AN: Feel for me. As I write about the characters frolicking in the snow of England I'm sitting in summer heat of more than thirty degrees Celsius. Oh the sweaty, sweaty irony. On another note, I'm watching Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring as I write, and I think I'm just that little bit more in love with Orlando Bloom. On another another note: reviews are insanely cool. (To my "Friends" friend- sorry, I've forgotten your nick- all is forgiven. *grin*) And on a third note, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Oh my god, the fellowship have just gotten to the citadel in the mines and everyone is staring at it in wonder. The music is quite, quite pretty. Sorry, back to the story.

*

The wedding couldn't have been better. In fact, the entire day was declared a success from the moment that Hermione fixed Fleur's make up to be waterproof with a clever sticking charm. Bill was handsome in his eighteenth century gentleman's suit- Hermione fancied him a kind of ginger-haired Mr. Darcy-like figure. (AN: Whee! Pride and Prejudice! Of course, Bill doesn't look a thing like Colin Firth…) Ron felt an unusual swell of brotherly pride as Ginny walked down the aisle (and an equally unusual (?) swell of tenderness when Hermione followed). Fleur-predictably- drew gasps from the crowd as she walked down the aisle in her beautiful silk and satin flowing gown, her long her piled up onto her head and interlaced with tiny red roses. The adoration of the happy couple was so obvious it practically bowled one over. Fleur cried. Ginny cried. Mrs. Weasley cried. And then, Colin cried (much to Harry's amusement.) Even Mr. Weasley got a bit teary as he shook his son's hand after the new couple had signed the wizard wedding register.

That day, Miss Fleur Delacour, the part-Veela ex student of Beauxbatons Academy, toast of the Triwizard Tournament, and member of the Parisian wizarding society elite, became Mrs. William Weasley- she became the wife of a lower-class curse breaker from the country, who consorted with Muggles and actively protested against the Ministry his own brother worked for. It was a perfect match.

The reception was being held in an enormous pavilion in an empty field near the Burrow. To protect it from the eyes of curious Muggle farmers, Mr. Weasley and Charlie had spent the entire previous day performing all sorts on it so that the wizards and witches could party undisturbed. While the ground was covered in snow it was warm inside the tent, and over a hundred wizards and witches milled about, drinking , laughing and dancing. For a wizarding wedding, it was remarkably Muggle-like. In fact the only out of ordinary part of the ceremony (that Hermione had noticed) had been the part when Fleur and Bill said their vows and then did a curious thing that everyone called Ahgrah- they put their wands tip to tip, and, with a low humming and a surge of white light, they exchanged wand essence. The chaplain had explained that this meant by the magic inside of their wands, they were joined, as only a witch and wizard can be. This had been true of the wedding rings as well, which were charmed with the essence of their wands. Hermione found the whole thing very touching.

And she was having fun, too. Everyone seemed to want to say hello to her, and she had been receiving compliments left right and centre. Even a nervous Colin Creevey had sidled up to her and blurted out, "My word, Hermione, you do look smashing." The night seemed to become brighter and more fun as every minute passed- Hermione could practically feel herself loosening up as she downed Butterbeer, told jokes and sang songs among the incandescent bunch of people. She was even compelled to dance- a past time that she very rarely engaged in. First she and Harry had stumbled around the dance floor in a clumsy tango, both of them laughing too hard to breathe; then Charlie had claimed a dance and told her that she was very pretty; this was followed by a spin with one of Ron's sunburnt cousins who told her all about sheep farming in a broad Australian accent; and Lee Jordan whirled her around the floor so exuberantly she had to sit down for five minutes afterward. Colin Creevey was just taking through the finer points of the fox-trot when she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was George, his tie undone and his shirt unbuttoned at the top. "Can I cut in, Colin?"

"Oh, er- ah, yes."

"Ta," he said, gallantly bowing to Hermione. She laughed and did a mock curtsey. The music start up as a waltz, and george, who turned out to be quite an excellent dancer, guided her easily around the room. "You told me you didn't dance," he said accusingly.

"I meant, I don't dance with you."

"That's fair enough. I mean, I do have leprosy." George rolled his eyes. Then suddenly he smiled and nodded over her shoulder. "Look."

Hermione looked. It was Ron, dancing with one of his sunburnt cousins- the girl, whose name Hermione had forgotten. Mavis? Mildred? The girl was that much shorter than Ron she had to stand on his feet, and even then she only came up to his neck. They laughed as they stumbled awkwardly around like a couple of scarecrows. Hermione felt a pang of adoration. George was watching her with interest.

"Isn't he sweet?" he said, in a falsetto. He emitted a giggle that sounded disturbingly like Lavender's laugh. Then his expression changed. "Seriously Hermione, you know how great he is don't you?"

"Of course I do," Hermione flushed. "He's my best friend. One of my best friends."

"Ah, see, now, that's a lie, isn't it?"

"No…" Hermione said, feeling bewildered. "He's my…friend."

"He's not," said George smugly. "And I think, Miss Granger, if you were any class of friend, you would tell him that you don't consider him a friend in the slightest."

"But I do! I…do…" she repeated, with less conviction.

George shook his head. "You don't. You know that's not the truth. Well, maybe it's truth in part," he amended, "but I'd say that you and Ron were so much more than friends, it would be an untruth to call you friends."

Hermione didn't think she would be able to say anything that wouldn't betray to George the fact that he was right. She tried laughing it off, but George had fixed her with his serious expression. It came along so rarely, and was such an intense, persuasive phenomena, that Hermione's laughter died in her throat. Luckily, she realised at that moment that the song had changed from the curious wizarding beat to something Hermione recognised.

"Hey!" she blurted out, glad for the distraction. "I know this- this is Sinatra!"

"Huh? Oh yeah, that Muggle singer. Bill loves Muggle music."

I won't dance, don't ask me, I won't dance, don't ask me…. George sang along with the music in a parody of the famous singer. Hermione laughed- for some reason it was insanely funny.

"Calm down there," George said, raising his eyebrows as he put his arm around her to steady her. "Don't fall over now."

"I'm fine. I love Sinatra!" She caught sight of Ron, attempting a ridiculous twirl under his much shorter cousin's arm, and she stopped short at the rush of affection that she felt.

"You okay?"

"Fine…" she said with less conviction. She felt heavy all of a sudden- she realised suddenly that George was having to hold her up. "Sshhhhhorry George…"

"You think I mind having a beautiful girl like you fall all over me?" George laughed. "If it weren't for the fact that you belong to somebody else, I'd try something. That and the fact that I'm a perfectly decent human being."

"I don't belong to anybody…"

"Well, maybe so. But your heart does."

Ron chose that precise moment to look over at Hermione, and their eyes met across the dance floor as they might in some episode of Passions that her mother might enjoy. George was studying her face.

"I'm right," he said, with not a trace of smugness. "Aren't I?"

Hermione's brain had shut down. Her mouth opened and shut stupidly for a few moments. "George, I…"

"God, Hermione," he said, with a small smile, as he twirled her under his arm. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You two treat each other so appallingly there's only two options: you either hate each other, or you love each other."

"I d-don't hate him…"

"So you must love him." George said gently. He dipped her, and the tent spun around her head. Laughing people, sipping wine, dancing, hugging, kissing, her hair swished in her eyes and through her fuzzy thoughts one clear, clarion, crystaline conviction leapt to the surface like a dolphin breaking water.

I must love him.

She hadn't thought it was so bad. She knew she liked him, she knew she was attracted to him, she knew that he was definitely more than a friend…but love? The turn of her heart told her it was true.

"And you must tell him." George's eyes bore into her own. "Hermione? You know you've got to, eh? Oh come on, old girl," he gave her a jovial punch on the shoulder as Hermione's tired eyes welled with tears. Everything was so confusing…she definitely wasn't herself. Something was wrong. George led her over to the drink table by the hand and poured her a butterbeer as Hermione put her hand over her weeping eyes. "Here you are, you dizzy cow," he said gently, handing her the drink. Something in the back of Hermione's mind told her it tasted slightly funny- but hadn't the butterbeer been tasting funny all evening? She assumed it was just the barrel they were drinking out of.

"Thanks George," with a weak smile, she let go of his hand. Their dance was over. The song had changed again- another Sinatra song. I know I stand in line until I think you have the time to spend an evening with me…and if we go some place to dance I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me…

"You be a good girl, Hermione Granger, and remember what I've told you." George gave her one more incredibly sincere grin, and then he disappeared into the crows, to claim Angelina for a dance.

And then Ron was by her side, taking her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Are you okay?" Wordlessly, she nodded. I must love him. He grinned. "Then may I claim a dance? Just one?"

"You can have them all, Ron Weasley," she whispered. He took her right hand in his left; his remaining hand slipped down to her waist and pulled her close, and his touch was infused with such tenderness Hermione wanted nothing more, nothing less, than to hug him and never let go. The record crooned. I can see it in your eyes you still despise the same old lines you heard the night before… She slid her hand up his white shirt and cupped it round the back of his graceful neck. Their feet started to move, gently, awkwardly. I do love him. They revolved slowly, round the edges of the floor, their eyes slowly becoming used to each other's gaze as their feet became used to the steps. Ron's hand was warm and soft, slightly sweaty, and his breath was sweet on her face. "I'm so glad," he said, steadying her, "I'm so glad I finally got to dance with you. I've been waiting for this all night."

For Hermione's part, she felt she'd been waiting for this all her life.

*

Ron had been watching her all night, of course. For god's sake, it was impossible to tear his eyes away when she was looking so…so beautiful. Ron couldn't be bothered with the party when his best girl had transformed into a goddess. He wanted to take her away into the snow by himself. He wanted to hold her outside in the white, underneath the stars. He wanted to look into her eyes and kiss her smooth cheeks. But he had realised something important.

He would want to do those things with her regardless of whether or not she was wearing a purple bridesmaid's dress. He would feel the same way he did for her if she was wearing her pyjamas. What was it Bill had said? It's just sort of a bonus that she happens to look like a goddess.

She was behaving very oddly, and Ron had an inkling of why, if Fred and George's actions throughout the evening were anything to go on. "Just like I thought," he murmured grimly, as George poured mead into an unsuspecting Hermione's butterbeer. He frowned. Hermione looked close to upset. She also looked close to drunk. "I've had enough of this," he said suddenly. He'd watched his beautiful Hermione all night, dancing with Harry, Charlie, Lee, even Colin, for god's sake. It would not stand. Didn't they know that she was his to hold, and his alone?

"Are you okay?" he asked her, as he strode over to meet her. She turned her doe eyes on him, and looked at him like she'd never seen anything like him before. She nodded. "Then may I claim a dance? Just one?"

"You can have them all, Ron Weasley." Just like that, she'd won him. Ron thought he might have slipped into his pool of feelings for her just a little bit deeper, and as he pulled her to him, he wondered when they had come so far from being friends to this. Dancing was not usually an activity he partook in, but with Hermione, it was easy. Surprisingly easy, since her scent and her skin made him feel dizzy, as though he himself had been drinking mead. He wondered what would happen if he kissed her, but because the moment between them was so beautiful he had no wish to disrupt the perfect harmony he and Hermione seemed to be conducting. Instead he drew her just a little bit closer, because she seemed to be unsteady on her feet, and he had no wish to see her fall. "I'm glad…I finally got to dance with you." Might as well be honest. "I've been waiting all night," he confessed.

Again she looked up at him with the expression with which one might look at a stranger. It caught Ron by the heart, and he suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation that he was dancing with someone he barely knew. It could have been a stranger in his arms- the tipsy, extravagantly dressed and impeccably made-up girl in his arms was certainly nothing like the Hermione he knew. He knew Angry Hermione, Working Hermione, Amused Hermione, In-A-Good-Mood Hermione- but not Made-Up Drunk Hermione. "R-Ron," she stammered. "I think…I think…" she removed her hand from his shoulder and put a hand to her head, looking bewildered. "Oh, I feel…so strange."

"Me too." Ron said, gently drawing her closer. She looked up at him dreamily.

"You look pretty," she slurred, "especially in your suit. You're so beautiful Ron." Her hand played at the collar of his shirt, gently grazing his throat with her fingernails. He suddenly couldn't swallow.

"So are you," he said. His heart was aching to do something…so why was he suddenly terrified? Why did he draw away from her even as she nestled into his chest, too tipsy to stand up straight? "Something's wrong," he mumbled, pulling away. Ron wanted to kiss her- but he couldn't. Something was stopping him. The strange Muggle music did nothing to help his disoriented feeling.

And then I went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like I luuh-huve you

Hermione sang along with the words, and it was at the last part of that line- I love you- that she looked up at him with her velvety eyes. She could have been telling him…A shiver ran up his spine. This was not the sort of thing that friends did…these were not the sort of feelings he should be having for a friend. It was really time to face facts.

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you…I love you…I love you…

As the song faded to a close, Hermione suddenly burst out laughing, and spun around. Her long thick ponytail of curls hit him in the chest. "What's so funny?" he asked, catching her as she threatened to topple over.

"Everything," she hiccuped, "this is so…ridiculous…" Ron had to laugh as well. It was ridiculous. The whole situation was just so…stupid. Hermione darted forward and raised her arms as of to hug him- but suddenly she was tickling him up his tides and under his arms. How did she know he was ticklish? "No!" he yelped, leaping forward and catching her in his arms to prevent more tickling. Giggling, she slipped out of his embrace and darted out of the tent, nearly tripping over her own feet. It was a mystery to Ron as to how she managed to stay upright. He darted after her, out of the warm tent into the cold of the snowy night. "It's freezing out here!" he called after Hermione. His voice echoed weirdly off the snow, and his breath came out in a sharp white cloud. She was up ahead, looking for all the world like one of the beautiful winter nymphs like he had seen in his History of Magic book. Her hair was coming loose- it tumbled around her shoulders in long chestnut waves. She twirled around dizzily, only just missing the frozen over pond in the corner of the field. Ron jogged up to her. "Hermione!" he laughed, catching her in a dizzying whirl of mauve silk and satin. Once again, she slipped out of his embrace and ducked in between the slats of the wold wooden fence surrounding the field. "Go to the house!" he laughed, jogging after her. He swung one of his long legs over the fence, watching her dance ahead of him, her long dress whirling behind her. He caught her at the door of the Burrow- she shrieked and giggled as he picked her up and whirled her around- this isn't you, Hermione was all he could think- he pushed open the front door and they tumbled inside the warm house, giggling breathlessly, until they both flopped down into the armchair, crushed together in a tangle of arms and legs. Ron tried to extricate himself immediately, but Hermione slid both her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. They were face to face. Their chase had left them both breathless and her skin was still cold against his from their time outside in the snow. Her breath tickled his face; a lock of his hair fluttered in front of his eyes every time she exhaled.

"Ron…"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I don't know," she shook her head slightly. (She was so beautiful.) "I don't know what I'm doing or…oh, Ron…" Suddenly they were so close that their noses were touching. Ron's heart was beating a mile a minute. He wanted this. Didn't he? Didn't he? And just after he realised that he couldn't- he really couldn't- she kissed him.

For about two seconds it was warm and wonderful. It confirmed to Ron all he already knew- Hermione wasn't just his friend, how could she be his friend when she was everything he wanted in a girlfriend?

And then he remembered why he couldn't. Not their first kiss. It had to be done properly. Not while she was drunk. He pulled away very gently. Her doe eyes fluttered.

"Ron?" she whispered. She seemed to be sobering.

"Not like this, Hermione…not like this." He reached up and disentangled her hands from around his neck. She was staring at him with a mortified expression- Ron may as well have just told her she had only gotten six OWLs. Suddenly she pushed him away form her with both hands, slid out from underneath him, tumbled onto the floor, and picked herself up.

"Hermione?"

"No-" she choked, as he made to take her hand. "Don't-"

"You don't understand- let me talk to you-"

"No!" she ripped her hand from his grip and fled from the room. A resounding silence clung to Ron like humid air. He couldn't blame her, of course. It must have seemed to her like her was rejecting her, or something. But although rejecting her was the farthest thing from his mind, it went against every poor of Ron's being (not to mention every syllable of gentlemanly behaviour he'd been brought up with) to kiss her while she was in that state. She can't have known what she was doing. Most likely she would wake up, remember, and kick herself. She must have been especially lost to want to kiss him. Ron wanted to help her find the way, but it would have to wait until the morning.