This was for the challenge posted by Contrary-Miss-Mary, called the "Words That Should Be in the English Language Challenge". We were each given a word that has no real definition in English but can be roughly translated into a phrase or sentence that makes sense and can be used as a prompt. Mine was Backpfeifengesicht (German), and roughly translated it means "A face badly in need of a fist". Hence the title.

~justaclassicgirl

Harry was strutting down the corridors of Hogwarts towards the Gryffindor Common Room, feeling pleased with himself. It had been a very good day, as so many things had gone right. In fact, he could list them all.

1) His Charms essay, which had gone missing the night prior, turned up the next morning with a note of apology from some First Year who had mistaken it for his own.

2) He managed to make his first successful transfiguration of his 6th year, and McGonnagall had given him high marks and a rare smile usually reserved for Hermione. (Harry had never been good at Transfiguration)

3) Snape seemed to have a change of heart for one day, and finally punished Malfoy during double potions with the Slytherins for tampering with Hermione's potion.

3.5) Snape, in his strange once-in-a-millennium good mood, didn't give any homework that night, much to Hermione's disappointment.

4) Gryffindor had won yet another match of Quidditch against Slytherin and was on their way to the finals against none other than Hufflepuff, who was always easy for them to beat.

And finally 5) He was certain that he was in love.

With whom, you ask?

Why, none other than the aforementioned Hermione Granger.

He realized it the night before, when he had to drape a blanket over her on the couch because she'd fallen asleep doing an extra-credit assignment for Potions.

He realized it that morning, when she laughed prettily at one of Ron's jokes at breakfast, her whole face lit up with joy.

He realized it at Potions, when he cleaned off her face in the back of the room, wiping it gently with a rag, because Malfoy made her cauldron explode and it had covered her with soot.

He realized it when he saw her cheering for him in the stands at the Quidditch match he'd just finished, her face flushed from the cold and her chocolate-brown eyes shining with pride.

And now, he was in love, and, well, he LOVED it!

The feeling, the FEELING! It was like warm butterbeer filling him up from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. It was like eating every candy at Honeyduke's at once but not getting a stomachache. It was like flying on his broom in loop-the-loops over and over.

It was great.

And now he was ready to go back to the common room, sit in front of the fireplace, and think about his swirling emotions.

He was passing Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when he heard sobbing. Thinking it was just Myrtle carrying on as usual, he continued to the Fat Lady's portrait.

But before he could say the password, the Fat Lady exclaimed, "Harry dear, have you seen Hermione?"

"Why?" Harry asked, confused.

"The poor thing just ran out crying a few minutes ago! I was wondering if you might've found her. I think it has something to do with that Ronald boy. From what I could hear, they were having a nasty quarrel!"

All in an instant, Harry knew.

"I haven't seen her, but I have an idea as to where she is," he said hurriedly, turning to run.

"Oh, good luck, dear!" she called after him, a knowing smile on her face.

She'd been around long enough to recognize young love when she saw it.

Harry screeched to a stop outside of the abandoned bathroom he'd passed by only moments ago. The sobbing was louder than it had been before, and was only emphasized by the echoes bouncing off the domed ceiling.

He walked in slowly, wincing as his footsteps echoed just as loud as her crying. He hoped he didn't scare her off. But he realized he needn't worry about that, as her sobs mounted in intensity. There was no way she could hear him over the racket she was making.

Harry didn't see her by the sinks or the windows, so he assumed she'd shut herself up in one of the stalls. He stopped then, gazing at the row of green doors.

"Hermione?" he called softly.

There was a pause, before a tearful, tremulous voice quavered, "Harry?"

"What's wrong?" he asked.

A sniffle, coming from the middle stall.

"Come out, Hermione," he said gently, rapping softly on the stall door.

He heard her inhale sharply, probably considering her limited options.

"Please."

He heard the lock slide out of place, and the door swung open, revealing his best friend and newly formed crush.

She looked awful.

Hermione's eyes were red and puffy from crying. Her hair stuck out in odd directions, looking disheveled and messy. Her clothes were rumpled, and there were dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Hermione, what happened?"

She lunged forward, threw herself into Harry's arms, and began to cry again. Awkwardly, he put his arms around her back and held her, rubbing his hand in small circles to try and calm her down.

"Shh," he whispered. "Shh. I'm here, Hermione. I'm here."

Hermione had her head buried in the crook of his neck, so that he could feel her hot tears on his skin. She let out gasping breaths in between sobs. He didn't let go of her, not once, and held her as if both their lives depended on it. They stayed like that for a long time.

Finally, she drew a shaky breath and pulled away slightly.

"You alright?" he asked.

Hermione nodded slowly. "I'm okay," she murmured.

"If you don't mind me asking, why were you in here? The Fat Lady said it had something to do with Ron."

She was tearing up again.

"Sorry, sorry. You don't have to tell me."

"No," she said, brushing angrily at the offending tears. "It's alright.

I'll tell you."

She leaned against his chest, and took a deep breath in preparation. He put his arms around her and held her that way while she collected her thoughts. It felt more natural, somehow, to be holding her this way.

"It was...quite stupid, really," she said finally.

"Go on."

She said, "It was about Lavender."

"This can only end badly," he thought to himself, but urged her to continue.

"I was waiting for you in the common room," she said. "You'd been a while, and hadn't come back from the Quidditch match with Ron. I was...getting worried about you."

Her? Worried about HIM? Harry's heart leapt a bit at the mere idea of it.

"I kept pacing the floors, back and forth. Ron was getting irritated, I suppose. And then he asked why I cared so much. He was there, wasn't he?

Wasn't he enough?"

"I turned and asked him what on earth his problem was. You being...well...YOU, I was worried that you might be in some sort of danger. And I told him so. He said I was being silly, and couldn't we just enjoy ourselves together, while you...weren't there."

"I began to get upset, and said, 'You have Lavender, why would you need me?' I was sick of him toying with my emotions. Why flirt with me when you snog her every second of the day?"

"He fired back that I had a point, and proceeded to list everything about Lavender that he liked more than me. He said that her hair didn't look like a giant pigmy puff like mine did. He said he liked blue eyes better than brown any day. He said he was glad that she wasn't such a know-it-all, and that he liked he fact that she didn't hound him all the time about schoolwork or anything else. He said that at least she knew how to have fun."

"And worst of all, he said that unlike me, she was beautiful."

"Just then, Lavender came in and smirked at me, undoubtedly having heard everything. And just like that, they started snogging right in front of me."

"I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran here."

"Am I ugly, Harry?" she asked, looking up at him, her eyes full of tears.

"He called me ugly. Am I ugly?"

Harry was shaking with fury, but settled a bit when he heard her question.

"Of course not, Hermione," he said. "In fact, to counter all those awful things, why don't I list what I LOVE about you?"

She snuggled into him. "It won't be much of a list, then," she whispered.

"Hush," he said. "Now, let's see..."

"First off, your hair looks nothing like a pigmy puff. It may have in first year, but it doesn't now. And I love it."

That solicited a soft giggle from Hermione.

"Your eyes are so deep I could lose myself in them for hours. And I have."

She was quiet.

"You are oh so very smart, and without you telling me what to do, I don't know how I would survive. I'd surely starve to death or something because you wouldn't be guiding me along."

She had to laugh at that. "You'd never pass any of your classes because of all the missed homework," she joked.

He shot her a mock glare.

"Anyway, let's go on," he said.

"Obviously you know how to have fun. For example, think of all the snowball fights we have each winter, the games of Exploding Snap we play, or the times we just sit and talk about hilarious things and make each other laugh. If that's not fun I don't know what is."

She was smiling, just a bit at the corners of her mouth.

"And you know what, Hermione?"

"What?"

"You're twenty, no, one HUNDRED times more beautiful than Lavender Brown ever will be. And if Ron can't see that, then his face is badly in need of a fist. Perhaps a good punch will allow him to really see your beauty."

She stared at him, her eyes soft. She was blushing furiously.

"Did you mean all of that?"

He nodded, leaning down until his lips were inches from hers.

"You know what else?"

"What?" she breathed.

"I bet you can snog better than Lavender too."

And his lips closed the gap between them, connecting them, making the love flow all throughout them from him into her and back again.

Ron limped into the Dining Hall at breakfast the next morning with a black eye.

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand under the table, and together they shared a knowing smile.