a/n: This was my least favorite chapter to write; I'm sorry to say it has a severe lack of Ron :(. Don't get me wrong, I love Ginny, but I'll probably post the next installment immediately after so those of you who love R/Hr moments can be fulfilled. Oh, and this installment has a tiny little T-Rated moment, I think. But nothing really bad.

Cooking Up Advice

"Ginny, I hate your brother."

She snorts from her spot at the counter. "Great, what's he done this time?"

I huff angrily, pulling at the ends of my hair and slapping away the stray tears. "Everything! He's so stupid and annoying and lazy and...he called me a cow, but the wors--"

Ginny gasps spinning around. "He called you a cow?"

"Yes, but the worst part is--"

"And you cried over it?"

"Yes, but the worst part is that we can never be friends again. He's gone too far this time," I sniff proudly, coming over to watch Ginny slice onions.

"Oh no," she says, nudging me with her hip lightly. "We don't need you shedding anymore tears. My advice? Forget Ron, he's...probably not the most powerful wand in the shop...never has been really now that I think about it."

I giggle a little bit, and Ginny jerks her head over to the other side of the kitchen. "You can mash potatoes...the muggle way. I hear it's a good way to get out anger."

"I like the way you think, Ginny," I snicker, turning around to find a large bowl of already peeled potatoes just waiting to get annihilated.

"Yeah, well some say I'm a genious. Mostly Harry, when he's trying to get lucky."

I laugh again and slam the masher down on the pile of potatoes, imagining Ron's head. "Have you two...?" I trail off suggestively and Ginny comes to stand next to me, magicking the onions into the simmering stew that's on the stove next to me.

"No," she says, leaning against the counter. "It's Harry. He'd probably think that the newly-fixed fate of the world will come crashing down if he even got excited. Plus he's best friends with Ron, so unless he wants to get killed...you know Ron really is annoying. I don't know what you see in him."

I roll my eyes, crashing the masher into the potatoes again. "I don't see anything in him anymore."

A small part of me disagrees with that statement, somewhere deep inside me. I try to ignore it, I try to tell myself that I really am done with Ron this time. The indecision must show on my face, because as I bring the masher down on the potatoes again, she scoffs and pats my shoulder. "Right. And that's why you got so hurt when he called you a cow. I can assure you he didn't mean it."

I shake my head, punctuating each word with a fierce mash. "I--don't--care!"

"Yes you do," she sang.

"Ginny..."

"Well you do! And so does he! And you'd better not waste anymore time denying it or Harry will suddenly go off on a hunt to try and kill the ghost of Grindelwald and you two will be dragged along--I'll be dragging along too, in case you were wondering. I fully intend to accompany you three on anymore adventures."

"There won't be anymore," I say tiredly, pushing the bowl away from me. I let the masher fall onto the counter as I fully face Ginny, letting a long sigh fall out of my mouth. She's right. How could she not be? I'm doing no one any good by pretending otherwise. "By the way, I was through denying it, this morning when you interrupted."

Her face changes from smug to horrified and she slaps a hand to her forehead. "Are you kidding? Please tell me you're kidding."

I shake my head and tuck an unruly curl behind my ear. "It was kind of in the form of a hypothetical conversation, but I practically told him I wanted him to kiss me again."

She lowers her hand and sighs loudly. "You can't have a hypothetical conversation with Ron without him thinking it is hypothetical. You might as well have not even told him!"

I feel like I've been kicked when I'm already down. "But..."

"No buts. I know my brother, and until he's absolutely sure that you, Hermione Granger, his best friend of seven years, like him as much as he fancies you, he will not do anything. Trust me on this. You have to apologize to him and tell him how you feel!"

"Ginny, I can't," I mutter, crossing the small kitchen and sinking into a chair.

"Yes you can. I know you, and you're not a quitter."

I sigh, letting my head fall dejectedly into my hands. "I'll think about it."

I hope Ginny can't tell that 'I'll think about it' actually means, 'never in a million years'.

"Promise me, Hermione. The next time you're alone together, you'll tell him."

I don't answer, too plagued with fear about his possible (and probable) rejection.

"At least apologize," she begs, biting her bottom lip.

"Fine," I concede. "I'll apologize."

"Yes!" her fist shoots into the air and she waves her wand to stir the stew lazily. "Now tell me I was right about you still fancying him."

I don't answer her, merely swallow and try to remain calm.

There's a certain type of line that is drawn between two people when they first meet. It's either a dotted line, that begs you both to cross it and become something more than the title of 'just friends', or it's a solid line; one that firmly refuses to waver and is essentially a wall. Over the years the solid line that had separated Ron and I, had slowly become lazy and half-broken. There was a part, a small part, but still a part, where we could simply jump over the blasted line if we wanted to.

And believe me, I wanted to.

I just had to find the right time to do it.