A/N: Another shout-out to the lovely Mr Mayer in this chapter. Who can spot it?? (Meegs, you're not allowed to play, hehe) … and thank you for reviews *sends kisses and hugs to everyone, and giggles excitedly about upcoming Hallowe'en ball* … ~98n6~

~

"Right," Ron muttered, adjusting the folds of his dress robes. "Right."

"Lovely," chirped his mirror. "Just smashing."

"Thanks," Ron said, running a hand through his hair absent-mindedly.

"Oh no, dear!" the mirror protested. "Now you've gone and ruined it!"

"Never mind," said Ron, turning as Harry came into the dorm. He was wearing black robes (he'd bought new ones for a sixth year presentation evening), and an anxious expression.  Ron looked down at his own robes. They were dark blue, very simple. The twins got them for him a few years ago, as a joint birthday-Christmas present. Ron had thought at the time that it was a bit much (even as two presents), but wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Harry came to stand behind him in the mirror.

"Thank God it's not fancy dress," he said, and Ron nodded fervently. Fancy dress certainly wasn't his thing – luckily McGonagall had specified that this was not to be a Hallowe'en costume ball, but a 'celebration of the holiday in a sensible, civilised manner'.

"I feel like crap," Ron said then. "Look at my hair."

"Look at mine," said Harry miserably. "Mine's never going to be right."

"Oh, you. The girls love your hair. Bloody hell."

"What?"

"The number of times I've overheard girls talking about your hair, mate …"

"Shut up," said Harry, shoving Ron with a shoulder. He straightened and looked his reflection in the eye. "So. What's the plan?"

"We'll go down and meet Gin in the common room in five minutes. Then you two can go down, and I'll met 'Mione at her room."

"Right. Got all your stuff?"

Ron went to his bed and picked up the two single roses he'd placed there. "Flowers, check." He handed one to Harry. "It was roses, right?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. They're pretty safe, aren't they?"

"I guess. Robes, check."

"Check," Harry agreed, "'cept I feel like a twat."

"Wands –"

They both patted their back trouser-pockets under their robes. They always took their wands with them these days.

"Check," they said in unison.

"Is that it?" Harry asked.

"I think so." He paused, and then said reluctantly: "Shall we go, then?"

Harry squared his shoulders. "Alright," he said. "Alright, let's go."

They headed downstairs.

"Are you nervous?" Ron asked Harry as they went.

"Course," he said shortly. "Aren't you?"

"Wetting myself," Ron admitted. "I hate this kind of thing. I hate being looked at, too."

"Well," said Harry, as they came out into the common room, "at least we're getting there a little late, so we won't … be …"

He trailed off, staring at the girls' staircase. Ginny was descending, and even Ron, who was her brother, had to admit she looked fantastic. Her robes were a lilac colour – feminine, but not too sweet. He didn't know how to explain it. A sharp sort of lilac. The material fell softly over her body, clinging lightly in places; her hair was out; she smelled like summer, somehow.

Ron looked at Harry. He was clearly speechless, and as Ginny approached, Ron dug him in the ribs with an elbow, surreptitiously. Harry started and swallowed.

"Hello," Gin said as she reached them, flushing excitedly. "Wow, you boys look different."

"You look beautiful," Ron said, giving her a quick hug. He released her and she turned to Harry.

"Hello," she said again.

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, and then held the rose out to her. She took it. "Thank you."

"That's alright."

Ron tried to pretend he wasn't there, and looked in another direction. He felt as though he was, yet again, intruding.

"You look amazing," Harry said lowly, after a brief silence.

"You don't scrub up too bad yourself."

She smiled slowly, and then he did too.

"Do you want to go down to the Great Hall?"

"Yes," she said softly, "let's go."

Harry took her free hand (in an old-style, courteous sort of gesture), and they began to move off.

"Er – right," said Ron. "I'm going to go meet 'Mione."
He needn't have bothered. They weren't listening. In fact, he was pretty sure they'd forgotten he was there. He shook his head, and then headed out the portrait hole.

~

It was very quiet in the corridor outside her room, but when he came a little closer he could hear her footsteps. He waited a few metres from her door, which was slightly ajar again, hands automatically behind his back. His gaze wandered in the direction of Malfoy's room – Ron was pretty sure he wasn't there, because the door was shut tight, and glowing a little from the strength of an Impervious Charm.

He knew that because of Hermione. Hermione taught him about Impervious Charms in 6th year.

"Ron," she called suddenly, "is that you?"

"Er, yes," he returned, taking a step forward, then a step back. "I'm just – waiting here."

"I'll be two seconds. Sorry."

"That's alright."

Now he felt a little ill. He thought he'd had his nerves under control, to some degree. No – definitely feeling ill, and worried that she'd think he looked ridiculous, and worried that he wouldn't know what to say, and just worried.

Now the door was opening, and she was coming out, smiling, shutting it behind her – and Merlin she looked beautiful, in robes all chocolate-brown, her hair softly curled and up, her eyes shaded with the faintest bronze.

She was standing in front of him, looking nervous herself. She touched a ringlet that was coming out around her ear, and he knew if he didn't speak now, it would be forever-hold-your-peace, and he wouldn't get it out.

"Hermione," he said, and stopped.

Great, he thought acidly. Very articulate.

"Ron," she said, smiling again. "You look nice."

He felt his ears redden, but found words. "You look about a thousand times better than I do, believe me. You look – really beautiful."

She blinked at him. "Thank you," she said eventually. "Thanks."

He was staring now, and had to force himself to stop. "Oh, this is for you."

He handed her the rose – she took it, thanking him again, and then jumped.

"I've got something for you too. Hang on, I left it in there."

Hermione ran lightly back into her room, and then reappeared with a button-hole, a white carnation. "I thought it would go with the brown, anyway," she said. "Sort of."

She came towards him, and his heart went faster.

"Hold on," she said, and pinned it to the appropriate fold of his robe. He was so aware of how close she was – he could smell her, her fingers brushed the skin of his neck – that he was almost sure he could hear her heart beating too.

She stepped away from him a little and he, following Harry's example, took hold of her hand. He was as gentle as he could be – it was so small compared to his that he felt like he ought to be careful.

"D'you want to go down?" he said, after a pause.

She looked sideways at him. "Yes," she said. "We should go, or we'll be late."

"Right."

They went downstairs.

He couldn't really believe that he was beside her, that she was with him. It was the strangest thing, and the sweetest.

~

Everyone was milling about in the Great Hall, which was festooned with decoration (although, on McGonagall's orders, it was all quite understated). Ron felt a little dizzy looking at all the students. Fifth, sixth and seventh years were invited, and it seemed that a few fourth-years had managed to tag along too. There were four different drinks tables set up, one for each house, and Ron thought they might make a beeline for the Gryffindor table when Lavender accosted them.

"Hi, Ron," she said, literally batting her eyelids. She was hanging off Dean Thomas' arm. "Hi Hermione."

"Lavender," Hermione said pleasantly. "You look great."

"Thanks. So do you. I wouldn't have thought brown was your colour, but –" She shrugged, and Ron found himself tightening his grip on Hermione's hand in indignation,   " – there you go. And Ron," she added, "you look rather dashing, don't you?"

"Thanks," he said, and nodded at Dean. "Thomas."

"Weasley."

There was an awkward silence, and then Dean tugged at Lavender and muttered something in her ear. "We're going to get drinks," Lavender said chirpily, "you want to come?"

"Er –" Ron began, but then Hermione elbowed him (he assumed that meant 'no'), and he shook his head.

"OK. See you later."

They disappeared into the crush, and Ron turned to Hermione.

"Don't listen to her," he said. "Brown is definitely your colour."

"I'm don't care," Hermione said airily. "Hey look, there's Ginny and Harry. Oh, Ginny looks amazing! Come on, let's go!"

Her hand slipped out of his, and she went forward into the crowd. Ron followed, trying to peer around the people ahead, and soon spotted the couple. They were sitting in a corner, talking quietly, but they stopped when Hermione approached. Ginny stood, Harry too, and they'd all exchanged exclamations and greetings when Ron caught up.

"I love your robes!" Ginny was gushing.

"No, I love yours!"
Harry and Ron grinned at one another. Harry was standing rather close to Ginny – Ron himself was resisting the urge to grab Hermione and drag her away.

Not long after, McGonagall's voice sounded throughout the Hall, and everyone fell into an almost-hush.

"Welcome, students," she said, rather sternly. "I'd like to inform you before we begin that at the first sign of funny business, the ball will be closed. There will be only two supervising teachers at any given time" (she sounded cranky about this) "because Dumbledore has announced that he trusts you to behave as adults. But be warned – the staff are on red alert."

Complete silence greeted this outburst.

"Well," she said finally. "Now we have addressed that matter, I hope that you enjoy the night. Please thank your prefects for its organization" (polite clapping) "and your band, Warlock War. I would now ask our Head Boy and Girl to lead us in the dancing."

She stepped off the podium, and Ron turned to Hermione. She was staring at the place where McGonagall had been, and then looked at Ron.

"I didn't know!" she said desperately. "I didn't."

"Doesn't matter," he insisted – albeit, a little awkwardly, a little grudgingly. "Go on, it's fine."

"Ron, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Malfoy was already making his way out onto the dance floor, as cool and collected as ever, and Hermione hurried out to meet him. The music started as they reached each other – not very slow, but not very fast either, and when Malfoy put his arms around her waist, Ron had to clench his fists.

"Steady, mate," Harry said in his ear. "It's not for long."

He was right. Within thirty seconds, McGonagall had gestured for the rest of the students to take to the floor too, and there was a general surge forwards. Harry and Ginny kept him company for a while (Hermione couldn't very well leave Malfoy in the middle of a dance), but Ron urged them to go.

"Don't stay here 'cos of me," he said, a bit irritably. "I'm fine."

"If you're sure," Ginny said uncertainly.

"I'm sure. Go."

Harry shook his head, but led Ginny out, and Ron lost them again in the crowd – along with Hermione and Malfoy.

~

About a quarter of an hour later, she came up behind him at the drinks table, pink in the face and laughing.

"Hello," she said.

She looked lovely. He took a sip of his drink. "Hello. Have fun dancing?"

She made a face. "You know I'd much rather dance with you. Want to?"

It was a fast song, and Ron remembered the twins' advice with a pang of apprehension. It was true. He couldn't dance for shite, and he'd have to wait for something slower if he was going to be passable.

"Ah – maybe in a bit."

She seemed disappointed, and his heart leapt a little, but then Seamus was tapping her on the shoulder, and she was spinning away from him again.

He kicked himself inwardly. Why didn't he just say he'd dance? He took a long swig of punch.

"Careful there," said the guy serving – a sixth year Ron didn't recognise.

"Careful? Of what?"

"Don't go drinking that too fast."

"Why?"

The boy looked shifty. "No reason."
Ron frowned at him, and the sixth year sighed and leant forwards. "Spiked."

"Spiked?!"

"Shh! You know it's no fun with just punch."

"You can't spike it," Ron hissed. "We'll all be blamed."

"Hey, it wasn't me. And I'm telling everyone. Don't worry. I'm keeping them in line."

Ron stared at him in an agony of indecision. If he told the teachers, the ball would likely be called off, and the entire school would hate him. But if he let this guy handle things, who knows what would be going on by the end of the night?

"It's not spiked much, you said?" he asked warily, and the guy nodded vigorously.

"Hardly at all. Just a pinch."

"And you're telling everyone?"

"Swear to God."

Ron leant towards him. "You better be," he said, in his most dangerous voice. "Or I'll talk to you later."

The guy nodded again. "Sure. No problem."

Ron walked away from the drinks table and found a suitable corner for brooding. This was getting more and more like the Yule Ball with each passing second.

~

Over two hours passed – and he still hadn't danced with Hermione.

He'd danced with Lavender twice (he'd crumbled under her persistence), to songs slow enough that he didn't feel like a git. She blatantly pressed herself against him, and he wished he was with Hermione.

He'd spoken to Padma Patil for almost half an hour. She seemed to have forgotten the Yule Ball – but was equally unimpressed with her current date, who was nowhere to be found. She bitched about him to Ron for some time.

Later, he managed to get a few words in to an entirely distracted Harry.

And then he brooded in his brooding-corner.

Now and again, he'd spot her with someone on the dance floor, laughing, breathless. Or at the drinks table. Or talking to Ginny. It was just flashes through the crowd though, and he had no idea what she was up to most of the time. It was awful – occasionally he'd go looking for her, when a suitable song came on, but for some reason he was never in time to grab her and dance.

It wasn't until late in the night, almost twelve o'clock, that he saw her again properly. Quite a few people had stopped to rest their feet (or go for a snog – the current supervisors were Professors Flitwick and Sprout, who didn't seem too fussed about anything, and were reading The Daily Prophet together in the corridor). Anyway, the floor was half-empty, and Hermione was standing with Ginny, talking animatedly. She seemed a little off-balance, and Ron was about to take this opportunity to snatch her up again, when the band started up a sweet, slow song.

Right, he thought, mentally preparing himself. Just go. Just ask. Just point out that she's your date and you haven't danced together once.

But before he could even move, Malfoy was tapping her on the shoulder.

Ron watched in stunned, confounded silence. Yet again, thwarted by that bloody Slytherin.

Hermione replied in the negative at first, he thought – she half-shook her head, and smiled an apology. But he said something else, and she hesitated, and then they were moving away from Ginny, and Malfoy's hand was on her waist again, the other touching her back.
Ron was clenching his jaw and his fists now. He hated Malfoy with all his might, and he hated himself for not being brave enough to interrupt them. The thing was – she didn't look unhappy. She looked like she was having an alright time, there in Malfoy's arms.

That – well, that bothered him.

He was about to go for another drink when he saw, from the corner of his eye, Hermione pull back from Malfoy a little, and Malfoy clearly tightening his grip on her. She pulled back harder, and now he released her, as she went stumbling off the dance floor. In fact, she went right past Ron without seeing him, and into the corridor.

He went after her quickly, and was in time to see her hurry past an oblivious Sprout and sleepy Flitwick. She passed through the doors and outside, and, concerned, Ron followed.

When he came out, she was leaning against a column. He approached cautiously, and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, and when she turned, she was so pale that Ron began to frown.

"What is it?" he said, in a heated murmur. "Is it Malfoy?"

"No – no," she managed, putting a hand to her head.

"What? Tell me, what?"

"I just – I feel a bit sick."

And without any further ado, she took three steps out onto the grass and threw up.

Ron didn't move for a moment, but then was moving faster than he thought he could, a hand on her back, the other pushing loose strands of her hair away from her mouth. He said something – he wasn't sure what, meaningless sounds – and when she was a little recovered led her over to a stone bench set against the castle wall. It was mostly in shadow, but a few lights from within and the high, bright moon meant he could see well enough.

"I'm going to get water," he said decidedly, and went back inside. He briefly saw Harry and Ginny, dancing close, barely moving, but couldn't give them much thought. He headed outside once more, water in hand, and found her right where he'd left her.

He'd almost been scared that she might disappear again.

"Have a drink," he said, and she – oddly obedient – did so. When she was done, he took her drink from her and put it on the ground. She leant against him a little and sighed unsteadily.

"Sorry," she said. "Sorry. I don't know what – that was."

"It's alright."

"I've got a headache."

"OK."

"Maybe from dancing. Maybe from dancing with punch in my stomach, that could make you sick couldn't it?"
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Punch?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "I've had way too much punch. Way – too much punch."

Ron gritted his teeth. "Didn't – didn't the guy –" he began, and then stopped.

No. Clearly the sixth-year hadn't informed her of the dangers of this 'non-alcoholic' punch. Ron kicked himself again – this time for being less observant.

"Sorry I was sick," she said again, sounding a little teary, and he immediately forgot about the dickhead punch-server.

"Hey," he said. "What's a ball date for but to help you when you throw up?"

She didn't seem to see the funny side of it, and looked up at him suddenly with such earnestness that his stomach turned over.

"I'm a terrible partner. I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said awkwardly.

"No," she insisted. "I haven't danced with you once. Not once. I just – I didn't really think you wanted to. Because you said, before … but I should have asked again. I'm sorry, Ron."

"Stop apologising."

"And then Malfoy wanted to dance, and I didn't really, but then we did, and then I didn't want to anymore," she rambled, her eyes fixed on his face. He was looking at her too. He'd never had such prolonged eye contact with her before, and it made him feel light-headed.

"It's alright," he said quietly. "I don't care about Malfoy."
There was a long, silent pause, and then, quite abruptly, she was kissing him hard on the lips. He was so startled that he didn't respond for a moment, but then was kissing her back, his hands shaking, one cupping the side of her face. They were kissing, and they weren't stopping, and she tasted of cold, clean water and punch. She made a noise into his mouth, and his tongue touched hers lightly, her lips against his both soft and firm.

It was bizarre. It was amazing. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

After almost a minute of this, she broke away and put a hand to her head.

"It aches," she said plaintively, and he was momentarily hurt that she didn't seem to think anything of all this. But then she looked at him, her eyes widened, and she put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God," she moaned, flushing crimson. "Oh my God."

"Hermione …" he began, but she was standing. He did the same.

"I'm so sorry," she babbled. "I didn't mean – oh God, I'm so embarrassed – I don't know where that came from –"

"It's OK."

"I'm sorry – I wasn't –"

"Hermione, wait …"

But she was going back into the castle at a stumbling half-run, and his legs were like lead, too heavy to go after her.

He sat again. He didn't know what had just happened – but he was pretty sure it wasn't good.

Still reeling, he replayed her words in his mind.

She was embarrassed that she'd kissed him.

She was sorry that she'd kissed him.

And she was drunk when she kissed him.

No. Not good.

~
A/N: Please don't hit panic stations yet. I am so far from done, it's crazy. And all will be explained 'bout Hermione (silly girl), ASAP. Just hang on! ~call2thecolourblind~ Shez