Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.
A/N: Hey there! I'm delighted to finally finish this series that I started a while back ago, and so so happy I was able to drum up some inspiration thanks to folk-melody's brilliant idea to host a Romione Week!
Please note: While this ficlet could stand-alone, some parts may be confusing without having read parts 1 and 2 first.
Part 1: The Waltz
Part 2: The Invitation
Enjoy!
Sixth Year Ball
Part 3
An Unforgettable Event
The day of the ball arrives, and Ron is nothing but a bundle of nerves.
He stands in front of the mirror surveying his appearance. The new dress robes that Hermione helped him pick out for the event are a logical choice — a black suit and matching bowtie, under a navy blue dress jacket. The black cushioned inner soles of his shoes feel comfortable the more he wiggles his toes around. His ginger hair is well-groomed, slicked back with just a small amount of hair gel. He's grateful to be rid of the disastrous attire that was his Yule Ball robes, although it does feel a tad strange to not be cloaked in hand-me-downs for once.
The stakes surrounding the ball are high, and if they weren't, he wouldn't be interested in going to the blasted event anyways, right?
He needs to put his best self forward for her.
This isn't just any first date. This is the date. Hermione isn't just some girl that he's attracted to, she's his best friend, she's his — well, bloody hell. What is she?
In an attempt to boost Ron's confidence, Harry babbles next to him, oblivious to Ron's nervous breakdown inside of his head.
"It's completely normal to feel nervous."
"Harry, I know you're trying to be supportive mate, but-"
"Yeah, I'm rubbish at this, aren't I?" Harry laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You really are. And people say you're the chosen one — not the chosen one to give out advice, I'll say," Ron quips, giving his best friend a hearty shove.
"Don't be a tosser," Harry chuckles. "All I'm saying is that if you're feeling nervous, I can almost guarantee she's feeling the same."
Ron's lips curl up at the image of Hermione frantically scouring through textbooks on how not to be anxious.
He exhales a deep breath, studying his slicked back ginger hair in the mirror. "This is a date. Is this a date? It's a date, right?"
Harry snorts. "Well, how did you ask her?"
Ron squints one eye at his best friend. "Technically, she cornered me after she caught on to me trying to ask her and pretty much conjured the invitation out of me."
Harry ponders on the information. "Well...I think so then?"
This bloke seriously isn't all that helpful in one of the largest departments of mysteries — women.
With one final clap on Ron's shoulder, he says, "Now or never, huh? Come on, don't want to keep the girls waiting."
As it turns out, they arrive into the common room before Hermione and Ginny, leaving Ron with a few extra minutes to dwell in his pesky, anxiety-ridden thoughts. He always manages to let the negative thoughts creep in at the most undesirable moments.
But how does Hermione really feel about him? Did she only accept his invitation to the ball to be polite? Does she consider this evening an outing with friends or will it lead to something more between them?
"None of that nonsense," Ginny barks at Ron, disturbing his inner turmoil. When did she get here?
He frowns at his sister. "I didn't even say anything." His eyes dart around, an unsettling feeling spreading through his stomach when he doesn't spot Hermione right away.
"No, but I know you brother, and I can see the self-doubt in your eyes." Ginny waggles a finger in Ron's direction. "She looks amazing, and you don't look too shabby yourself. You're going to have a great time, yeah?"
Ron releases a shaky breath, feeling the slightest bit of weight lifting off his shoulders from Ginny's words. Surely his sister has spoken with Hermione. She wouldn't be reassuring him if Hermione didn't think this was a date, right?
"Yeah, we will. Thanks, Sis."
"Don't mention it," Ginny grins before addressing Harry with an appreciative gaze up and down his body. "Ready, Potter?"
Harry nods and stumbles along the wooden floor as Ginny leads him towards the portrait hole. Over his shoulder, he calls out to Ron, "We'll meet you two there."
Ron gives a silent thumbs up before shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and teetering back and forth on his heels. As he gazes up at the empty winding staircase, his impatience grows.
Hermione, where are you?
The ball starts promptly at eight o'clock, and the current time indicates that if they don't make their way to the Great Hall soon, they will miss the opening dance. Not that he would mind not having a chance to bugger up the steps he's tried hard to memorize since his practice session with Professor McGonagall.
He's starting to wonder if Hermione's decided to ditch him. Shaking his head, he mentally chides himself. He really needs to stop playing out scenarios in his head that may or may not happen. Breathing in through his nose for five seconds, he exhales the heavy breath out of his mouth, feeling the stress start to melt away.
Before Ron can dwell on his nervous jitters for a moment longer, the sound of heels clacking alert him that someone is descending the spiral tower.
Ron's heart races in his chest from the anticipation, barely breathing as the footsteps grow closer. One studded heel-clad foot makes an appearance, showing off a considerable amount of bare leg that Ron has never had a view of in normal school robes, before Hermione fully reveals herself and steals all of the air right out of his lungs.
Wow.
Hermione steps out in a full-length evening gown that drapes to the floor with slits up the side, made of a silky burgundy fabric that looks so delicate that he fears it could tear at the slightest tug. The modest neckline is richly decorated with beaded jewels, with short sleeves that ruffle around her arms. Her hair is twisted into a plait that fashions her curls into a half updo, the rest of her waves tumbling around her face.
She is positively stunning.
Ron opens and closes his mouth several times. Any single one of his thoughts in his head would be appropriate for him to say as she waits on the bottom step for his reaction, but all that comes out of his mouth is, "Hi."
"Hi." She takes a step forward, then two, and the closer she gets, the more he believes that he didn't prepare enough for this. Why oh why did he not ask for Fred or George's advice on how to charm witches?
But, Hermione isn't just any witch. She's not going to be impressed by mediocre words or cheesy lines. Ron struggles to avoid making assumptions. He reminds himself that the only way he'll truly know what she's thinking or feeling is by asking her himself.
Silently, he lifts a hand in her direction, inviting her to take it. She accepts, and he immediately spots her palms trembling.
His voice is soft and raspy as he rubs his thumb across the back of her hand. "You're shaking."
Hermione folds her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes trained on their joined hands. "I'm a bit nervous."
"Hey." Ron's whispered call causes Hermione to lift her gaze to meet his own. He does his best to give her an encouraging smile. "I bet my wand you're not more nervous than I am."
She lets out a shaky laugh. "Well, that's a relief."
Briefly letting go of her hand, he holds out his bent elbow. "You ready?"
"I am. Are you?"
"Absobloodylutely."
The entire Great Hall is draped in decadence, with twinkling lights dangling from the starry black ceiling, glass vases filled with feathers and beads, and green ivy lining the walls around the room. The decorations really set the mood, promising an evening of socializing with other houses that is encompassed by music, dancing, and eating. Ron finds other students feasting on delicious finger foods, making his mouth water from the sight and smell.
This is the fanciest fucking event he's ever been to. No pressure, he laughs inwardly to himself. It's all nothing short of magical, and Ron has high hopes that tonight will be an unforgettable event.
Several other couples rotate across the floor in a counter-clockwise direction, dresses swishing behind the women as the men stumble over their own feet to keep up. As the current string of music comes to an instrumental end, thunderous applause fills his ears.
"Wow. I thought the Yule Ball was elaborate," Ron jokes, already feeling the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead.
"Can we not talk about the Yule Ball tonight?" Hermione requests, rubbing one side of her arm as a blush forms on her cheeks.
"Oh. Right. M'sorry." Ron imagines his gangly form is sticking out like a Hungarian Horntail, maintaining an awkward stance with his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers, not yet willing his feet to move into the grand ballroom as other witches and wizards circle around them.
"What are you apologizing for?" Hermione inquires, raising an eyebrow with an expectant look on her face — a look that tells Ron that she requires nothing but honesty from him tonight.
Harry's voice echoes in his mind. If you're feeling nervous, chances are she's feeling the same.
Blimey, his best mate is right. And Hermione deserves to know that she's not alone in her self-induced pressure.
"I just feel like I'm already mucking this up and we haven't even walked into the bloody Great Hall yet."
A small smile forms on Hermione's face as she leans over to place a tentative hand on his arm, sending tingles down his spine. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I've seen your dancing, you're not that rubbish."
Ron laughs out loud, releasing some of the tension from his body. "You're a cheeky one, aren't you?"
"Come on, Ron."
With Hermione tugging on his hand, he's drifting through a sea of other couples, many who whisper and stare as they walk past. The rumbling in his belly makes him want to scope out the food to settle his uneasy stomach. It's fairly safe to say that he expects to be fed at this event, but Hermione has other plans first.
His feet plant on the floor in the center of the room, arms straight down by his side as Hermione looks up at him expectantly. What should he do now?
"Just like we've practiced, right?" Hermione encourages, nodding her head at him as she smooths out the skirt on her dress.
"R-right."
As the soft flow of music begins, Hermione takes a step forward and bows. Ron mimics her movements, deciding that following her lead is the safest course of action. But in true Hermione form, she's very difficult to grasp, and Ron isn't sure what move he should make next when she waits for his guidance.
The sound of the traditional orchestra filters through his ears, and he glances around to see other men gliding across the dance floor with their partners in matching positions.
One hand on waist, one hand in hand.
Ron slips a firm hand on Hermione's back, pulling her in close with a bit more vigor than he intended, hearing her breath hitch as their chests meet.
"M'sorry." He winces as he stumbles back, feeling the redness on his cheeks as he clears his throat.
"It's okay." Hermione sends him a shy smile, and she helps him out with the next step by raising her hand. Ron intertwines their fingers together, hoping beyond all hope that his palms aren't too sweaty.
They begin to sway back and forth, slow at first before taking wide sweeping steps in a circular motion. Ron's heart accelerates as the beat of the song picks up the pace. He tries to ignore the several sets of eyes on them, focusing instead on a tiny freckle in the middle of Hermione's forehead.
Although Ron feels like he's towering over Hermione, he can still feel her hot breath on his cheek. The warmth between them grows more powerful by the minute, and Ron's shoulders relax as the song progresses. It's amazing how quickly his sluggish movements turn into refined, dare say, even graceful steps, allowing his body to maintain tune with the slow music.
Hermione remains quiet, exchanging soft smiles with him every so often, although she spends most of the dance scanning the floor for other couples as if she's afraid of getting too close. He knows she's just itching to establish more control over her surroundings.
For Ron, he's aware of only Hermione, realizing that the space between their bodies is dwindling.
"Why did you ask me to the ball?"
Hermione's words break Ron from his thoughts, echoing her inquiry from the day they waltzed in class. Why did you ask me to dance?
Unsure of the right words to respond with, he challenges back, "Why did you say yes?"
Hermione's lips part, her brows furrowed with intent, and Ron just knows that her mind must be swirling with rapid fire thoughts.
"Don't overthink this," he murmurs, holding her hand just a little tighter.
A crestfallen look appears on her face and she drops her gaze to the floor. "Oh."
Fuck.
"That's not what I meant!" He quickly corrects. Hermione lifts up her head again, allowing Ron to breathe a sigh of relief when he sees a small bit of hope light up her face. "I just mean-"
Blast. What does he mean to say? Why is it that he can't seem to hold a proper conversation with her? She's his best friend, for Merlin's sake.
"Ron, I'm your best friend," Hermione gently coaxes. "Just talk to me."
It's bloody scary how she manages to read his mind like that. She's looking up at him now — fucking hell, she's so beautiful — with round, glassy chocolate brown eyes, filled with such implorable curiosity that it takes everything in him not to just snog her in the middle of the crowded ballroom, in front of the entire school.
He doesn't reckon Hermione would appreciate that much —not without first receiving some sort of explanation, or providing any indication that she feels the same way.
Deciding that he's not going to work up the courage he needs to spill his feelings out in public, Ron starts to silently walk backwards through the throng of people, pulling Hermione with him by their joined hands until they're in a secluded spot just outside the grand entrance. Fairy lights flutter about the open lawn in front of the castle, providing just enough glow for him to still clearly see her face.
The chilly night air provides a small amount of reprieve from the heat of standing so close to the girl he gets so jittery around, although he starts to rethink his choice to head outside when Hermione instinctively covers her bare arms with her hands, her entire body trembling from the cold.
"Here, let me-" Ron goes to remove his suit jacket, but Hermione holds up a hand to stop him.
"No, that isn't necessary. Just tell me what you wanted to say." Her tone is very Hermione-like, stern and stubborn, and he would've laughed at her insistent independence if he weren't so tongue-tied.
"It was too loud in there," Ron says, fighting the labored breaths that leave his mouth in visible puffs of air. "I just—I wanted to-" He almost groans in frustration over his lack of finesse when it comes to admitting what he truly means, what he truly feels.
Hermione takes a step forward, and he can feel the warmth of her body as their arms brush together. "It's just me, Ron."
Her voice is so soft, almost velvety, and a lump of emotion gets caught in his throat. "No, it's not."
A loud exhale leaves Ron's mouth and he lets his head fall back. "Do y'know how much I loathed you when I first met you?"
Shit, Ron, that probably wasn't the right thing to say, but he paces the dimly lit path anyway, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop himself.
"I mean, you really did tie my wand in a knot. You were stubborn, bossy, frustrating…" He pauses to heave out another large breath, viewing the surprise flickering through Hermione's eyes. "And I couldn't stop thinking about you."
A quiet gasp escapes her lips and she opens her mouth to interject. Ron jumps in, knowing he'll lose the momentum he finally has if he allows her the time.
"If I wasn't an eleven-year-old git, I reckon I would've realized why I thought about you all the time sooner. But it wasn't until I got to know you better, and discovered all the best parts of you — how smart, capable, kind, clever, brilliant you are — that I had to admit to myself that maybe I did like you. Maybe I wanted to be your friend."
Ron checks in with Hermione again, who is listening intently to his words in such a stoic way that it's irritating because he has no clue as to what she is thinking.
He presses on. "And then as we grew older, maybe I...maybe I wanted to be more than just your friend."
Tears shimmer in Hermione's eyes — oh, fuck, he's not sure what he'll do if she starts to cry — but instead she strides towards him with purpose, reaching a hand up to brush against his cheek. The action makes him flinch, although he relaxes into her palm, closing his eyes as he breathes in her scent. Wait, is she wearing...how hadn't he noticed before? She's wearing that unusual perfume he got her last Christmas!
"Ron Weasley…" Hermione hums, her mouth curving into a grin, "you are the most frustrating, but also most adorable man alive." The tips of Ron's ears burn red, not sure how to take her confusing compliment. "And I swear you sometimes forget that you are also smart, capable, kind…" She giggles through the watery tears that flood her eyes, "Clever and brilliant."
"Got that speech memorized already, have ya?" Ron teases, his arms wrapping around her waist.
"It was a good speech."
Ron's wide grin fades, his heart now beating twice as fast in his chest as a charge of electricity builds between them. Hermione takes a step closer, circling her arms around his neck. One of Ron's hands leaves her waist, instead trailing his fingers up her arm, letting the tips linger on her smooth skin. He's cognizant of her fingers making similar movements, finding the hairs on the nape of his neck before threading through his copper strands.
Ron makes contact with her brown curls, pushing her hair back over her shoulders to free up the space between her shoulder blades and her neck for his hand to continue along its path.
He sucks in a breath when he sees her tongue dart out to moisten her own lips, and she makes the tiniest sound in the back of her throat that practically turns his brain to mush.
Before Ron takes the time to process it, he ducks his head, allowing his body to take control, tasting her breath as their lips inch closer and closer…
When their mouths finally fuse together, it's nothing short of perfection. It's like he's drowning in a single kiss, more shocked than anything that he somehow knows exactly how to move his lips over hers, finding a familiar rhythm, a feeling of completeness that makes him think he might just explode from all these emotions he's never experienced before.
The feeling of Hermione grinning against his mouth prompts him to lift her slightly off the ground, enthusiasm radiating through his bones.
Breathing finally becomes a necessity, and their lips slowly part, with Ron not able to resist planting one more soft kiss upon her lips before a crooked smile lights up his face.
"Bloody-"
"Don't swear," Hermione warns, although she too can't hide the grin on her pleasantly flushed face.
Ron leans forward to embrace her, letting his nose make contact with her hair as he breathes her in. He can't believe this is reality.
The music from the Great Hall can be faintly heard from the distance, and Ron rocks back and forth with Hermione in his arms, subconsciously swaying along with the song.
"Ron."
She whispers his name and he lifts her head to see her smiling like she has a secret — a secret only he knows, fueling his excitement over their new romance even more. Hermione laces their fingers again, making Ron grateful for the contact.
"There are people looking at us."
Only then does Ron's brain register their surroundings. "Really? I hadn't noticed."
Plenty of couples have also ventured off the dance floor. Some linger on the steps, Ginny and Harry included, who are both staring right at them with matching smirks. Ron decides he doesn't care though —all he cares about is the witch in his arms, and how he can now confirm that it will be, in fact, an unforgettable evening.