Disclaimer Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

A/N: I am so sorry about the very long delay. I would like to thank my friend Stephanie (if she is reading) who emailed me today asking me when she was going to see the next chapter already. What can I say? Unlike Hermione, I am a lazy arse. Feel free to pelt me with sharp objects now.

Chapter 5: Fevers and Realisations

Hermione had never told a bigger lie in her life. Nothing. Ha! If what she'd felt was nothing then Harry was in league with Voldemort. Honestly she didn't know what had come over her to drive her to tell such a blatant untruth…though she suspected it had something to do with Ron's answer. He had felt nothing, and aside from breaking her heart, shattering her hopes, it had also convinced her that she simply could not admit the effects of the kiss. Not when Ron had been so immune, so unaffected by it.

She heard a gentle tap on her door and Harry poked his head in. How he'd managed to get across the collapsing staircase she had no idea, but it was not the first time he or Ron had done so. She hoped he wouldn't notice her red-rimmed eyes. It had taken all the control she could muster to wait until dinner had passed to come up to her room and burst into tears.

"Fancy a game of Snap?" he asked her and she racked her brain for possible excuses to give him. He must have noticed and smiled knowingly at her. "If it's Ron you're trying to avoid, he's already gone to bed," he said nudging his head toward the common room. Come on, you can tell me all about it downstairs. It's practically empty save Neville who's fallen asleep."

Hermione sighed in resignation and nodded silently, following Harry out the door. On their way down they crossed Lavender and Parvati who'd been on their way up. The two girls whispered between themselves and giggled as they continued on their way.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked, half-turning towards her. She was purposefully lagging a little behind, postponing the inevitable as it were. At Harry's question she rolled her eyes.

"They've taken a fancy to you, Harry. They say you're a 'hunk'."

"Merlin help me!" was Harry's groaning response and Hermione couldn't help but laugh a little. "Does that mean you're feeling better?" he asked as he led the way to their usual corner. Hermione was surprised when instead of sitting in the armchair he took a seat instead on the sofa, next to her.

"You'll be able to see my cards, sitting there," Hermione pointed out, always a mind for practicality. Harry looked at her sheepishly.

"I didn't bother bringing my deck," he revealed. "I actually wanted to talk to you," he said.

"About what?" Hermione asked, hopeful that if she acted as though she didn't know what Harry was alluding to he would drop the subject. Alas, Harry was a smart bloke and saw right through her.

"About Ron; specifically, about you and Ron. But you knew that already," he told her.

Just thinking about all that had happened brought tears to Hermione's eyes. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink them back. She felt Harry's arm fall around her shoulders and felt herself being pulled into his chest. The first thought that came into her head was that it was Ron who usually did this, Ron who was usually the one to comfort her and that knowledge made her even sadder. How could it be that the only one capable of taking away the hurt was the one who had put it there in the first place?

When she sobbed, the sound muffled by Harry's chest, she felt his arms tighten around her and heard his voice, deep and rumbling in her ear.

"What has he done this time? I could tell something was wrong when you came back from the tower. You were entirely too cheerful and he was entirely too--normal." Hermione laughed through her tears. That description of Ron was spot on. One could always tell something was wrong with him when he pretended nothing was wrong with him at all. "So?" Harry pressed on, holding her at arm's length now, looking soothingly into her face. "What has our Ronald done this time?" he asked again and Hermione laughed again.

"He kissed me," she answered. It sounded so preposterous, even as she said it. Even Harry looked taken aback at her answer, as though it was beyond anything he'd expected.

But these aren't happy tears," he said, wiping one of them away with the back of his index finger.

"He kissed me and then told me he didn't feel anything." Harry looked confused and Hermione sighed, explaining everything to him.

"So you told him you didn't feel anything either," Harry repeated as she concluded her account, "because, according to you, there was nothing to feel?"

"That's right."

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione. You felt something or you wouldn't be so upset that he didn't." Hermione sighed again, resigned to say outloud what she'd realised two years ago.

"I fancy him, Harry. I more than fancy him. I'm absolutely crazy about him," she revealed, feeling a weight lift off her heart. It felt good to let it out in the open.

"I know," Harry said after a long silence and Hermione was shocked.

"How…how did you know? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Where would have been the fun in that?" Harry chuckled. "Besides, you weren't ready for me to know or you would have said something yourself." Hermione shook her head, trying to get a handle on her thoughts.

"How long?"

"How long have I known? Since you fought with him over Scabbers."

"But that was in third year!" Hermione exclaimed. "I didn't even realise it myself until fifth year," she whispered, gesticulating wildly with her hands.

"Sometimes it's easier to see when you're outside looking in then it is where you're stuck in the action." His words held some value, she conceded, but that still didn't make things any easier for her.

"Life sucks," Hermione declared, to which Harry burst out laughing.

"Interesting choice of words," Harry replied and it struck a chord in Hermione's brain…something about Ron's particular word choice. I think I'm allergic to you. Wasn't that what he had said?

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked and Hermione told him. Harry frowned as he thought it over but Hermione's mind was running a hundred miles an hour. For one fleeting moment she almost believed that those words meant that maybe Ron shared her feelings, just maybe…but just as quickly as the hope came did she push it back again. She couldn't go there anymore.

~*~

Ron was not asleep when Harry walked into the boys' dormitory. Far from it, in fact. He felt weary and exhausted and though he'd tried to sleep, all that resulted when he closed his eyes was his having visions of the incident in the tower. He'd tried not to think about it, had tried to deny it had even happened but a frightening truth kept rearing its head: he'd liked it.

"Harry?" he said in a sort of stage whisper. Harry turned his head sharply in Ron's direction, clutching his chest.

"I thought you were sleeping!" Harry whispered in turn, sitting on the edge of his bed. Ron also rose to a sitting position, running a gruff hand through his hair and lowering it to grip the edge of the bed.

"I'm a light sleeper," he answered bitterly, remembering that he had once said those same words to Hermione--the girl who couldn't muster the slightest hint of a feeling when he kissed her. He still didn't know why that bothered him so much. He remembered another conversation he'd had with Hermione. "I know you fancy Ginny," he said, out of the blue. He hadn't really set out to say it but he was glad he had.

"Oh," came Harry's reply; it was hushed, as though all the air had left his lungs when he'd said that word. Then, "is that why you left before dinner? Because Ron I was going--"

"Going to tell me eventually. I know. I'm not mad at you." He answered.

"You're not?" Harry sounded surprised and Ron chuckled a bit.

"No, I'm glad it's you and not some prissy arse like Malfoy," Ron answered. Harry laughed at that.

They sat in silence for an indeterminable moment until Ron spoke again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Harry answered.

"How does she make you feel? Ginny, I mean." When Harry spluttered, his face growing red in the candlelight Ron spoke again. "Spare me the details, harry. I mean in general."

"Oh," Harry answered and seemed to consider the question. "Nervous, I suppose, but now. She doesn't made me nervous but I feel like I'm nervous when I'm around her, does that make any sense?"

"Not really," Ron declared, mulling Harry's answer over in his mind.

"Well," Harry began again, "it's as though I know exactly when she's walked into the same room. It's like--butterflies. Yeah, like butterflies in my stomach and my palms get all sweaty and I feel as though someone's socked me in the chest only it doesn't exactly feel bad, just different." Harry explained. Ron sighed, a heavy feeling weighing down his heart all of a sudden.

"That's what I thought," he said before shutting his bed curtain and leaving himself in the dark to think things through.

~*~

Hermione wasn't sure whether to be mortified or whether to act as though the events of last night were completely normal. Most of all, though, she was dreading having to face Harry. Funny, wasn't it? Sure, she was nervous about seeing Ron and acting normally after what had happened but it was the part where she'd made a blubbering fool of herself that bothered her the most.

She wasn't much of a crier…okay, well, maybe that wasn't completely true. She wasn't one to keep her emotions bottled up, but rarely did she let those emotions pouring out in front of an audience. Harry had been really great last night, especially considering Ron usually was the one who handled her breakdowns. God, he'd probably seen her crying a hundred times…okay, so maybe she was a crier after all.

"Ugh," Hermione muttered, disgusted at herself for being such a mush ball. It was Sunday, still the weekend and although the boys would be sleeping in they'd also worry if come lunchtime she was still in her room.

Might as well face the music Hermione told herself. For a moment, just a moment, she considered doing something different with her hair and putting on some makeup but instead she settled for an elastic band and tied her hair back, skipping the makeup (which she would have had to borrow anyway) altogether.

She was happy and relieved to see the common room still empty save for Neville (who continued to snore softly on a nearby sofa). She was tempted to wake him but decided against it, liking the solitude. Instead she settled down in her usual seat.

It was impossible to tell just how long she'd been siting there--lost in thoughts she hadn't known she was having and probably would never recall--when she heard the portrait hole open.

For a moment she figured it was just Fred and George returning from a prank. The laughing emanating from the doorway certainly supported her theory, as did the red hair of the boy stepping through it, but with sinking spirits Hermione remembered that Fred and George were no longer at Hogwarts, that the red hair belonged to no other than Ron and that it was Harry he was laughing with.

"They think you're a hunk?" he chuckled. "A hunk of what?"

"Ron, it's an expression. It means they think I'm the best looking bloke in school."

"Well firstly why would they think that when you've me to contend with, thank you very much, and secondly--" but he'd just spotted her and had stopped abruptly. Hermione watched as harry ran right into Ron.

"Ow! Why'd you stop like that?" Harry rubbed his nose and spotted her in turn. "Hi, Hermione," he said.

"Morning," she was able to muster after what was probably a split second but felt much longer. "How long have you two been awake?" she asked, deciding that normal was the approach to take. It had worked when she'd walked in on Ron nearly naked, hadn't it? There was no reason why it shouldn't work now.

"A lot longer than you have been, apparently, you lazy arse," Ron said after what felt like hours to Hermione. He walked towards her, grinning, before sprawling himself next to her in typical Ron Weasley fashion. Normal it would be, Hermione decided, taking his lead and acting as though nothing had happened. Maybe she'd eventually convince her heart of the same.

~*~

He'd hoped it wasn't true, not because he was against it or because he didn't want it to happen or found it revolting or anything, but merely because it was just too crazy and unbelievable and unexpected to be true. One look at her sitting lost in thought on that sofa had brought it all back--the fluttering, the beating, the sweating, and the realisation he'd come to last night that he fancied his best friend. Not just fancied her--he was in very, very deep like with her. She drove him crazy and he was crazy about her.

Madam Pomfrey had been right--he'd done just fine falling for her on his own without the aid of any potion. He bet the old bat had known all along what had been wrong with him too. She could have at least have told him he was in love with his best friend!

Thinking about everything that had gone through his mind over the past few weeks almost made him laugh out loud. Allergies…well that was the dumbest think he'd ever come up with. And he ought to know…he had a tendency t come up with some pretty outlandish thoughts; like the notion that there was a possibility Hermione might like him back? Yeah, that was a good one. Of course there couldn't be any truth in that considering she'd been so revolted by the kiss they'd shared.

Well, all right; he had to give himself some credit. She hadn't been revolted as much as she had been...unaffected. He still didn't understand why. Just thinking about that kiss still sent shivers shooting up his spine. There was probably enough energy running through him to light up on of those Muggle eclectic light bulbs.

He felt the smack of a hand upside his head. It wasn't hard or painful and in fact it made him smile--because Hermione had been the one to administer it. He'd decided last night to play it cool and playing it cool meant teasing and joking and being the friend he'd been before realising he was an idiot for not realising sooner that he was crazy about that girl sitting next to him.

"I am not lazy and I certainly am not an arse!" she said and he grinned at her. He stuck his tongue out and quickly retracted it, eliciting a small twitch of Hermione's mouth. She always pretended to be angry with him but she never actually was.

"Of course you aren't, Hermione. You know I wouldn't deign be seen with you if you were. Nor would Harry for that matter, isn't that right Harry?" he addressed Harry who as always was sitting in the oversized chair facing them.

"Hey, you're lucking that I deign being seen with either of you now. I am a hunk, you know," Harry jested, raiding his hands in a "what can I do" kind of gesture. Ron threw a cushion at him, unaware that Hermione had done the same at the same time. They both hit Harry squarely in the head. Hermione laughed and both he and Harry joined in. In the middle of laughing, Hermione began coughing and for the first time Ron noticed that her cheeks were flushed as though with fever.

"Oof, sorry," Hermione apologised after her coughing fit. She looked tired for someone who's just slept over an hour past her usual wake up time.

"Come here," Harry said from across them, leaning out of his chair to press the back of his hand on Hermione's forehead. Ron ignored the pang of jealousy that course through his gut and instead repeated the gesture once Harry had removed his hand.

"You're warm," he declared after a moment, his hand lingering on her face a moment longer than he should have kept it.

"That's because I'm human, Ron. It's called body heat." She replied snappishly. Hermione always got grumpy when she got sick.

"Actually, I think it's called a fever, Hermione," he replied in a tone that she usually found annoying as hell. "Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey," he suggested but she merely shrugged him off.

"I'm all right, Ron. Nothing a quick nap won't cure," she said even as she yawned. He expected her to up and go to her room but instead curled right up on the couch and before he knew it she was asleep. He couldn't help it; he rose from his place on the sofa and grabbed a blanket that he been draped over a chair in the corner. Delicately he placed it over her, running his hand over the curve of her jaw, brushing away a stray strand of hair, grateful when Harry, who was watching, didn't say anything.