Many thanks to my beta Andi, for all your fantastic input! This story is cross posted on , but I assure you…I wrote it around 3 years ago, and thought I'd like to post it here too :D
Here we go!
Ron Weasley, contrary to popular opinion, was actually extremely careful. He'd been careful as a child not to tell Ginny her tea parties with stuffed animals were unbelievably dull: she would have clobbered him. He was careful not to let Harry know just how terrifying this whole concept of Horcrux hunting was. Harry would have felt all guilty and sad.
But mostly, Ron was careful not to get to close to her. All the fighting all those years...had just been self preservation, really. If he DIDN'T fight with her, she might figure it out. If she figured it out, she might be nice to him and that would make it FAR too hard not to smell her hair and stare at her all the time. He might start to get his hopes up.
No, he didn't want her to be nice to him. He wanted her to be HER...all bossy and smart and ridiculous and beautiful. And right now he wanted her to stay on the other side of the room. He glanced over to where she sat, gazing out the window. The rain pounded on the windowpanes and she sighed. He sighed. She hugged her knees close to her chest. Ron looked away.
And here we are.
Way back when he was fourteen, he believed that he was mad at her for going to the Yule Ball with Krum because it was "fraternizing with the enemy." (He'd spent the entire Ball thinking up that phrase...he'd certainly had the time.) Alright, so maybe he had wanted to ask her and didn't. Alright, so maybe he had a little crush on her. It would go away.
But when he was still thinking about her a year later, he grudgingly acknowledged that it probably wasn't going away.
He snuck another glance at her. She was sitting on the window-seat, curled up under a blanket, and knitting a scarf for Ginny or…someone. He had a tendency to tune out the knitting talk. She stopped for a moment, looked like she might sigh and then…didn't. Her eyes were closed and he felt a familiar swoop in his stomach.
She knows. She must know.
And that was the worst feeling: because if she KNEW and didn't act any differently...then she didn't feel the same. His stomach swooped again. He closed his eyes and felt himself slowly slipping away, the rain providing a smooth rhythm to sleep to.
"Ron?" she whispered. His eyes jolted open. She was standing there, about a foot away, quiet and soft looking, wearing one of his maroon jumpers with her skirt and slippers. The jumper hung off of one shoulder and God, it was sexy.
"Yeah?"
"Would you like dinner? With all this rain, perhaps tonight would be a good night for soup. Certainly cold enough, right? I started that scarf for-" She smiled, and sat beside him, chattering away.
But he honestly couldn't hear a word. She swung her legs lightly, and her ankle touched his. He could smell soap and flowery shampoo and the burnt toast she'd had for lunch. It all rushed at him, hitting him fast in the face, swirling around his brain and his whole body just ached. It was moments like these that she was just too close.
"Maybe I could make some more toast and-"
"Why are you wearing my jumper?" he cut her off abruptly.
"Why am I...what?" she pulled on the sleeves unconsciously.
"My jumper. You just took it."
Why are you doing this?
"I was cold. You weren't using it-" her voice began to rise.
"Well, just ask next time," he said coldly.
Stop it.
"Good lord! Why are you doing this?" She stood up and looked him square in the eye.
I have no idea.
"Well here, take it back then." She started to pull it off over her head.
"No, no, keep it-"
"No! Here you go. Here is your precious jumper. The one you NEVER wear." She threw it on the floor between them, wearing a now-rumpled blouse and angry expression.
Silence.
"Is this really about the jumper?"
Ron looked away. "Sure it is. You didn't even ask."
The rain pattered away through the silence.
"It's not about the jumper," she said quietly.
"Yes it is."
"No! It's not! IT'S NOT!" she screamed at him.
He looked up at her and held her gaze for a moment, despite wanting desperately to look away.
"Alright," he conceded, "it's not."
She blinked. He blinked. And there was another deafening pause while the rain roared against the window.
She threw up her hands and shrugged, "So what then?" she asked, exhausted. She stared at him in that penetrating way that always made him feel like she could see right into his brain. He didn't even have to look up to see it. She shook her head when he didn't reply. He stopped staring at the jumper on the floor and made himself look up at her.
"It's about..." Now? Seriously? He trailed off.
She shook her head and turned to leave. "Alright," she conceded. "Alright, I'm going to make dinner. I'll call you..."
Thunder crashed. Hermione jumped but Ron could barely hear it. He felt something surging through him, and his own thoughts sounded loud and screechy.
"It's about you," he said abruptly, "I love you."
His mind suddenly went blank. All he could hear was the UNBELIEVABLE silence in the room. She froze, her back still turned.
Oh God... She turned around. Her face said absolutely nothing. Maybe she didn't hear me.
"What?"
Alright, stop talking. Right now. Make fun of her. Pick a fight about her hair. ANYTHING.
"I love you."
Oh my GOD, don't say it AGAIN!
He started to fake a coughing fit. Unfortunately, she just stood there, trying to form words.
Finally, an eternity later she said, "What?"
"What?" he repeated immediately.
She took a step closer, confused. "Did you just-"
"No."
"But I thought you-"
"No." He shook his head. "No." He took a deep breath. "So...soup?"
"No," she said firmly, "you know what you said."
He felt a lump in his throat. He looked up at her, and shrugged helplessly, unable to speak. She didn't say anything, but continued to breathe rather loudly.
So that's it then.
He cleared his throat. "So that's it then." He looked up and was startled to see tears welling up in her eyes. She shook her head. He closed his eyes and willed this moment to end.
Silence.
"Since when?" she whispered.
He looked up quickly, "You...didn't know?" She shook her head, and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.
"I'd say since the Yule Ball but," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "probably since that day you lied about seeking out that mountain troll all on your own. Thought that was pretty cool of you."
She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe him, "You were eleven."
He shrugged. She gazed at him.
"I...I don't know what to say."
"There's a first." The words just spilled out of his mouth. He looked up quickly to see her shaking her head and...smiling in spite of herself. She heaved a big sigh and sat down beside him. She gazed at him, lips closed. Her eyes seemed to be smiling.
"You've never looked at me like that before," he whispered.
"No," she shrugged, "…not while you were looking."
And for the first time in his life, she wasn't sitting close enough. And he could feel a rush of something, but it didn't leave his body aching. He touched her hair, her cheek, her throat. He leaned in close, and their faces hovered inches apart for what felt like eternity. It felt...perfect. He breathed in the soap and the shampoo and the burnt toast. His hand found hers and their fingers intertwined. He opened his eyes, and found hers gazing right back at him.
And then, very carefully, Ron kissed Hermione.