A/N: I know!!! The frustration's even getting to me! I just want to lock them in a bedroom somewhere and wait for them to work out their differences!!

Then again, what's any fanfic without prolonged sexual tension, where the characters go back and forth until you just want to shout at the screen? (*ahem* LavenderBrown, does The JohnsonWeasley Story ring any bells there?? *grin*) … ~be good to your daughters~ Shez … PS – Again, sorry about the wait. Even fanfic writers have to sleep. :)

~

The next fortnight passed incredibly slowly for Ron. It felt more like a whole year. He was tireder than usual, crankier, worn out, wanting to leave school, wanting to hide in his room and brood. He felt a bit sick, actually. He had to keep stopping himself from snapping at people.

Harry noticed, but said little about it. Every now and again he'd ask if Ron was alright, and Ron would just grunt.

He wasn't alright, but what could Harry do about it? He'd just have to grit his teeth and go on.

That was easier said than done, particularly when he had to look at Hermione every day and pretend that things were OK. He didn't see as much of her as usual. She found excuses to go the library right after meals, and rarely came into the common room. When she did, it was with a pile of books. He hardly spoke to her, and when he did, it was brief and awkward.

In some ways, he was glad that she wasn't around.

In others, it made him feel a bit desperate.

It was so strange. He couldn't stand to see her, and he couldn't stand not to. Whenever he saw someone with curly, brown hair, he was torn between running the other way and pushing forward to tap them on the shoulder, to check if it was her. He couldn't remember what she smelt like exactly, and spent almost twenty minutes in Divination just trying to bring the memory back.

In the simplest terms, he missed her. He wished that he didn't – it would be easier in all respects – but he did, and that was that.

At one point he managed to corner Ginny on her way to a class.

"I have to get to Potions," she said, even as he pulled her into a nearby, empty classroom.

"It's OK. Tell Snape you were with me."

"Oh yes," said Ginny, rolling her eyes, "because he just loves you."

He ignored this.

"Have you spoken to Hermione?"

"A couple of days ago."

"What did she say?"

"Lots."

"Did she tell you what she said to me?"

"Yes. She was worried."

"'Bout what?"

"That you wouldn't be friends, I think."

"She was embarrassed."

"I don't think she was embarrassed about you," Ginny said impatiently. "I think it was about being drunk. She thinks she's made an idiot of herself."

"She hasn't."

His sister wriggled away from him and out the door. "So tell her that," she called back to him.

Ginny always said things as though the world was clear-cut – you do it, or you don't. It wasn't like that for Ron. He could still see Hermione's face in his mind's eye, telling him she'd made a mistake, telling him she was sorry they'd kissed. She said it herself, explained it herself. She sounded like she meant it.

So days passed, and he didn't say anything to her, but missed her more, and grew steadily moodier.

On the second Saturday after the Hallowe'en Ball, Ron woke relatively early, and made his weary way down to the Great Hall. They had a quidditch game today (the one they'd meant to have a week ago, postponed due to problems with the pitch and the weather), and he wasn't in the mood. He wasn't in the mood for anything much.

Again, Hermione was at the Gryffindor table, with just a few others. He'd noticed she hadn't been at breakfast with them recently, and suspected she was getting up early in order to avoid him.

He sat beside her, knowing that he had to because they were 'friends', but knowing that it wasn't the same as before either.

"Morning," she replied, eyes fixed on her plate. "Sleep well?"

"Fine thanks. How about you?"

"Not bad."

"Good."

They ate in silence for five minutes. Ron realised that this was the longest time he'd spent alone with her since the Ball.

"So I was thinking," Hermione said suddenly, "that maybe we should do another tutorial sometime this week."

Ron chewed on his eggs, stalling for time. When it was clear that he'd have to speak, he swallowed.

"Right," he said.

"Because – well, things haven't really been the same lately," she continued in a rush, glancing quickly at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tuck her hair behind her ear, pushing bacon around on her plate with her fork.

"Right," he said again.

"I don't like it," said Hermione lowly. "I just – I want things to go back to normal."

"Well – so do I," Ron managed. "I want that too."

"And I thought maybe if we spent some time together –"

Ron knew no matter how much time they spent together, it wouldn't be the same, and couldn't bear for her to go on.

"Alright," he said abruptly. "Sure. Tutorial. What about Monday night?"

"Monday night? OK. We'll do some Potions."

"Fine. Sure."

"Good," she said, sounding relieved. "I'm glad. I haven't seen much of you these past weeks."

"I haven't seen much of you," he pointed out, taking another mouthful of breakfast.

She flushed. "I had a lot of work to do," she muttered, and then looked up as Harry and Ginny came into the Great Hall. "I don't know what's happening with those two," she said, with forced cheerfulness. "Are they together?"

"Don't know. Don't think so. Not officially."

"You should tell Harry to ask."

"Harry doesn't really listen to me," Ron said bluntly. He hated that he was being rude to her, but the way she was pretending things were like they always were – like they could ever go back to the way it was – well, it frustrated him.

Hermione frowned and seemed about to say something to him when Harry and Ginny sat down.

"Morning," Ginny said, with an explosive exhale. "I'm spent."

"Already?" teased Harry.

"Hey, just because I'm a quidditch goddess doesn't mean I don't get puffed on the stairs. And speaking of quidditch – ready for the game Ronny?"

"Yep," he muttered.

Ginny laughed a little and poked him. "Who took the Chudley out of your Cannons?" she said, then stopped when Harry gave her a 'don't ask' look. "What?"

"Er – what would you like?" Harry said.

"I can get my own breakfast."
She picked up her plate, and he took it from her, gently.

"It's alright," he said. "I want to. I'm getting mine anyway. Tell me what you want."

Ginny looked at him a moment and then shook her head. "OK," she said, smiling. "French toast, please, and fruit."

"That all?"

"Yes, thanks."

He piled up both their plates, and then placed hers in front of her.

"When's the game start?" Hermione asked after a little while. She'd finished her breakfast by now, and was lining up her cutlery.

"10 o'clock. Thought we ought to try and get a bit of warm-up done beforehand. You up for it, Ron?"

"Sure," he said dully.

Harry pressed on, pretending not to notice. 

"Right, good," he said. "I'll slaughter Seamus if he's not here soon." A brief pause while he took a few bites of toast. "Coming to the game, 'Mione?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"It's going to be excellent," Ginny said, mouth full. Harry grinned at her, but didn't protest her manners. "We're going to beat Hufflepuff hands down."

"Don't say that," Harry interjected. "You'll curse us."

Ginny waved her fork at him. "You know it's true. Their Seeker's nothing compared to you."

"Their Chasers don't really measure up either."

"Shut up," Ginny said archly. "No compliments before breakfast."

"During breakfast."

"Shut up," she repeated. "Don't make me smack you."

"Ooh, I'm scared," Harry grinned, and she elbowed him, hard.

For some reason, all of this made Ron feel crankier than before.

"Merlin, get a room," he snapped, standing.

Harry and Ginny both froze, staring at him. Even Hermione turned her gaze upward to examine his face.

"What did you say?" Harry asked then, sounding stunned. He glanced at Ginny uncomfortably, and then at Ron.

"Nothing," Ron sighed. "Look, I'll see you down on the pitch.

He walked out, feelings their eyes on his back. He was so tense, that he wanted to hit something.

~

"What the fuck are you playing at?" said Harry angrily, coming down the stairs to the change room a quarter of an hour later. His voice rang against the walls and echoed. Ron shrugged into his quidditch gear, and didn't reply.

Harry reached the bottom of the stairs and came in, striding right up to Ron.

"Hey," he said sharply. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Ron muttered, sitting down to pull on his shoes.

"Rubbish, it was nothing. You embarrassed Ginny."

"No, I embarrassed you," Ron returned. "That's what's made you so snotty."

"I'm not snotty," said Harry, hands on his hips. "And yeah, you did embarrass me. We were just mucking around. What's wrong with you anyway?"

"What's wrong with you? Why don't you just ask her out?"

Harry reddened, and found voice a few moments later. "That's none of your business. And you're the one who was saying how hard it was to ask Hermione."

Ron gave him a look, and Harry's angry expression faded into a sort of exasperated sympathy. "Sorry," he said, sitting heavily. "Sorry. Just you've been in the worst mood recently, and – I don't know."

"Can't help it," Ron said shortly. "I want to. I just can't."

"Well – try," Harry suggested, rather helplessly. "I need the old Ron back if I'm going to play a decent game today. And don't go – you know, saying that stuff again. It just makes me nervous, alright? I mean – I will ask her – I think I'll ask her – I just –"

He trailed off, and then continued hurriedly, standing again. "We should get out there before the Hufflepuffs arrive."

Several pairs of feet could be heard on the opposite staircase, leading into the girls' change room, and Ron presumed the female team members had arrived. Harry moved to put on his uniform himself, and soon they were all heading out on to the pitch, warming up on their broomsticks with gentle swoops and dives. Some time later, Harry called them down for the requisite pre-game pep-talk. Ron wasn't really listening. He was, despite himself, scanning the slowly gathering crowd.

Halfway down the hill, he spotted Hermione, rugged up in a coat and scarf against the November chill. Beside her was Malfoy, in a long, dark green jacket. It appeared that they'd come down from the castle together.

He looked away quickly, feeling the anger (which had cooled a little) beginning to build again. Bloody Malfoy. It seemed like every time Ron felt like shit, Malfoy was there to make him feel shittier still. He looked back – they were separating to go to their different House stands, but that didn't make him feel any better. He hated that Hermione could talk to Malfoy, and not to him.

Would she rather talk to Malfoy than to him?

"Ron," Harry said, and he started.

"What?"

"I said, you'll have to watch out for Simpson. He's been very quick with the quaffle recently, and you might have a job keeping an eye on him."

"I'll be fine," Ron said, and Harry shrugged.

"OK. Just warning you."

Ron didn't want his warnings. He didn't want to play either. He wanted to go back to bed, or maybe home to the Burrow.

Plus, he still wanted to hit something – specifically, Malfoy's head – and that was his major thought as he sailed up to the goals at 10 o'clock.

It was the beginning of his worst game of the last two years.

Harry was right, Simpson was fast, but usually it wouldn't have been much of a problem. Today, he wasn't thinking rationally. He lurched for the ball whenever he could, and Simpson just slipped it past him. He missed easy saves, stuffed the harder ones completely, and almost ran into a goal post when his eyes wandered to the Gryffindor stand, and found her wild hair.

To make matters worse, it was freezing and the air smelt of upcoming rain. Sure enough, after almost an hour (with Gryffindor behind 100 points), it began to drizzle.

When the drizzle turned into a downpour, Ron let out a groan of frustration as another fast Quaffle sped by him.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry shouted, circling past.

"I'm trying!" Ron shouted back, and Harry made a 'no excuses' gesture at him.

"You're not trying," he said, sounding very frustrated. "That's the bloody problem. Think, for God's sake. Focus."

"Shove off, Harry," Ron bellowed, and then Harry was dropping suddenly, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Ron didn't understand at first, but then it clicked – he'd seen the Snitch, thank Merlin, and was heading for it.

The Hufflepuff Seeker didn't even spot him in the rain, and it was a swift and easy catch. Harry hit the ground, little winged ball in hand, grinning triumphantly as Madame Hooch blew her whistle.

The Gryffindor team followed their captain, Ron (who had the farthest to come) close behind.

Ginny was the first to hit Harry. She dropped her broom and ran up, throwing her arms around him. He looked taken aback at first, but then put his arms around her too, and hugged her hard. Ron landed and came closer with the rest of the team, who were forming a circle around the two. They were all shouting and cheering, and even Ron had a bit of a smile on his face. Winning quidditch could do that to you.

"You did it," Ginny said breathlessly, even as the Gryffindor players slapped each other on the back, laughing, giddy with triumph and the roars of the crowd.

"I know," Harry said. "We won."
They smiled at each other for a long moment, and then he leant forward and kissed her quickly. When he pulled back, Ginny bit her lip, and pushed wet hair out of her eyes.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, she put her hands on either side of his face and was kissing him. It was a few seconds before the rest of the team realised what was going on, but when they did, there was a burst of spontaneous laughter, whistles and catcalls.

Ron, feeling weirded out and somehow suddenly upset, looked away.  

His eyes found Malfoy. He was standing at the edge of the pitch, arms folded over his chest, and Hermione was standing with him. A bubble of anger rose from his stomach to his chest, and this time it couldn't be suppressed. His long legs took him over to them at a half-run – Hermione was calling her congratulations before he'd even reached her.

"Well done, Ron!" she said happily.

He didn't reply, focussed, for the moment, on Malfoy.

"Malfoy," he said. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy looked briefly at Hermione, whose smile was fading, and then at Ron.

"Watching the quidditch, Weasley. Nice game you played."

"Don't get smart with me," Ron snarled. "Who do you think you are anyway?"

"Ah – I'm not sure what you mean."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't," he said loudly. "What are you on about?"

"Ron, what are you doing?" Hermione protested, and her voice only made him feel angrier.

"I don't trust you, Malfoy."

"Yes, you've said," Malfoy returned coolly.

"I don't trust you with Hermione. Always wandering around together. And the Yule Ball – what was that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, with that Malfoy arrogance that always made him want to pull out the guy's hair. Ron prodded his chest.

"Stay away from her."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I'll tell you what I like."

"For God's sake, Weasley, you're not the girl's keeper."

"No, you're not," Hermione interjected tightly.

Ron finally met her eye. She was red-faced – with embarrassment or rage, he wasn't sure which – but he didn't feel guilty. He felt frustrated and jealous and angry – at Malfoy, at himself, at her. With an effort, he stopped himself saying any more, and looked at his feet.

"I need to talk to you," Hermione said eventually, through gritted teeth. "Sorry Malfoy."

"Don't worry about it. See you tonight."

"Bye."

Malfoy walked briskly away, and Hermione took hold of his arm, dragging him into the corridor through which the Hufflepuff's came up from the change room to the pitch.

"What was that?" she demanded, releasing his arm.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? That's not good enough, Ron Weasley! What's the matter with you, anyway? You've been in a terrible mood for weeks, and you keep on taking it out on us. And I want you to stop."

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't say sorry! Tell me why! Tell me what's wrong with you, for Merlin's sake!"

And with those words, something snapped inside his head.

"You want to know what's wrong with me?" he said furiously. "I'll bloody tell you! I like you, OK? I like you like crazy. And you kissed me at the Hallowe'en Ball, and then took it back and pretended like it didn't mean anything. You can't do that, and act like things should be just the way they used to be, like we can just do your little tutorials as though nothing's happened. Things are never going to go back to the way they used to be. They can't. I can't. And I hate Malfoy because he gets to see more of you than I ever do, and you talk to him, and maybe you like him, and I can hardly stand it, OK?"

There was a long silence while he tried to find breath, staring at her, aware of his uncomfortably wet quidditch robes and fast-beating heart. She had her eyes on her feet, and stood very still.

The enormity of what he'd just admitted hit him with sudden force, and his throat dried out. He wanted to fall into the ground, or maybe hide in the Shrieking Shack for the rest of his life.

But at the same time, he wanted to hear what she said. Needed to. Desperately.

"'Mione," he said hoarsely, coming a step closer to her. Was she trembling? It was cold in this dark tunnel, but he didn't think it was that. His anger was fading into – what? Hope? Fear? God, he had no idea. He wanted to touch her, more than anything, and put a hand on her arm.

Seamus stumbled in, shouting at the top of his voice.

"Oi! Macmillan! Macmillan?"

He saw Ron and Hermione, and smiled obliviously at them both.

"Hello," he said. "Seen Ernie?"

And the moment was lost, and Hermione was slipping past him, past Seamus, and outside again. Ron clenched his fists in frustration and dropped his head.

Well, he'd told her. And look how much good it had done him.

"Something the matter?" Seamus asked innocently.

Ron slapped him over the head as he left, but didn't explain what he'd interrupted. He didn't think he'd be able to explain to anybody, not even Ginny. He felt too raw himself – in disbelief that he'd said it, in agony at her utter silence.

He was soon swept up in the crowd of Gryffindors leaving the pitch. He just didn't real feel as though he was with them.

--

A/N: Expect happier things soon. I'll do my best to get it out there asap. I hate that I'm keeping you waiting, life is crazy right now :( … give me a week, and I'll be sweet again. ~Shez