A/N: To those lovely readers who have been following the story since I first posted it up: I decided to change the date of Bill and Fleur's wedding to Christmas day, not Boxing day like I said (previous chapters will be corrected asap). If there's any confusion: deal with it. If you're just tuning in- well, you won't have any inconsistency at all. Lucky you!

"The boys aren't up yet," Mrs. Weasley trilled as Hermione came into the Burrow the next morning.

"I'm not surprised," Hermione said with a yawn, "That Quidditch game they had last night went on for ages."

"And they've completely ruined these robes," Mrs. Weasley tutted, holding up Ron's muddy robes that he'd been wearing the night before. "Would you mind helping me with the laundry, dear?"

"Not at all." Hermione answered.

"Good girl, thank you. Just turn out these pockets in the kitchen, would you? There's come croissants on the table for breakfast," Mrs. Weasley said as she handed Hermione a stack of dirty boys' robes. Hermione obligingly took them into the kitchen, where she absent-mindedly picked at a croissant as she emptied out the pockets of the muddy robes. Harry's pockets were empty except for a quill and a small scrap of parchment, whereas Bill's contained a number of Egyptian trinkets and a love-letter from Fleur, which Hermione politely abstained from reading. Charlie had a bottle of dragon tonic, a handkerchief, and a piece of parchment detailing a recipe for scones. Deciding she would leave Fred and George's until last (or at least until she'd picked up her wand. You never knew what could leap out of the pockets of the twin's robes) Hermione picked up Ron's muddy robes. She found herself staring fondly at them for a moment or two, then shook herself. Stop being ridiculous. Ron was Just Ron. It was ridiculous to look at him the way she'd been looking at him. Which was certainly not the way a friend looks at another friend. She stuck her hand into the front pocket of his robes and found an old piece of parchment. She would have put it down if it hadn't been for the glimpse of the Hogwarts logo and Professor McGonagall's signature. Surely, she thought, her heat sinking, he's not still in danger of being kept back? Not after he's worked so hard? She opened it surreptitiously, feeling bad, but needing to know what was wrong. But nothing was wrong, after all.

Hermione practically choked on her croissant. It was his school report. And it was brilliant.

"Are you all right dear?" Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley yell as she dashed out the front door to the boys tent, still clutching the report in her hand, not bothering to put her Wellington boots back on. Her slippers were soaked form the snow by the time she'd opened the flap of the tent, but it hardly mattered. Why hadn't Ron told her? Obviously he'd gotten it last night some time, but-

"Oof!"

"Ow!"

Hermione had practically smacked into Ron as he came out of the tent. Both went sprawling onto the ground. Now Hermione's dressing-gown was soaked as well.

"Hermione!" Ron practically leapt to his feet, rubbing his elbow where he'd landed on it, and pulled her to her own feet with both hands. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, but-but…." Hermione just couldn't stand it! "Oh, Ron!" She threw both her arms around his neck wildly: she couldn't help it. She was just so proud of him. All that work he'd done had been worth it- all those arguments they'd had, all those late nights, all that effort- he'd done it. He'd pulled his marks up to better than they ever had been before. And only in the space of a few weeks? It was phenomenal! He was so talented, so brilliant, and so wonderful!

"Hermione!" Ron said again, this time with much less certainty. "Wha- what?" He had stiffened in surprise at first, but now he obligingly squeezed her back, and Hermione felt a little tingle go up her spine. "What was that for?" he said. He looked quite pleased, and his ears and cheeks were slightly red, although that could have been because of the cold. Hermione couldn't speak (for embarrassment? Or…something else?) so she just brandished the report wordlessly. Ron went pinker- it wasn't just because of the cold. "Oh," he said, obviously embarrassed, "That."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione cried, wincing as her voice got shrill. "I mean," she said, calming down and smiling at him. "Ron, this is- oh, this is just brilliant." She looked up at him excitedly, expecting some sort of reaction from her praise, but Ron was staring at the ground, not looking at her eyes. He still looked embarrassed. "What's' wrong?" she asked, taken aback.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

"There's obviously something," Hermione said, slightly hurt that Ron was hiding something from her. Weren't they better friends than that now? "Tell me."

"It's just…it's just…" Ron was struggling to find the words- and still struggling to meet her gaze- and Hermione found herself taking his hand. He stopped and gawped at her hand for a moment, then finally, gawped at her face. "It's just- oh, Hermione, that's the best I can do!"

What is he talking about? Hermione thought for two seconds as she stared in amazement as his embarrassed face. "What are you talking about?"

"Well come on! Look at it! We've been working away for the past two weeks like madmen, and I've probably got about six hours sleep in the last twelve days, and if it weren't for you I probably would have done worse in everything, and- god!" As if to manifest his frustration, his breath came out in a sharp white cloud. "Look at it Hermione! It's not brilliant at all! Everyone says it is because they don't' expect any better of me, I'm the stupid one. Even Charlie managed to get an A in Transfiguration before he left Hogwarts." He ran a hand through his hair (which flopped insistently down into his forehead) as he continued to ramble. "And even if it was straight As, it wouldn't matter because Bill and Percy have done it before. Face it, I'm hopeless. Working solid for a fortnight and what do I get? Three As, Four Bs, and a C? It's worse than pathetic." His voice was suddenly hopeless. "I don't know why you bother with me. That's the best I can do, even with your help- and you're top of the class. It's nothing, just nothing, and all the work we did was for nothing. I'm just too stupid."

There was about five seconds of silence before Hermione drew back her hand and slapped Ron in the face.

The smack of her hand against his smooth cheek resounded like the sound of a firecracker, and it seemed to echo around before being absorbed by the snow. Ron was so shocked, he actually stared at her for a few seconds before stumbling backwards, as if he didn't realise it had happened until then. His cheek went bright red- Hermione could actually see her hand imprinted on it against his freckles. He couldn't even talk- couldn't even breathe by the look of it. He just gaped at her, his brown eyes beginning to crackle with an unmistakable hurt expression. For a second or two, Hermione's eyes filled with tears. Why on earth did I do that?! then she remembered, and she began to yell.

"I told you I would slap you if you ever said that again," she began, and Ron's eyes grew wide as he remembered too. "I told you, and you deserve it Ron Weasley. I've never met a person who is obviously intelligent and yet so undeniably- stupid! Bloody hell!" She yelled out the last part, and Ron jumped back, as if he were afraid he might hit her again. "Now you listen you me," Hermione cried tearfully, "and listen really hard because I never want to have to say this to you again, or I will never ever speak to you, ever, and I mean it!" She didn't of course, and she wondered if the thought of them never talking again hurt him as much as it hurt her. She brandished the report again. "What you've just accomplished in a fortnight is nothing short of phenomenal. If I didn't know any better I'd say you cast some sort of spell on yourself to make you suddenly accumulate exceptional powers of concentration. You worked so hard for this and now you stand there saying it's nothing?! We worked so hard for this, and-"

For one horrible moment, Hermione found herself teetering on uncertainly. Had she really slapped Ron because he said he was stupid? Or had it been because of what he said? "It's nothing, just nothing, and all the work we did was for nothing." When he had said that, hadn't Hermione felt he heart being squeezed as though some invisible force was trying to break it? Because that's certainly what those words felt like. Just nothing? Just nothing, when they had talked long into the night and all of a sudden really found each other in a way that just couldn't be put into words, but which had made them both realise (she knew Ron had realised it too. He must have) just how important they were to each other? Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Ron didn't care about her the way she cared for him- and she did care for him. More than she could say. Maybe that's why she slapped him. Because their friendship, their new found bond, the way she has found herself changing over the past weeks- it came to nothing, for him?

Nothing, when it meant so very much to her?

She was crying now, and Ron was gaping, an ambivalent expression on his face that Hermione found impossible to read. Then again, she was obviously no good at reading Ron's expressions. Not when she'd been thinking that he actually cared for her, when he obviously didn't…

"Maybe you are stupid Ron Weasley," she said, still crying, "But only because you can't look at the talents you have and feel proud of them. You're blind. You've totally missed it. Most people would give their right leg for what you have. For your talents. I'd give my right leg for what you have." It was true. Hermione had often wished she had Ron's wit and strategy. She had to work for every mark she got, and in the space of two weeks, Ron had managed to get three As? And here he stood, calling himself stupid? It was almost insulting. "Oh, Ron!" she snapped, 'You just don't know what you've got. Maybe I shouldn't bother with you, because if you can't see how brilliant you are then maybe our entire friendship has been a waste of time. Maybe we…maybe we just shouldn't waste any more time with each other."

Ron finally spoke. "Hermione-"
"Just don't!"

He drew back like she'd slapped him again. "Hermione…?"

Hermione was walking back towards the house. "Just don't. Don't bother. It's obvious that even talking to each other is a waste of time."

"Wait- Hermione! What- I don't- you're being ridiculous!" he finally snapped

"Yeah, I am!" she bellowed back. "I am ridiculous, I've been labouring under a misapprehension! According to you, our entire friendship has been ridiculous! So maybe since, you're so stupid, I should do us both a favour and end it right here."

And she ran off towards the orchard before Ron could say anything else.

*

Harry woke up to the sound of angry voices outside the tent, and immediately felt worried. It was Christmas Eve- who on earth would be fighting at a time like this?

It turned out (of course) to be Ron and Hermione. Harry was out of the tent, trying to pull on his boots and his sweater at the same time, just in time to see Hermione running off, in tears.

"Ow!" Harry said as he toppled to the ground. Ron didn't even turn to look at him. He was watching Hermione run off with an unreadable expression on his face and a hand over his left cheek. "Ron!" Harry snapped, as he stumbled awkwardly to his feet. "What's going on?"

Ron turned to harry almost in slow-motion, as is his mind wasn't quite caught up to the rest of the world. "She hit me…" he said in a faraway voice. "She actually hit me."

"What did you do?" Harry asked, his eyes widening as Ron's hand dropped to his side. There was the imprint of Hermione's hand, bright red against Ron's pale, freckled face. "My god- what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Ron cried, and for one horrible moment Harry thought Ron was going to cry. He didn't look angry at all- just incredibly upset, and Harry wondered what on earth he could possibly have said to Hermione to make her slap him. "She had my school report, and…" He suddenly bent down and picked up a soggy piece of parchment from the ground. He brushed the snow off it and looked pained. Harry felt his heart sink. Had Hermione possibly slapped Ron because his report wasn't good enough? After all the work they'd done together? That didn't seem like a very Hermione-like thing to do, but then again, she had been acting bizarre lately. Especially around Ron. Such as the day before when she had let Ron harbour her on his lap all the way from King's Cross Station.

"Let me see," Harry said, and Ron wordlessly handed over the offending report. What was on it, however, would no sooner provoke Hermione to slap Ron than it would provoke Harry to. It was brilliant.

Harry looked up and gaped at his friend. "She didn't slap you because of this did she?"

"No…"

"Good, because if that was the case, I'd have to slap some sense into her!" Harry flipped the paper over and looked at the teachers' remarks. "My God Ron, even Snape wrote something close to praise. This is so good!"

"No it isn't," Ron wailed. "She hit me! I don't know why!"

"Well, what did you say?" Harry said dazedly, running his eyes over Ron's excellent marks again. It was by far the best school report Ron had ever received in all his time at Hogwarts. Harry looked up at him. "Why aren't you happy about this? You worked so hard, and it really paid off."

"Yeah, exactly, I worked so hard, and that's the best I can do!" Ron cried. He was getting angry now- his cheeks were enflamed but not just because of Hermione's slap.

"The best you can do is pretty damn good."

"No it isn't!" He was definitely annoyed. "Give me a break, you know that those marks aren't very good. Compared to Hermione's? Compared to yours?"

"Is that what you're upset about?" said Harry, confused, "you're worried that they're not as good as everyone else's?"

"No- yes! I don't know…"

"What did you say to Hermione?" Harry asked, trying to sound as kind and as accommodating as possible for Ron's obvious insecurities. But the truth of it was, it was annoying that his best friend couldn't see what a triumph this was. Surely he didn't truly, truly believe these marks were bad, did he?

"I dunno…I said it was pathetic, that's all…I said all the work we'd done was for nothing."

Harry looked up sharply. "Those were your exact words?"

"Um, yeah, something like that."

Suddenly Harry felt like slapping Ron himself. "You utter git."

"What?"

"I mean it this time- Ron! How could you say something like that to her? You know what she worked just as hard as you, and she sacrificed most of her time and homework so that she could help you, and you called it nothing?"

"I…"

"All those hours, working with her- can you honestly say it was nothing?"

"No! It wasn't nothing…" Ron said lamely. Harry turned on his heel and stalked away, feeling furious. Ron always did this, he never understood why Hermione did this for him, and then when she got angry, he asked Harry why! Well, this time, it was ridiculous. This time, the effort Hermione had put in was above beyond the call of friendship, and the reason why was so blindingly obvious even Fred and George were asking Harry why Hermione and Ron were still "just friends". They were both ridiculous, but Ron was being more ridiculous than usual. "Which way did she go?" Harry snapped to Ron, who was scurrying behind him, still dazed.

"Towards the orchard, but-"

"Right!" Harry started towards the orchard. Then he paused. "You mean the orchard next to the moor?"

"Of course I do- how many bloody orchards do you think we have in our backyard?" Ron snapped, obviously frazzled by both Hermione's and Harry's consecutive displays of temper. "What's your-"

"You prat." Harry snapped. "Hermione doesn't know her way around that orchard. It's nearly as big as the Forbidden bloody Forest!"

Ron opened his mouth, but closed it again. Harry was right, of course. Hermione had no idea what the orchard looked like. In fact the only reason Ron could walk into it safely was because he'd been exploring it and the moor beyond since he could walk. And he still sometimes got lost.

"Has she got her wand?"

"I dunno…she didn't have it with her when she slapped me." Now Ron was looking ashamed, and fair enough too, Harry thought.

"OK…I'm going in to look for her."

"It's the morning. The sun's out." Ron protested feebly. "She'll be fine."

Harry just glared at him. "You're a complete and utter berk, aren't you?" He patted his pocket, making sure he had his wand with him. "Right, see you later then."

"I'm coming with you!" Ron exclaimed. He looked sort of surprised when he said it, though, as though he hadn't expected to blurt it out. Harry gave his best friend a withering look.

"You'd better go inside actually. I'll find Hermione." He paused. "You see, you seem to have this thing where you don't appreciate her. Unfortunate, really, since she practically breathes in and out for you."

Harry stomped off into the orchard, hoping that maybe this time, Ron hadn't missed the point.

*

It was a while before Hermione calmed down enough to remember that she hardly ever ventured into the orchard and hence, had no idea how to find her way through it. The only time she had ever walked through the expansive forest had been with Ron the summer before their fourth year. The day she had arrived, he had taken her outside and they'd walked through it together and Hermione remember thinking "I'm lucky to have a friend who'll walk with me like this." Ron had gotten lost but they'd used their wands to find their way back to the house. Ron had thought it was fun. "This was fun…I never usually get lost though."

Well, thought Hermione, I'll be able to find my way out of here as long as I have my wand.

Which she didn't.

"Oh, bloody hell." She had been so upset she'd forgotten it. It was still inside the tent that she was sharing with Ginny, Henrietta and Angelina.

Don't panic, Hermione told herself sternly as her eyes involuntarily filled with tears again. It won't be that hard to find my way back.

She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown and looked around at her surroundings. At least she was lost in a beautiful place. The trees were thickly grown; their leafless branches criss-crossed above her, laden with snow. Weak, white winter sunlight filtered through the gaps in that curious canopy. Their air sparkled with frost, and every now and then, a winter fairy would flit across Hermione's path, glowing pale blue, rather than the usual gold. It put Hermione in mind of the poetry of Robert Frost- it was certainly something he would write about. (How did that one go again?) Hermione had always thought Ron was lucky to live in the country, where the snow was pure white rather than muddy and grey; where at night you could see every single star. She loved winter mornings and would have given her right arm to live somewhere as beautiful as Ottery St Catchpole.

"He will not see me stopping here, to watch his woods fill up with snow," Hermione quoted in a whisper, as she spotted a clearing up ahead. A large tree stump occupied the clearing, an oak, Hermione deduced, as she got closer. It must have been an enormous, beautiful creature when it was living. Hermione loved oak trees. She sat herself down on the flat of the stump which curiously remained dry and untouched by snow despite the layer of white on the ground and on the branches of surrounding trees. A ring of fairies flitted away at her heavy movements, and Hermione took off her soaking slippers and brought her knees up to her chin, hiding her freezing, bare feet underneath her dressing gown. She had reacted hastily, and now it was time to think about what she had done.

She was (ridiculously) feeling the first stirrings of shame that always followed a huge teary outburst. Her mother had told her, over and over, that she was hyper-sensitive. "Hermione, could you please calm down? you're giving me a headache. You must learn not to be so sensitive." Maybe she was. She tried to train herself not to cry so much, but it was hard. Especially hanging around with someone like Ron. He always made her cry…

The reason why was obvious, of course: because he was the only person (aside from Harry and Neville) who really seemed to appreciate her and then he'd just come out with crushing remarks which proved her wrong. "It's nothing, just nothing, and all our hard work was for nothing…"

She realised, with a hopeless resignation, that she was so upset she couldn't even work up the energy to be furious with him. She'd spent so many hours of her life analysing her relationship with Ron from top to tail and she still had no idea. How much did Ron care about her, if he did at all? She was so confused, the events of the months since Ron began dating Parvati Patil seemed to jumble around her. What on earth were she and Ron to each other?

"'Ermione?"

Hermione looked up. Fleur was walking towards her, dressed to match their beautiful surroundings in a long white fur coat (Probably made out of some class of small animal, Hermione thought with distaste) and expensive designer boots. Her long silvery blonde hair was tied back in a loose plait, and she looked, as always, stunning.

"Hi, Fleur," Hermione said, trying to sound accommodating, though the truth of it was, she didn't want to talk to anyone right then, especially not Fleur Delacour, even if she had a new personality and had turned into a thinner, blonder, younger version of Mrs. Claus.

"I 'ope I am not intruding?"

"Not at all," Hermione answered, trying to work up a smile.

Fleur sat down next to Hermione, and, inexplicably, gave her a hug. "My dear- you look….sad?"

Hermione laughed and wiped away the last of her tears, trying hard not to imagine how ugly she must have looked next to Dlaur. "I am a bit sad," she admitted.

"je suis desolee…what can I do to 'elp?"

"Nothing," Hermione said, shaking her head. "There's nothing to do. It's my own fault, anyway."

"Mistakes are easy to make," said Fleur, "but sometimes, they are good for you."

It was a well meant sentiment, but not what Hermione needed right then- it had an obscure relevance at best, and it sounded like Fleur had gotten it off one of those "Thought of the Day" calendars. Hermione had long ago had the mentality that if one learned first, one would not make mistakes established in her, and abided by it. But she had made a mistake this time. One that was harder to admit than usual. But she had to admit it sometime, even if it were just in her head. She had to admit that Ron had become something else to her…and she had foolishly started to believe- to hope- that he felt the same way about her. Hadn't she?

"Is it a problem I can 'elp with?" Fleur persisted.

"No, Fleur!" Hermione said, with a tone bordering on irritable. She calmed down. "I'm sorry. It's just that- well, I'm so confused at the moment, and there really isn't anything that anyone can do to help. Thanks for offering, though."

"Ooooh," Fleur gave a sigh of disappointment. Then she said, "I am sorry to intrude on you. I just want everyone to be as happy as me."

Hermione resigned herself to talking about the impending wedding for the next half an hour. "That's very sweet of you, Fleur. Don't let my bad nature intrude on your happiness though. I'm very pleased for you."

Fleur shook her magnificent head. "I, too, am confused, 'Ermione. I do not know if I can do it."

Hermione's train of thought stopped short. If Fleur was having second thoughts, she didn't want to be in on them. It wasn't her place to impend on anyone's decision, and besides, she could say something to make it worse.

Though, to be honest, it seemed as though Fleur was the one who doted more on Bill; one would think it would be the other way round. Although…maybe not. Bill Weasley, after all, was a brave, loyal and intelligent young man who had a well playing job and- she blushed at the mere thought- looked cool enough to make any girl's pulse race. Why shouldn't Fleur be besotted with him?

Because she was beautiful, Hermione told herself, and it was the beautiful girl's job to keep men at arm's length. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, that was the mission all beautiful people were charged with. Also, they would never, never, never allow themselves to be drawn to anyone who was less beautiful, wealthy, privileged, intelligent or socially apt than they were. It was the law of Being Beautiful.

"Do…what?" Hermione said finally, trying to sound casual.

"Wait until tomorrow, of course! It is all so exciting…!" Fleur's grin could have lit up a Christmas tree. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Fleur was obviously more in love with Bill than Hermione thought. "But I am confused," she continued, "Because…because…" she gestured with her hands in frustration. "I do not think I can say it in Anglaise…"

"Then say it in French," Hermione insisted, in French. Fleur looked positively delighted.

"Well…all right," she said, and took a deep breath. "I am not used to feeling this much." Hermione's puzzled expression prompted her to explain. "Most of my life I've been told to distance myself from people because it does not do to be over-sensitive, as I am. My mother always told me not to get confused by boys. But Bill…" she shook her head dreamily, "From the moment I met Bill, he made me feel the most passionate- the most wonderful- feelings. Everything seems so much realer and brighter when I'm with him. I can be myself when he is around. When I'm with him, I practically don't know where I am …" She turned to Hermione, and, with an intensity that made Hermione believe her, said, "'Ermione, you cannot understand how he makes me feel! It is magic- not from a wand, from inside…." She shook her head with wonder, "If only you had someone like Bill who could show you how to feel this way. I want everyone to feel this way. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced…"

And Hermione suddenly realized, with astonishing clarity, that she did know someone who made her feel that way.

It was a shame hat he would never feel that way about her.

After Fleur hugged Hermione one more time and left (she was walking up to the village to see the chapel where, in about twenty hours or so, she would be getting married) Hermione found herself crying a bit more, but they were useless tears. She couldn't think anymore. It was too exhausting. Like Fleur had said, when Hermione was with Ron, she practically didn't know where she was. She had no idea of where she stood or what the evolution of her feelings for him meant. She sat alone for quite some time, not daring to think, but crying quite a bit. That was when Harry turned up to take her back to the Burrow.

"Thank god, I hoped you'd only come this far. You're lucky I came after you, you could have been lost in here all day." He reached down a hand and lifted her to her feet. Then he gave her a slightly awkward hug. "You all right?" he said shyly.

Hermione nodded, running a hand over her eyes. "Yes, just being stupid I suppose."

"Don't be daft," Harry said kindly. "We all want to slap Ron sometimes."

Hermione coloured. "He…told you?" she squeaked.

"Well, it was hard for me not to notice, with a bloody great hand print on his face, right?" Harry shook his head. "Don't worry though, he deserved it. He's being an idiot."

"Too right," Hermione mumbled before she could stop herself. Harry grinned. "Anyway," Hermione said quickly, "That's not very nice. Are you two fighting again?"

"I think we are," Harry said, "it's entirely my fault this time, but don't lets give him that impression." He balanced his wand on the palm of his hand. "Point me," he whispered, and the wand spun in the direction of the Burrow. "Come on," Harry said, taking her by the arm, gently.

Ron was waiting for them both outside the house. Hermione was struck by how the wand in Harry's palm was pointing directly at him. He looked worried but upon seeing them approach, nodded and disappeared into the house. Harry gave a disparaging sigh and said something unflattering, but Hermione was barely listening. "Point me" Harry had said, and the wand had pointed to Ron. Pure magic.

Funny, thought Hermione, how all roads lead to Ron.