A/N: And here we are with chapter the second! I hope it lives-up to everyone's expectations.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.
Chapter 2
The biggest problem I'm facing now is deciding where to start. Beginning in first year would probably be the logical choice as I first met you then, but then I don't think there's paper enough in the world for me to write everything that's come into my head since first year. The other logical choice would be to start right at that moment where I kissed you, but at the same time I think it would be cheating you out of all the events that surrounded that moment that, if they hadn't happened, might have caused me to take even longer to come clean. Instead, I suppose I'll start a few months before that moment, at the beginning of our sixth year. By then, Viktor had found himself a steady girlfriend; you hadn't told me this, and I hadn't bothered to bring it up, but I have to say that I'd never been happier of the fact that he was a big Quidditch star as it meant his whole life was plastered in Quidditch Weekly for the whole world to see. Still, even with a girlfriend, it didn't stop him from owling you every week, and I have to say that I was more than a bit miffed about that.
I remember that Bulgaria had played England that summer and that he'd stayed a few days longer so that he would be able to see you. Of course, what I remember most is that I found out from Harry that Viktor was staying at your house for a few days. I'd been wondering why it had been a week and you still hadn't replied to my last letter. It usually took only a matter of hours most of the time, two days at the most, but in your last letter you'd mentioned that you were nursing a bit of a cold and so I assumed that you just weren't feeling up to writing, that you were still under the weather. It's a good thing Harry's such a great guy, and that he understood (even if he didn't mention it) what I was going through because he took the brunt of the blow when I found out. For someone who doesn't like obscenities, you'll be happy to know that you weren't around when I found out, because I could have rivaled a sailor at the time…
Harry seemed really uncomfortable when I mentioned your name; he'd been pretty quiet that summer which was really pretty understandable after everything he'd been through over the past five years. It seemed trouble followed him around wherever he went, but still he never complained even though he was surely going through a tougher time than everyone else put together. When the news had come that he'd be able to stay at the Burrow, we were all ecstatic, and even that had seemed to put him in a better mood. He'd been smiling more and seemed to come out of his shell, and so when I dropped your name, saying that I hoped you were feeling better, I couldn't understand why he'd suddenly gone quiet. He was frowning slightly and staring at his feet; he couldn't look me in the eye, and that was never a good sign.
"Harry, did you hear me? I said I hope Hermione's feeling better. She owled me last week and said she was feeling ill, but she hasn't sent anything since even though I've written her at least three times since then," Harry was still looking at his feet, and now he'd really started worrying me; I couldn't quite put my finger on what would make him act this way, but the first thought that crossed my mind was that something had happened to you, that you were really sick but hadn't wanted to tell me. I guess when you're living in a time where war is about to break, the worst always comes to mind. "Oh God, Harry; you don't think that something might really be wrong with her, do you? I mean she just said she might be catching a bit of a sniffle, a sniffle can't be that bad can it?" I don't what I said that was so funny, but the next thing I knew was that Harry was laughing hysterically; I have to say that I had no idea how to take it. I mean one minute I was worrying myself sick over whether or not you'd caught some deadly strain of the sniffles, and the next I had my best friend laughing in my face. Needless to say I did not find the situation very amusing, but as Harry didn't laugh nearly as much as he should in those days, I let it pass and waited until he'd caught his breath…which I'm sorry to say wasn't until several minutes later.
"I'm sure she's fine, Ron," he told me in a slightly condescending tone; the boy had been spending much too much time around my brothers—Percy in particular.
"What do you mean you're sure she's fine? Has she been writing to you?" I asked him, immediately paranoid. I know that Harry's my best friend, and I love him as though he's my own brother. He would never do anything to hurt me, but when you're in love you don't necessarily think rationally. The mere thought that perhaps you'd been owling him while I hadn't received so much as a quick note in the past week made me immediately jump to the conclusion that you and he were partaking in a torrid affair behind my back. "Is there something going-on between you and Hermione that I should know about?" I heard myself say, even though my voice sounded more like a squeak. My heart was beating in my chest, and even though I wanted to hear Harry's answer, at the same time if there was something going on, I really would have rathered not know about it. Of course, Harry's answer didn't come for another few minutes as he'd once again caught a laughing fit. The sound was so foreign these days that Mum actually came-up and knocked on the bedroom door to ask if everything was all right. By this point, Harry had tears pouring out of his eyes, and he'd taken to rolling around on the floor, pounding his fist on the pillow he'd dragged down with him so that he was in no condition to answer. I had to come up with some imaginative excuse to make Mum go away, but she probably thought I'd hit you with some kind of laughing spell. Still, by that point I really didn't care what she thought. I was beginning to be at the end of my rope, and I really needed to know what was going on with you. I hated to admit it, but a week was a really long time to go without getting an owl from you, and, well…I missed you.
It finally took a kick in the ribs to get Harry to stop laughing—I didn't hit him that hard, before you start lecturing—and besides, I really needed to know what was going on. What if Harry told me that there was something going on between the two of you? What if I found out that the two of you had been seeing each other behind my back for months, and all those times where I'd felt maybe I wasn't so far off in thinking that there might be something between the two of us were really all in my head? I don't think I would have been able to bear the thought of losing you to my best friend before I'd even had the chance to have you in the first place. The fact was that I hadn't even told Harry how I felt about you, and if he had feelings for you I didn't want to have to compete with him over you because truth was, I was convinced that I would end up losing the both of you in the end.
"You actually think that…I mean, you thought that…" Harry kept starting, but what I really needed from him was a complete sentence at that point. I fought the urge to kick him again—he was, after all, my best friend, and though he had a swift kick coming to him, I could just hear your voice in my head when you found-out I'd manhandled your boyfriend…because at that point, I'd convinced myself of the worst.
"Congratulations to the both of you," I muttered, amazed at how easily the lie could come out of my mouth. Of course it wasn't okay that you were dating Harry, for Merlin's sake!! I felt as though I was about to lose my lunch as I slinked down to the floor beside him, feeling the blood rush from my face. I had visions of your wedding flashing in front of my eyes, of my waiting next to him as you were walking down the aisle to marry him, visions of me in the hospital waiting room as he announced that you'd just given him a son; I was in the middle of imagining the two of you announcing that your daughter had announced her engagement when I felt a swift blow connect with the back of my head. It took me a moment to realize that Harry had just smacked me one.
"Snap out of it, Ron, would you?" Harry told me, though it took me a moment to realize he was addressing me as I was still too busy rubbing the back of my head—I suppose it was just retribution for the kick I'd faithfully administered moments before, but that didn't change the fact that it hurt like hell. "What are you going on about? You know perfectly well there's nothing going-on between Hermione and I, did Fred and George feed you anything unusual today?" he asked me, but all I could do was shake my head no as relief flooded over me, only to be replaced by sheer panic seconds later.
"You mean she really is sick?" I asked with my eyes wide, and felt Harry's hand connect with the back of my head once more. I gave him a seething look, and could have sworn he was trying to hide a smile. He was enjoying this brother thing way too much.
"She's not sick, Ron; well she did catch a bit of a cold, but she's doing well enough," he told me. Part of me was relieved that you were all right, but at the same time part of me was worried. Had I inadvertently said something to make you angry with me? Why weren't you speaking to me? I thought as hard as I could about what I could have said that would have set you off (and by 'set you off' I only mean that I so often say thoughtless, cruel things without giving thought to what I'm about to utter before opening my mouth. I understand that my behavior is by no means excusable and that you have every right to go nutters—err, that is, to lose your temper in response to my unpardonable behavior as you so often do—though quite rightly so, obviously) but honestly couldn't come-up with anything. I had spoken slightly unfavorably of Crookshanks, but only to ask you how the devil incarnate was doing, I mean, that couldn't possibly be construed as something bad, could it? I had asked after the well being of something you cherished (even if it was in the hope, however slight, that it was to receive news of its tragic death, but you didn't know that) and that couldn't possibly be bad. So what had happened, what had I done or said to make you mad at me? Apparently Harry knew exactly what the look on my face meant, because he chuckled and gave me a slap on the back. "She's not angry with you, Ron, so you can stop trying to think of what you did to set her off again." (Harry's words, not mine!)
"So why hasn't she answered me back in over a week?" I asked, thoroughly confused at that point, and Harry went back to studying his feet.
"Well it's really not my place to say," he said—as if that measly excuse was going to stop me from prying. Ha! Obviously he hadn't a clue as to my mother's abilities to retrieve information from her children with but a mere look (a skill that I'd perfected myself over the years and that I would put into use now).
"Harry, you know that I'm only going to keep at it until you tell me something. Now think about it logically for a moment. We can either do this the hard way with my bothering you all day, or we can do it the easy way with your just telling me what's happening and then we can celebrate with a pick-up game of Quidditch," I offered, and for a moment I really thought that it had worked, but I'd underestimated my opponent. Harry could be as hardheaded as Hermione if he put his mind to it.
"I really can't tell you," he told me, but I could tell I'd gotten to him at least a little bit as I saw him glance out the window and then to the corner of my room where our brooms were. "I can't tell you, but if you were to guess then it really wouldn't be telling, would it?" he said, and hey, I couldn't argue with that logic no matter how faulty I knew you were going to tell us it was if you found out.
"Fair enough," I agreed, almost licking my lips in anticipation as I gave Harry a little nudge to encourage him to continue.
"Well, she's not angry with you, but she thought you might be angry with her," he revealed, and I think that I might have snorted at how completely idiotic that sounded. Everyone knew you were always the one that got angry first, and if I got angry with you in return, it was only a way for me to retaliate and to defend myself! "A friend of hers was going to be staying at her house for a bit of a visit this week," Harry was continuing, as it was pretty obvious I wasn't catching on to what he was saying.
"So she's having a friend over, what does that have to do with anything?" I asked, annoyed. What, so you were having a friend over so all of a sudden you could only owl Harry and not me? And what made you think that I would get angry with you anyway? I mean, I hadn't been the first one to get angry with you in ages! Why the last time had been that time at the Yu—oh, bloody hell, you had to be joking.
"Viktor Krum!" I spat, feeling the fury radiating from my body. I could feel my ears glowing and the blood rushing to my face. "Put a silencing spell on the room," I was able to mutter through clenched teeth, and within minutes Harry had uttered the requisite words.
"Ron?" he asked uncertainly, but I was seething at that point and couldn't really hear him.
"Why that bloody, sodding, son of a—"
I'll spare you the details that came after that. To this day you still think that I didn't know Viktor had spent the week at your house. You still think that I was clueless until you told me the week after, the weekend when you came to the Burrow for Harry's birthday and I told you that I hoped you'd been nursing your cold. I remember the way you were surprised that I could shrug it off so easily, but what you didn't know was that I'd spent an entire day yelling myself hoarse over it. If Harry didn't know the way I felt about you, he must have found out on that day, but he still didn't say anything. He let me yell and scream, and when I was finished he pat my shoulder and handed me my broom, and then we played Quidditch until it was too dark to even see the snitch. Even then, though, the worry still gnawed at my insides. I can say this now, but back then I couldn't even face it, much less vocalize it: the reason I disliked Viktor so much wasn't so much that I thought he was a bad person as much as I felt threatened by him. He was the only person I'd ever suspected you might have more than platonic feelings for (if we discount those occasional moments of insanity where I was convinced you and Harry were having a secret relationship) and he was definitely the only person I'd ever seen to openly display the fact that he had more than platonic feelings for you. I knew that he had a girlfriend at the time, but even then I was convinced that just one look at you would make him see just what he was missing-out on. He would take one look at you and his whole world would disappear; it would only be you and him in the room and even if there were a thousand other people there, it would only be the two of you. Nothing else would matter. I knew so clearly what it felt like to be alone in a room full of people because I'd felt that way with you every time I'd seen you over those past two years, and what scared me the most was that Viktor might see that too. I couldn't compete with a star Quidditch player, just like I couldn't compete with my best friend, and no matter how scared I was, it was then that I decided that two years of waiting to make a move had been enough. I had to tell you no matter what that meant. I was going to tell you how I felt, and I would be doing it soon—by the end of that year, it would be done.
A/N: This is not the end, folks! There is still more to come!
