Author's Notes: Written back in 2008, and set during DH. Contains semi-explicit sexual content. Everyone involved is 17 years old. Also, if you've got a really serious problem with voyeurism, there's vague hints of something like it in this fic. Sort of. If you squint.

When he'd finally made it home, his mother had basically squeezed the stuffing out of him before promptly shoving more food than he could handle down his throat. He knew he should have felt happy and warm. Instead, the memory of those words just made him feel colder than ever.

"Yes – yes, I'm staying."

She'd chosen him. Ron had always suspected it would happen eventually. He'd even stupidly thought he'd been prepared for it. But the reality of it had still been a slap to the face.

Sure, she'd tried to come after him. However, Ron had been well and truly in a rage by then, and even the sharp feeling of guilt at hearing her sobbing his name wasn't enough to keep him there. After all, what right did she have to beg him to stay when she'd chosen Harry over him?

They'd probably be happier with him out of the way, anyway. It wouldn't take Hermione long to return to the tent, and Harry would be waiting to comfort her. And since they were alone…

Images of just what they might do when they were alone flashed through Ron's mind almost as soon as he'd Apparated. Even before he'd realised he was surrounded by Snatchers, he'd wanted to Apparate out of there, right back to where he'd come from. The idea of Harry and Hermione spending all their time in such close quarters with just each other for company was sickening.

Ron imagined how Hermione would step back through the entrance of the tent and Harry would see her with tears streaking down her face. He would almost move toward her, but then he'd stop himself. He'd be awkward about it at first, not knowing what to say or do. Harry was, after all, not much better around girls than Ron was. Eventually, though, Harry's sense of chivalry would win out. He would step forward tentatively and put his hand on her shoulder. Before he even realised what was happening, Harry would find himself with Hermione's arms flung around him and her tears seeping into his robes.

Hermione would eventually remove her face from where she had burrowed it into Harry's shoulder.

"He's gone," she would say. Harry would simply nod solemnly. They would take a moment to mourn the fact that their best friend had left them.

Then Hermione would pull herself out of Harry's arms and go sit down on Ron's bunk, on top of which he'd left a pile of tangled sheets. Harry would follow her across the room. He'd sway on the spot beside the bed for a moment, unsure whether he should step forward to be closer to his friend or not. Hermione, though, would take the initiative and reach out for Harry's hand, using it to pull him down onto the bed.

Onto her.

Harry, who only ever seemed innocent when it came to girls, would flush with embarrassment, thinking the unfortunate mistake was somehow his fault. After all, Hermione would have just wanted him close for comfort's sake, wouldn't she? He'd try to push himself off her, but Hermione would hold him there. Their eyes would meet and they'd just stare at each other awkwardly for the longest time. Then Hermione, taking the initiative as she usually did, would lift her head up to catch Harry's lips with hers.

Their teeth would clink together just hard enough to jar them apart so that they were staring at each other again. Harry would look just plain stunned and Hermione's rosy cheeks would betray a certain mixture of embarrassment at her own forwardness and excitement.

Once again, it would be Hermione who would have to make the first move. Harry was a bit hopeless that way. Somehow, that didn't stop the girls from swarming around him like he was Merlin come again, though. The inner workings of life and love were unfathomable that way.

Hermione would kiss Harry much more softly, though hardly tentatively, the second time around. A crease of confused worry would form between Harry's eyebrows as he responded. He would be unsure whether to react to the kiss. Did girls like boys to take the lead, or would Hermione think he was taking advantage of her? Luckily for him, Hermione wouldn't have any intention of leaving the decision solely up to him. She would deepen the kiss by flicking her tongue teasingly against Harry's upper lip before thrusting it suggestively into his mouth to trace the line of his teeth.

Harry, being a teenage boy, would hardly fail to respond to that, would he?

The kissing would fade from short pressing of lips against each other into long streams of pleasurable contact, so that Harry would lose track of how long they'd been at it. He'd fall back breathlessly after some time, so deprived of oxygen that short gulps of air through his nose or in the short intervals between kisses were no longer enough. Hermione would raise her eyebrows at him, and Harry would worry that she had somehow picked up Legilimency without telling either him or Ron. No one would put that past her, surely.

Thoughts of Ron would almost bring the reality of the situation back to Harry, causing him to pull away and remind Hermione what had just happened as well, but her arms would tighten around him as if she could guess the train of his thoughts. Both of them, Harry would realise, were unwilling to retreat from the surprising amount of solace they found in each other's touch.

"Harry," Hermione would whisper as she moved slightly away. For a moment they'd stay like that, short gasps warming each other's cheeks. Their eyes would seem unwilling to quite meet. Then Hermione would move her hand to Harry's shoulder and gently push downward.

Harry wouldn't move, unsure what exactly Hermione was hinting at. His brows would draw closer together again when she pushed a little harder.

"Men," Hermione would mutter. "None of you understand subtlety, do you?"

Still half-pinned underneath him, Hermione would squirm her way up the bed until her head was pressed into the pillows at the top of the bunk and Harry's head was… well, he could hardly fail to realise what she wanted then.

Harry's eyes would be wide as Hermione reached down to draw off his glasses.

"But I…" he'd murmur. He'd shake his head slightly, as if too befuddled to even finish his thought. "Hermione…"

He'd quickly give up speaking – it had never been his strong point, anyway. He'd reach his hand up to push aside her riding-up skirt so that his shaking fingertips would rest on the elastic of Hermione's underwear. His eyes would fall closed. He'd turn his face to kiss the inside of her thigh and then draw the functional white cotton downwards.

His eyes would open once more, slowly. He would, of course, seem stunned to find Hermione still there, the lower half of her body now entirely bare. This couldn't really be happening, he'd think to himself, even with the evidence splayed so obviously in front of him.

"This is all right, then?" Harry would breathe, looking up at her face.

Hermione would roll her eyes fondly at him and say nothing. For once, Harry wouldn't actually need it spelled out for him after all.

Harry wouldn't break their eye contact as he moved in closer, inhaling her scent. As Harry tentatively flicked the tip of his tongue across a knob of gathered nerves, drawing a gasp from Hermione...

Ron shot up wide awake. He was dismayed to find himself harder than a hammer. If anything was strong enough to break that hateful locket, Ron suspected he could have at that moment. He felt his whole body flush with aroused heat.

However, another type of redness – of bitter jealousy and rage – quickly swept over him as well. It felt as if the locket was still secured around his neck – there was no escape from the way it taunted him and seemed to suck the very life slowly out of him. He felt as if he was choking on his anger. He was surprised when he reached up to pull the suffocating weight away and found no chain strangling him.

That dream was not the first of its kind. Nor would it likely be the last, he suspected even after he'd finally tracked Harry and Hermione down once more and reunited with them.

Harry could protest all he wanted, but Ron couldn't quite shake his suspicions. Regardless of whether or not the locket had simply been voicing his deepest fears with its dying breaths, Ron knew that it had spoken the truth. Ron was hardly a catch. Hermione would realise as much eventually, and then…

Well, then Harry would be there to pick up the pieces just like any best friend would, wouldn't he?

But Ron wouldn't run off again, he swore to himself. Even more than his need to make up for being a jerk, he knew that he couldn't leave Harry and Hermione alone again for the sake of his own sanity. It was torture, not knowing what they were doing while they were off by themselves. It had nearly driven him mad as surely as the locket would have had he not managed to destroy it.

There was no way Ron couldn't have returned, all things considered. There was also no way that he would leave again of his own volition.

As soon as it occurred to Ron to wonder – considering the 'gift' he'd been given and its practical use – whether Dumbledore had known he would run out on his friends, Ron also wondered whether Dumbledore had also suspected the real reason why he would want to return.

He didn't doubt it, somehow. But then, Dumbledore had kept his own dark secrets as well. Even he wasn't perfect; in turned out, if the stories were to be believed, that he was far from it, in fact.

Much like Dumbledore himself, Ron would just have to play his cards close to his chest.

Until the inevitable moment when Hermione realised she'd needlessly chosen second-best after all, Ron would fight to keep her. Even if Harry – poor romantically clueless Harry – had no idea that the two of them were in contest for her in the first place. In fact, it was better that Harry didn't know. As much as Ron couldn't stand to lose Hermione, he knew that it might be even worse if fighting over Hermione caused him to fall out with Harry again as well. A guy needed his best friend more than any girl, sometimes.

So Ron shut his mouth. And for once, he actually kept it shut.

And if he stepped strategically in between Harry and Hermione as Harry stepped up to Headmaster Dumbledore's teary portrait... well, that was his own business.

~FIN~