A/N: This is the first chapter of a story feturing ten 'missing moments' in the relationship between Ron and Ginny, beginning in Prisoner of Azkaban and extending well into adulthood. This first chapter is more lighthearted, but expect the next chapters to have more sombre, heartfelt moments included. While there is quite a bit of Harry and Hermione in this first chapter, there will be more of a focus on the two siblings going forwards. Enjoy!

1:

Ron breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the toasty interior of the Entrance Hall. He looked to his right and saw that a seriously pink-faced Hermione, removing some of her multiple layers, had clearly felt the cold as much as he did.

Zonko's Joke Shop, The Three Broomsticks, Dervish and Banges…it had been enormous fun. Not for the first time that day, he did his best to feel more guilty for enjoying himself so much without Harry. Buying some steaming hot Butterbeers with Hermione, her friendly scolding of his sweet purchases at Honeydukes, her rabbiting on for thirty whole minutes about the Shrieking Shack's history, and thirty more about the history of the Wizarding Wireless Network's Hogsmeade headquarters had been fun.

Then again, he had been rather too busy stuffing his face full of sweets to really digest her lecture, but still….it had been nice. Just the pair of them, letting concerns about Sirius Black slip to the back of their minds for a few hours.

Perhaps the oddest sight of all had been the sight of a giant, rather shaggy black dog that was carrying a newspaper between its teeth and heading off into the forest near the Shrieking Shack with, if it was possible, a mournful expression on its face as it stared at the decaying wreck. He'd asked Hermione about it, and of his concerns about the Grim, but she'd snapped back that he was being illogical and silly – dogs didn't exhibit that sort of behaviour.

As they neared the Second Floor Corridor, Hermione put up a hand to her forehead and exclaimed she'd left her Arithmancy work in the Library. Ron followed, complaining bitterly under his breath about Hermione being wedded to her essays.

As Hermione traipsed off to find her unfinished work, muttering feverishly, he heard a whistle from behind a shelf.

Frowning, he whipped around the corner to find an all-too smug Ginny, her quill raised above her homework.

"What?" he snapped, far too loudly.

"Nothing," Ginny replied with a grin that Ron knew only meant trouble. "Enjoying yourselves, are we?"

Ron scowled back at her. "Yeah, I guess. We had a great time in Hogsmeade." When her smirk widened, he knew he'd said precisely the wrong thing. But why his sister was being so insufferable all of a sudden, he didn't know. It was almost as bad as Fred and George wolf-whistling at him as he walked out with Hermione into the biting cold. They needed to grow up, he thought savagely. What was wrong about two friends heading off to Hogsmeade together?

"Excellent," said Ginny slowly, nodding her head in acquiescence. "Looks like you had a very good time, if you know what I mean."

The tip of Ron's ears went red.

"No, I don't, so why don't you tell me, and cut the cr-"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ginny replied exasperatedly, though the effect was ruined by her upturned lips. Ron didn't have the foggiest what she was on about.

"No, I don't," he shot back heatedly. "Harry couldn't come, so that was why it was just the two of…" A thought hit him. "Hang on, what are you doing here then? Hoping to see Harry?"

The smirk vanished from his sister's face in nearly an instant as she knocked over the ink bottle in her hurry to stand up and point a finger in Ron's face.

"Don't ever, ever mention that in public," she hissed. "Besides, where's your proof? I definitely hope you picked up some of those singing socks from Gladrags. Given the way your feet and room smell worse than a sewer troll." She stuck her tongue at him. That was better, Ron thought. He could deal with that sort of sibling teasing. Indeed, he relished the idea of a good sibling squabble.

"Oh, bugger off…."

"Ron?" Hermione had emerged from behind the shelving with an absurdly large bookmarked tome underneath her arm. "Time to go. See you later, Ginny!"

"Bye, Hermione." Ron recognised a note of smugness reappearing in his sister's voice. He took one more look at Ginny, whose face was filled with a mixture of triumphant superiority, wry amusement and irritation, nodded and moved off. The heating in the Library really was savage at times, he mused, as he felt his cheeks begin to flush from the heat. Behind him, he heard a call from Ginny.

"We've both been to Egypt, Ron. I know what denial looks like."

Hermione yanked him along before he could swear loudly in reply.

Yes, he mused, Ginny was his favourite sibling, except for maybe Bill. But that didn't mean that there weren't times where he wanted to hex her face clean off.

2:

Ginny sat silently in her seat, playing morosely with her stew. It wasn't possible.

She could have gone to the ball with Harry. The Harry Potter.

She immediately shut down the poisonous train of thought her mind was heading in. Neville, although decidedly on the clumsy side, was perfectly polite, and decent. Unlike her pigheaded brother, who, she was pleased to see, had formed a comical 'o' shape with his mouth when she'd told him she'd been invited by Neville.

Still, Ginny mused, Neville was hardly Heroic Harry. She felt a sudden surge of bad will for Cho Chang, an emotion that more often than not had been associated in her mind with being possessed by Tom.

Except it wasn't the most evil wizard that was occupying her mind now. Quite the opposite in fact. And the fact that Harry was now showing more than a passing interest in the opposite sex, with a girl that was most distinctly not herself, was hardly helping her mood.

Feeling thoroughly queasy, she left her half-finished stew and headed for bed.

She'd never communicated much with her fellow Third Year dorm mates – the events of two years previously had put paid to that – and so as she prepared for bed, not caring that she was the only one in her cohort doing so, she jumped when a knock came from the door of her dormitory.

"Come in," she called out.

Hermione entered, giving Ginny a warm smile that was far removed from the exasperated fury that had been directed at Ron not so long beforehand.

"Hi Hermione," she replied in a voice that was far too high-pitched for her liking. "Sit down, won't you?" she added, gesturing to the nearest empty bed as she pulled on her dressing gown. Hermione nodded in gratitude, and shot her a piercing glance that made Ginny look away at the wall facing the foot of her bed. Sympathy was not what she needed or deserved. She'd been asked out by a boy, albeit only as a Yule Ball date, and she was acting in a thoroughly pigheaded manner over a silly little girl's crush.

"Ginny, look at me."

Hermione's voice knocked her out of her reverie. Ginny turned to see Hermione nodding in satisfaction.

"First," Hermione began, "I just wanted to say that you behaved really maturely back there."

This was not what Ginny had expected to hear. "What do you mean?" she replied sharply, nonplussed.

Hermione dropped a hand on her shoulder. " About the Yule Ball," she said gently. "Going with Neville, and sticking with him, regardless of your other….interests."

"Could say the same for you," Ginny chuckled quietly, relief and appreciation flowing through her. Much to her satisfaction, she saw Hermione bite her lip, look at her shoes, blink rapidly and turn scarlet in a handful of seconds. "No idea what you mean," the older girl replied primly with as much dignity as she could. She turned back to Ginny. "Now then. About Harry…"

Ginny's stomach went into freefall again. Her infatuation with The Boy Who Lived was surely going to see her locked up in St. Mungo's before long.

Okay, so he had saved her life, had amazing eyes, was almost infuriatingly polite, generous and about a thousand other traits, but that wasn't the point….

"You said you wanted a discussion, didn't you?" said Hermione, giving Ginny another sharp glance that gave her the feeling of being x-rayed.

"I did," sighed Ginny, succumbing to the inevitable. "It just won't go away, Hermione, and I'm terrified I'll do something stupid, like trip up Neville while dancing because I'm looking elsewhere, or I'll stick my arm I another bloody dish when we're eating or, or…."

"You won't," said Hermione with a firm finality. "I've told you before, Ginny, it's a natural thing to fancy someone for ages when growing through this stage of puberty…" she trailed off, pink patches flaring in her cheeks again as she appeared to consider the ramifications of her comment. Ginny smiled thinly, but it was wiped from her face as another worry rose to the surface.

"But what if…what if I don't grow out of it?" Much to her surprise, as Hermione leaned forwards, a most mischievous look was plastered over her facial features. It was quite unnerving.

"Then…" she whispered back, "we'll have to encourage it to go away. Besides, there's the off-chance that Harry's affections might alter as he matures too. I'm not saying they will," she added, "but it's not exactly impossible."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked; her heart rate was now speeding up to a point that it resembled at Weird Sisters drumroll.

"For goodness sake," the older girl nearly exploded. "You're smart, funny, compassionate, like Quidditch, and never shy away from a fight that needs to be fought. Besides, I remember you two getting on like fire last year, actually. You both had a right laugh over Percy, his badge and Penelope, if memory serves me correctly, and you had no problem then."

"That was different!" Ginny protested hotly. "That was the one time neither of us were distracted by the Chamber, or of Harry hurting himself." Inwardly, she wondered why she was protesting so much. Hermione was always right, that was the golden rule.

Except when it came towards admitting her feelings towards her pigheaded brother, but that was a work in progress.

"That's simple then," smirked Hermione looking for all the world like the Kneazle that had caught the canary. "You and Harry get on fine, Ginny, better than you know. Besides, there are lots of nice boys out there. You never know."

"Yeah, you would know," Ginny muttered, pausing to make eye contact with Hermione. "Except when one of them's being a self-absorbed, pompous arse like tonight." She gave Hermione a wink, who blinked, then stared at the floor again.

"He was so rude back there, Ginny," she said quietly. "If only he knew…."

Ginny was content to take this as a de-facto admission of affection for her brother, so she let Hermione have her moment. As neither spoke for what seemed like an eternity, Ginny felt that it was her turn to offer moral support.

"Just wait until the git's jaw drops when you and Viktor walk in arm in arm…."

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed, flapping her arms wildly. Ginny laughed.

"Merlin's pants, Hermione, settle down. No one can hear us, least of all Ron."

"Fair point," smiled Hermione. "But I have no idea what your point is Ginny, really. And that's that."

Clearly, Ginny reasoned, denial still held a tight grip on Hermione Granger. One day, she'd see reality.

"I mean that Ron will probably kill you," she elaborated, adding, with a snort, "for going with his beloved Viktor."

Hermione laughed.

"Then there's the part when he sees his baby sister dancing with someone else too," Ginny added, giving Hermione a wink. "It's going to be hell for him. Serves him right for suggesting you only said you were unavailable because you didn't want to go with Neville."

"Fair enough," smiled Hermione. "You were very mature in front of Harry, like I said. I was impressed and if Ron had a clue, so would he. I wouldn't worry too much, Ginny. There lots of boys who like you."

"Like who?" Ginny asked, her curiosity piqued.

"How about Michael Corner?" she offered.

"Who?"

"He's in our year," she explained. "I saw him glaring daggers at Neville today."

"Sounds interesting," said Ginny, shrugging her shoulders. She yawned. "Anyway, I'm going with Neville, and I'm told he's really working on his dancing, if what Parvati tells me is true."

"Goodnight Ginny," whispered Hermione, standing up and yawning herself as she made her way for the door. Ginny called out one final time.

"You know, Hermione, we're not so different after all."

"How so?" queried Hermione, her eyebrows knotted in thought.

"Right now, Ron's thoroughly infuriating both of us," she replied. Much to her surprise, Hermione turned and nodded.

"You're not wrong there," she affirmed with a slightly rueful, almost conspiratorial grin. "Goodnight."

3:

As Ron made his way to his and Harry' room, he heard the sound of some hinges opening. He looked round to see a slightly furtive-looking Hermione opening her door and giving him a wave.

"Hey," he whispered, heading back down a floor and doing his best to ignore the snakes in his gut writhing as he approached her. Here they were, alone, with no siblings or Harry around.

"Thanks for coming," he whispered. "I never thanked you properly for that, when you found out about Dad. What were you doing again? Skiing?"

"That's right," he heard rather than saw Hermione smile; aside from her bushy mane of hair, the rest of her was indistinguishable in the gloomy shadows of the stairway in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Somehow, it made frank conversations with her easier, not seeing her face.

"Mental," he snorted. "Strapping yourself to a pair of logs, and hurtling down a steep slope sounds like a perfect recipe for ending up in St. Mungo's."

"One day Ron," he heard Hermione reply with forced dignity, "I'll take you to a skifield and show you how it's done." Ron felt his face heat up – surely she wasn't just suggesting the pair of them? He was under the impression that that had been the reserve of Vicky.

"Really?" he squeaked, cursing his voice for suddenly sounding so timid and high. He prayed she wouldn't notice….

"Yes, Ron," laughed Hermione slightly shakily. "Skiing's far less dangerous than Quidditch, after all. No flying around at hundreds of feet in the air, no Bludgers…."

Ron snorted; the narrow corridor made it echo oddly, as though a second person had also expressed scorn at what Hermione was proposing. He looked around nervously, half-expecting one of the Twins to be watching him. No-one there. Summoning up his Gryfifindor courage, he turned back to Hermione.

"Anyway…I also wanted to thank you for your gift, too. It was really thoughtful as well. I said that that perfume was unusual, but I meant it as a compliment…."

It took all of Ron's restraint not to run up and down the dilapidated stairs whooping in delight. Had she understood the hint behind it? In any case, Vicky had never sent her expensive bottles of perfume, and yet he had. It had been painful on the finances, but worth every Knut.

"My pleasure," he replied with what he hoped was the appropriate level of gruffness required for such a situation. His heart was now racing as Hermione took a step upwards towards where he was standing. "I should thank you, Hermione, for dropping your….skis…and coming here. I…er, we really appreciate that."

Hermione giggled quietly as she took a step closer to him. "You've said that already, Ron."

"Really?" asked Ron aloud, cursing himself and his nerves. Hermione gave an apparently intoxicated wobble as she ascended another step. "Still a little tipsy form the Butterbeer, are we?"

Hermione gave a gasp of mock indignation. "Ronald Weasley, how could you?"

"Never mind…" Ron waved an arm. "Merry Christmas, Hermione…aargh!"

Hermione had without warning flung her arms around his neck. "Merry Christmas, Ron," she responded happily. Ron closed his eyes and exhaled, wishing that this moment, awkward as it was, would last just a little bit longer.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, letting Ron go and all but throwing him backwards. His backside landed hard on a step and he swore loudly as he also hit his head. Opening his eyes, he let out a yelp himself as he scrambled madly backwards from where he'd landed.

He'd now spotted what Hermione had. An enchanted piece of mistletoe, growing from the ceiling and arcing its way down towards head height.

"Anyway," he panted, rubbing the dust from the grimy stairs off his hands and backside, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Ron."

As Hermione tucked herself in, she was too wrapped up in her own emotions to notice that Ginny's bed in the gloom was empty. Ron didn't see anything either. But as both sets of doors closed, a slight sniggering could be heard from the uppermost landing of Number Twelve. The owner of that sniggering had nearly given herself away earlier during Hermione's anti-Quidditch tirade.

Clearly, Ginny mused, spending an extra period of time in the presence of Harry Potter's godfather was having a bad influence on her.

Or rather, she reasoned, a positive one. It really was worth it seeing Ron fall on his backside in such a humiliating fashion.

Such was the Weasley way. Unconditional support and love during a crisis, punctuated during lesser times with the not-so-occasional prank.

And as far as her relationship with Ron was concerned, that was just the way she liked it.