thoughts were in a right jumble. What in the world had possessed her to do such a--to act like- like a scarlet woman? What Ron must think of her now! Hermione wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide forever. "I- I-"

"Ron! Hermione! Over here!" Mrs Weasley's voice rang out across the station.

Their head whipped up and they carried their trunks over to her, as if in autopilot.

"Where are your brothers, Ron? And Harry?" Mrs Weasley fussed over them.

"Um- uh..." Ron said stiffly. Apparently he wasn't up to speaking yet.

"There they are." Hermione pointed over to the three of them who were currently weaving through the crowd. She wondered if Ron would ever speak to her again. She wondered if things would ever be the same between them again. Why, oh why did she have to go and--

"Harry!" Mrs Weasley hugged Harry tightly and whispered something in his ear.

"See you, Harry," said Ron, finally recovering from his momentary speech-defunct and clapping Harry on the back.

Oh, what was she going to do? What if Ron never spoke to her again? Hermione didn't think she could stand it. And then she made up her mind.

"Bye, Harry!" Hermione said, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.

There. All problems solved.

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