Spoilers: Set post Order of the Phoenix.
Rating: T
A/N: This one I wrote sometime after the publication of Order of the Phoenix, but before Half-Blood Prince.
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Ron walked down the corridor back to the Gryffindor common room whistling cheerfully, feeling very alert despite the late hour. He had run into Dumbledore on his rounds, and the headmaster had complimented him on what a good job he was doing as a prefect. He couldn't help but swell with pride at the praise, and he'd been in a good mood the whole rest of the evening.
He told the Pink Lady the password (palm frond), and was just about to step into the common room when he noticed one of his shoelaces was untied. He bent down to tie it, but looked up with a smile when he heard two familiar voices.
Harry and Hermione were sitting together on the squashy couch facing the hearth. Close together. He watched as Hermione put her hand on the back of Harry's neck and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. The grin faded from Ron's face. What was going on here?
Harry smiled softly. He stood up, only to lean back down and hesitantly kiss Hermione on the cheek. "Hermione... you're pretty great, y'know," he said roughly.
Hermione smiled at him. For some reason, Ron thought suddenly that he would like it very much if Hermione smiled at him like that, with her new teeth and everything. Or even before the new teeth. "You're not so bad yourself," she told Harry with a wink.
Ron almost fell over. Were they flirting? Since when did his two best friends flirt? With each other? Hermione had certainly never winked at him. And what was with the kissing? Now that he thought of it, Hermione had kissed Harry once before, as they left King's Cross at the end of fourth year. Had they been flirting all this time without him noticing? He frowned.
Of course, Harry had had that crush on Cho Chang at the time, and that git Krum had been pursuing Hermione. So maybe this was a more recent development. This was definitely the first time Harry had kissed Hermione, at least to his knowledge. He blanched. Oh God, what if he'd interrupted a snog fest, or something, and they were just winding down when he happened to come in?
Ron felt sick. He watched Harry cross the room and climb up the stairs to their dormitory while Hermione sat with her hands folded in her lap gazing pensively at the fire. He finished tying his shoelace and stood up. He made a show of entering the common room noisily and greeting Hermione cheerfully.
"Oh hi, Ron. How were your rounds?" Hermione said absentmindedly.
"Fine," he replied with an incredibly false smile plastered on his face.
He opened his mouth to tell her about Dumbledore complimenting him in the hallway, but he snapped it shut when she said, "Ron, I'm worried about Harry."
His face fell. For some reason, he didn't really feel like talking about Harry just at that moment. "Harry's fine," he said gruffly, hoping to change the subject.
She shook her head. "No, he's not."
Hermione was always worrying about Harry. She never worried about him. Of course, Harry went off to fight You-Know-Who a lot more frequently than Ron did, with the result that usually he was worrying right along with her. But still. There had been no real indication that Harry was in any immediate danger recently, other than, you know, the ever present threat of death at the hands of You-Know-Who and his followers. So this concern must be evidence of some sort of new feeling towards Harry on Hermione's behalf.
"He's taking Sirius' death really hard," Hermione said.
Why were they still talking about Harry? Ron exhaled loudly. "Of course he's taking Sirius' death hard. The one person who represented some sort of family to him, his only real link to his parents, has suddenly been taken away from him when he never really got to fully appreciate him in the first place!"
Hermione sighed. "Of course, you're right. I just wish there was something I could do." Why did it have to sound so painful for her to admit he was right, for once?
"You're wrong, though," she added. Here we go, Ron thought irritably.
"Sirius isn't the only person who represents family to him. You're family to him, too. He's incorporated into the circle of the people you love the most," she told him.
Oh. Well, yeah. "What about you?" he challenged.
She blushed. "Me too, I suppose," she allowed cautiously.
Why was the idea of Harry considering Hermione family making her blush? Unless... he swallowed... she was thinking of legally becoming family to him, as in, through marriage. He grimaced. That thought was a bit much to take, on top of everything else all at once. He supposed he might as well try to get used to it. If the thought would just stop curdling his stomach.
"It'll take time," he said out loud.
Hermione sighed again. "I know. I'll just have to give him time."
Ron blinked. So Hermione didn't think Harry felt the same way, huh? Oh well, he supposed he ought to at least pretend to be a supportive friend, even if the thought of his two best friends in a romantic relationship made him feel like climbing into a crate with a Blast-ended Skrewt so he would have something more pleasant to contemplate.
"He'll come around," he said, in what he hoped was an encouraging sort of voice.
Hermione smiled wistfully. "I hope so." She turned towards him. "Ron, what would I ever do without you?"
Ron tried to smile bracingly. "Sure, your old pal Ron will always be here for moral support and laughs, whenever you need them."
Hermione smiled at him. "That's what's great about you, Ron."
His heart sank. Great, class clown providing the sideline support for the heroic couple. His fondest dream.
All he said was, "Well, I guess I'd better get to bed."
"Me, too."
They bade each other soft good nights at the bottoms of their respective staircases and Ron climbed up the stairs with a heavy heart. He should have known better than to be best friends with the two most extraordinary people at Hogwarts. It was inevitable that he would be left out some time.
He climbed wearily into bed at last, but his sleep was troubled by strange dreams. The last one made him wake up in a cold sweat.
Hermione stood facing him with her hand on his chest. He could feel his heart beating frantically under the glorious pressure of her hand. She was shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Ron. We can't be together." "Why not?" he found himself asking desperately. She didn't respond, just continued to shake her head. She seemed to be moving farther away, but he could still feel the pressure of her hand over his heart, which began to ache more and more painfully the farther she moved away.
When he woke up, he realized that his chest actually physically hurt.
xxx
The next morning at breakfast he was in a foul mood. He kept finding himself glaring at Harry for no reason, and he was irritated that he was behaving irrationally.
His friend started to eye him warily. "All right, there, Ron?" Harry asked cautiously.
"Fine," Ron growled into his porridge. Harry looked doubtful, though, so he added, "Didn't sleep well."
Harry nodded understandingly. Maybe that's why Hermione fancied him, Ron mused. Girls were always wanting blokes to be understanding and rot like that. He sighed defeatedly. He would never pass himself off as understanding to a girl. There were nothing like girls to muddle his brain.
For example, what did girls find attractive in a fellow? Lots of girls seemed to like types like Gilderoy Lockhart, who went around showing a lot of teeth all the time. But then, there were tons of ordinary blokes around that had girls sighing over them for no apparent reason he could see. Take Harry. Obviously, Hermione liked him. And Cho Chang had liked him well enough to kiss him last year. And all those girls asked him to the Yule Ball during fourth year. Christ, even his own sister had had a mad crush on Harry.
He found himself looking at Harry appraisingly. His face seemed perfectly ordinary to Ron. He supposed he could tell Harry wasn't ugly, or anything. His features were relatively even, he guessed. Harry didn't have an overlong nose, like Ron did. And his face wasn't covered in freckles. He did have that big scar on his forehead, however. Ron supposed girls must find a scar like that rather dashing, though, especially if it was shaped like a lightning bolt. His hair was always messy. But, Ron admitted to himself, his own carroty head wasn't exactly a lot better. Harry wore glasses. That was pretty nerdy. Only Harry didn't really look nerdy, only serious and earnest, traits which could hardly be applied to Ron. And those green eyes were rather striking, unlike his own somewhat dull blue ones. Ron was taller than Harry, but Harry's limbs seemed to fit his body a bit better than Ron's lanky ones did his. Ron sighed. He guessed Harry must be pretty gorgeous, after all.
Harry, meanwhile, was looking at Ron nervously again. "Have I got something on my face?" he asked suspiciously.
Ron shook his head, and went back to making swirls in his porridge.
"Good morning," said Hermione brightly, joining them at the breakfast table.
Ron looked up and stared. Whoa. When had Hermione gotten so damned attractive? After finally noticing her shrunken teeth and her dress at the Yule Ball in fourth year, he had rather grudgingly admitted to himself that Hermione was, in fact, pretty, but he had grown somewhat accustomed to the idea and hadn't given it much more thought. But now he couldn't take his eyes off her. There wasn't anything different about her appearance outwardly since yesterday, as far as he could tell, but girls were always getting snippy if you didn't notice something like their hair getting cut or having a new pair of earrings, or something.
"Are you all right, Ron?" Hermione asked him.
"Fine," he mumbled.
Hermione looked at Harry, who looked back at her and shrugged. What was this? Now they were having conversations about him as though he wasn't there. Without even talking! Great. They had some sort of deeper connection. Girls thought it was very important to have a deeper connection. Deeper than what, he didn't know. He supposed he was too shallow to understand things like that. He tried to remember if Hermione had ever accused him of being shallow. He couldn't remember any specific time she had called him shallow, but he was almost certain she had. She had definitely called him insensitive more than once. Was that the same thing as shallow? He glared at his porridge.
He looked up again, though, when Hermione started to chatter to Harry about their latest Transfiguration assignment. When he looked at her, he couldn't focus on anything else in the entire Great Hall. Everything else seemed kind of... flat, and faded. He could have sworn that he could see little sparks of light all around her out of the corner of his eye, but when he tried to look at them directly, all he could see was dull old Great Hall and its occupants. What was so different about Hermione all of a sudden?
"Did you get a haircut?" he interrupted abruptly.
Hermione looked at him oddly. "No."
He shrugged. "Okay." He would figure it out eventually.
xxxx
Over the next couple of weeks, Ron got even less work done than usual. He kept staring at Hermione and found himself the noticing the most bizarre things about her. One day in Potions he had gotten five points taken from Gryffindor for neglecting his Strengthening Solution because he had been mesmerized by the smooth, precise motions of her tiny white wrists when she pushed up her sleeves to chop beetle wings. In Transfiguration, he noticed that she had the cutest little freckle on the tip of one ear, and the bunny he'd been trying to turn into a hat had retained its ears and started hopping madly onto different people's heads.
In addition to staring in class, when he, Harry, and Hermione were outside of class, he watched his friends hawkishly for signs of developing intimacy. Unfortunately, he seemed to be finding a lot of those signs. He bristled with jealousy when he saw Hermione touch Harry on the shoulder to get his attention in the corridor. He practically bit through his spoon when she laughingly ruffled Harry's hair so it stood up even more than usual one morning at breakfast. Worst of all, his chest constricted painfully one evening when Harry seemed particularly low and Hermione had wordlessly started to gently rub circles on his upper back with one hand.
He had never noticed how often Hermione touched Harry before, and he thought it just might kill him. Of course, she touched him once in a while, too, but that was usually to smack his hand away if he tried to get a look at her Potions homework, or to shove him good-naturedly if he stood too close to her in Care of Magical Creatures. It wasn't his fault Hagrid set loose terrifying creatures on the class that anyone in their right mind would want to get away from. It was just smart to stay close to Hermione, because if anything was liable to attack, she was sure to know a good curse to stop it. And if she wanted his attention, there were no gentle caresses on the shoulder. No, sir. It was an elbow in the ribs for him.
He decided there was something wrong with him. No normal person would crave being elbowed in the ribs. After the eighth time Professor Flitwick asked him why the chair he was supposed to be charming to tap dance was instead waving its arms and asking if he wanted to go to the library, he figured he might as well be honest with himself, at least. Eventually, he resigned himself to naming something which had been there for a lot longer than he initially realized. He fancied Hermione.
Sure, he knew that he liked her. They had been best friends since first year. And in light of such a lasting friendship, wasn't it natural for him to get angry and a bit protective if something threatened it? Something like a slimy, stupid Quidditch player from Bulgaria? And if he was prepared to admit to himself that he liked to look at Hermione more than other people, well, that was to be expected, wasn't it? He was sixteen, after all, and he spent more time with Hermione than practically anyone else, so if he craned his neck to get a look at her legs when she lifted the hem of her robes to climb the stairs, that could be chalked up to normal teenage hormones. But he hadn't really seen a connection between all these things until now.
This was horrible. What kind of person was he, to fancy his best friend, and want desperately to steal said best friend from his other best friend? Well, he allowed, he supposed he was not exactly proving unique in fancying his best friend, if you looked at Harry and Hermione. However, he couldn't get around the fact that wanting to steal the affections of his best mate's girl was a decidedly low thing to want to do.
Only... Harry didn't really seem to return Hermione's feelings. He definitely didn't seem to mind the touching, but he treated it so off-handedly. Ron knew that if Hermione was touching him like that all the time, he wouldn't be so cool about it. He would be going crazy wondering if it was okay for him to touch her back. Harry accepted Hermione's gestures contentedly, but never really initiated any of his own. Ron knew that he hadn't done anything like kiss Hermione again because he had made a point to be with either one or the other one of them every waking moment since that first night.
So maybe, if Harry didn't really want to date Hermione, it would be okay for him to try to ease into Harry's place, and you know, comfort her. Then hopefully, she would realize what an amazingly sensitive guy Ron was. Or at least realize what a short, terrible chess player Harry was. Ron decided to feel out the situation with Harry before making any further decisions. With his usual tact and subtlety, of course, so Harry wouldn't cotton on.
One day as they were walking back from Quidditch practice together, Ron cleared his throat. "So. What's the deal with you and Hermione?" he asked off-handedly.
Harry looked at him strangely. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it seems you two've been getting a lot... closer lately," Ron said.
Harry shrugged. "I guess. Happens as you get older, I suppose."
Ron's heart sank. "Oh."
They walked in silence for another moment before Ron burst out, "So when did you first know?"
Harry looked at him blankly. "Know what?"
Ron felt a tingle of impatience. "That you fancy Hermione, of course!"
Harry stared at him. "What?"
Ron charged on ahead. "Because if you do fancy her, you ought to treat her a little better. Poor girl hasn't got a clue that you return her feelings."
"Return her feelings?" Harry exclaimed.
Ron nodded. He took a deep breath. "Listen, if you do fancy her, and you start treating her better, I'll just stand aside."
Harry slowly shook his head. "Ron, I don't fancy Hermione."
"What? Why not?" Ron asked, flabbergasted.
Harry shrugged. "I dunno. Hermione's great, and all. I'm just not really attracted to her. Also, I spent a lot of time with her alone during the beginning of fourth year, and I just don't really fancy the idea of spending that much time in the library."
Unbidden, an image of Hermione smiling seductively and pulling him into the shadows behind some library shelves flashed across Ron's brain. His breathing seemed to be a bit uneven all of a sudden.
Harry was staring at him strangely. Suddenly a sort of wicked gleam entered his eyes, but Ron was so distracted by what he imagined Hermione doing with him in the library that he didn't really pay attention to it.
"She can be kind of bossy, sometimes," Harry said, looking at Ron intently.
"Well, she just thinks she's doing what's best for us," Ron said defensively.
"Hey, you're the one who calls her a know-it-all at least twice a week," Harry pointed out.
Ron blanched. "Do you think she minds?" he asked anxiously.
Harry shook his head. "She's a bit mad about that whole house-elf thing, too," he said, trying to suppress a smile.
Ron laughed. "Just a bit. What a nutter. But it's pretty sweet how much she cares about those elves, isn't it?"
"And she's really not that pretty, or anything," Harry said carelessly.
"NOT THAT PRETTY!" Ron exploded. "She's only the most maddeningly gorgeous girl in the whole school!"
Harry grinned and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! I think Hermione's pretty, all right?"
"All right, then," said Ron in a satisfied tone. What was wrong with him? Harry had told him that he didn't fancy Hermione, and now he was trying to convince him that he should fancy her. There was definitely something wrong with him.
He looked over at Harry, who was trying very hard not to laugh. "So," Harry said casually. "How long have you known?"
"Known what?" Ron asked.
"That you fancy Hermione."
Ron opened his mouth to deny it, but decided there really wasn't that much point after he'd just made a complete fool of himself trying to convince Harry of how wonderful Hermione was. "Er...not very long." A horrible thought occurred to him. "You won't tell her, will you?" he asked anxiously.
Harry shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "But you should."
Ron made an incredulous noise.
Harry looked at him. "Ron, did you mean what you said?"
"Er... when?"
"Would you really stand aside if I fancied the same girl as you?"
Ron thought for a second. "Yes."
Harry looked at him with a wondering look on his face. "Ron... I..." he faltered, at a loss for words to express how he felt.
"Thanks, mate," he said finally. "I...I'd do the same for you. Anytime."
Ron looked back at him. "Really?"
Harry nodded. "Of course."
Ron smiled. "Thanks, mate."
Harry smiled, the first genuine, carefree smile Ron had seen on his face since Sirius's death. Harry shook his hand, still smiling broadly, and Ron grinned back until suddenly he remembered something.
"Oh, no," he groaned.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Hermione fancies you!" Ron said in an anguished voice.
Harry rolled his eyes. "No, she doesn't," he said firmly.
"Yes, she does! And you! You kissed her! You had to lead her on, didn't you?" Ron accused.
"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.
"I saw you, that night in the common room, practically sitting in each other's laps! She kissed you, and then you kissed her right back. And then I had to listen to her go on about how worried she was about you, and how she'd wait for you!" Ron said angrily.
Harry shook his head. "You've got it all wrong, mate."
"Hah! Telling her how great she is. That's like a profession of undying love, to a girl!"
Harry looked a little embarrassed, but continued on determinedly. "It wasn't like that. Listen, I...I'd been feeling a little low. You know, about Sirius. Hermione was just trying to make me feel better. And she didn't try to get me to talk, or anything. She just came over and sat beside me, and kind of leaned her head on my shoulder. And then, I kind of leaned my head on top of hers. And... I felt better."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron asked.
"What, did you want me to lean my head on your shoulder?" Harry asked disbelievingly.
"No, but..."
Harry took a deep breath. "Well, I didn't... I didn't want you to think I was a sissy, or anything."
Ron stared at him. The boy who had escaped the clutches of Voldemort multiple times, who was renowned for his Quidditch prowess, and commonly understood to be the best Defense Against the Dark Arts student in the whole school was worried that he, Ron Weasley, would think he was a sissy? "Are you crazy? Sirius died. Of course you're upset. We're all upset. There would be something wrong with you, if you weren't," he told Harry.
Harry nodded, but didn't look at him. "Well, anyway... it's been kind of nice, the way Hermione's been looking out for me."
Ron nodded, glumly. "She keeps touching you."
Harry looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "But touching in a very platonic, utterly non-romantic, sisterly way. And, she did kiss you once, too."
Ron had forgotten about that. "Oh, yeah," he said, looking pleased. But then– "You don't think that was a...sisterly... sort of kiss, do you?"
"Only one way to find out, isn't there?" Harry said. "Better ask her."
Ron was not sure what to make of this suggestion. The only thing he knew was that the thought of it filled him with terror.
xxx
After an agonizingly long, sleepless night, Ron decided Harry was right. He could not go on like this. If Hermione jinxed his nose off, it would be better than what he had been feeling the past two weeks. He couldn't take the combination of heartbroken despair and wild flashes of dubious hope. At least if he talked to her, he would know one way or another how she felt, and could move on.
Only, resolving to talk to Hermione was a good deal easier than actually doing it. He fretted over how he was going to engineer a moment alone with her all through breakfast, and for the first time he could remember, he had absolutely no appetite for the biscuits and bacon before him. But when an opportunity presented itself just after Transfiguration as Hermione fussed over her notes in the corridor, his throat was suddenly paralyzed with fear and he could not utter a word.
The moment passed, and when they caught up to Harry on the way to their next class, all Ron could think was that maybe it was better not to know how she felt. At least right now he did not know for certain that she would rather drink one of Neville's potions than hear him profess his undying love for her.
And Harry had said that Hermione didn't fancy him, but what did he know? His own experience with gauging girls' feelings hadn't exactly served him well in the past, had it? He hadn't heard Hermione talking about how she would wait for him, as Ron had. He had a sudden vision of Hermione sneering at him and gazing wistfully at Harry in front of the whole Great Hall.
Further scenarios of his humiliation if he were to make his feelings known played out in his head for the remainder of the day. He decided that it wasn't so bad not knowing how she felt. There was nothing all that bad about being a complete coward. Better than the fate that awaited him if she rejected him. He thought of a lifetime in the kitchens with Winky, drinking enough butterbeer to keep him from thinking of Hermione, being hidden from the outside world by all the other elves. He resigned himself to the knowledge that he was really better off without Hermione knowing anything. He was so thoroughly convinced that he had made the right decision that he was surprised when at the end of the day, his feet had somehow carried him to Hermione's Ancient Runes classroom.
He was even more surprised at his own actions when she came out, chatting to some Ravenclaw girl he didn't know. He grabbed her arm and steered her down the corridor without even a nod to her companion. He pulled her into an empty classroom and shut the door behind him.
Hermione was talking. "– really, Ron, that was frightfully rude. At least you could have said hello to poor Judith." Then she looked at his face and her own face went as white as a sheet. "Oh God, Ron, what is it? What's wrong? Is it Harry?"
Ron shook his head miserably.
Hermione went even paler. "Is it your family? Is everyone all right?" She reached out and touched his arm in a comforting gesture.
"EVERYTHING'S FINE!" bellowed Ron.
Hermione flinched, but said nothing further.
Ron looked away. What had he been thinking? This was a terrible idea. And now he'd just yelled at her for no reason. Maybe he should just leave.
Only she'd be awfully suspicious if he left without explanation after bringing her here for no reason. He knew her. She was too bloody smart. She would figure it out. She would not just leave it alone. She would harp at him until he cracked, and if he didn't crack, she would ask everyone questions incessantly, so everyone would know what a prat he was bringing her here, and then Harry would finally give in and tell her, because, c'mon, Harry was pretty tough, but even he couldn't hold up to an interrogation if Hermione wanted to know something. To think he'd thought at one point that her tenacity was admirable.
There was nothing for it but to just tell her how he felt after all. He braced himself, and opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing came out. C'mon, he told himself. You're in Gryffindor. You've faced Voldemort and his cronies. You can do this. Pretend you're talking about... Quidditch. You talk about Quidditch all the time, it's easy. The words just flow right out.
He cleared his throat. "Ah." He cleared his throat again. Why weren't the words coming out? They were just words. Hermione looked at him expectantly. He fixed his gaze somewhere in the air over her head.
"Do you fancy Harry?" he blurted out.
"What?!" exclaimed Hermione. He chanced a glance at her and he saw something that he could not remember ever seeing before. Hermione Granger looked confused.
Maybe she couldn't figure out how he'd known. "I mean, you keep... touching him," Ron said lamely.
"Ron, he's suffered a horrible loss. I'm just trying to offer him some comfort. It's nice for him to get a pat on the back once in awhile, and he can accept it from me, because I'm a girl and his friend," she explained.
"What about when you said you'd wait for him? Give him time, and all that?" he wanted to know.
Hermione looked exasperated. "You said we had to give him time to grieve, and I was agreeing with you!"
Ron did not remember having said any such thing. "Why did you blush when you were talking about being a part of his family?"
Hermione looked confused again, so he prompted her. "You know, you said I was family to him because I included him with the people I love the most. I pointed out that you did that for him too, and you blushed."
To his surprise, Hermione blushed again. "Oh... I didn't realize... I didn't know that's what you were asking."
"What did you think I was talking about, then?" Ron demanded, still suspicious about all this blushing.
"Well..." she hedged, blushing yet again. "If you must know, I thought you were saying that you had incorporated me in the circle of people you love the most," she said, turning even pinker.
It was Ron's turn to look confused.
Hermione sighed. "Ron, I love Harry, but I don't fancy him."
Ron stared. So, she didn't fancy Harry after all. She thought Ron included her in the people he loved the most, and the thought made her nervous.
Emboldened, he took her hand in his. "Hermione," he said slowly, looking into her eyes intently. "You are in the circle of people I love the most." It was true. It had been true for a long time, and he could not imagine a future in which it would not be true.
"Really?" Hermione said breathlessly. She was clutching his hand and inching closer towards him.
He squeezed her hand. The time for half measures was over. "I love you, Hermione," he said, savoring the words on his tongue. "In fact, I reckon I'm in love with you."
Ron didn't know where this sudden bout of courage had come from, but he was very glad of it, especially when it carried him across the remaining distance between them. He still held Hermione's hand in his right, but he placed his other hand on the back of her neck to hold her head steady, and he bent down swiftly to kiss her.
It was by far the best feeling Ron had ever experienced. The sensation of Hermione's warm mouth on his was even better than being carried on the shoulders of his housemates after he'd helped win the Quidditch Cup. It was simply... wonderful. He couldn't imagine anything better. That is, until she kissed him back. And then again when she placed her free hand on his chest, just as she had in his dream. When he felt her lips part slightly under his, he pretty much thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
He teased her bottom lip gently with his tongue, and was deeply gratified to hear Hermione make a contented noise in the back of her throat. Her arms snaked up to encircle him around the neck, and she darted her own tongue out to tease his own. His put his hand on her waist to guide her even closer to him, and he deepened the kiss.
He wished he could touch all of her at once. He leaned away for a moment to contemplate whether or not this was feasible. If anyone could do it, he, Ron Weasley, chess strategist extraordinaire, would figure out how. He cupped her cheek with one hand, and ran his thumb over her swollen lips. He leaned back in. He kissed her neck, and Hermione arched into him with a gasp. He nibbled her ear. Her fingers caressed the nape of his neck and he shivered.
Hermione cupped his cheek in her hand and placed a soft kiss at the hollow of his jaw. Then she kissed him on the tip of his nose, which shouldn't have been sexy, but it was. Then she started to nibble his earlobe, and trace the tip of his ear with her tongue. Ron thought he was going to go mad with lust.
But when she pulled away slightly, he thought it was worth it to see her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, and her chest heaving slightly as she tried to catch her breath. She put one hand over his heart, and honest to God, Ron thought it was to help her keep her balance. She looked into his eyes. "Ron, I love you too."
"Really?" he asked.
"Really," she replied. "In fact, I think you're the only person in this school who doesn't know that I've been mad about you for ages."
"I see. All this time, I thought you were mad at me," Ron said.
Hermione laughed and hit him on the arm. "That, too. But Ron, that's what I like about you."
"You like being mad at me?"
"Well, no. I like that when we disagree, we just say it. I always know where I stand with you. Harry's wonderful, but he's always so mysterious and...detached. You are never detached."
It was true that Ron did not feel detached at the moment. Hermione had taken his hand again and was rubbing her thumb in little circles on the back of his hand, which was sending little jolts of energy throughout his entire body. "So you don't think Harry's handsome?"
"Harry's well enough. I just find that I, personally, have a weakness for tall redheads," she teased, running her index finger up and down his sternum.
"Are you sure? Lots of girls seem to fancy Harry," Ron said, who no longer cared what they were talking about as long as she kept doing that to his chest.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but a fair number of girls fancy you, Ron," she informed him.
Ron's jaw dropped. "They do? Who? How come I didn't know about this?"
Hermione nodded and sighed. "I probably shouldn't tell you this."
Ron shook his head sternly. "No way. Now you have to tell me."
Hermione looked at him skeptically, but answered anyway. "Well, obviously there's Luna Lovegood. Then there's a girl in Hufflepuff who's really gone on you. Then there are your Quidditch groupies. There are about six of them, mostly younger, from all different houses. Then there's Lavender and Parvati, who don't exactly fancy you, but sort of– admire how... fit... you've become since you became Keeper for Gryffindor."
Ron gaped. "You're kidding. Luna Lovegood fancies me? And I have groupies? Lavender and Parvati admire how fit I am? Who's this girl from Hufflepuff?"
Hermione stiffened. "Why? Do you want to go flex your muscles for her, or something?" she demanded hotly.
"Of course not. I'd much rather flex my muscles for you," Ron said with a grin. I'm just... surprised."
Hermione hmphed, but looked somewhat mollified. "Well, as to why you didn't know about it, it's because you're completely clueless, you idiot."
"Thanks a lot," said Ron dryly.
"Well, it's true." Hermione paused and licked her lips somewhat nervously. "And also– maybe because they thought I had some sort of claim on you, or something," she said quickly.
Ron stared at her. "Why would they think that?"
Hermione shrugged. "Well, we do spend an awful lot of time together. And one time I said something... rather rude to Lavender when she and Parvati had been rather vocal in their admiration of your... fitness."
"What did you say?" Ron asked keenly. He didn't know why, but the thought of Hermione using rude language kind of turned him on.
She waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, she just laughed and said that no one would ever make a move on you because everyone knew you were... smitten... with me." She blushed rather prettily.
"Did you know?" asked Ron.
"No... I didn't know. But– I hoped," Hermione admitted.
"Me, too."
Ron kissed her again. It was some time before they finally broke away from each other, slightly breathless.
They only went in for a few last kisses before Ron pulled away reluctantly. "We should probably go. C'mon. I'll flex my muscles for you in the Great Hall."
"Always thinking about food..." Hermione grumbled.
Ron grinned. "Well, if you'd rather stay here and snog, I'm certainly not going to argue with you."
Hermione hmphed again, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by her stomach growling loudly at the same moment. "Well, I suppose we could always come back later," she said grudgingly.
"Is that a proposition, Miss Granger?" Ron said, waggling his eyebrows.
She smacked him on the arm. "Don't be a prat," she said warningly, but she didn't really sound mad.
They walked down to the Great Hall holding hands. They sat down across the table across from Harry. They couldn't stop grinning at each other, and they kept bursting into laughter for no reason at all. Harry looked at them with his eyebrows raised.
"Well," he said dryly, "Don't I even get a hello from the most maddeningly gorgeous girl in the school?"
"What?" Hermione asked Harry, a small frown on her face, uncertain if he was making fun of her.
Harry pointed at Ron, whose ears turned bright red. "His words, not mine. Though you're not bad," he added hastily.
Ron looked rather nervously at Hermione. She beamed at him and said breathily, "You said that about me?"
Encouraged by the look on her face, Ron nodded. "Yup."
Harry looked vastly amused. "So, looks like you've worked a few things out, eh?"
Ron nodded. "Turns out Hermione has a weakness for lanky redheads. Better luck next time, mate."
Harry shrugged. "Can't win 'em all," he said, grinning at the pair of them. Ron punched him on the arm, but then laced his fingers through Hermione's on top of the table, and the three friends spent the rest of the meal laughing and joking. Ron felt personally that if Voldemort himself were to show up at dinner, it would be nothing for the three of them to lazily flick their wands at him and turn the Dark Lord into a useless purple toad. After all, hadn't they shown by now they were stronger together?
- End -