A/N: Sorry it took me this long, am busy-busy. Doing my best! ~weekend at bernie's is on~ Shez

~

He went back into the Hall almost an hour later, heart thudding painfully. He didn't know if he could bear to see Hermione again yet, but when he scanned the room, he couldn't find her. He did see Harry, standing by the Gryffindor drinks table (the sixth year was gone, and Ron had to resist the urge to slap his own forehead), looking anxious. Ron approached him, and Harry didn't even notice he was there a minute had passed.

"Hey," he said, starting. "Where were you?"

"Outside. Where's Gin?"

"Took Hermione up to bed. She wasn't feeling well. I said I'd go with them, but Ginny used that 'It's a girl thing' line, and I figured I'd better stay out of it." He was tapping his foot, quite unconsciously. "That was ages ago. I wonder what they're doing?"

"Who knows?" Ron said dismally, and Harry glanced sharply at him.

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Did you say something to Malfoy?"

"Why the hell would you think that?"

"He's not here either."

Ron gave the room a quick once-over, and found that Harry was right. Maybe the prat left when he realised he wouldn't be getting anything from Hermione.

"No," Ron said eventually, "I didn't say something to Malfoy."

"Why are you being so weird about this?"

"I'm not."

"Oh, come on."

"I'm not."

"For Merlin's sake, Ron!"

"She kissed me, alright?" he said loudly.

A few people looked over, and his ears went crimson. He tried to be invisible.

Harry, on the other hand, stared at him, and then broke into a sudden smile and wild whooping.

"There you go!" he said happily, punching him on the shoulder. "It was only a matter of time. And she kissed you. You didn't even have to do the work."

"Harry – shut up," he snapped, and Harry's smile dropped away. He stared at Ron again, his expression now fading into a sort of dread.

"What happened?"

Ron scuffed at the ground with one foot, and then kicked it. He didn't feel better. "She was drunk. Somebody spiked the punch."

Harry looked from the punch table, back to Ron. "Hermione was drunk?" he said incredulously.

"Yeah. And as soon as she realised what she was doing, she stopped and ran off."

"She stopped kissing you?"

"Yeah."
Harry paused, eyes on his feet. "Well, were you kissing her back?"

Ron flushed again. "Of course," he said, in a strangled kind of way.

"That's something, then."

There was a brief silence, and then Ron couldn't contain himself.

"She doesn't like me, Harry."

"Ron …"

"You didn't see her," Ron said, speaking over him. "You didn't see her face. She looked – she just looked – so – dismayed."

"Dismayed?"

It was the right word. "Dismayed," he repeated. "She doesn't want me."

"You can't know that for sure," Harry said, but Ron was shaking his head.

"I'm going to bed."

"Don't do that."

"What else am I going to do?" he said, rather angrily. "My partner's not here, is she?"

"Neither is mine," Harry protested, but even as he spoke, Ginny came back down the staircase. Ron gave him a look, and Harry raised his hands helplessly.

"Fine. If you want to go to bed, go. Tell me about it properly tomorrow."

Ron muttered something and moved off. One part of him wanted to run up to Ginny, grab her by the shoulders, and ask if Hermione was alright. The other part wanted to get out of there as soon as he could, and maybe never see Hermione again.

~

He didn't sleep well. In fact, he didn't sleep. He lay in bed with his curtains drawn, listening to the empty dorm, unable to stop himself replaying the scene in his head. The skin on her cheek – he'd never touched that before. Her taste. The sound of her breath so close. It was all so clear, all technicolour, like his nerves were on fire.

And every time the memory played out, he felt a hard clutch of his stomach as he saw her run away from him.

Why did she run away from him?

He considered the options.

1) She didn't like him in that way, and it was just a stupid, drunken stumble.

2) She'd been feeling too sick to stay. This would be handy if true, but he was pretty sure it wasn't that.

      3)   Maybe he hadn't been … well… good.

He turned over and frowned. He'd never really kissed a girl like that before. There'd never been anyone he'd really wanted to. Sure, there were pretty girls around, and he liked them – but sort of in the same way that everybody likes dessert. In a general, natural kind of way.

But kissing Hermione – that was better than just dessert. That was like whipped cream and cheesecake, with chocolate sundae on the side.

And the thought he was skirting around was that maybe he was just no good at kissing. Maybe he'd mucked it up. It had felt pretty good to him – but from her side of things, he supposed it could have been a whole different quidditch game.

There was a light knock on the dormitory door and he sat up.

"Harry?"

"It's me," said Ginny, "can I come in?"

She was already stepping inside; Ron could hear her feet on the floor. After a brief pause, he pulled his curtains aside, and couldn't stop himself asking:

"Is she OK?"

"Who?"

He gave her a look and she came closer to his bed. "Yes, she's fine. A bit sick. She crashed almost right away. Is it just me, or –"

"The punch was spiked."

"Ah. Thought so."

"The guy said he was going to tell everyone, and I believed him. Merlin, I'm so stupid. I'm stupid." He threw himself back down on his pillow, and Ginny sat on the edge of her bed. She was silent for a few moments.

"She cried, you know," she said then, and Ron sat up again.

"What?"

"She was crying. Do you know anything about that?"

My God, he thought, it must've really been bad.

"No, I – I don't know – why –"

He stopped at the expression on her face.

"What happened?" she asked gently, but Ron didn't want to be gentled.

"Everyone keeps asking that. Bloody hell. I don't know. It's none of your business."

"Fine," she said, standing, and he immediately felt like the worst kind of rubbish.

"No, wait," he sighed.

She waited, hands on her hips. "What?" she said archly. "Going to be rude again?"

"No. I'm sorry. I just – we kissed, OK?"

Short silence.

"You kissed her?"

"No."

"She kissed you?"

"Yeah."

Ginny broke into a grin. "Brave girl."

"She ran off afterwards. She hated it."

"What do you mean, hated it?"

"I don't know," he said, ears hot. "She was embarrassed. She – maybe I'm just a shite kisser."

And then, unable to believe he'd said this to his little sister, he dropped back onto the bed and put his pillow over his face. She pulled it off him.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," she said reasonably. "I'll talk to her."

Ron bit his lip. "You will?"

"Sure."

"You'll figure out what's wrong?"

"If I can."

He exhaled heavily. "OK. OK, thanks."

"Or you could just ask her yourself."

"No!" he exclaimed. "Merlin, I don't even know how I'm going to look at her anymore. I think – I don't think she likes me. I think that's what it's about."

"Don't go jumping to conclusions," she said sternly. "Not yet."
He nodded mutely. It hurt his chest when he thought about Hermione. He tried not to.

"So," he said with an effort, changing the subject, "how's your night been?"

"Not bad," she said vaguely.

"Harry a good partner?"

"Really good. He's down in the common room waiting for me."

"I saw you two dancing. You seemed – comfortable."

"Shut up," she said, laughing a little. She looked at him sideways. "Just say," she began casually, "I don't know, just say someone you knew started dating me … would that bother you?"

Ron pretended to think. "Yes," he said finally, "it would bother me. A lot."

"Oh."

She looked a bit downcast, and he nudged her with his knee.

"If you're talking about Harry," he said plainly, "I'm OK with that."
She flushed. "Right," she said, and stood.

"Has he asked?"

She shrugged with one shoulder and smiled a bit. "No. But he's got this look on his face – like he's working up the courage or something. I don't know. He probably just wants to talk about the next game."

"Now, now," Ron chided lightly, "don't go jumping to conclusions."
Ginny smiled. "It'll all work out with Hermione, you know."
Hermione. Abruptly, vividly, he felt her lips on his again, and couldn't meet Gin's eye.

"'Night," he said.

"'Night," she replied, after a pause. "I'll talk to her."

"OK."
She left, and he pulled the curtains into place. Sometimes he thought how weird it was to talk to Gin like this, like a friend – but they were close these days. And she was one of those people who, when you were in conversation with her, you felt like you could trust her with your secrets.

He wondered if she and Harry talked like that.

He wondered if she and Hermione did.

He still didn't sleep.

~

Ron rose late the next morning, a Saturday. He could hear Harry turning over in bed, and Dean snoring quietly behind closed curtains, and when he went downstairs to the common room, it was full of sleepy, sore-headed Gryffindors, discarded corsages and empty cups.

"My God," Seamus moaned from an armchair by the fireplace. "I feel like my brains have been stomped on and then put back in through my ear-holes."

"Let's hope McGonagall doesn't find out about the bloody punch," Ron said grimly, passing by. "Coming to breakfast?"

Seamus didn't reply. He presumed that was a no, and went by himself.

The first person he saw in the Hall was Hermione, looking strained and pale-faced, but clearly making an effort to appear normal. She had a plate of eggs and toast in front of her, but wasn't eating anything. She was just fiddling with her fork.

As soon as he saw her – the hair gone wild again, her eyes tired – he wanted to run away. He felt angry and nervous and sick, and everything else mixed-up. But before he could move, she'd seen him, and gestured for him to join her.

His feet seemed to move of their own accord towards the Gryffindor table. He certainly had nothing to do with it. He sat beside her and they said nothing for a half-minute while he automatically piled up a plate.

"Hi," she said then, rather hoarsely.

He avoided her eye. "Hi," he managed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

He glanced at her, unable to stop himself. She was staring at her plate, and her cheeks were reddening.

"Good," he replied. Not knowing what else to do, he started breakfast. Hermione still didn't eat.

"Ron," she said, after about ten minutes. By then he'd finished, and was downing a glass of orange juice. "Ron, can I talk to you?"

Something jumped inside of him, and then sunk very low. Was this going to be a good or a bad talk?

"Alright," he croaked.

"D'you want to go outside?"

"Alright."

"Now?"

"Alright."
Hermione stood, and he wished that he could find another word besides 'alright'. She led the way out of the Great Hall, and into morning light. It was quite cool, and he was shivering in just a T-shirt and jeans. They didn't go to the same spot as last night, thank God. She walked out onto the grass instead, and he followed until she turned. She seemed to be composing herself, but her fingers were fidgeting nervously.

"I – well, I wanted to talk about – last night," she began.

"Right," said Ron. "We probably should."

"Right. Thank you for looking after me when I was sick."

"The punch was spiked," Ron explained, glad to be able to provide some information, but she already knew.

"Yeah," she said, making a bit of a face. "Ginny told me. Silly me, hey?"

"You weren't to know," he said quietly, eyes on his feet. He couldn't maintain that for long, and looked up at her. She was stroking her ponytail again, in that way she had when she was thinking.

"Do you remember what happened – outside?" he said impulsively, and she nodded.

"I remember." She shook her head, and glanced at him. "Sorry."

"Sorry," he repeated.

She went on shaking her head – she seemed angry with herself. "I was so stupid. Drinking all that punch. I should have known, and I should have done something about it, and I hate being out of my own control like that. And I think I did something stupid – that might have – affected the way we see each other – and I don't want that – because of something stupid –"

The word echoed in his head. Stupid. Hermione stumbled on.

"I just, I feel like I imposed on you, and ruined your night. I'm so embarrassed. I – I made a fool of myself. I'm sorry," she finished miserably.

You didn't make a fool of yourself, whispered a voice in his head. I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted to kiss you.

"You didn't ruin my night," he said instead, awkwardly. "It was good."

"We didn't even dance."

"No. But – you know, I'm not much of a dancer."

"I'm just so embarrassed," she said again, with another quick, desperate glance at him. "I can't believe I did that."

"It's alright." His voice sounded dull in his own ears.

They stood in silence for too long, and then Hermione, quite unexpectedly, held out her small hand.

"We're still friends, aren't we?" she said, almost urgently.

I can't bear it, he thought.

"Of course," he replied. He took her hand in his, shook it, and released it as quickly as possible. He didn't want to think about the way her skin felt, or her hands, or anything.

"Good," she said, sighing shakily. "I was – sort of afraid I'd ruined everything."

"No. You didn't."

"Good. I'm glad." She hesitated. "Thank you for being my partner."

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her so much – but after all she'd said, how could he possibly? She didn't want him, she was only his friend, and that was the beginning and end of it.

"Thank you for being mine," he replied, as evenly as he could.

"Oi!" came a voice from the Great Hall doorway. It was Harry, Ginny behind him. "Want to go flying?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah!" he shouted. "Hang on."

"I won't," called Hermione. She shrugged ruefully at Ron. "Work."

"OK," he said. "Well – good luck."

"Thanks."
And with that, he turned his back on her, and walked across the lawn to Harry.

It was like they'd come full circle, and gone right back to the beginning again, back to how things used to be before he knew how he really felt about her. It left a strange, heavy feeling in his stomach.

He supposed he'd just have to get used to it.