My Princess

 “Good Luck, Ron,” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. “And you, Harry-”

Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened...

Pg 404, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, American Version

***

Oh. My. God. She just... she can’t have... I’m... I’m dreaming.

With a dazed expression on his face, Ron looked back at Hermione, who smiled at him over Harry’s shoulder. Ron melted.

She’s gorgeous. Like a whatcha-ma-call-it in those Muggle fairy tales. Princess. That’s it. Like a princess.

Ron mentally slapped him self.

Stop. Don’t think about it. You have a game to play. Focus.

He turned around and started walking towards the huge doors of the Great Hall.

Just get out there. Don’t look back at her.

Vaguely Ron sensed Harry behind him, but he kept walking. Harry could take care of himself. Ron... he just had to get out of there.

That’s it Ron. There you go. Pretend it was nothing. Pretend you don’t care.

Subconsciously, he reached up and touched his cheek. It still tingled.

Oh, what are you talking about, you great prat? You DO care.

Ron sighed.

Not that it matters anyway.

Suddenly Ron felt someone grab his arm. He jumped.

“Come on Ron, let’s go!”

Ron quickly snapped out of his dazed state at the sound of Harry’s voice.

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled. “Let’s go.”

As Harry hurried him out of the Great Hall, Ron stole one last glance before they left. There was Hermione watching them leave, her eyebrows scrunched together in a slight expression of concern. Their eyes caught for the briefest of moments while the doors were closing behind him. She smiled again, a smile that made Ron feel warm from his head to his toes. “Like a princess,” he murmured so that Harry couldn’t hear him above the diminishing sounds of students chatter.

My princess.

***

A/N- Curses to my muses, who are keeping me from writing my National Novel Writers Month piece by feeding me a constant stream of pointlessly fluffy plot bunnies. Sorry if that was cheesy, and/or lowered your IQ by 50 points or more. C’est la vie, and all that jazz.