A/N: I wrote this quite some time ago and have had it sitting dusty in my computer files. I guess it's time to start sharing. I always thought that Harry must not know every tiny detail that goes on with Ron and Hermione's relationship while he's preoccupied during their sixth year and what a shame it is that the reader never gets to see the little things going on behind the scenes. Never mind that the climactic kiss in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts seems to be their first, if Ron's shock is anything to go by. This is just my imagination putting in extras. Enjoy! Oneshot. Het. RxH.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything else you recognize, obviously.

Rounds

"Hermione?"

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped at a 'T' in the corridor, wheeling around with her wand clutched tightly in her fist.

"Right here," Ron's voice came from much closer than she'd expected.

"Oh, it's you," she relaxed her grip on her wand and fell into step with him, continuing on the way she'd been heading. "How far along are you for the night?" she asked after a moment.

"I'm almost done. I got an early start after Quidditch practice. I can help you finish, if you'd like," he offered.

"That's okay," she declined quietly. "Thanks, though. I know you need to get back and shower."

Ron shrugged with a lopsided grin, "I've been muddy and gross for a few hours already, what's a few more minutes going to hurt?"

Hermione smiled and they turned down a flight of stairs. They walked in silence, but that wasn't unusual for Ron and Hermione at the moment. Lately they had only been bickering or else saying nothing to one another, and things between them had been tense, to say the least for months. Lavender and Ron had officially broken up and rumor around the castle was that Ron had been sleeping with Hermione for years now.

"The funny thing is that they think you were even speaking to one another, much less doing anything else," Harry had told her the day before. "And really, you're smarter than to sleep with Ron when he's treating you so badly."

"Are you saying you think I would have if he'd been decent to me?"

Harry had just laughed and threw up a shield charm against the light hex Hermione had thrown his way. Hermione had just been glad that he'd been laughing, considering how miserable Harry had been to be around.

"What?" Ron was eyeing her with an odd look that made Hermione realize she had sighed aloud.

"Oh," she flushed, "I'm just worried..."

"About Harry?" Ron nodded, chewing his bottom lip as they rounded the last corridor before the Gryffindor common room. "Me too. He's obsessed with Malfoy and that bloody book. Dirigible Plum."

"Right you are," the Fat Lady swung open to let them into the common room.

"See you at breakfast?" Ron gave her a half-smile apologetically. "I'm whooped."

"I'll save some bacon."

"Thanks, Hermione," he smiled a little brighter and disappeared up the stairs to the dormitory. Hermione sank into a familiar cushion in front of the low fire and pulled out a book. A few paragraphs in, however, she had completely and unintentionally abandoned her reading in favor of mulling over her own thoughts.

"Someone on your mind?"

"Hmm?" Hermione blinked a few times and looked up at Harry, who was in his pajamas beside her couch. She hadn't even realized he was in the room. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Something on your mind?" Harry altered.

"Oh, no. I'm just getting tired is all."

He frowned a little, but didn't say anything until a few minutes after he'd sat down.

"What?" Hermione asked. He clearly wanted to say something.

"Ah, I just wondered if you two had talked or something?"

Hermione didn't bother asking who. "Well, we said a few words. Pleasantries, that's all. Why?"

"He came up grinning like a bloody baboon." Harry gave a small smirk but hesitated before he continued, "You'd almost think he might have come to his senses and made a move, he was so happy. Haven't made those rumors true yet, though, have you." He didn't make it a question because they both knew that wasn't true, but Hermione's face burned anyway. "Look," Harry sighed. "I'm not going to say that Ron did the right thing with the whole Lavender business. I don't think he ever loved her, and he hardly even liked her for most of it, but I also know he didn't want to hurt anyone; her or you. Ron…well, he doesn't think the most of himself, does he? When a girl like her shoves her chest in front of a guy like him," Harry frowned, "He didn't think straight for a couple months."

"Harry, I know. I get why."

"I know, but erm-I didn't put this the way I wanted to say it, I think," Harry sighed and tried to assemble his thoughts into something cohesive. "If Ron didn't have his head stuck up his arse the whole time he's fancied you, he might have figured out that you might fancy him too, you know? He's never sure of anything so you just have to make it really, really obvious. Maybe not in the same way Lavender tried to, 'cause you're not that kind of girl-"

"You're rambling," Hermione interjected.

Harry tried to collect himself again. "Right now, he's not sure if he'll ever be able to make it up to you and fix things. He's almost completely decided that you'll never forgive him enough to be anything but friends. Assuming that I'm not as daft as he is an that you are willing to work things out, you just…need to let him know, alright?" Harry squeezed her shoulder as he stood back up. "For the sake of his sanity."

"Idiots, all of you," Hermione shook her head.

"Yeah," He laughed a little. "I guess we are. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight. Don't stay up all night spying on Malfoy," she added for good measure, but he just waved a hand as he rounded up the spiral staircase.

"You're not still up, are you?"

Hermione blinked. It was darker than she remembered and there was a book page stuck to the side of her face, the rest of the book laying across her chest.

"Ron?"

His face materialized dimly and after a quiet incendio, the fire that had been dying on the hearth roared back to life to reveal a gentle smile.

"Yeah," he almost whispered. Hermione blinked groggily again and pushed herself up on her elbows as she realized that she'd fallen asleep in the common room again. Two nights ago, when Harry had had his little talk with her, she'd woken up in the same spot.

"What time is it?"

"Almost four."

"Merlin," she groaned. "What are you doing up?"

"I thought I'd go the kitchens and get a bite to eat," he grinned guiltily, then hesitated before adding, "Wanna come?"

"Oh-sure," she took his hand and let him help her up. It took her a moment to get her bearings in her sleepy state, but when she did she realized that Ron hadn't moved either.

"What?" He stared at her a second, then, not looking away from her face, reached a gangly arm down and tugged on the bottom of her skirt. She realized, embarrassed, that it must have ridden up while she was sleeping. "Oh. Thanks…"

He nodded silently, and they made their way to the kitchens in similar quiet. It was comfortable, unlike the awkward silences that filled their mealtimes and study sessions lately during the day. At night, it felt different.

They got a couple of cold sandwiches from the elves and Hermione pulled Ron into one of the unused rooms near the kitchens to sit down and eat. A few dusty tables were cleaned off with a quick Scourgiffy before Hermione set the sandwiches down and hopped up to sit on the tabletop. She had made herself comfortable, bringing one knee up to her chest and the leaving the other leg dangle, and had lifted the sandwich halfway to her mouth before she realized that Ron hadn't moved to eat yet. Instead, he was staring at her, mouth open slightly and a dazed look in his eyes that was certainly not hunger, at least of the sort they had set out to satisfy in the kitchens.

"Ron," she didn't dare speak above a whisper. He wasn't eating, which wasn't right. She dropped the sandwich back to the plate.

"Hermione," he whispered back. She watched him lick his lips; out of nerves or something else, or both, she wasn't certain. He stepped forward, close enough to the table for her to smell the fresh scent of his shampoo and the mint of the toothpaste he'd used before bed. "Hermione," he repeated, "I-I'm sorry." He didn't have to say what for. She opened her mouth to stop him, but he took her hands and rushed to stop her before she could speak. "Don't say 'It's alright' or anything, please. Because it isn't alright; I haven't been manning up lately. Look, I don't know that I can ever make things right between us, but I'll do anything for you." He didn't make the statement sound desperate or cheesy and he didn't beg, he just stated it as the fact it was. "I miss you. I didn't think I'd ever be able to even talk to you again, much less be friends. You haven't been bothering me about homework or telling me what to do and I know it sounds stupid, but I miss it. I miss all the silly bickering and nagging and being bossed around," his voice was going hoarse and it made him pause before he added, quieter, "Please, just tell me what to do."

Hermione had barely been able breathe after he had lifted a calloused hand to her cheek, but she managed to take one sharp breath. "Kiss me." Had he not been close enough to do so he wouldn't have been close enough to even hear her say it, but he didn't hesitate to comply. He kissed her, not like a hungry man desperate to devour every crumb put in front of him, but like a starved man brought to tears by the sweet and overwhelming taste of hope.

She reveled in it. No Yule Ball fumbles, dormitory gossip nor her mother's trashy romance novels had prepared her for this. It wasn't graceful and suave like in the books, and that fact made it even more exhilarating. Her infamously sharp mind was blunted and instead her body lead her on by instinct, running a rogue hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and opening her body to pull him closer.

She moved without thinking, without calculating consequences or analyzing emotions. She breathed finally, shakily through her nose and let herself indulge in the freedom and levity of the moment; a snog in an empty classroom like any normal teenage student had experienced years ago.

"Hermione," Ron pulled away just enough to breathe, foreheads almost touching and his chest rising and falling with her own. Neither moved for a long moment, until Ron pecked her on the lips and took a half-step back.

"Come on," he held a hand to help her off the table. For the second time that night he tugged the hem of her skirt down, and this time Hermione didn't blush. "Let's get back, it's getting late."

Hermione just nodded and rejoined their hands. It was a short, quiet walk back to the tower and as they approached the portrait hole, Hermione watched it open, seemingly of it's own accord.

"Finally?" came Harry's disembodied voice. His footsteps moved past them and their heads followed their sound. "The dormitory is all pretty sound asleep," he mentioned lightly. "I won't be back until late."

"Wanker. Don't you have better things to do than spy on Malfoy?" Ron leaned on the frame of the portrait as Hermione rolled her eyes and crawled through.

"Can't think of any. Goodnight," Harry's voice moved farther down the hall.

"Bloody obsessed," Ron muttered. "Next you know those two will be getting together."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "That's not funny, Ron."

He paled a little, then slowly shook his head. "No...I guess it isn't." He laughed anyways.