I do recognize that all characters and passages are the property of JK Rowling and I am not using them for profit in any way, but for creative purposes only.

Chapter 3:

Ron heard Hermione leave the tent. Not much could cause her to rise from her studies, but if it were anything, Ron could guess what. It was Fred. Ron remembered seeing them together for the first time, just before the fourth year started. He remembered the sting of what he felt was betrayal.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. They were all trudging through the wee hours of the morning to get to the portkey on Stoatshead Hill just on the other side of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. They were to meet the Diggory's there to head to the Quidditch World Cup.

They were a rather groggy group of seven (Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George and Mr. Weasley), but even in the darkness, Ron was sure he caught Fred and Hermione stealing glances at each other, and at one point even drift toward one another and hold hands as they walked. Ron had been quick to dismiss as the excitement of the World Cup loomed ahead and he quite forgot.

It was after the game, that night, after all the festivities had died down and everyone was in bed, or appeared to be. The inside of the tent was quiet, though outside, the Irish enthusiasts were still lighting fireworks, singing and drinking in excitement. Fourteen-year-old Ron had risen from his bunk on a quest for a midnight snack. He entered the kitchen, rummaged through the cabinets, but as Mrs. Weasley had not come with them to the match, there was hardly anything to be found and Ron settled for the breakfast biscuits he found.

Ron leaned against the sink as he munched, his eyes full of sleep. He stopped his loud chewing when he thought he heard muffled voices. They seemed to come from nearby. In the spirit of eavesdropping, he peered out of the window flap curiously, but all he could see was the neighboring tent and a bush that rustled in the wind.

He started with a jolt when the voices sounded so closely and the bush fell and rose with a small giggle. It was then that he matched Hermione's giggle with Hermione's hair and realized the accompanying voice belonged to his brother, Fred.

The two spoke softly to each other, fearing being found out. And then, without notice, Fred's head dropped down from its height, hurriedly and resolved, and kissed Hermione's lips. Thinking back now, Ron realized how meek and small the kiss actually was. It was innocent and unsure and sweet…a first kiss.

Hermione's eyes flew open and she stared up at him, raising unaware fingers to her lips to feel where he had left a tingle. Suddenly, she took off running. Ron, stunned, remained where he stood, not thinking of what it would look like when she rushed in. But there was a scream—which rose from Hermione's throat, he was sure—and as Fred rushed to her, the night melted into the nightmare that Voldemort's Death Eaters created with the floating bodies and Dark mark.

Summer was over.

Ron could feel the ticking of the locket against his chest. It reminded him of the relentless trudging of time, or perhaps the bomb inside him, ready to explode with every thought of what Fred had stolen from him.

His eyes flew shut as Hermione came back into the tent. He didn't have to look. He knew her eyes would be red. Harry stirred and Hermione went to him. They talked in hushed tones so that Ron could not hear, but he could hear her gasping for air as she cried silently. She seemed to trust anyone but Ron with her sorrows.

Ron knew this was just another night added to the many that separated he and Hermione. Ron was constantly excluded, and he knew why. Hermione could not bear to talk to him or look at him for the similarities that caused painful, secret memories to rise up. Or was it her disdain for him?