AN: Haven't been writing any fanfiction lately, but I've had this one in the back of my mind for a while. More chapters to come. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading :)

Ron slowly descended the steps from his dormitory into the Gryffindor common room. Palms sweating, he rubbed them hastily against his dress robes before running his hands through his hair. He had just spent nearly an hour in the mirror of the boys' shared bathroom, picking apart his appearance, obsessing over every freckle, every hair. He didn't know why he was so nervous. It was just Hermione. He had spent countless hours with her before. It was nothing to get worked up about.

Except this was different. This was a…well, a sort of date. She had asked him to go with her to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party. She could have asked anyone, but she had asked him. Probably asked me out of pity, a voice in his head told him. He tried to quiet that part of his mind, but it continued. I'm sure she only meant us to go as friends.

His heart sped up as he reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped into the common room. Looking around, he saw several students milling about, but no Hermione in sight. He felt his anxiety momentarily ebb now that he didn't have to face her right away, before immediately rising once more as new worries presented themselves. What if she didn't mean to ask him at all? What if it was all just some big joke? Did I hear her right? he asked himself, glancing at the clock on the wall. He thought she had said to meet at eight. Were we supposed to meet there? he wondered. No, he was sure he didn't misunderstand. Eight o'clock in the common room. He settled himself on a couch near the fireplace. Watching the second hand tick by on the clock, he tried to block out his anxious thoughts.

He was staring so hard he didn't notice that Hermione had joined him until she spoke up, "Hello, Ron."

He started, looking up at her as she stood beside him. He was about to respond when he noticed what she was wearing, his jaw dropping as he took in the ensemble. She was clothed in a pale pink gown that hugged her curves, flaring out in the skirt, the low-cut neckline accentuating her bust. A blush spread over her face as he stared. She cleared her throat and he suddenly recollected himself.

"Oh, er, sorry," he said as he stood, "I mean— you look nice, Hermione."

The color in her cheeks deepened as she mumbled her thanks. "So do you," she told him as she eyed his dress robes.

Ron stood a bit straighter, ears turning red. "Er, shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the portrait hole.

She nodded her assent and followed him to the exit. Ron pushed open the portrait, then stood aside for Hermione, offering his hand to help her through. He felt his pulse speed up as she took it, her palm resting briefly against his own. Then he followed her through and the portrait swung shut behind them as they proceeded down the corridor.

The walk to Professor Slughorn's office, where the party was being held, seemed to stretch on for hours. The castle had never seemed so large before, the hallways never quite so long. And silent. The sound of their footsteps rang out against the stone floor. Each breath he took seemed amplified in the silence. He tried to quiet his breathing, while his heart beat so loudly in his chest that he wondered if she could hear it.

He suddenly found he could think of nothing to say to her. Hermione. The girl he'd known since he was eleven. He'd spent years in her company, sitting beside her in classrooms, eating with her in the Great Hall, copying notes from her in the library, relaxing by the fire in the common room, going for walks down by the lake, and of course, risking their lives during their many adventures. Not once in all this time had he found himself at a loss for something to say. Yet somehow, tonight, his mind was a blank.

He cleared his throat, tugging at a sleeve of his robes. He was starting to outgrow them already. Shifting his gaze over to Hermione, he found her eyes on him and quickly looked away again. He could feel his pulse racing, heart in his throat. What is wrong with you? he demanded of his overwrought brain. Just act normal, he told himself.

"Er, so," he began just as Hermione started to ask, "Do you—"

They both immediately turned red, mumbling apologies. "Go ahead," he told her.

"No, what were you going to say?" she asked politely.

"Well, I – er.." he cleared his throat again, stalling. What was he going to say? His mind went into overdrive, scrambling for something, anything to say to her. "Erm, read any good books lately?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could somehow recall them. What are you on about? he berated himself, groaning inwardly.

Hermione snorted. He risked a glance at her and saw the amusement shining in her eyes. Suddenly this all seemed so ridiculous. As he watched the smile on Hermione's face grow, he felt the mirth rising up in him like a bubble. Unable to contain it, it flowed over his lips, enveloping them both as they were each overcome by a fit of laughter.

He felt the tension drain from him, the wall between them dissolving as their laughter subsided. He could do this, he thought. Nothing had changed. This was still Hermione. He looked over at her and saw her smiling up at him. His heart skipped a beat, a warmth rising up in him as he took in her bright eyes and glowing face, cheeks still tinged pink from laughter. Well, maybe something had changed.

His fingers brushed inadvertently against hers as they walked. His first instinct was to withdraw, but feeling suddenly emboldened, Ron moved impulsively, grasping for her hand. Her eyes widened slightly, the blush on her cheeks deepening, but she didn't pull away. Surprised by his own boldness, Ron averted his eyes, ears turning red as he studied the floor in front of their feet. The warmth of her palm sent a tingling sensation all the way up his arm and into his chest. The tension returned, but it was a different kind of tension this time. It was not altogether unpleasant. He found he didn't mind it at all.

He kept sneaking glances at her as they walked, until their eyes met, causing the breath to catch in his throat. After that he kept his eyes forward, not wanting to risk being caught staring. As they neared the corridor leading to Slughorn's study, he felt a soft movement against his palm as Hermione shifted her fingers, lacing them between his. His throat went dry as he felt her tiny fingers sliding through his, her small hand curling around his much larger one.

As they pushed through the door into the party, Ron inexplicably felt both nervous and proud at the realization that everyone was going to see them holding hands. Hermione, he thought, holding my hand. There could be no doubt now that this was, in fact, a date. Everyone who saw them would know. As they walked through the doorway, several eyes turning towards them as they entered the room together. He held his breath, chest tightening as they underwent the scrutiny of their classmates.

Then the eyes moved away and he found he could breathe normally again. He almost sighed with relief. They had done it. They were here. At the party. Together.