A/N: Happy Holidays to you all! I think I can squeeze in one more update on Christmas…I'll try.

What does she want from me?

She knows my mother, she knows how she'd take this. It wouldn't be pretty.

Now they're sitting together on the deck, laughing about something and I've escaped to the kitchen to add some sugar to my mother's glass.

I don't want to go back out there. I want to go to dinner with the two of them even less.

Mom looks over her shoulder at me and I busy myself with the teaspoon.

"Are okay in there?" she calls and I reluctantly carry the glass back to her and sit across from the two of them at the patio table.

Hermione looks away from me and instead consults her watch.

"What time were the reservations?" she asks my mom, even though I'm the one who made them.

"Seven, I think," Mom says, looking to me for confirmation.

I nod mutely.

"We should get going. Can't be late."

"That's why I made reservations," I say. "They'll hold our table."

"I'd rather be early," she snaps and when my mom looks at her she apologizes to her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I'm going to go get ready. Finish your drink." She smiles at her and steps through the patio doors and disappears.

Mom looks over at me.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"You tell me."

I shake my head. "There's nothing to tell, Mom."

"It doesn't seem that way to me," she says. "For best friends, the two of you don't seem particularly friendly."

"Ron's my best friend," I say defiantly. But it was true. Hermione isn't my best friend anymore. I hope she was still much more than that.

"You're splitting hairs," she says and sips her drink.

I shrug this off as some cryptic motherly comment.

"Okay, if you aren't best friends, you're still friends. Unless that's what this is about."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have the answers here, Harry. I was hoping you did."

"No," I say honestly. "I don't."

"All I know is that there is some kind of tension between the two of you. Is this how either of you want to live?"

No. What I want, I can't have.

Mom is watching me closely.

"You know I'm going to find out what this is about, so why don't you just tell me?"

I sigh, "Mom, for the hundredth time, there is nothing to tell!"

She shakes her head. "I guess I'll just have to get it out of Hermione."

Good luck with that, I think. I can't get a straight answer out of her myself.

. . . .




It comes as no surprise that dinner is as awkward as the earlier part of the day and by the time our waiter conjures up our bill, we're all sitting quietly.

I reach for the bill at the same time that Hermione does and we both snatch our hands back as though we've been burned.

I know my mother has made note of this and I avoid her eyes.

Instead, she takes the bill and opens her purse.

"No, Mom." I try to take the bill back from her but she holds tightly to it.

"I have it," she tells me.

"Mom, it's an expensive restaurant."

"I read the menu, Harry."

"I can afford it," I say reasonably.

"I want to, for your birthday," she says.

"It's too much, Mom."

"Harry, don't argue," Hermione says and it's the first time she's spoken to me all evening.

Mom smiles at her appreciatively.

"Good to know some people haven't lost their respect for their elders," Mom says.

I roll my eyes at this.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot my place, Harry." Hermione says very deliberately.

"I'm beginning to feel quite like a mushroom," Mom says quietly.

We both turn to her.

"You know, in the dark?"

Hermione studies her napkin and I reluctantly let go of my hold on the receipt.

"Do I have to guess?" Mom continues.

"Please don't." Hermione says softly.

"Then one of you had better speak up."

"I'm just tired, Mrs. Weasley. I'm busy with my magazine and Harry's got a million things going on with the Quidditch season starting soon and we haven't really had time to adjust to living together. It's nothing, really."

"So it's about dividing the chores, huh?" I can hear the sarcasm and doubt in my mother's voice and when I sneak a glance a Hermione, I know she is aware of it as well.

"Yes," she tries to assure her. "That's all it is."

Mom still looks doubtful but doesn't pursue it. Instead, she motions for the waiter and the nice old wizard takes away the bill folder, now full of Galleons.

"I'm just going to use the ladies room," she excuses herself and pushes away from the table. "You two try not to kill each other in this lovely, overpriced restaurant while I'm away." She walks away from us and I wait a minute before I speak.

"Thank you."

"For what?" she asks.

"For not saying anything."

She nods and looks away.

And I wonder if she was right. I wonder if there really is nothing to say.

*




Okay, I never meant for things to be this awkward. Not only am I embarrassed to be acting like a child in front of Mrs. Weasley, but there is no way she bought that crap about the chores. No way. First, because she knows that Harry can neither clean nor cook, so that's obviously in my hands and second, because we'd both have to be real idiots to basically refuse to speak to one another over a couple of dirty plates in the sink.

"Do you have a busy day tomorrow?" She asks on the way home.

"No, I have the weekend off." Harry's actual birthday is on Sunday, and so most everybody is off work. Needless to say, this isn't how I expected to be spending them.

"Wonderful, you both deserve some rest."

We smile at her politely.

Harry seems even more uncomfortable around his mother than I am, so I figure they must have exchanged some words and he's trying to avoid doing that again. He asks if it would be okay to go shower first and then runs upstairs, leaving the two of us in the living room.

"I don't know what has gotten into him." She shakes her head.

I don't answer, but ask more about her other Mr. Weasley and Bill, Charlie, and Percy and she easily launches into a half a dozen stories. I feel rude that a good 80% of what she's saying to me is going in one ear and out the other. I can't concentrate.

We're out on the deck and I hear movement next door, and spring up to call Melissa over and introduce her.

"Oh, hi!" She says happily after they've shaken hands. "I'm sorry I didn't come and say hello earlier, I'm buried in coursework right now so I lost track of time."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes brighten when Melissa mentions she's a squib, and she launches into how much Mr. Weasley loves working with muggle things.

They chat for a while and soon I see Harry through the sliding doors, walking around in his checkered pyjama pants and t-shirt. He swings his head around and spots us. He makes an attempt to step outside, but Mrs. Weasley sees his state of undress, as she calls it and tells him it's rude to be walking around like a bum when we've got guests.

"Melissa isn't a guest. She's just talking over a fence." He points out, but it's a lost cause.

"Nevermind that." She ushers him back inside the house, then says goodnight to Melissa and tells us she's going to unpack a little.

"I hate living out of a suitcase" is her explanation, although I think she's trying to give Harry and I some time alone, which is pointless since we're not going to make good use of it.

*




I turn the TV on and decide on Rock and Roll Jeopardy only because we both stink equally at it. I'm always in awe of these people who show up and usually can't sing and don't even try and don't have a record and can't play, but they love music so much that it pours out of their every pore. They know every muggle band, every story, every sale statistic, and I often wonder if these are the people who truly understand music.

They're on the "Music and Politics" category and we're a total loss. I identify Public Enemy, only because of my graphic artist's teenage son who is rebelling by listening to muggle rock to his parents distaste, but neither of us would be able to pick Rage Against the Machine out of a Azkaban lineup if our lives depended on it.

"Hermione?" He finally utters a word during the commercial break.

"Hmm?"

"Uh, nothing."

"Just spit it out, you'll feel better."

He turns his body to face mine on the couch. "What do we do?"

"About what?" I look at him. "Us?"

He nods.

"What do you want to do?" I ask him.

"Something."

"Have you thought about forgetting it? Call it temporary insanity, put it away and we'll laugh about it in 5 years?"

"Is that what you want?" He asks, picking lint off the couch.

"It's an option."

"I don't really like it."

"The thing is, Harry, we don't seem to be in the same place right now. Yeah, I was upset at first at the way you were acting, but I really do understand your reluctance, and it's fine. It's better to find out about it sooner rather than later. At the same time, I don't want to live in your closet, so maybe it's not the best time."

He lifts his finger up and tells me to wait here for a minute, then runs upstairs to his room.

He comes back with the list. "You are a total chicken when it comes to trying anything new." He reads from it.

I sigh.

"When I first read it, I thought that it was the most ridiculous reason you'd come up with." He folds the paper in two. "Sad thing is, it might be the only one I can't prove you wrong on."

"Well then I guess you have your answer about what you want to do about us."

I get up and go up to my room. The bathroom is clear and I take advantage of it, spending more time in there than I usually do. As I'm walking back to my room, the house is very quiet. There is some light coming out from underneath the guest room door, so Mrs. Weasley is probably reading. I want to be hospitable, so I knock and she yells to come on in.

"I just wanted to say goodnight."

"Oh, that's very nice of you, dear."

"So, I'll see you in the morning." I smile at her and my hand is already on the doorknob when she sits up.

"Something's happened, hasn't it?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I wasn't born yesterday."

"Mrs. Weasley, nothing is going on, honestly."

"If you say so."

I'm glad to make it out of there alive, and I only had to lie to her a little. My room is right next to hers, and that's where I find him sitting on my bed in the dark.

*




"I don't want to forget about it."

"What do you want me to say to that?" she asks, speaking in a whisper and closing the door behind her.

"That you don't either?"

"We're talking about you. You're the one who chased me and the minute I started to acquiesce a little bit, you ran away with your tail between your legs."

"That's not true!"

"It's late, Harry."

"It's always late," I argue. "I can't keep living like this, Hermione."

She lights a candle and the room is filled with a soft glow.

"You know what your options are."

"I didn't think that you were giving me any."

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't put this on me, Harry."

"You're the one calling the shots," I retort.

"You asked the question," she reminds me.

"Tell me you weren't wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Bullshit."

A heavy silence fills the room.

"You'd better go wash your mouth out with soap" she says quietly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe if you weren't trying so hard to keep that halo from slipping in front of your mother…?"

"What do you think she'd say, Hermione? Why didn't you tell her when she asked you, more than once tonight?"

"It's not for me to tell," she says defiantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You live here."

"You're her son."

"You are too," I shoot back. "Well, not son. . .but, you know - "

"We're getting nowhere with this, Harry. Just forget it." She turns towards the door to open it.

"No."

Her head whips around. "No?"

"No."

"It's not up for debate, Harry."

"I know." I move until I'm pressed against her and the weight of our bodies swings the door shut. My hands grasp at her waist and my lips descend onto hers, roughly pressing against her.

"Harry…" she struggles against me and I pull back, my eyes boring into hers.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I don't want to be your secret."

"I'll be yours," I whisper.

She shakes her head. "No, Harry."

"Do you want me to march in there right now and tell her that I want you?" I slide my hands along her ribcage and trace the swell of her breasts.

"Yes. No. I…"

My mouth settles on hers again, this time less forcefully, more hesitantly.

"She's right in the next room, Harry," she says, breaking the kiss.

"And?"

"And you don't want to tell her using words. How do you think she'd react if she heard us?"

"I can be quiet." My attentions refocus on her neck and I nibble along it, down to her collarbone, breathing in her scent.

"I can't be with you like this, Harry."

"You want to, don't you?"

She sighs as my mouth descends on a particularly sensitive part of her skin and her arms circle my waist and she moves the two of us so that now my back is to the door and she is pressing me against the wood.

Her breath comes hot against my ear, "It doesn't matter what I want. I can't be something you take out and play with whenever it suits you."

Her hand twists the doorknob and before I know it, I'm standing on the other side of the door and the latch catches firmly as it closes.