A/N You know, originally I was going to wait until I had at least five chapters of this baby written up before posting, considering my poor updating habits, but bugger it. I can't wait anymore ;) So here's the newest little ditty I've come up with…really it's not supposed to be realistic (or terribly original for that matter). It's just supposed to be fluff; good, old, unadulterated fluff ;P

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

A Question of Friendship

Chapter 1: Gals and Blokes

There was an old adage that gals and blokes couldn't be friends. Ron Weasley had heard about it from an old Muggle film he'd been forced into seeing, once, and at the time he'd laughed. Of course girls and blokes could be friends! After all, wasn't his best friend a girl? True, their friendship had evolved quite a bit over the years but Hermione Granger was still the same witty, intelligent person he'd met seven years back as an unsure (though still know-it-all) eleven-year old. And he? Well he was still the same sarcastic redhead he'd been then, jumping at any chance he could to rile her up. There was one remarkable difference, however; they'd grown out of their constant arguing and had moved, instead, to a state of comfortable bickering.

In fact, everything about the pair had become more comfortable. The two still had differences of opinion every now and then—if 'every now and then' meant four or five times an hour—but the way in which they dealt with these small spiffs had changed. It still involved plenty of petty name calling, a lot of shouting, and the cowering of nearly everyone who happened to be around them, but no argument was so horrible that within a minute or two they'd be unable to call it truce and resume their earlier activities—activities that typically involved playing chess, doing homework, or sneaking about the school with Harry.

Had Hermione been asked in fourth year how she saw her relationship with Ron and Harry evolve, she might have blushed and said that she and Harry would grow only closer with time, as close as brother and sister could be, but in Ron's case, what she'd had in mind hadn't necessarily turned out in reality. Could girls and blokes be friends? Hermione wasn't too sure about that, at least not when it came to a certain redhead, the same that now sat (or rather was sprawled) to her right.

"Oi, this is interesting," he said to her. They were in the common room, sharing a sofa while reading their History of Magic assignments. Harry was sitting in an armchair across from them, snoring softly after having fallen asleep mid-read.

"Do you think we should wake him?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's question for the moment as she tried to readjust her position on the sofa; her legs were asleep.

"Nah, let him rest," Ron answered, thrusting his book in Hermione's face "did you know that in ancient times, some wizards were known to have upwards of fifty wives?" he asked, pointing vaguely to a passage in the textbook.

"Why is that so interesting?" Hermione asked, a little more pointedly than she might have had pins and needles not been running rampant through her lower extremities.

"Well, wouldn't you like having fifty different blokes to choose from at any given time and have it be perfectly fine with the other forty nine?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

"You are such a man," she dismissed, deciding that until she got circulation back to her entire body she wasn't going to get into this with him.

"Why are you so fidgety all of a sudden? Stop moving so much," he said and Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to refrain from slapping him.

"I've only lost all feeling in my lower half," she explained. "Of course, it doesn't help that I've an extra ten pounds sitting in my lap."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Ron answered, lifting his head from the sofa's armrest, "the book isn't that heavy."

"Actually, Ron," she replied, looking down at her knees, "I was referring to those long things called your legs."

He smiled sheepishly at her before swinging his legs of her lap and sitting up beside her, draping his arm behind her head. "Sorry, but you know I always study better lying down."

"Yes, but what I don't understand is why you always insist on using me as a sofa cushion."

"What can I say, Hermione? You're my most comfortable pillow," he laughed, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder. "Do you need me to carry you upstairs or will your poor legs make it on their own?" he teased her, whispering in her ear.

"I'm fine," Hermione answered, elbowing him lightly in the ribs to extricate herself from his non-embrace. "If I needed help, I'd just ask one of my fifty blokes," she said, gathering her things and standing.

"Aren't I one of the fifty!?" he asked, feigning insult before she turned her back to him and walked to the staircase.

"You wish," she threw over her shoulder before making her way up, feeling her cheeks burn as she headed towards the dormitories.

No, gals and blokes certainly couldn't be friends. There were exceptions, of course, like with her and Harry, but otherwise, when it came down to it, one of the two would always end up developing feelings for the other…always. And, of course, with her luck, Hermione had been the one to break first. The thing about developing feelings for your best friend was that if you told him and he didn't feel the same way about you, the friendship was down the drain. She didn't need to tell him to know that he would reject her. Ron Weasley was much too preoccupied with other girls…like his fifty theoretical wives…to ever think about her as anything other than his friend.

~*~

Breakfast found Hermione tired and irritable. She was tired because she'd tossed and turned all night thinking about her friendship with Ron, and irritable because he seemed every bit as well-rested and happy as she was exhausted and miserable.

"'Morning, sunshine," he winked at her before sitting across from her and appropriating himself with a piece of toast.

"Oh, bugger," she muttered under her breath. His robes were open in front, his tie hung loosely around his neck, and the first few buttons of his collared shirt lay undone, showing off expanses of his chest beyond the white cotton. Hermione had never wanted to be a piece of clothing more than she did right then.

"You all right, Hermione? You look all ferklempt," he winked at her again, and an alarming thought ran through her head. Did he know what he was doing to her? She was not able to come at any conclusive answer, however, for fault of being interrupted by Seamus and Dean.

"'Morning Ron, 'Mione," Seamus greeted them, sitting next to Ron. She cringed at the nickname he'd used. Sometime between fourth and seventh year, someone, somewhere, had gotten it into his or her head that her name was just too long (what with all eight letters of it…a record really) to pronounce fully and had come to call her 'Mione. She hated it, and of course it had stuck. She was about to say something when Ron beat her to it.

"Seamus, her name is Hermione. You know she doesn't like being called 'Mione," he said and Hermione felt her chest swell. He was just being Ron, knowing that the name bothered her, but it still warmed her to know he was coming to her defense.

"Thank you, Ron," she smiled at him, ignoring Seamus's and Dean's stares.

"Sure thing, Herm," he grinned and she had to roll her eyes.

"Ready; to get going Ronnie?" she asked sweetly, silently celebrating as he cringed in turn.

"Yes, Hermione," he answered, gathering his things and standing. She did the same and together they headed to the greenhouses for Herbology. As they walked, Ron attempted to straighten himself up, buttoning up his shirt and running his hand haphazardly through his hair, but for some reason his tie did not seem to want to cooperate that morning. As they neared the greenhouse, he stopped midstride and turned to Hermione, eyes pleading and mouth downturned in an exaggerated pout.

"Oh, come here," she said, handing him the books she held (for fault of an already too full rucksack).

"Thank you," he smiled, taking a step towards her.

"You'll have to bend down a little so I can see," Hermione said and Ron thought she sounded a little breathless but attributed it to their walk through the grounds. He tended to forget how much smaller she was, and how much longer his legs happened to be, and sometimes she would be practically running just to keep up.

He bent down a little so that she'd be able to reach his uncooperative tie and met her eyes, turning up a corner of his lips. Was that a blush creeping up her cheeks? When her fingers fumbled with the knot at his throat and inadvertently brushed over the skin at his neck, Ron found his own cheeks warming inexplicably and felt his stomach lurch. It was not an unpleasant feeling, but it was one he seemed to be feeling increasingly nowadays.

"All done," Hermione broke through his thoughts and he straightened again, handing her back her books and walking the rest of the way to the greenhouse, trying to account for the bizarre fluttering in his chest. Maybe he was coming down with something.

~*~

Herbology was a class that Ron enjoyed if only for the fact that it was more practical than theoretical and while they potted plants, trimmed brushes, or extracted various herbal compounds, Harry, Hermione and he could talk as much as they wanted.

"Sorry I missed you at breakfast, guys," Harry was saying. The three of them usually walked to class together but Ron and Hermione had known in advance that he would be late that morning for fault of having had an early-morning Quidditch practice.

"You did have time to eat, didn't you Harry? You know that breakfast is the most important meal, don't you?" Hermione doted and Ron rolled his eyes. "Would you stop acting like my mother, Hermione? He's seventeen years old; he can take care of himself."

"Ron, you're almost eighteen and just this morning I had to help you get dressed," Hermione replied, turning several heads. Ron grinned widely at the hidden meaning behind her words…a meaning that she'd obviously not intended but was quite apparent nonetheless.

"I really don't want to know," Harry muttered beside them and Ron felt that odd flutter in his stomach again when Hermione realized what she had just said and blushed brightly.

"That's not what I meant," she attempted to explain as several of the students around them began to snigger. "Ron, you're really not helping. Say something," she whispered loudly between semi-clenched teeth. Ron merely shrugged.

"Hey, I'm not complaining. It's not every morning that a beautiful girl helps me get dressed," he said, expecting Hermione to throw him a death glare because of his untimely teasing, but instead—and to his great surprise—she only seemed to blush more, eyeing her feet.

~*~

He thought she was beautiful! At least that's what he had said. Maybe he didn't realize what he was saying she thought for the hundredth time that day. It was a wonder she'd gotten through the day at all, really, considering that all she'd thought about was Ron calling her beautiful.

"Pathetic," she said outloud, referring to how soft she'd gotten just because of a word…a word from a bloke who only thought about her as a friend.

"What's pathetic?" She hadn't expected anyone to hear her but, turning around, saw Ron and Harry coming in after their Divinations class. It was Harry who had spoken and he now came to sit in his usual chair, across from her, dropping his rucksack on the floor at his feet.

"What a day!" Ron exclaimed, dropping his bag as well, sitting next to Hermione.

"We're getting old," Harry agreed. "All I want to do is sleep," he announced, yawning.

"Tell me about," Ron agreed, loosening his tie and removing his robes. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing a fin layer of red hairs dispersed over tanned arms. "All I want to do is snuggle up to my favorite pillow and have a bit of a lie down before dinner. Do you mind, Hermione?" He turned to her as though asking for permission, though she didn't know why. If he wanted to go upstairs and sleep it was his prerogative.

"Not at all," she replied, still confused. Things became clearer, however, when instead of standing and heading to the dormitories he lowered his head to her lap, covering himself with his robes in a makeshift blanket.

"Ron!" she protested though she was fighting the urge to giggle. Soft, soft, soft!

"What? You said you didn't mind. You know you're the best pillow in this joint, Hermione. Now would you be quiet? I'm trying to sleep."

"Harry, would you help me here?" Hermione looked at her other friend, who merely shook his head at her from his oversized chair.

"Sorry, Hermione. Truth is, Ron beat me to it."

"Hey, get your own." Ron lifted his head sharply.

"Yes sir," Harry laughed, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture.

"Don't mind him, Harry," Hermione smacked Ron gently, "you know he's a grump when he's tired."

"I am not!" Ron defended himself. "I'm just trying to sleep. Is that so wrong!?"

"All right, all right. I guess I'll just settle for my bed then." Harry stood, turning to Hermione. "Wake me up in an hour?"

"Sure, Harry," Hermione replied as he retreated up the dormitory steps. She would have scolded Ron some more if he hadn't already been sound asleep.

She had to admit that he was beautiful when he slept. His chest rose rhythmically with each breath he took and his face was relaxed, like that of a small child, with rosy patches appearing over his cheeks. He shifted, turning first to his side and then to his stomach, his head turned to face her knees. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin and Ron's left arm came up to creep behind her back whereas his right hand came to rest by his face, on her knee.

She shouldn't be watching him sleep, she knew. The Gryffindors, though they were used to seeing the two of them together, occasionally even half-sprawled over one another while studying, surely would be suspicious were they to spot her staring adoringly at her best friend while he slept. Still, she stole a longer look at him, taking in the curve of his jaw, the seeming softness of his lips, the angle of his nose, and the shock red of his hair. She longed to run her hands through it, just to see what it would feel like, see if it was really as soft as she imagined it to be. She reached out her hand, slowly, deliberately until it hovered just over his ear. She reached for one of the strands, careful at first, reluctant, afraid to wake him, but she became bolder and soon was running her hand through his hair comfortably, naturally, as though she'd always done so.

"My mother used to do that to make me sleep when I was sick," he whispered and Hermione jumped in surprise, removing her hand as though it'd been scaled.

"You're supposed to be asleep right now," she pointed out, reverting to her nagging to cover up the fact that she'd in fact just been caught caressing her best friend's hair while he slept.

"I was until you woke me up," he replied, turning onto his back to look up in her face, a small smile playing over lips that just minutes ago she'd been admiring. "I'm a light sleeper, you know."

"Well, I do now," Hermione replied, wondering how she was going to cover up her reasons, knowing that sooner or later he'd question her on just why she'd been stroking his hair in the first place.

"So why were you playing with my hair anyway?" Sometimes she hated being right.

"Call it the motherly instinct in me, I guess. I don't think I even realized what I was doing," she answered surprised at her own lie and at how convincing it sounded.

"Well don't stop on my account." Ron smiled up at her and she felt her heart lurch. "I was getting a wicked headache before you started but now it's almost gone. You work magic with those hands of yours, " he said.

"Well, I am a witch," she smiled.