A Little Bit Of Good Old-Fashioned Muggle Romance

"Flowers!" Ron Weasley raised an eyebrow. His sceptical tone said it all. "Honestly, Harry, it's no wonder things didn't work out with you and Cho if all you're going to do is give her some mangy old flowers that you can pick up from round the back of Hagrid's hut!"

Harry Potter sighed, leaning back onto his pillows. "Honestly, Ron. Muggle girls love flowers and chocolate. It's the totally traditional thing to do for Valentine's Day. Flowers, chocolates, a card, maybe a nice dinner in a posh restaurant if you've been together a while." He paused, thinking back to what Uncle Vernon had done for Aunt Petunia on February 14th. "And fancy Hoovers. Ones without bags. No loss of suction power, you see," he added knowledgeably.

Ron sent one of his pillows hurtling into Harry, knocking his glasses askew. "Like Hermione needs a vacuum cleaner," he scoffed. "Just a swish and a flick of your wand and it's all spick and span." His voice rose into a falsetto, sounding remarkably like Professor McGonagall. "Although, I suppose not in here," he admitted, looking at the cluttered floor of the boys' dormitory.

"Well, what were you thinking of?" asked Harry, pulling his socks on.

Ron shrugged. "Enchanted rabbits?"

"She'd protest against cruelty to animals," shot back Harry.

"New robes?"

"What size? Girls are really weird about that kind of thing," Harry pointed out.

"New quill?"

"Boring."

"Yet very useful," Ron pointed out, matter-of-factly before changing his tone completely. "Writing her name in the sky with stars?" he lisped, batting his eyelashes and gazing towards the ceiling, hands clasped together, apparently overcome with emotion.

Harry mimed vomiting into his trainer. "Come on, Ron. Far too obvious and totally out of character for you."

"Like flowers aren't? Do I look like a flowery kind of man?" demanded Ron as he fought with the duvet on his bed, trying to get it to lie flat.

Staring at him thoughtfully, Harry replied, "Maybe a dandelion."

He left the dormitory, shutting the door behind him as Ron's other pillow slammed into it.

"So are we going with the flowers and the chocolates? Ron? Ron?" Harry poked him in the ribs.

"Eh?" Ron looked up from the piece of toast that he was slowly and deliberately layering with pumpkin conserve. "Oh. Right. I dunno, Harry. Maybe I should just leave it. I'll just end up making an arse of myself. Hardly Mr Soave and Sophisticated, am I?"

Harry swallowed a mouthful of cornflakes. "How do you know Hermione wants Mr Soave and Sophisticated?"

"Well, she probably doesn't want Mr Insensitive Clod, does she?" reasoned Ron. "And she fancied Krum," he added darkly.

"Who was hardly Mr Soave and Sophisticated." Harry spoke slowly and clearly as if spelling things out to a five year old. "He couldn't even say her name! At least you've got that advantage."

Ron grumbled incoherently into his tea.

Harry poked him in the ribs again. "Don't give me any of that muttering. Makes you look like a sulky toddler and nobody's got a bloody clue what you're saying anyway. Look," he turned to his best friend. "You have to tell her. If for no other reason than my own sanity! I'm sick of you mooning after her!"

"Shut up, she's coming," hissed Ron as Hermione Granger entered the Great Hall.

"Morning," she said brightly, sitting down opposite her friends and helping herself to some toast. "Listen," she carried on, not waiting for either boy to speak, "I've been thinking about this morning. We should go to Zonko's first, you know, beat the crowds, and then head off to Honeydukes, it'll be full of people buying soppy Valentine's stuff…"

Ron let Hermione's voice drift over him. He had suddenly lost his appetite. It had seemed like such a good idea last night, when he'd been telling Harry how much he'd like to buy Hermione a Valentine's Day present, to tell her how he really felt about her.

Over the past five years, Hermione had morphed from the bossy, annoying little know-it-all in to one of his best friends and now into more. Ron couldn't pin point the moment that he'd started to view Hermione as a woman, and a bloody attractive one at that; it had happened gradually. Pricklings of jealousy when she'd gone to the ball with Viktor Krum, the curiosity of what she wrote in her letters to him driving him mad; stolen glances at her across the classroom or common room; arguments with her becoming more and more ridiculous; she'd even begun creeping into his dreams. Ron had tried to keep his feelings to himself. He was embarrassed, more than anything. But a few months ago, Harry had confronted him. Despite vehement denial, Ron's flaming face had given him away.

He'd been worried what Harry would think. Would he think it was ridiculous, dangerous even, when the three of them were so close? Would he be jealous? Would he feel left out? But Harry hadn't seem in the least bit surprised and had mildly told Ron that it was about time he did something about it.

And now it was Harry who was concocting mad, romantic ideas to sweep Hermione off her feet. There was one problem: Ron Weasley was categorically not a romantic kind of guy. Having been told by everyone - from his mother to his sister to Nearly Headless Nick to Hermione herself – that he was about as sensitive as a plank of wood, he had the uncomfortable feeling that if he started to play Romeo now, it could only end in embarrassment and humiliation. His. He just knew he was going to end up making a prat of himself. But Harry seemed adamant. Ron sighed heavily. He was going to have to face the music whether he liked it or not.

Across the table, Hermione banged her spoon down on the table exasperatedly. "Oh, for goodness sake, Ron! Am I really so boring that you can't even pretend to be interested in what I'm saying?"

"Eh?" Ron sat up straighter. "Uh… No. Sorry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I was just telling Hermione that we've got Quidditch stuff to do today. She's going to spend the Hogsmeade visit with Parvati and Lavender instead."

"Oh. Uh, right. Good." Ron stared miserably down at his empty plate. If this was an indication of how this evening would go, he was doomed.

Hermione looked him up and down, scrutinising him. "Are you okay, Ron? You're acting ever so strangely. Maybe you're coming down with something? Are you sick?"

"Yeah, love sick," muttered Harry under his breath as Ron shot him a dark look and delivered a swift kick under the table to his shin.

"I'm fine," he replied. "A bit of stomach ache," he added, what he hoped was convincingly.

"Neither wonder, with all those chocolate frogs you ate last night."

Just then, a flock of owls catapulted into the Great Hall, heading for their various owners. Some carried pink envelopes, others single red roses, yet others with nicely wrapped boxes. Hedwig skidded to a halt in front of Harry, bearing a few envelopes, which Harry untied and stuffed into his pocket to read later.

Pigwidgeon, Ron's tiny owl, landed in a heap on the table, quickly getting up and bouncing and chirping excitedly. He nudged a single pink envelope towards Ron.

"Who's that from?" demanded Hermione.

Ron shrugged, slitting the envelope open with his finger. He didn't really care. From the expression on Hermione's face, it clearly wasn't from her. He read the card and smiled. "It's from Mum. She must have been worried I'd feel left out if I didn't get anything."

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought a fleeting look of relief crossed Hermione's face.

"Well, have a nice morning, boys." Hermione picked up her tray and went off to find Parvati and Lavender.

Harry turned back to Ron. "Hmm. I like your tactics. Make Hermione think that either she's boring or you're sick. Good plan."

"Oh, sod off. I told you this wasn't going to work."

"We've not even started yet. Trust me, it'll work." Harry sent up a silent prayer. It had to work.

Harry and Ron stood outside Forget-Me-Not, staring at all the brightly coloured flowers.

"There's so many!" Ron looked flabbergasted.

"Better than we could get from behind Hagrid's hut." Harry mimicked his friend's earlier comment.

"I still feel stupid," grumbled Ron.

Harry shook his head, laughing at his friend. "Come on, Ron. A little bit of good old fashioned Muggle romance never hurt anyone."

"Yet," added Ron darkly, following Harry into the shop.

They spent almost half an hour in Forget-Me-Not, with a smiley shop assistant helping them pick and mix different kinds of flowers. Despite Ron and Harry both being completely and utterly clueless when it came to flowers, they both thought that, at the end of it, they had a pretty good bunch.

There were red roses, Ron knew what they were, and he thought those pink things were lilies. Mixed in with them were spriggy things and more red and pink petally ones, white fluffy-looking things and some fancy shaped leaves and some other ones that he thought the lady had called cremations or something like that.

After visibly wincing at the cost of his bouquet ("Come on, Ron, she's worth it," Harry had told him) they left the shop, Ron clutching his bunch of flowers and feeling sillier than ever.

"There is no way we're going to get these back to the castle without anyone seeing us." Ron gazed at the bunch of flowers incredulously. "We could even run into her."

Harry smiled. "One step ahead of you, mate." He produced his Invisibility Cloak. "Now, I'll hold these and hide under here. You run into Honeydukes and get the chocolate."

Ron shook his head dazedly. "You really have thought of everything, haven't you?"

Leaving Harry with his floral art display, Ron headed into the confectioners, the sinking feeling still present in his stomach. As Hermione had predicted, the shop was decorated to the hilt with love hearts and banners. Little cherubs flitted around the ceiling and rose petals were scattered on the floor. It was positively nauseating. And, he thought, the fact that he was sickened by it could only stand to prove how un-Ron-like this whole gesture was.

Bypassing his favourite chocolate frogs and Every Flavour Beans (they were hardly romantic, he thought, regrettably) he found an entire stand of merchandise dedicated to Valentine's Day. From sugar mice spelling out "I Love You" to chocolate hearts to heart shaped slabs of sherbet rock enchanted to yell "My Sweetheart", everything seemed aimed at soppy couples who had been together forever. There was nothing saying, "I…er…kind of…well…maybe….sort of…uh…fancy you, sorry". Just as well, really. He could imagine the look on Harry's face if he returned with that.

Wondering how Harry knew so much about the art of seduction anyway, he settled on a box of heart shaped praline filled chocolates. He knew Hermione liked those; he'd seen her eat almost an entire box of seashell shaped ones in one sitting. Joining the queue at the till, Ron's heart sank when he realised it was Draco Malfoy standing in front of him.

He spied what was in Ron's hand and let out a derisory laugh. "Like you can get a girlfriend, you ugly ginger weasel!" he jeered.

Ron didn't answer. He couldn't be bothered getting into a fight with Malfoy today. It was the last thing he needed.

"Cat got your tongue, Weasel? Who are they for? Mummy Weasel?" A smile spread slowly across his face. "They're not for the Mudblood chipmunk, are they?"

Ron flushed, silently cursing his easily irritated complexion.

Malfoy laughed. "They are, aren't they? Have to say, Weasley, you deserve each other. A Mudblood and a blood traitor. Match made in Heaven, isn't it? Not to mention the fact that you've both got faces like the back end of a bus!"

"Don't you dare talk about her like that!" hissed Ron, unable to stop himself. "Why don't you just piss off?"

"Aww, how sweet, defending your girlfriend." Malfoy put on a simpering, sing-song voice. He paid for his goods and turned back round, his face close to Ron's. "As I said, you deserve each other." And he stalked out of the shop, leaving Ron fuming as he put his chocolates on the counter.

"So, I paid good money for these and now I have to chop the ends off?"

Harry sighed. "It keeps them alive longer."

"How can they be alive? They've been ripped out of the ground and wrapped in cellophane."

"You know what I mean. Just do it."

"Can't I use magic?" whined Ron, digging around for his penknife.

"Do you know the flower-arranging spell?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "Honestly, Ron, this is supposed to be fun. This is for your benefit, you know."

"I know," muttered Ron grumpily, beginning to cut the flowers, having located his penknife. "I just keep thinking about the absolute and total idiot I'm going to make of myself."

"Well, that's your attitude, you will look like a prat!" declared Harry. He was getting just a bit sick of Ron's defeatist demeanour.

"Thanks a lot, mate," shot back Ron, sarcastically. "Oww, you bugger!" he exclaimed, throwing a rose across the bed.

"That's a bit harsh."

"Not you, the flower. It bit me!" He held up his bleeding finger in testament to this. "A little bit of good old fashioned Muggle romance never hurt anyone, you said," he mimicked. "Clearly, it does! Bloody thorns."

"Stop being such a pansy and get on with it."

Twenty minutes later, all the flowers were cut, flower food was added into the water and the blooms were arranged into what Harry and Ron thought was a passable arrangement.

Now, all Ron had to do was wait for dinner to be over so he could get Hermione on her own.

"You're not eating much," Hermione observed, looking at the largely untouched slice of sponge pudding on Ron's plate. "Is your stomach still sore?" She looked concerned.

Ron flushed slightly. "I'm just not very hungry," he mumbled.

Hermione smiled. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that before."

Ron returned the smile weakly as the food vanished from in front of them and students began to file out of the hallway.

Harry smacked his hand to his forehead. "Oh, I'm so stupid!" he wailed dramatically.

Ron glared at him for being so obvious.

Hermione looked confused. "How so?"

"I have to be somewhere. Oh dear, oh dear, I'm so late!" And with that he turned on his heel and ran out of the door into the corridor.

Hermione shrugged. "Where's he off to? He's like the white rabbit."

Ron just looked bemused. Harry was certainly being about as subtle as a brick, but he didn't see what rabbits had to do with anything.

"I forget you don't know any Muggle stories, I'm sorry. It's this book called 'Alice In Wonderland', a real classic," she explained as they climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. "It's about this girl-"

"Uh, Hermione," Ron interrupted. "Can I talk to you?"

"You are talking to me," she pointed out truthfully.

Ron flushed beetroot red again. "Yeah, I know." Oh, Christ, this was going worse than he'd ever imagined. How could he get the flowers to her? He'd have to take her up to the dormitory and she didn't come up there very often. She'd know something was up.

"Ron, what is it?" Hermione's brow was furrowed in concern. "Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey? I'll come with you if you like."

"No, uh…it's not that," he faltered, at a loss for what to say next. What was he thinking? There was no way he could pull off this kind of thing. He shook his head determinedly. Harry would kill him if he hadn't at least tried. He turned back toward Hermione. "Can you come upstairs with me? There's something I need to show you." He was grateful that he at least sounded more confident, even if he didn't feel it.

"Oh-kay," replied Hermione slowly. The confusion on her face was evident.

Ignoring the wolf whistles from Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, she followed him up the spiral staircase to the boys' dormitory, which was, Ron noted thankfully, completely empty.

She sniffed. "Whiffs a bit in here, doesn't it? A real odour of boy." She sniffed again. "A combination of sweaty socks and grass."

Ron wasn't listening. "Umm, why don't you sit down?" he pointed to his bed.

She perched on the edge of his bed, looking expectantly at him.

Ron stared at her. He didn't have a clue what to say, what to do. Taking a deep breath, he decided just to go for it. He reached around behind his beside table until his fingers clasped the vase. "These are for you." He thrust the flowers under her nose.

Hermione took them, looking startled.

"And these," he continued, handing over the gift-wrapped chocolates. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he said in a false, bright voice that sounded nothing like his own. He slumped on the bed, hands over his face.

Hermione still looked stunned. "Thank you," she replied hesitantly. "Flowers and chocolates, Ron?"

Ron groaned, face still hidden. "I'm making a prat of myself; I'm making a prat of myself; I'm making a prat of myself…" he mumbled, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him.

"Ron!" Hermione yanked his hands away from his face. "Stop it and tell me what's going on!"

"Are you annoyed?" Ron looked taken aback. That certainly hadn't been an expected outcome.

All at once, her face seemed to soften. "No, of course not. But this is so…unlike you."

"I know," he sighed. "Harry told me that's what Muggle girls liked, and what with you being Muggle-born and all… Look, he told me it would impress you, okay?"

She nodded. "And you wanted to impress me?" she asked carefully.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Hermione, do you have to make this more embarrassing than it already is!" he burst out. "Of course I wanted to impress you, why else would I arse about with all this flowery-chocolaty crap!"

Much to his annoyance, she laughed. "Now we're getting somewhere."

His cheeks flaming, he got to his feet. "Well, if you think it's funny, I'll just leave."

"Ron, no!" She caught his arm and guided him back to the bed. "I'm sorry," she said seriously. "It's just all this. It's a little unexpected. But I don't think it's funny. I think it's sweet."

"Sweet?" he repeated incredulously.

"Adorable," confirmed Hermione.

Ron looked disgusted. "I'm not a puppy!"

Hermione rolled his eyes. "It was a compliment."

"Can't you tell me I'm soave and sophisticated? That would be much better."

"And yet so untrue." Hermione ducked as he swiped at her with a pillow. "Seriously, though, Ron, they're lovely. Thank you."

Ron looked bashful once more. "It's…er…my pleasure," he replied awkwardly.

She smiled, also looking unsure of what to do next. The silence stretched on, punctuated by the ticking of Dean's West Ham alarm clock.

"Ron-"

"Hermione-"

They both spoke at once.

"No, me first." Ron cleared his throat. "I know that I'm going to sound like an absolute prat saying this but hear me out, okay. I… I…" He closed his eyes and cursed his apparent inability to construct a sentence.

Hermione nodded encouragingly.

"I like you," he blurted out. "I don't know why… I mean, I do know why," he corrected himself hurriedly, seeing the appalled look on her face. "You're clever and beautiful and kind and funny and everything. And I know we're best friends and I know this might be weird but I had to tell you. Harry made me," he admitted. "I'm driving him batty, I think." He smiled ruefully. That was as close to an emotion filled speech as he would ever get.

Hermione reached out and took his hand. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she told him.

"Even Krum?" Ron looked like he didn't believe her.

"Oh, yes, he said nice things. But they didn't sound as sincere." She sighed. "I don't know how to tell you this, Ron-"

"You hate me don't you? You've already got another boyfriend? You've got an arranged marriage? I knew it; I'm such a stupid, stupid git! What was I thinking? I'll just go...somewhere...and sit there till I die of embarrassment and the-"

"Ron! Just listen to me!" She interrupted, frowning at him. "As I was saying. I don't know how to tell you this, but I think I know how you feel. Because I think I feel the same."

"You do?" Ron's eyes looked as if they were about to fall out of his head.

She nodded. "I don't know when it started, but things are different between us. I was jealous when you got that card this morning," she confessed.

Ron looked down at Hermione's hand, still gripping his. He squeezed tightly. "Don't be jealous. I haven't even looked at anyone else for months now."

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"What do you want to do?"

She looked like she was thinking carefully. "I don't want to ruin our friendship. I think we should take it slowly, whatever we do. But, as long as Harry's okay with it…" She tailed off, her eyes fixing on Ron's, which had suddenly taken on an entirely different look.

As if transfixed, he leaned towards her. Slowly, so slowly, giving her time to back away or hit him with her flowers or whatever it was women did when they didn't want to kiss someone.

But she was leaning forward too.

After what felt like an eternity, their lips met, tentatively at first, then slightly deeper, then deeper still until his arms her wrapped around her and hers tightly around him.

They broke apart, Hermione burying her face in his shoulder. "I can't believe this," she mumbled. "Flowers and chocolates, you hidden romantic!"

Ron sat back, chest puffed out, looking rather proud of himself. "Well, Hermione, you know what they say. A little bit of good old fashioned Muggle romance never hurt anyone!"

The End