Hi, all. So about this huge pile of cheese on my account named His Lips on Hers. Well I wrote this a real while back, I re-read this story, a few days ago. And was appalled at my writing...for lack of better word. So I'm taking the chapters down and editing everything, and reposting everything. I know you might get alerts, but honestly it's worth a second read because it's turning out to be a completely different (AND BETTER) story. The basic story-line won't change, but I'm changing a few things, cutting out unnecessary cheese. This is purely for selfish reasons, as I cannot bear to have something so badly written on my account here. So, if you liked this story the way it was before, I'm sorry, this was the only option second to taking the whole damn thing off fanfiction.

Enjoy? Review the newly edited chapters? Thanks.

johnnydicaprio

xxx


Seventeen year old Ron Weasley rolled over in his bed, wincing at the strong rays of light coming through the half-open curtains. His eyelids flickered and he looked around the sunlit room. Not bothering to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds, he pulled a pillow over his head, ignored the chiming grandfather clock in the hall, and tried to drift back into sleep. The blasted thing was so loud.

Goodbye sleep, he thought bitterly.

Marginally awake now, he remembered that Hermione was supposed to come to the Burrow this morning to help his mother get ready for Bill and Fleur's wedding. His mind-fog cleared at the mental note, and he sat up straighter in his bed. At the action, a sudden and throbbing headache hit him, and he groaned, half fell, half rolled off his bed, trying to steady himself despite a slight hangover mostly due to the firewhisky he had to drink last night at Bill's bachelor party.

Swallowing, he realized his throat was still burning. He noted, rather alarmed, that he couldn't remember much, other than Fred and George's groggy recital of "Weasley is our King" and Hagrid bellowing "Odo the Hero" at the top of his voice to a terrified Mrs. Weasley. He remembered laughing. He laughed a lot.

Laughing Ron didn't sound good.

Determined to talk to his brothers and make sure he didn't humiliate himself, he walked over to his dresser and pulled out his jeans and a t-shirt, hastily getting dressed. He strolled out his door and into the bathroom, running his hand through his hair to make it more presentable –

Presentable for what, exactly? Hermione? A small voice in his head piped up. He was not in the mood for talking to himself, and the voice was promptly ignored. He didn't care how his hair looked. Honestly, he didn't.

Yeah. Whatever you say.

He pulled the door open as quickly as possible as to not give into his apparently rebellious conscious and sneak a glance at the mirror. Running out into the corridor, he ran down the stairs double time, and almost ran into Fred on the second landing.

"Where you off to, little brother?" Fred asked loudly, lifting a hand up to stop him. He was too loud. Much too loud. The remnants of the firewhiskey in Ron's blood angrily throbbed in his head. "Are we waiting for someone?" Fred continued pointedly, ignoring Ron's pain evident on his face. Then again, Ron couldn't help but notice he was slightly too perky considering it was so early in the morning.

"Get out of my way," Ron grunted. "I'm not in the mood."

"Tut, tut," Fred scolded, apparently having a little too much fun with the situation. "The least you could do is say 'Good-morning!"

Ron glared at him. "G'mornin. Now get out of my way."

"No, no," his brother complained. "You have to say it right. It's 'Good morning my dearest Fred, how lovely and corking to see you on this fine, beautiful – "

His speech was cut short as his face was now plastered against the corridor wall as Ron abruptly pushed him against it and out of the way. As he reached the kitchen Ron heard Fred bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"MUM, YOUR SON JUST PUSHED ME INTO A WALL! DO WITH HIM WHAT YOU WILL!"

"Shove off!" Ron yelled back, but not before –

"Ronald Weasley! What did you do to your brother?!"

Ron thought he heard a faint snigger from the top fo the staircase before his entire morning was ruined. "I didn't do anything mum, he was being a git."

Molly glared at her youngest son. "I will not have that language in my kitchen, young man." She walked back purposefully into the kitchen, and did not see Ron roll his eyes behind her. She levitated a pan of eggs and bacon, and they made their way across the room toward him. Rather alarmed at first, he realized it was only breakfast and not a bunch of pans and cutlery coming to punish him. The food dropped angrily (only in a way that eggs and bacon could) onto the plate just as Molly conjured a plate beneath them.

Grunting his thanks, Ron began eating, and did nothing else for some time. Finally when he looked up, he saw Ginny observing him from behind the Daily Prophet.

"Good morning sunshine," she said dryly, observing him with a slight upturn of her nose.

"G'mornin."

Ron continued eating, ignoring her judgmental eyes.

"It's rude to stare at people while they're eating, Gin," Ron snidely remarked in the end, shoving some bacon into his mouth.

"Well, it's not healthy to eat your feelings, Won-Won," Ginny retaliated playfully, expecting a similar comeback. "But you don't hear me complaining."

"Shut up."

Ron wasn't lying when he said he wasn't in the mood.

Ginny furrowed her brow in outrage. "What's wrong with you? Don't take out your crap mood on me!"

"I'm fine," Ron snapped, although it was slightly difficult to snap seeing as he had stuffed a spoonful of eggs into his mouth that could feed four people and attempted to digest it in one bite. Swallowing, he explained, "I'm just not incredibly perky as everyone seems to be today. Sue me for not running around with my happy face on."

Ginny didn't reply, and Ron didn't look up. For a few moments, there was a tense silence, except for the sounds of Molly magicking the scrubs to wash the plates.

"Hermione's arriving today," said Ginny finally, fixing a piercing stare on Ron – or more like what could be seen of him behind all the food he was trying to shovel into his mouth.

Ron raised his head to see Ginny wearing an expression reminiscent of McGonagall. Gulping loudly to swallow his food, "F-So?" Ron managed, desperately trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head.

It's not like you haven't noticed. Psh. Making your hair presentable. Ha.

"Noo – oothing," Ginny drawled in a sing-song voice. Ron met her eyes, and holding his gaze, the corners of her mouth turned upward slightly. His stomach dropped.

She knows. Now you're screwed.

After an age, "Just thought you'd want to know," she finished, and disappeared behind the newspaper, sniggering to herself.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Ron lashed out, propelling himself out of his chair with a loud screeching sound of its legs.

Ginny brought the newspaper down, irritated now. "Well, seeing as she is your friend, I thought you would want to know!" she snapped back, all traces of humor gone from her voice, "She's your friend, isn't she? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm FINE!" bellowed Ron, his hair flapping around his ears with the force of the scream.

"KIDS! DON'T MAKE ME COME OUT THERE!"

Ginny glanced at the kitchen towards the direction of Molly, and attempted to answer back, but her retort was lost in the appearance of someone through the kitchen door – windswept, with a traveling cloak over their shoulders.

Ms. Weasley had just appeared over the counter to yell at her kids but she too stopped in her tracks and was now looking at the newcomer.

"Hermione!"

"Hi all!" Hermione said excitedly, her cheeks red and puffy, her hair tied up in a firm bun. She was slightly out of breath, but she was still beaming at all of the Weasleys. A piece of undigested bacon tumbled out of Ron's open mouth and onto the floor.

Hermione smiled wider, dropping her school trunk onto the floor. "It's great to see you all again!"

Molly was the first to snap out of the shock. "Hermione!" She pulled her into a rib-cracking hug, and then held her at arms length to observe her more closely. "Darling, look at how you've grown!

Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she continued smiling.

"How are you dear? I'm sure you're hungry! I'll whip up something for you to eat, shall I?"

"Oh, no need, really, I ate at home," Hermione replied gently, now locked in a tight hug with Ginny. "I'm really great actually, been busy with my parents a while, we went on holiday, see."

Ginny pulled out of the hug to see her face. "I've missed you so much, you have no idea," she said sincerely. "This one here," – she jerked an accusing finger at Ron, "Has been in a right foul mood for a couple of days now, and I needed someone to talk to." She leaned in and whispered, "There's so much Pleghm around, I can't breathe!"

It was only then that Hermione's gaze shifted towards Ron, and only then he realized that he had been staring at her, open-mouthed.

"Hi Ron!" breathed Hermione, moving forward to greet him.

Ron's body registered the fact that he had to move, and he walked towards her awkwardly, giving her a fast, one-armed hug. She hugged him back in that small instant, and he tore away, trying his best to sound nonchalant and unchanged, muttered, "Hey Hermione."

Something resurfaced at the pit of his stomach, and had clenched when her arms briefly circled his waist. Lookie now, she's grown up hasn't she? Maybe your dear old mum was right!

He really needed not to talk to himself.

Looking down at her now, he thought he briefly saw a look of mangled disappointment and frustration cross her face, perhaps at his short and definitely unfriendly greeting. Whatever the reason for it was, the look disappeared as soon as Ron had noticed, and her face was somewhat expressionless.

The moment between them lasted much more than a moment, and her brown eyes were locked onto his. He couldn't help but notice the way the light coming from the open kitchen door framed her perfect face…

"RONALD!"

Ron jerked awake from the daydream his mind had conjured, and popped the moment like a shimmering bubble. They both turned to face Molly. "Show Hermione up to her room, Ronald, before we all get old waiting for you."

A resounding crash echoed around the kitchen, seeping through the floorboards directly from a few flights up the house. Molly turned to Ginny, and sighing, said, "Would you check that, please honey? It's probably Fred and George. I've told them a hundred times!"

Ginny obeyed, running up the stairs before Molly could say anything else. She watched her leave, and began muttering to herself darkly, while Ron's mind raced, and Hermione looked away.

Molly turned back to Ron, and began tapping her foot impatiently. She spoke firmly. "Well Ron, sometime today would be nice!"

As Ron glowered to himself, Molly turned to Hermione, her voice apologetic. "You're going to have to share, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind – we've got so many guests arriving for Bill and Fleur that housing has sort of become a problem."

Hermione smiled, though the affection didn't reach her eyes. Her voice cool and hollow now, she answered, "Oh, no. It's not a problem, don't worry about it Mrs. Weasley. Ron and I are great friends, I'm sure we can handle it. Right, Ron?"

Ron looked at her at the mention of his name. Her hair was wild now, locks of untamed hair cascading from her bun and onto her shoulders. Her eyebrow quirked up slightly, and her expression was challenging, almost daring him to contradict the nature of what she had just said. The stressed word, friend, leaped out at him, and as surprised as he was at the emphasis, he was more surprised at how it stung.

I know why…because you aren't just friends are yo –

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," he blurt a little too loudly in a desperate attempt to silence the voice nagging him non-stop. "Sure," he said again. "No problem. Zilch. None whatsoever." And with that, he turned on his heel and led the way towards the staircase purposefully.

No one followed him.

"RONALD!"

"What, mum?"

"Her trunk?"

"Trunk, what trunk?" he snapped stubbornly, turning around too see Molly glowering at him.

"Well," she snapped, "Surely you don't expect her carry it up herself, do you?! Get back here and take this trunk, young man, if you know what's good for you!"

Rolling his eyes, Ron glanced sideways at Hermione, who was standing in the corner watching the scene unfold with a slight smirk on her lips. She rearranged her face to a blank expression when she caught Ron's eye.

Fuming, and as a result, a little more clumsier than usual, Ron crossed the room to pick up the suitcase. The whole incident lasted less than three seconds; he tripped over the carpet, caught his pants on the leg of the table, stumbled, and fell, with a resounding thud, face forward onto the floor. It looked a lot worse than it was, but enough to cause a scene.

"Ron! My goodness!"

Ron felt someone drop to their knees and lift him up into a sitting position. "See what happens when you're not careful?" Molly hissed at him, though her tone was still concerned.

Ron looked up; his sight a little blurred and slightly watery, but clear enough to see Hermione rushing to his side from the other end of the room, her face panic-stricken. It was oddly satisfying to see her so worried.

About you, right?

He staggered to his feet, and realizing he had a little head rush, muttered, "M'alright. It's fine. I'm good." He helped Molly up along with him, cutting across her rambling about head injuries and stopping her firmly from getting the Household Healer because -

"Gilderoy will know what to do!"

"Mum, Lockheart was a fraud. Don't use that book. He'll turn me into a bug or something." Molly glared at his son. "'M fine. Honestly." He repeated and looked around and saw Hermione turn her back on him.

Molly continued to eye Ron anxiously, until it became evident he had no head injuries or disabilities save for clumsiness, and that was just a God-given Ron trait. "Well," Molly continued, "Let's get Hermione settled in then."

Eyeing Ron cautiously, she levitated the suitcases with a twirl of her wand, and suspended in the air, they began to make their way up the stairs.

Ron and Hermione stood in the middle of the room, unmoving.

Molly's brow furrowed as she watched them both. "Well come on then!" she shouted, and they both jumped. "Get with it, we don't have all day!" She turned away and went back to monitor the plates washing themselves, leaving Ron and Hermione alone.

"Come on, then," said Ron gruffly, leading the way up the stairs as Hermione followed him silently.

Ron heard her steady breathing behind him as they trudged up the stairs. He did everything in his power to ignore the fact that they were completely alone on the second floor landing.

The floorboards creaked under their feet, and Ron pushed open his bedroom door. Only, he realized, a little too late that his room looked comparable to a war zone. His bed covers were scattered all over the place in his hurry this morning, he forgot that he had turned the whole drawer inside out to search for clothes, and small owl treats were on the floor here and there, where Pig had abandoned them mid-flight.

Hermione stood behind him and raised herself on her tiptoes to see into the room. He looked back in time to see her lips curl into a slight smile as she witnessed the scene.

Still outside in the landing, they both, however unintentionally, attempted to squeeze through the doorframe at the same time. This caused some problems. Ron threw his leg over the threshold just as Hermione had attempted the same, and they were now slightly stuck facing each other. Not exactly stuck, more paralyzed.

With a jolt, Ron realized how close they were; he could feel her legs pressing against his, her body against his chest. He'd never looked so close at her face, and she was fare more beautiful close up than he'd ever imagined. The moment froze, and their breathing froze, seconds seemed to slow down, and he felt himself drawn to her, from within his chest, as if an invisible thread was joining them, pulling them closer. Together they leaned in, their noses an inch apart…now a breath between their lips…almost grazing…

"OI!"

Startled out of their wits, they both spun around instantaneously, and the force slammed their heads against each other.

George appeared across the hall in bright blue robes and his Gryffindor slippers. Hands on his hips, he was wearing a very Molly-ish expression on his face.

"What is this rumpus?!"

"What rumpus?" Ron snapped, massaging his temple where Hermione's head had collided with his.

"You people have been yelling non-stop for hours downstairs! Have some respect! I've gotta get my sleep or I'm gonna get cranky!"

The door slammed shut behind him, and the whole landing trembled.

"Get cranky?" Ron muttered at the shut door. He turned back around and realized that Hermione was inside the room now, her back to him, unaware that he was watching. Her wrist was flicking around endlessly, her wand almost invisible, no words uttered from her mouth, directing spells to clean up the mess. Ron was still amazed at her command over such simple spells, such that the room looked pristine in less than thirty seconds. With one final flick of her wand, the curtains swung open and unfiltered sunlight blasted into the room, revealing the view of the garden below.

Flipping her hair over her head, she turned around. "There," she said in a satisfied voice. "Much better."

She smiled. Ron stared uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, really," she moved forward. "What?"

"Just…before…George…you know…"

"Yes?" she prompted, a small smile forming on her lips.

"I was…" Panic gripped his insides, and he stepped back. "I was going to ask you if you'd talked to Harry at all this summer." A huge mental kick was aimed at his face for chickening out.

"Oh." She turned. "Yeah, a bit. I think he's arriving in a few days."

"Few days," Ron repeated, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Right."

"Right."

Ron sank into a nearby bed as she lifted her trunk and slammed it onto a desk by the window, starting to unpack. She waved her wand furiously, her hands flying around her, her hair larger than before.

Disgust filtered into Ron's thoughts. I'm a git, he though miserably. Way to go, asking her about Harry. Really smart. Caring. You're pathetic.

Go kiss her.

No.

Do it.

No!

You're a wuss.

Am not.

Wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss, wuuuuusss….

Mumbling something about fresh air, Hermione walked out of the room and slammed the door before he reached his conclusion. Ron sank into his pillow, annoyed at his own stupidity and cowardice.


Review? Like the editing? Don't like it?

-J