Ron did his best to be himself, but found it more difficult than he'd imagined. Mostly he could push his feelings down, like Harry had suggested (yes, even he knew that wasn't exactly a good thing, but how else was he supposed to function?). The only problem was that whenever the feelings rose up again, it was like a hand closed around his throat, and he didn't know what to say.

And those moments came around at the most random times. She'd tuck her hair behind her ear, and his heart would thud so wildly that he was afraid he'd have an aneurism. She'd point out something he'd done wrong in Potions, and he'd want to kiss her. It was madness. And it wasn't doing much for his blood pressure.

He'd never felt like this before.

Luckily he was caught up a lot in work and quidditch, or he didn't know what he'd have done. Had a fit or something, probably.

And more than that, he had no idea how he'd missed all this before, how he hadn't seen it. The little turns of her head, the way she pronounced her words, the way her tie was always knotted with a slightly leftward skew, the sway of her skirt above her knees. How could he not have seen these things? How could he not have wanted to grab her and carry her off?

Ron didn't know, but the pressure of containing himself was so fierce, that he was often glad that he hadn't realised (or admitted?) these feelings before now.

He'd caught a few strange looks from Hermione, but mostly hoped that she wasn't noticing his odd behaviour, and ostensible surliness. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk her – he did, desperately, all the time. And when he looked at her and thought, very firmly, friend, it was OK. Just when he looked at her, and saw that different 'Mione …

Then it wasn't so OK. Then he was quiet and shy and couldn't meet her eye.

He hated it. He wanted the feeling to end, but couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

Saturday morning was the first quidditch game of the year, and left him doubly nervous. No matter how many choruses of 'Weasley is our King' he heard, he still felt those pre-game jitters as badly as ever. In the change-rooms after breakfast, Harry must have noticed, because he slapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll be fine."

"How'm I going to fly if she's watching?" he hissed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "For God's sake. You've done it two years."

"It's different, and you know it," Ron said, resisting the urge to poke him. "I can't concentrate anymore."

"Just focus."

"Just focus, my arse," snapped Ron. "It's not that easy. And I've been flying like shite lately."

"You have," Harry admitted frankly, and Ron kicked him in the shin. "Ow. Well, you have. But it's all different when you're playing for real – and I'm telling you now, if you stuff this up, there'll be hell to pay."

"Alright, alright," groaned Ron. "Look, here comes your team now."

The girls were entering through the adjacent change-room. Harry had ended up keeping Colin Creevey (he was forced by McGonagall, as Colin hadn't technically thrown the bludger [A/N: duly noted, Trav]), and Seamus was the new second Beater. Harry wasn't at all happy with this choice – Seamus could be very erratic – but it was the best he had. At that point, he and Colin were still changing into their robes.

"Out!" shouted Seamus, when he saw the girls wander in.

"It's not like we haven't seen it all before," said Ginny, allowing her gaze to run teasingly over them all. None were changed yet.

"Maybe you have," said Alice, giggling a bit. "You live in a house with six brothers."

"Ginny," Harry said gently. "Could you just give us all one second?"

"Sure," she grinned. "Come on, girls."

They turned to leave, and Harry quickly pulled off his shirt, grabbing his quidditch robes as he did so. Was it Ron's imagination, or did Ginny flick her eyes Harry's way before she ducked out, and hesitate briefly in the doorway?

 He shook the thought away. He didn't want to consider his little sister having a perv – too creepy.

"Right," Harry said, wriggling into his robes, and wincing as his captain's badge stuck him in the chest. "Right. Same drill as usual. Careful of the girls, but don't be scared to play properly. Wood always told us that you ought to be considerate of girls in quidditch, but also understand how tough they are. All good?"

"All good, Harry," said Colin enthusiastically. "We've got it. Not like my brother hitting a bludger at Ginny Weasley. Hey, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, through gritted teeth. "Not like that."

"Er – hello?" came a small voice from outside. "Ron?"
Harry looked sharply at him. "Who's that?"

"Hello?" came the voice again, uncertainly.

Ron swallowed and pulled his robes over his head properly.

"Hermione," he said shortly.

Harry nodded. "You've got ten minutes," he said, and then went to fetch the girls.

Ron composed himself with a fast, inner dialogue of encouraging self-talk, and then made his way to the outer change-room door. Hermione was standing in the corridor that led up to the pitch, and he felt a sharp jolt when he saw her, and heard the distant roaring of the crowd.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied, coming a bit closer. "Are they new robes?"
He shrugged, rather embarrassed, and looked at the ground. "Fred's old ones."

"Oh. They fit you well, don't they?"

"Not really. Fred's shorter. Mum extended the hem."

"Right." He glanced up – she was looking at her feet too, but then met his eye. "Ron, are you angry with me?"

This definitely surprised him. "What? No! No. What would give you that idea?"

"I don't know," she said. "You've just been a bit weird this week. Not really – you know, talking to me. And I thought – I don't know – that maybe you were upset about the tutorial – I don't know," she finished.

"No, I – I'm not upset," he said, flushing a bit.

"You're not?"

"No. I've just been – er, tired."

"So what happened, with the examino spell … that didn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothered me," he said fervently, and then took a breath to try and control himself. "Yeah. I mean, it bothered me. It – scared me a bit."

"It scared me a bit too," she agreed softly. "Well, I just wanted to wish you luck, and figure out if I'd done something."

You've turned me into a wreck, he thought.  

"Nothing," he said firmly. "You haven't done anything."

"Well. I thought I'd clear the air. Just in case we lost you in the game," she added lightly, and smiled. He smiled back.

They were smiling at each other.

McGonagall's voice sounded over the pitch, calling all students to settle in the stands, and the moment moved on.

"OK," Ron said awkwardly. "I ought to get back. Thank you. For the luck, I mean."

"That's alright. Play well." She looked as though she might hug him for a moment, but didn't. She ran back up the passageway, and out of sight.

He didn't know what to think of all this, but there was a pleasant buzzing in his head as he re-entered the change-rooms. Harry was in the middle of a fiery pep talk.

"Ron," he said, in a bark very unlike his usual voice, and running remarkably along the lines of Wood and Angelina's old mania. "I was just going over the plan."

"The plan?" Ron said vaguely, and Harry's volume went up a bit.

"Yes! The plan! The plan we've been working on this past month!"

"OK, OK," Ginny said, putting a hand on his arm. "Merlin, Harry. Breathe, right? It'll all be fine."

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just – I really want to do a good job on this."

"We'll do what you said Harry," said Colin solemnly.

"Yeah," Seamus agreed, and Parvati and Alice, who had been unusually quiet (nerves, Ron suspected) piped up with their own assurances of 'doing their best' and 'flying hard'. Harry still looked a little pale and stressed, but he didn't launch into anymore crazed speeches, and when the call came for competitors to take to the field, he only gripped his broom and said: "Come on."

Ron walked beside him up the corridor.

"What'd she want?" Harry asked, leaning close to his ear.

"Nothing. Just to wish me luck. And she thought I was angry."

"Angry, no," Harry said. "Horny, maybe."

"Hey!" Ron protested, but Harry was too tense to listen, and then they were coming up into sunlight and fresh air, and the crowds were cheering, and Ron felt that sick, dizzy, glad feeling of quidditch-playing swell up in his stomach.

"My God," he heard Alice say, awe-struck. "Look at all those people!"

After the Gryffindor names had been announced, the Slytherins came out of their side. Ron had to physically rein himself in when Malfoy's name was called and he came striding onto the pitch, emerald robes flapping behind him. Arrogant prat, he thought, as he and Harry shook hands.

But it was Hermione he was thinking of as Madame Hooch blew her whistle.

~

The game was going swimmingly for over half an hour. The Gryffindor team, a bit haphazard during practices, was practically on fire in a real game, swooping and diving, scoring every which way. Ron was at his Keeper best, warmed by the sense of doing his job properly, and Alice, Parvarti and Ginny were a surprisingly connected trio – when one wasn't around, another was always ready. Even Colin and Seamus were smacking most of the Slytherin bludges away – and Ron was happy to have Seamus there, because he kept giddy Colin in line.

And Harry, being Harry, played his usual, easy best, keeping an eye out for the snitch, whilst still directing his team.

Just when Ron was beginning to feel complacent, something happened.

Malfoy saw the snitch before Harry.

For a moment, Ron couldn't comprehend it. He looked from Draco, who was attempting to bypass an in-the-way Colin (thank you, Merlin) to reach the little gold ball, and then back up to Harry. He saw that, for once, the captain's eyes weren't on his work, but were fixed on Ron's red-haired sister as she flitted above the field.

"Oi!" Ron roared, and Harry started, glancing at him. Ron jabbed a finger in Malfoy's direction, and Harry cursed and took off, but by now Malfoy had physically pushed Colin out of the way, abandoning the subtle approach for blatant speed. Harry, on his Ascendant, caught up to Malfoy before too long, but for some reason had trouble edging past him. Malfoy was dodging back and forth with considerable skill, and Harry, frantic in his pursuit, was too desperate to think things out.

It was Seamus who saved the day, thwacking a tremendous bludger directly between Harry and Malfoy. With unbelievably lucky aim, it missed both their heads by a whisker, and forced them to ease up a little. They pulled away from one another –

A Slytherin bludger came right back at them, straight for Harry –

Harry dropped quickly, but an unaware Malfoy was struck below the chest, and without a sound half-tumbled off his broom. He still had a hold, but his expression was painful, and Madame Hooch called a halt to the game.

He came down to earth and Hooch approached him, an anxious Madame Pompfrey hovering in the background. Harry flew up beside Ron at goal.

"Bloody attention-seeking git," Ron muttered.

"Hope he's OK," said Harry. "That looked nasty."

"Yeah, nasty is what nasty prats should …" He trailed off. Hermione had come down to the treatment area and was standing beside Malfoy, who was holding his stomach with one arm, clearly trying not to wince.

"What the hell?" Ron said, astonished. "Why is she there?"

"So's Snape," Harry pointed out, but Ron cut him off.

"Snape! Snape's his bloody house teacher! What's 'Mione doing down there? Why's she so worried about Malfoy being hurt? What the bloody hell is going on?"

"They're friends, sort of – aren't they?" Harry said.

"Not that close!"

"Well they work together," Harry went on impatiently. "And you know what Hermione's like. She always has to see what's going on."

"True," Ron acknowledged reluctantly, as Malfoy clambered back onto his broom and sailed upward once more. Hooch blew her whistle, and Ron managed to shout a brief: "Keep your eyes on the ball!" at Harry before he was gone.

~

Harry did catch the Snitch, and Gryffindor won, but only by a small margin. Harry vented a little in the change-rooms, but ended up congratulating them on a game well played, and thanking Seamus for his quick thinking at the right moment.

He didn't say anything to Ron about why he'd been so distracted in the first place, and Ron didn't ask. Neither of them brought up Malfoy either.

Someone had organised a victory party in the common room for that night (Dean Thomas, Ron suspected, but didn't like to admit it), and Gryffindor was suitably festive. Harry had been down to the kitchens for Butterbeer, cakes and the rest, and it was all set up for the crowds, but none of the team ate much. He, Ron and Ginny sat on a couch by the fire, and went over the game play by play – although Harry and Ginny did most of the talking.

"Colin wasn't so bad," said Ginny.

Harry snorted. "Not so bad? He made about 3 of every 10 balls that came his way!"

"Well, we saw worse at try-outs. And I think he'll improve."

"He'd better, or I'll hold you accountable," Harry said, grinning a little. Ginny smiled back. They'd both had a few Butterbeers, and it was light stuff, but enough to make you feel happy.

"Anyway," Harry went on, jerking his eyes away from Ginny, "our Keeper was in excellent form."

"Thanks," Ron muttered, taking a swig of Butterbeer himself.

"Maybe it was a certain pre-game visitor," Ginny suggested teasingly, and Ron looked at her, then at Harry.

"You told her?"

Harry shrugged, rather awkwardly. "Didn't think you'd mind."

"I don't. I don't mind. Doesn't matter."

"It's cute, Ron," Ginny said, grinning widely – he was immediately reminded of Fred and George. "You played well."

Ron really wanted to mention a certain Gryffindor captain's lapse, but managed to keep his mouth shut.

"Where's 'Mione?" he said eventually.

"Don't know," Ginny shrugged. "Somewhere. I think she had a prefect meeting."

"Prefect meeting!" Ron began to stand up, but then saw Hermione entering through the portrait hole and sat back down again. She approached their coach, and threw herself down next to Ginny when she reached them.

"Oh!" Hermione said, exasperated.

"What?" Ginny asked.

"Stupid meetings!" She looked sharply at Ron. "And where were you?"

"Sorry," he said, ears reddening. "I forgot."

"You could have supported me if you were there. Oh, they're so stupid."

"What's stupid?" said Harry, and she folded her arms across her chest.

"They want to have a silly Hallowe'en ball on the 31st!" she said angrily. "The 31st! That's three weeks away! And they want me to organise it! How on earth am I going to do that?"

"A Hallowe'en ball?" Harry repeated. He didn't sound too happy either.

"A ball," said Hermione. "They just don't think, these prefects. But apparently they've cleared it with Dumbledore, and it's all in the calendar. I mean – well really!" She made a huffing noise and sat back against the cushions.

Ron couldn't say anything. He was thinking of the Yule Ball, what a terrible time he'd had, how beautiful Hermione had looked, about stupid Krum, and stupid dress-robes, and he knew had to ask Hermione before another guy could even think of it – before Malfoy or anyone spoke up and claimed her.

"Want to go with me?" he said in a rush, gaze fixed on the deep-red carpet.

There was a silence in which Ron could feel three pairs of eyes on him.

"What?" Hermione said eventually.

He looked at her now – he had to see her face, try and read her reaction.

Not much good. She just looked taken aback.

"Er – do you want to go with me?" he said again, wishing he didn't have to repeat it, willing her to just put him out of his misery.

Hermione stared at him, and from the corner of his eye he saw Ginny and Harry raise eyebrows at one another. Ron went on looking at Hermione, and she went on looking at him.

"Alright," she said after a little while. "I'd like to."

Ron breathed a long, quiet breath. "Right," he said, his ears reddening despite all internal commands to the contrary. "Um – thank you."

"Thank you for asking me," she returned, her eyes flitting away now, to the floor, the fire, anything but him.

Another tense silence was broken by a cheerful word from Ginny.

"Let's play some chess, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Harry agreed, and soon they were all gathered around a board. Ron and Hermione didn't play. They just watched the game, and avoided eye contact.

Ron felt ill with his own bravery.