Seems my own arrogance

has knocked me off my feet again

When you know I'm crawling to

you as fast as I can

Hermione Granger walked quickly through the halls of Hogwarts, telling herself over and over that she would not cry over him. Him. Ronald Weasley. She didn't know anymore when she had fallen in love with him, it seemed as if he'd always been there, in that little crook in her heart.

She didn't know why she bugged him so much. Why the words she used to replace the ones she couldn't say came out making her sound like a bossy know-it-all. Hermione thought she had better get to the bottom of this, not knowing anything was one of her pet hates.

To be fair, it was a certainty that Ron enjoyed riling her up. He wasn't stupid, or even just unintelligent, and Hermione knew that he sometimes acted the clown just to get at her. Tonight, it had been Potions homework. Their NEWTs were up in just two months, and the teachers were packing on the homework more than ever. Hermione had been kind enough to write out plans for Ron and Harry, yet again, and yet again they had laughed in her face. Or Ron had. Merlin, how he grated on her nerves.

Merlin, how he settled in her heart and made her laugh. To stop seeing things so seriously. She knew that Ron could teach her things no one ever wrote about in a textbook.

First teach me to walk

and then I'll learn to dance for you

Like an honest clumsy clown

tripping along the way

If only he wasn't such a deliberate prat! He was nice to the other girls, flirted with them in his own Ron-like way. And each time was like a stab in her heart. If he would open up to her, she knew they could be beautiful together.

"Argh," she said aloud, surprised when her voice echoed throughout the corridors. When did she start thinking that they could be beautiful together?? She found her favourite nook, a window seat outside the Charms class room, and sat down with a heavy sigh.

If Hermione was honest with herself, and since honesty was logical, she usually was, she knew that she had a problem. She deliberately nagged at him, just to get his attention. She only ever talked to him about homework and Harry. They'd had some pretty deep conversations over the years, talked long into the night, but it had always been about Harry. Hermione knew that was partly her doing, as much as Ron's. She hated that he could make her feel stupid and clumsy with just a look.

She let out another sigh, if only he didn't see her as nagging, bossy know-it-all.

'Cause I am reaching for you

but my arms aren't long enough

and I am running to you

if I could go a little faster

and I am crying to you

She closed her eyes and let the tears pour down her face this time, whereas normally she would wipe them away impatiently. They were cleansing her, letting her think clearly and sort out her emotions. She was going to have to stop reaching for him, stop trying so hard and just be his friend. Sometimes, she would watch Harry with Ron and become green with envy. They were so comfortable with each other, and although she was comfortable with Harry, her relationship with Ron was completely full with tension. The tears poured faster down her face and her body racked with sobs.

but I can't hear my own voice

and I am waiting for you

and trying not to fall asleep now

He sat in the common room, looking constantly between his watch and the Portrait Hole. Where was she? It was getting late, and even with Voldemort gone, it wasn't safe to be wondering the corridors in the middle of the night. Hermione Granger had gotten well under his skin, and here he was, sitting alone in the dark common room because the guilt had been eating him and preventing him from sleeping. He had been a prat. Again. A heavy sigh escaped him as he stood and paced before the fire.

Ron didn't know why they fought all the time. He knew that she deliberately nagged him, that she thought he was wasting his talent with Quidditch and Chess. She thought he was highly intelligent, something that Ron didn't quite understand. He was the clown, the sidekick of the great Harry Potter. It didn't bother him anymore, it was a title he was proud of. He would, after all, go down in history as the man who killed Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy in quick succession.

He shoved his thoughts of the war away, trying not to think of his best mate, who was right now, without a doubt, reliving the war in his sleep. At least he was conscious. He had to focus on Hermione, and what he was going to do about her. He knew he loved her, had always loved her. It had come as quite a surprise to him when, in sixth year, girls had started asking him out. To feasts, to Hogsmeade, to the Astronomy Tower. He would go, of course he would – he didn't have a chance with the girl he wanted – but as soon as it came to "the kissing part" as Harry liked to call it, Ron would literally run off, leaving the bewildered girl without a clue, wherever they happened to be at the time.

The truth was, Ron Weasley was scared. Terrified. Love was such a big thing. When it hit a Weasley, it was for life. Even his little sister had realised it, which would explain why she was still obsessing over Harry, even when she was pretending not to. And Hermione was his total opposite. Ron gave a rueful laugh. He'd fought in the second Great War, side by side and equal to the Boy Who Lived. And here he was, shivering in his boots at the thought of loving Hermione Granger. It was pitiful.

But she was everything. And he couldn't keep going with the way things were. It was wrong to have such a fight over homework.

'Cause I'm clumsily dancing away this fear

Come stumbling closer to you and I'm tumbling over my pride

I will be a fool for you

Ron strode towards the Portrait Hole, almost tripping over his too-big feet in his rush to find Hermione. Really, he should have left way before now, maybe something had happened to her.

His heart lurched in his chest at the thought of something happened to Hermione. It would be cruel, absolute cruelty, for something to take her away from him now, before he had a chance to tell her how he felt The possibility of her not being there anymore sent panic, cold and hard, sailing through his veins. He had just resolved to tell her as soon as he saw her, to swallow his pride and say the words, when the Portrait swung open and a woman with bushy brown hair stood in the doorway. Stock still as their eyes met and a hundred things were said without either of them speaking.

What are you thinking as you look down on me

Ron's resolve vanished in an instant, and his tongue seemed to swell to ten times its normal size. There was no expression on Hermione's face was unreadable, and Ron wished for the ability to read minds.

"Hermione – I – errr…"

Are you frustrated with my inconsistency

Ron let his sentence trail off as something sparked in her eyes. Or had something sparked in her eyes because he had let his sentence trail off? Ron shook his head, trying to clear it, and ran a hand through his hair. Now that he was confronted with Hermione, with her red eyes and nose and tossled hair, he had no idea what to say.

"I finished my essay."

Ten points, Weasley.

"That's great, Ron. I'm really tired, and it's late. Good night." Ron wanted to cringe at the flat tone in her voice. Usually, when she was mad, she'd glare at him and storm off. Or say something to put him in his place. This was new, and this was indifference. She couldn't have twisted the knife in his heart any more effectively than she did by pretending he was just like Harry.

Or intrigued that I can find the will to get back on board

"Hermione, I didn't want to tell you about my stupid essay." Ron felt his resolve come back. He had a strong sense of foreboding. He had to tell her tonight, or he was going to lose her forever.

He did the first thing he could think of. He laughed. It was an empty, hollow laugh, but at least it made Hermione look at him with something more than disinterest.

"What did you want to say to me, Ron?"

Ron thought she sounded tired, and a little bit puzzled. A very good sign. He took a deep breath and tried to plan what to say.

"How do you feel about me?"

The reaction was huge in its simplicity. She took a step back, a horrified expression on her face. Any other guy would take this as a bad sign, but Ron knew Hermione. She would only look like that if she had something to hide.

"Wh- what do you mean?"

And she never fumbled for words. Ron, encouraged, took a step forward. A rather predatory step forward. Hermione kept stepping backwards until she was pushed up against a chair near the fire.

Ron, seeing his chance, riding on adrenaline, and still being pushed by the thought that he could lose Hermione, closed in on her, until their faces were inches apart and he had placed on hand on the chair, blocking any escape route Hermione would think of taking.

He would wonder where in "bloody hell" he'd gotten the courage from.

Maybe all of this is simply amusing

"What I mean, Hermione?" He was surprised at the huskiness of his own voice. "I need to know how you feel about me…" His courage folded again, and he had to pause to get it back. "So I can tell you how I feel about you."

Her eyes twinkled up at him with amusement. They were no longer red, they were the most beautiful things Ron had ever seen. He felt some invisible force pulling him into her, and noticed as colour spread up her neck and over her face.

"I- I don't think I can tell you without you saying it first, Ron."

"Saying what, Hermione? Whatever could you mean?"

Ron was enjoying teasing her, and her eyes were still twinkling.

"You know exactly what I mean."

He could tell she was enjoying this too, she was flirting with him. Outrageously flirting, when one thought that this was THE Hermione Granger.

"So you want me to say it first?" Ron couldn't resist, he kissed the tip of her nose.

"Y-y-yes. Please. "

It was her saying please that did him in. He had to kiss her. Words escaped him at that one simple word. He leant in and brushed his lips softly against hers. He could have sworn she sighed against his mouth, but he held himself back. There was something that needed to be said.

"I love you."

Her eyes shot open, shock, awe and hope all written clearly in them. Neither of them thought to move their mouths away from each other. They weren't kissing, exactly. Their lips were just resting on each other.

"I – I love you too."

Then they were kissing, and laughing and, in Hermione's case, crying.

Maybe all of this was simply amusing

~*~

A/N A special thanks to Sarah, who found me the song and encouraged me while I agonised over the ending.