A/N: I've wanted to write a Ron/Hermione for a long time. I have done it, and will do it again. Oh yes. I lurve this pairing. Go Good Ship!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
If one were to define the term, "Gryffindor", they would undoubtedly mention that Gryffindor students were loyal to their friends (well, except for that Pettigrew fellow), true to themselves, and most of all-- brave.
Ah yes, bravery.
What a thing it is. Bravery occurs on many levels and in many situations. It appears in standing up to your friends and enemies. It pops up when heading out into the Forbidden Forest. It makes itself known when dashing off into the unknown-- whether that be unknown chambers filled with unknown things, or unknown areas of academic relation.
Unknown areas of conversational practices as well, one would suppose.
But Ron Weasley was feeling decidedly un-brave at the moment.
Now, Ron liked to think he was a brave person. He was a Gryffindor after all! And had he not faced some of his worst fears throughout his time at Hogwarts? Had he not followed the spiders into the forest? Had he not went out onto the quidditch pitch despite the thunderous chorus of "Weasley Is Our King" from the Slytherins?
Well, he had, thank you very much, and if those acts weren't brave, what was?
He could think of one thing.
But he wasn't going to do that. No sir. Not in a million years. Not if you gave him a thousand galleons. Not even if--
"Ron? Ron? Are you even listening?"
He was brought out of his reverie by one Miss Hermione Granger, cause of said un-brave-ness, who was looking at him quite contemptedly over a eagle-feather quill she was using to scratch out the last few inches of her three-feet-too-long History of Magic essay. He shook his head a bit and focused his eyes on her, forcing them away from his absent-minded doodle on his blank parchment.
"Huh?"
"Honestly, Ron! You're always off in that little world of yours where it's all quidditch and Fleur Delacour all the time!" she remarked huffily and with a tinge of something that Ron couldn't quite identify.
"It is not! I'll have you know that my little world also involves sweets and the absence of homework," he smirked at her, ignoring her incredulous look.
Not any absence of her, either... a small voice in the back of his mind muttered.
"No homework?"
"Crazy, isn't it? Enjoyable though. You ought to try it out in your own mind... just think... no tests, no deadlines, no scribbling frantically--"
"I like scribbling frantically! I like deadlines!"
He chuckled a bit and shook his head. Typical Hermione.
Hermione. It is a nice name, he thought as he went back to doodling. It suits her... it sounds... very educated and... pretty.
"As I was saying before, Ron, have you even started on your essay?" she inquired over the scratching of her quill.
"Not due until next Tuesday," he observed from behind his elbow, which was flat on the table and hiding his mouth from view while he rested his chin on the wood.
"And?" she pressed.
He rolled his eyes and let his arm fall across his book. "Hermione..."
"Don't whine, Ron!"
He exhaled heavily and sat up in his chair. He reached for the parchment he'd been doodling on, preparing to scrunch it up and toss it away in the bin that sat no more than four feet away. Just as he did, though, so did Hermione, who had obviously been thinking the same thing.
Their hands brushed and they both jerked them back, turning a light pink despite their age.
Brushing hands wasn't a big deal, Ron chided himself as a chill went down his spine. He was seventeen, for crying out loud! Not only this, but he'd faced so many horribly terrifying things that this simply should not bother him. He was brave enough--
Ah yes, bravery.
This is the only thing you've never been brave about, the small voice told him.
He had fancied her since second year, he supposed. He'd thought about it one night over the summer, when he'd been pondering the length of time his pathetically smitten self had been pathetically smitten. Second year had been when he'd tried to curse Draco Malfoy for a reason more complex than the arrogant blond simply being Draco Malfoy.
Then came fourth year, when he'd realized that the pit squeezing, throat numbing, fluttering butterflies were a side-effect of said smitten-ness and not from a strange allergy to Hermione's hair care products. Fourth year had been when he'd felt jealous about something more than Malfoy's money, or Harry's being who he was, or his brothers overshadowing him. He'd totally lost it over Hermione being the object of Viktor Krum's affections.
And then she'd said... well.
He'd rather not think of that.
"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"
Her words rang in his skull and he rather wished that they wouldn't ring like that.
"Err... I'll just get the parchment then?" Hermione asked.
"Sure," he muttered.
She reached across the table and gingerly picked up the parchment. He expected her to ball it up and place it in the trash, which was much closer to her, but she didn't.
His gut plummeted.
She was looking at it.
He couldn't explain it to himself, but he had a strange feeling that he didn't want her looking at it.
"Ron?"
"Hmm?" was all he could muster.
"Why is my name written on here?"
"Err..."
"And outlined with little hearts?"
A sudden flash of a memory blinded him despite this very, very awkward situation, in which a twelver-year-old version of himself asked why Hermione had outlined Lockhart's lessons in little hearts.
He gulped.
Any smidgeon of bravery he'd had before that second had vanished.
Ah yes, bravery.
Damn you! He silently hollered at the voice in his head who kept whispering that stupid phrase.
Damn me? Am I only one in here that sees you're acting like a total idiot? Hello? She asked you a question!
"I... uh... err... um..." he muttered articulately.
She was blushing, but her words did not betray what her face did, "Ron? Why did you outline my name in little hearts?"
Her tone was almost teasing, but an underlying sense of 'am I thinking right?' was in her voice, and Ron half-expected that she'd found him out.
Any and all clues that had smacked him in the face before then were being completely ignored.
"Because... uh..."
Bravery... the little voice whispered, You could do to use it now... go on, you git!
"Just... I just... I dunno," he finished lamely, mentally kicking himself in the foreheard.
"Do you... do you fancy me?" Hermione inquired, voice filled with half- hope, half-skepticism.
Ron knew he must have been as bright red as a tomato, but he wasn't particularly concerned with that at the moment. He was rather concerned about where Harry was, and why he wasn't busting into the library with a flourish, proclaiming that he needed their help or the world would end any minute.
Then, Ron thought, this embarrassing moment would be over and he could immerse himself in not getting killed by Death Eaters or whatever the danger was that Harry would go on about. But no! Harry had to be off talking to Dumbledore about something important. He didn't even have the decency to come rescue his best friend from sinking into the floor from embarrassment!
Some friend.
"Ron?"
"I... I..."
Speak up! You sound like a moron! Get it out of your system! If you don't do this now, you may never get to! It's your last year of Hogwarts, and who knows what's going to happen to you all-- you may never see her again!
That voice, Ron decided, was very irritating and would face his wrath at a later time. For now, he'd just have to shut it up.
"Yeah," he blurted.
Hermione looked quite stunned. For one bone-chilling second, Ron thought he'd frightened her and she'd never speak to him again... at least not alone, of her own free will. Her face melted from the expression she had to one that clearly meant she was pleased.
"You've finally gotten it then?" she asked with a small smile.
Well. That hadn't been expected.
"Huh?"
"You finally got all the hints I dropped? I mean, I did all but paint a sign and wave it in your face!" she chuckled.
He was still quite perplexed. "Huh?"
Though he had just admitted something that he thought had the potential to smash his heart into tiny pieces with a large hammer if she laughed at him, he was not at all concerned with that. He was confused about what she was speaking of. Could she...?
A sudden stream of memories played past his mind's eye. He caught glimpses of secret grins, jealous glances when he'd eyed Fleur, a few of their more heated rows and the more-than-hurt look she got in her eye when he'd offended her, and the time she'd stood on tiptoe to kiss him good-luck on the cheek before his quidditch match. His jaw dropped in sudden realization.
He'd always known why she made him feel funny, he guessed, but he'd never stopped to think about why she'd done some of the things she'd done. He'd seen them as tokens of friendship. Now that he thought about it though...
"You-- you... do you fancy me as well?"
She blushed a little more, and then-- Ron felt as though his heart would combust from beating so fast-- she nodded.
"I have for a long time, you know."
"I... well."
"I thought you'd never figure it out! You were too busy being such a boy... typical. I'd all but given up until..." she waved the parchment in her hand a little bit to finish her sentence.
Ron was about to say something when the doors to the library burst open with flourish and Harry came in, and though he was not proclaiming he needed their help (as the Harry in Ron's previous thoughts had), he did inform that it was time for dinner and they ought to be there, as it promised to be quite the feast despite it not being a holiday.
Nice timing, the voice muttered irritably.
For once, Ron actually agreed, and rolled his eyes. Hermione did the same, seeming to agree with a small voice in the back of her head that must have been just as annoying most of the time.
"What?" Harry asked, exasperated. "I thought you'd want to know. They special ordered in some sweets from Honeydukes! Seamus put some pepper imps into Dennis' food and he hasn't found them yet-- I don't want to miss it! Come on!"
He beckoned them to follow, and hurried out the library doors.
Ron and Hermione rose from their seats and gathered up their things. Hermione was coming around the table just as Ron was pushing in his chair. She grinned a little and blushed, but again, her voice did not betray her feelings.
"Glad to see him a bit back to himself, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice still a bit squeaky from emotional stress and surprise.
He pushed open the door and let her exit first, a bit confused as to why she paused a few feet away and looked back at him expectantly. He paused beside her and knit his brows in question. Her reply was simple, but it made his heart flutter anyway.
She curled her fingers into his, and, giving his hand a small squeeze, stood up on tiptoe and gave him a quick peck on the lips, much like the one she'd given him before the quidditch match two years ago. She blushed and sank off of her tiptoes, beginning to walk, her hand still entwined with his.
He was rooted to the spot, however, and she had to give him a small tug to get him to move. She chuckled and started to lead him toward the Great Hall. He eventually came out of his stupor and walked alongside her, smiling as he felt the warmth of her hand in his.
Ah yes, bravery.