A/N:  CPR jokes – everyone's a comedian *grin* … ~call2thecolourblind~ Shez

~

Ron woke early the next morning. He was still tired, but couldn't sleep, and didn't try. When he pulled back his curtains, yawning widely, he saw Harry already changing for the day. His hair was sticking up, his glasses skew-if, and he was knotting his tie rather absently.

"Morning," Ron said.

"Morning," Harry replied, running two hands through his hair. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. Why?"

"You were mumbling."

"I was?" he said, a little nervously. Talking in your sleep wasn't a good thing, was it? "What did I say?"

"Nothing," said Harry. "Or I couldn't understand you, anyway."

Ron nodded and rose, feeling about for his uniform. Harry finished and waited for him, leaning against his bedpost.

"So," he said. "How did the tutorial go?"
Ron looked quickly at him, and then back to his buttons. "Not bad."

"What did you do?"

"Defence jinxes."

"Really?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "What, you don't get enough in class and the DA?"

"That's what I said. But she wanted to, so …" He trailed off, and Harry half-smiled.

"So you did," he finished for him.

Ron glanced up again, but Harry was facing the other way, picking up his wand.

"Come on," he said. "I'm starving."

Ron tugged on his shoes, and followed Harry downstairs. He was torn between wanting to talk to him about Hermione, and not wanting to sound like a prat. They had passed through the empty common room and out the portrait hole before Ron found himself speaking.

"So she did this spell," he said quickly, and Harry turned his head a little as they walked. Ron didn't give him time to cut in. "So she did this spell where she took all her breath away, and it scared the crap out of me. I thought she was going to die or something."

"Right," said Harry, after a brief pause.

"And it was weird, because she started crying," Ron plunged on, "and she sort of – you know, fell into my arms. And cried. You know."

"Uh-huh," said Harry carefully. "And then what happened?"

"What do you mean, 'and then what happened'?" asked Ron, a bit confused. "Then Ginny arrived, and they went off."
He thought he heard Harry sigh, but then wasn't sure, because he spoke soon after. "So what's the matter?"

"I – don't know," said Ron. "Don't know. Just thought I'd tell you."

"Right," said Harry again. "When's your next lesson, then?"

"She didn't say."

"Think it did you any good?"

"I – yeah, I guess," Ron replied, feeling, for some reason, a little defensive. "Should be useful for class."

"Useful for class." Harry looked at him sidelong, and then shook his head.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"You liked it when she 'fell into your arms', didn't you?" Harry said suddenly.

Ron stopped in his tracks. Harry stopped with him.

"What the – what do you mean?" Ron spluttered, feeling his ears redden, his heart quicken.

"Well, didn't you?" Harry said, folding his arms over his chest.

"What is this stuff you keep coming out with?" Ron said angrily.

"What stuff?"

"You know what stuff."

"The 'why don't you ask her out'?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions! Bloody hell!"

"Mate," said Harry, laughing just a little in exasperation. "What do you think I'm trying to do? I'm trying to knock some sense into you before Hermione gives up. You like her. You always have. You just won't admit it."

Ron stared at him. He could feel his blood rushing through his body.

He liked Hermione?

Liked Hermione? In that way?

"I – don't know what you're talking about," he muttered uncertainly, even as Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. "We're friends."

"Course you're friends," said Harry, in his best quidditch captain voice. "That doesn't mean you can't like her. And you do, don't you?"

Ron couldn't speak. His brain was going too fast to speak. So many images passed through his mind – her body wrapped in a towel; her expression on his first day at Hogwarts; her turning to face him in the Transfiguration classroom; her breathless, desperate tears.

"You do, don't you?" said Harry quietly.
Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. A group of students came along the hall, and Ron and Harry separated to let them pass. When the two came together again, Harry was scratching his head.

"Well," he said, "why don't you think about it." He paused, and then set off down the corridor. "Come on, breakfast," he called over his shoulder.

Ron went after him, his thoughts swirling about dizzyingly, even as he tried to push them down.

~

Sitting in History of Magic later that day, Ron finally allowed himself to give proper consideration to what Harry had said.

OK, he thought, taking a deep breath, while Professor Binns droned on in the background. Let's look at this.

Unable to stop himself, he turned slightly in his seat, and caught a view of Hermione from the corner of his eye. She was writing furiously, hair in her face, occasionally blowing strands out of the way. The tips of her fingers were stained with ink, and she was frowning in concentration.

He felt hot and thick-headed just looking at her, and quickly glanced away again. He hoped Harry couldn't hear his heart – in his ears, it sounded as loud as the twins Apparating, and twice as fast.

"Merlin," he muttered under his breath.

"What is the problem here?" croaked Professor Binns, and Ron started. The class was staring at him. He'd forgotten how silent it was in History – everyone was quiet with boredom, and even the slightest whisper echoed.

"Er – nothing," Ron said, trying not to sound too wild. He never drew attention to himself in History of Magic, and he had no idea what Binns would do.

The ghost floated a little closer. "Then you can tell me," he said, "of which Lord Ogre I was speaking before your impertinent interruption."

"Ah – um –" began Ron, looking at Harry (who shrugged helplessly). Hermione was clearing her throat behind him, clearly trying to get him to deflect the question her way, but he didn't want to look at her again.

"Gorlic Snorzlebust?" he said finally, already wincing in anticipation of one of Binns' dreaded (and rarely given) mind-numbing detentions.

The professor stared at him for a few moments, and then floated back to his usual position by his desk.

"Lucky guess," he said touchily, and went on with the lesson.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. It was a lucky bloody guess. It was also the only name he could remember from their textbook – and the heading of their current chapter.

Hermione poked him lightly from behind. He felt a sharp tingle spread over his body, and had to bite his lip. The gesture was affectionate and sweet and so her, and in his mind he saw himself take her hand, put his arm around her.

The realisation was as sudden and forceful as a blow to the face.

He did like Hermione – that way. Even though she was his best friend (along with Harry), and even though she could be a know-it-all bossy-boots, and even though she was cleverer than him – despite all that – despite all his better judgment –

He liked her.

And after a brief, glad surge of pleasure, and an overwhelming desire to announce this to the world, came a crushing dismay.

He liked her – but how could she possibly like him?

~

"I need to talk to you," Ron hissed in Harry's ear, on the way out of class.

"Alright," Harry said, surprised. "You can come help me down at the quidditch pitch."

"Harry," said Hermione, tapping him on the shoulder. Ron looked away. He didn't know how to behave around her yet, with this feeling coming up inside of him. "Where are you going?"

"Quidditch," Harry said shortly.

She made a face. "Not coming to lunch?"

"No."

"Ron?"

"Er – no," he said, in a strangled voice.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "You?" she said incredulously. "Not wanting food?"

"No – I'm not hungry."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Well – OK," she said, a bit suspiciously. God, he felt like a prat. "See you this afternoon, then."

"See you, Hermione," agreed Harry.

She left, and Harry turned to him. "What was that?"

"Just let's go," said Ron, striding out of the classroom, and maintaining a rapid pace all the way down to the pitch. He stopped when he reached the field and spun around to face Harry, who'd been following.

"Why the rush?" asked Harry breathlessly.

"You were right, I like Hermione," Ron blurted.

He immediately wished the ground would swallow him up, but Harry didn't laugh. He put his hands on his hips and grinned instead.

"Well, it's about bloody time," he said. "I'm glad I said something now."

"Did you say all that just to make me admit it?" Ron asked, rather indignantly.

"I said it because I was sick of you tiptoeing around the issue. I was talking to Ginny the other day –"

"Ginny?" Ron interrupted, and Harry flushed faintly.

"Yeah," he said, and then went on quickly: "I was speaking to her, and decided I should just – give you a bit of a push. Gin's idea, really. She thought you'd need it. And after having to watch you two go back and forth for six years …" He trailed off.

"Well thanks," said Ron angrily, running a hand through his hair. It was sticking up at the back, but he didn't care. "I was better off not knowing, I think."

Harry shook his head. "You knew," he said. "Course you did. You just didn't know in the front bit of your brain. Things are like that sometimes. When Sirius –" He cleared his throat. "When we lost Sirius, that's how it felt. Like I knew, but not in the part of my mind that could understand it." He flushed again. "Sorry. I sound like a twat."

"No," Ron said. "I think you're right."

They stood where they were for a moment, and then Ron kicked at the field with his foot.

"I do like her," he said, rather miserably. "But she doesn't like me, and what am I supposed to do about it?"

"How do you know she doesn't like you?" said Harry. "I would've thought –"

He stopped.

"What?" asked Ron.

"I don't know. I would've thought she did, that's all."

"Did Ginny say something?"

"No," said Harry defensively. "Why would she?"

"I don't know. You were talking to her about me before, weren't you?"

Harry mumbled something, and Ron thought he'd better change the subject – or at least bring them back to the point.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "She doesn't want me. Why would she? I mean, I'm – well, I'm poor, aren't I? And not very clever. And a too-tall redhead, to boot. There are plenty of other people who – deserve her better."
He said this last lowly. He wasn't searching for sympathy; he would have slapped Harry over the head if he'd tried to give any. It was what he believed, pure and simple – that Hermione deserved something more than plain Ron Weasley.

"Ron," Harry said, after a long, heavy silence. "You think too much about all that."

Ron made to speak, but Harry went on, a little louder.

"Did you ever consider that maybe she doesn't care a whole lot about things like money? And that if she likes you – which she does, in my opinion – you're only going to know if you ask?"

Ron said nothing, and Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "You're too hard on yourself," he said, more gently. "You're not all that bad." He paused. "I mean, you don't smell great, or have much dress sense …"

"Lovely," Ron said sarcastically, but relieved to be back on familiar ground again, ribbing each other. He blew out a long breath. "Jesus. Alright. What do I do now?"

"Now?" said Harry, removing his hand. "You could help me with some team strategy."

"About Hermione," Ron said impatiently.

"Like I said. Ask her."

"What, am I just going to walk up tonight and say: 'Hello 'Mione, cold evening isn't it, I was wondering, do you like me?'"

"Sure," said Harry, managing to maintain a straight face.

"Bloody hell!"

"Well, maybe not exactly like that. Talk to Ginny, maybe."

"Why don't you talk to her for me?" Ron said unthinkingly, and Harry looked embarrassed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

"Just you two are rather close these days," Ron said hurriedly. He didn't want to provoke Harry about her, especially now that he knew exactly how it felt to be provoked. "That's all. I didn't mean – anything."

But Harry didn't look annoyed this time. He put his hands in his pockets and frowned at the grass.

"Yeah," he said, in almost an undertone. "She's been good. It's been good to talk to her."

They stood in another, rather awkward silence, and this time it was Ron who broke it.

"I can't just ask her," he said. "I can't."

Thinking about it made his insides feel cold.

"Well," Harry said, moving back into encouragement mode, "just give it time then. Wait for the right moment."

"The right moment," Ron repeated. Actually, that sounded a good idea. He could stall the dreaded admittance to Hermione, figure out whether or not she really liked him, and even maintain his dignity for a little while. "Alright," he said. "But what do I do in the meantime?"

"What do you mean, what do you do?"

"I mean, how am I supposed to talk to her normally anymore?" he explained, exasperated with his own ridiculousness. "I mean, I just look at her and I want to – to –"

Harry held up a hand. "Don't finish that sentence," he said firmly. "I don't know, Ron. Just don't think about it."

"Don't think about it?" he protested. "How can I not?"

"Easy," said Harry – a bit grimly, he thought. "Push it down, stay busy, don't let it come up till you're ready."

Ron frowned. If that was what Harry was doing – about Ginny, about Voldemort, about Hagrid – he didn't think it could be healthy.

"Harry …" he began, but his friend cut him off.

"Come on," he said. "Enough of the girl talk. I do actually have a team to captain, you know."

They went down into the Strategy Room, adjacent to the change-rooms, and Ron didn't pursue the issue. It soon left his mind, anyway. He was thinking too hard about Hermione, and hoping, quite desperately, that he'd manage to be relatively normal when next he saw her.

~

A/N:  Big self-esteem issues, this boy. But I'm sure he'll sort them out. ;)