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Early Showering Is A Risky Business

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About halfway into the summer at the Burrow, Ron was unbelievably agitated. And worst of all; he had no idea why. Harry and Hermione had arrived about two weeks after the start of vacation. Ron had been pleasantly surprised when he heard that Harry would be arriving so soon, he had been sure Dumbledore would have wanted him to stay at least a month with those terrible Muggles. And, as he greeted Hermione, Ron's stomach had given a most curious jolt. He instantly blamed it on the fourteen Chocolate Frogs that he had devoured just ten minutes earlier. But, even though he had found that explanation fully believable, he could not shake the dark mood that had struck him that day.

Two weeks later, he still couldn't get rid of the dark cloud following over his head wherever he went. He asked Harry about it, getting a smirk and a knowable headshake as an answer, and then Ginny, recieving an exhausted glare and a tap of her foot. Alas, he was no closer to finding a solution to his problem. And it was beginning to get very tiresome, snapping at everyone all the time.

Waking one morning, he glowered at his watch. Half past five. Who the hell wakes at half past five on their summer vacation? Sighing heavily, he climbed out of the bed and headed for the loo. He padded down the stairs, through the corridor and stopped with a hand on the door handle. Was someone taking a shower? At half past five in the morning? What an incredible dolt! Ron instantly felt the need to yell at the sincerely insane person that right now was standing between him and the toilet. But, as he just was about to bang at the door, he heard something strange.

Someone was singing in the shower. And it was the most beautiful thing Ron had ever heard. The pouring of water rendered him incapable of hearing the words of the song, but the sound of the woman's voice was like pure heaven, and Ron could feel his heart flutter in his chest. As the song ended, Ron, grinning madly, turned around and went back into his room, fell down onto his bed and was fast asleep in under five seconds.

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Ron did not know who the singing woman was, as the choice stood between his mum, his sister or his best friend. At the last option, his stomach turned and he looked up at Hermione over the breakfast table. She was nibbling at a piece of toast, and Ron found that he couldn't tear his eyes off of her mouth. Shaking himself mentally, he blinked and turned back to his own breakfast plate. The dark mood fell over him again, and he realised that it had been gone since the singing.

The rest of the day was spent playing Quidditch and a bit of chess. Ron fell into bed early, setting his alarm clock and hoping that the singing woman would be taking a shower the next morning as well.

And, as he pressed his ear against the bathroom door, he was not disappointed. The clear voice rang out in a beautiful melody, and Ron discovered that he could distinguish some of the words this time.

"Because when you're not near me

Oh, love, nothing feels right

And when you're not touching me

Nothing is as it should be."

Ron was mesmerized. Nothing had ever made him feel like this before. His stomach turned and jolted, his head was swimming, his whole body was warm. Suddenly he realized that the shower had been turned off, and someone was putting their hand on the door handle. Ron gasped inaudibly and ran down the hall, into a storage room that his father used to sneak Muggle instruments into.

He had his breath in his throat as he glimpsed out the slit in the door, waiting for the singer to go past it. And it was as he had felt, as he had suspected.

It was Hermione.

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Later the same day, he could not wrap his head around it all.

He was madly in love with Hermione Granger. His best friend and bookworm extraordinaire. Groaning, he realised he had just gone and done the most stupid thing you could do; fall in love with a friend, or worse, a best friend. Although, to be honest, rather Hermione than Harry. Ron looked up at his male best friend who answered his glance with a small smile which Ron did not return, disturbed by his own thoughts.

Hermione, on the other hand... She was really something else. How come he never had seen it before? The way she smiled when she said something she considered bright, how her eyes sparkled when he or Harry did something and then she did it better, how happy she became everytime she corrected them on their grammar - hold on a minute, he was losing track on why he was in love with her... right, she was kind, beautiful, smart, funny... and an insufferable know-it-all, but never mind that.

"Ronald, if you haven't finished that essay within ten minutes I am going to be forced to ask your mother to withdraw your permission to play Quidditch," snapped Hermione suddenly, interrupting his thoughts and flaring his anger.

But after a second or two, he realised that he couldn't give her a sneering remark. He gasped and quickly went back to writing his essay, his eyes wide and his palms sweaty.

Ron Weasley's life was steadily becoming more and more confusing.

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When he woke up at half past five the next morning, Ron was absolutely miserable. During the night, he had come to discover the terrifying thought that he might never get Hermione. After all, why would she ever so much as look at a huge git like himself? The brilliant Hermione Granger, who had gone with an international Quidditch star to her school ball, who had mastered spells witches and wizards twice her age couldn't perform even in their dizziest daydreams. Why would she ever so much as look at him?

Because you're her best friend, a voice inside his head said.

Nah, Harry's her best friend. I'm just... her nagging object.

And on that upbeat note, he climbed out of bed and walked downstairs towards the loo.

He put an ear against the bathroom door, feeling glum as Hermione's beautiful voice rang out. His eyes widened as he discovered that the lyrics had changed drastically since the day before.

"Touch me and hold me close

Feel me and show me your love

You make my world spin

And you are what makes me warm inside"

Ron suddenly realised that he was unbelievably turned on. Not by the words themselves, but by the way she was singing them. As if every single word gave her great pleasure. His eyes widened as he heard her make a strange noise, and he understood that he should probably leave and return to his bed.

And he did. Half an hour later.

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Later that day, he had decided that he was going to tell Hermione. And that was final. So why did he feel like crying when he thought about it? She would let him down gently, he would apologize accordingly, and they would go back to bickering and fighting and worrying about Harry.

It sounded like a great plan in his head, but his heart hurt when he thought of it.

But, still, it had to be done. He couldn't keep on listening to her through doors, at least not without her knowing about it. And he only hoped that she would forgive him if she realised that he had been listening in on her the same morning... it did not seem likely.

Clomping down the stairs from his attic room and into the living room, he quickly grabbed Hermione by the arm, dragged her from the Arithmancy book she currently had been reading, and continued back up the stairs. When he had closed the door to his room, he lifted Hermione - not caring about her indignant protests - and plopped her down to sit on his bed. He then sat down opposite her on Harry's bed.

"What are you thinking, Ron?" Hermione screeched. "I really have to work, you have no right -"

"Hermione, shut up!" Ron bellowed. Wow, this was starting good. He was yelling at her. Calm down, Weasley. "I mean... be quiet. I have to tell you something important."

Hermione - Ron couldn't believe it - smirked at him. "Oh? And what might that be?" she simpered.

Ron blinked. Hermione smiled at him knowingly, one eyebrow raised in an incredibly know-it-all gesture that made Ron want to kiss her. Then he realised.

"You know!" he squeaked. "You know! You know!"

Hermione nodded. "You weren't exactly being discreet, you know."

"I wasn't?"

She laughed nervously. "I heard you muttering the day before yesterday, and yesterday I heard you sneaking down the stairs. And this morning I heard you... breathe."

Ron coughed suddenly. He couldn't believe it. "Why didn't you say something, Hermione? I was being such a prat."

"Well..." Hermione looked at her feet, suddenly shy. "I thought.. it'd be the best way t-to tell you."

His heart skipped a beat. Tell him what? "Tell me what?"

Hermione gave him a death glare. "What do you think?"

Grinning widely, Ron couldn't grasp it all. He suddenly realised Hermione wasn't done talking.

"Did... did you hear the words?"

Ron looked up at her and started to hum in a low whisper,

"Because when you're not near me

Oh, love, nothing feels right

And when you're not touching me

Nothing is as it should be."

He saw Hermione's eyes grow a bit wet. "I can't believe you remember every word."

"Me neither," Ron grinned. "I... I really fancy you, Hermione."

"That's splendid," said Hermione, meaning business. "Because I'm in love with you."

And she walked up to him, sat down in his lap and kissed him with all she had. After a couple of minutes, she slowly pulled away. Ron, still keeping his eyes closed, touched her hair in pure bliss.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

"Mm?" she murmured against his chest.

"What exactly were you doing in the shower this morning?"

Hermione laughed and slapped him in the arm. "None of your business, you prat."

Grinning, Ron pressed a kiss against her temple.

"Sorry, love," he said. "But from now on, it is my business. And that's final."

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