Author's Note: Well…this took quite long, didn't it? Yeah, I stopped writing fanfiction for like four months…but I came back to this fanfic the other day and I just had to work on it. I have this feeling I really have to finish it. Meep. Anyway, I didn't edit this very much, in the hurry to get it up. Feel free to point out any mistakes and please review, no matter what you have to say.
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His eyes travel slowly and meticulously over the chess pieces; he's solving the mysteries of the universe in the form of knights and pawns, yet again. The common room is empty now – the other students have long since gone to bed. Ron would've gone with them, too – Merlin knows he's the kind who could sleep for an age if he could – but obviously something's on his mind. I try not to wonder what it is; instead, I try to be grateful for it. If he hadn't had some kind of moral quandary plaguing him, I could never get him alone. Not alone enough to talk about something…something like…well, we're never really alone enough to talk about what's really on my mind. Someone's always watching, somehow; or maybe it just feels that way, because it feels like there would be so many people to tell me that what I want to say is wrong. I feel guilty about it, the wrongness.
Then sometimes I forget why I feel guilty entirely and those are the times when I know they're not just watching – they're gaping.
"I didn't appreciate that, you know."
I startle him out of his chess-induced reverie and he glances halfway towards me, his eyes and mind still mostly on the game. "Didn't appreciate what?"
I just glare. "What do you think?"
He looks up at me, exasperation apparent in his expression. "Come on, Gin, are you going to make me guess all night, or will you tell me what's got your knickers in a bunch?"
"'Ginny, you can go with Harry,'" I quote, deadpan.
"What about it?" he replies distractedly, casting a brief glance in my direction. "I thought you'd want to. You like Harry, don't you?"
"Yes, I like Harry," I agree. "I don't see what that has to do with it."
"Well, you like him…like that, you know?" He sounds uncomfortable at this point; the uncertainty carries over into his eyes, which roam the chessboard almost self-consciously. "I mean…you admitted that to me before, you…liked him that way. And you seemed upset about him asking Cho, I figured –"
"You figured wrong," I state coolly. "I don't like Harry 'like that'."
He looks up at me dubiously.
"Anymore," I amend. "That was over a long time ago."
"And what about Cho?" he asks, his fingers absently brushing a few pieces.
"I wasn't jealous of her," I explain, "I just feared where you would turn to find Harry a date if the person he wanted to go with didn't accept. Apparently, my fears were justified."
He looks frustrated now. "Why would you be afraid? What's so wrong with going to the ball with Harry as your friend? I mean, you don't like Neville that way, do you? And you're going with him, just to go."
"I didn't want to go with Harry, because if he ever thought of me 'like that', he would think he had a chance with me. And he doesn't. Neville, at least, knows what to expect from me. He knows my heart belongs to someone else."
Confusion clouds focussed blue eyes. "But if Harry doesn't have a chance with you – if your heart doesn't belong to Harry – then who does it belong to?"
"None of your business," I snap defensively, turning my gaze away from his.
"Gin." His voice is gentle and pleading. I want to look to him, but I can't.
Someone's always watching and we're never alone enough, we're never alone enough for me to say what's on my mind, to say what's been on my mind for half a year now, since that day when Harry Potter vanished completely from my mind. Since that day someone I care about finally looked at me and saw me for what I am and loved me for who I am and loved me so much nothing else could ever be enough –
Since that day he kissed me.
He – my brother, Ron – kissed me. Like a brother never ought to kiss a sister.
He did it, though. And I don't regret it. I don't regret the taste of him in my mouth like it was yesterday; a sweet, tangy, spicy taste like my grandmother's spaghetti sauce; a familiar, lingering taste. My only regret is that I can't taste it anew – and again, and again, and again, until those eyes that always watch wouldn't just gape, they'd bug out in indignant horror.
Sometimes I think I'd like them to do that, that I wouldn't care who watched, and then I realize that I can't say what's on my mind, because even if Ron would understand – like he always understands – we will never be alone enough.
"Gin." His calming voice interrupts my racing thoughts, but does nothing to slow the pace of my frantic heart, pounding against my ribcage. "Gin, who is it your heart belongs to?"
Asking so gently and calmly that it seems like he almost cares – not who it is, but about me. I mean, he cares who it is, because he wants to change it, he wants to make it Harry, he wants the happy fairy-tale ending for Harry and he wants me to give it to him – but he doesn't care about me, he doesn't ask out of care for my feelings. He's been putting on the dance, the masquerade – he spends more time with me now, but he's been avoiding what happened half a year ago, avoiding talking about that night.
Maybe…maybe he just feels them watching, too, and we're just never alone enough. We can never be alone enough.
So it might as well be now. Because we're never really going to be alone, right?
"Ron," I say softly, barely feeling the words escape my lips. Something else has a hold on me. "You know who my heart belongs to. You know."
He gives a half-hearted almost-smile. "Gin, didn't I tell you before about making me guess?"
I breathe deeply. My voice shakes as I speak the words but they're coming out – something's making them come out.
"Ron, my heart belongs to you."
Finally, he turns completely away from the chess. I've captured his undivided attention – for once.
His, and the attention of someone, that someone who's always watching – I know they're staring now, I know they've burned the words I've said into their minds, recorded them until further notice. I find that I don't care – I don't care anymore. All I care about is the reaction in Ron's eyes.
He can't even look at me.
"Ginny," he says slowly, "I understand that you love me – I mean, I'm your brother – but you shouldn't confuse that with –"
I feel the eyes of someone boring into me. I snap. "I'm not the one who's confused, Ron – you are. If you want to pretend that kiss was nothing – that it meant nothing to you – then that's fine. In fact, maybe it doesn't mean anything to you now. But I know it did then. And it still means something to me, regardless of whether you care about me or not. So don't say that I'm confused, Ronald Weasley. I am not confused. I am in love with you. And I know the difference between that and just loving you, thank you very much."
He stares up at me – and says the strangest thing.
"Ginny," he chastises – in a brotherly way; a familial way. "Of course I care about you."
"Don't you dare," I hiss.
"Dare what? Care about you?" he says, with a twitch of a smile.
"Ignore this."
He looks directly into my eyes – not masquerading, not ignoring, not pretending – he's himself, and he's looking at me. He's pleading with me. "Ginny, I have to. You know we can't do this. You know it's –"
I can't stand to hear him say it. I can't stand for him to look at me – at us – like someone. Like someone else would.
I collect him in my arms and I smash my mouth to his, demanding him to feel the things I can't say. He tries to pull away at first but soon he yields and he melts and opens to me and I can taste his familiar, lingering flavour and I'm desperate for more, pulling closer to him, clawing at him, more, more –
He doesn't want to give it to me, though. Instead, he tumbles to the carpet with a soft thud, escaping my advances.
"Ginny," he rasps, breathless. "We can't."
"Tell me that didn't mean anything to you. Tell me that didn't feel right," I choke in desperation, my voice cracking on the words.
He slowly rises to his feet, his eyes not meeting mine, his stance defeated.
"Tell me!" I sob, tears cutting tracks down my face. "Don't you think I tried not to love you? Don't you think I wanted to make this go away? To make myself not want you this way, to not want to…"
He reaches towards me, as if not sure if he's allowed to touch me – as if I might break. "Shh, Ginny – please, don't cry…"
"Don't look at me like that!" I nearly shriek.
His expression of confusion – such a normal, usual expression – makes me want to cry harder.
"Don't look at me like you can make everything better. Don't look at me like I'm afraid of nothing and you can make it all okay. Don't look at me," I rave hysterically, my voice subsiding into quiet lamenting, "like you can comfort me. Because you can't. I love you and you'll never love me – like that – and nothing can make that go away."
"Ginny," he says incredulously, suddenly in front of me, suddenly with his hands on my shoulders. "Ginny."
"What?" I wail bitterly. "What do you want from me?"
"Ginny," he continues, his voice very solemn. "It's true that…I can't change anything for you. I can't make any of this go away but…Gin, I don't know if I would."
I look up at him in shock. "What do you –"
"I love you like – I'm in love with you. It's never been otherwise, not since…not since that kiss. It seems like…nothing else could be right. Like that was the only real thing that's ever happened in my life and I…I love you but I know I shouldn't and I know I can't and I just wanted you not to be living a life where someone's always saying that you're wrong, that you're –"
"Ron." I shake him gently. "Ron, I would rather be hated by the whole world my entire lifetime than spend it denying that I love you. You're my world. Without you, nothing matters. I love you so much that you're the only thing that matters –"
I can't speak anymore, only weep and rail helplessly against him. He holds me close, trying to calm me and still me to no avail. Finally, between one of my fits, he speaks.
"Why us? Why would they do this to us? They say…they say that two people are destined to be together – soul mates, like – but if we're destined to be together than why can't we be together?" Ron stares into my teary eyes, looking desperate.
"Because…" I grasp for words but I realize –
I don't know why.
And all there is between us is silence.
We're not alone enough. We're never alone enough. Because someone's always watching and that someone is laughing.