A million thanks to Mouskadiddle, my fellow Potterhead and S.P.P.E.W. member (you don't want to know...). Thank you, m'dear, for tolerating my late night IM rants, my odd (not to mention sick) sense of humor, and everything else that comes with being my partner in crime (aka Fanfic-ing and crazy-ing and such – yes, "to crazy" is now a new verb. Verb! It's what you do! I crazy, you crazy, he crazies.....).

Disclaimer: I own the letters Q, Z and Y. And I invented the question mark. If Harry's name was spelled "QQ?QzY?", then he would be mine. But alas, no.

P.S. Chestnuts are lazy.

Until The Real Thing Comes Along

Looking around slowly, Ron stepped cautiously into the empty Transfiguration classroom. In the quickly fading sunlight streaming through the windows opposite the door, his eyes settled on Hermione's small form slumped on a desk. Her back was to him, and she was staring out through an open window to the Hogwarts grounds which had erupted in flaming reds and oranges and yellows over the past couple of weeks. Buttery golden rays shot through the window, catching the matching glowing color in her feathery hair. A gust of chilly October air forced its way into the quiet room, making Hermione shiver slightly and hug her knees tightly to her body. She shifted and relaxed, and Ron felt a pang of pity as he saw that utter defeat was etched in all of her body language – her head now rested heavily in her hands, and her leg gently kicked at the leg of the desk.

Ron stood across the room from her, wondering if moving any closer would be the wisest course of action. As she sighed and sniffed loudly, he decided he could not stand there silently any longer while his best friend huddled alone and dejected at the window.

Clearing his throat nervously, he murmured "Her – Hermione?" She instantly whipped her head around, and he saw that her eyes looked slightly red, as if she had been crying. Ever since that time he had made her run to the girl's bathroom sobbing in their first year at Hogwarts, he hated when she appeared to have been crying, even sniffling. And it seemed like in the five years after that unfortunate event, she had cried quite a lot (Ron hated to admit it, but many times he was primarily at fault). Now, in their final year, he had managed to stay mostly on Hermione's good side, but always detected an aura of melancholy whenever he was around her. Ron tended to block out any sensitive feelings he or the people around him might be experiencing . . . but when she felt hurt, he felt it too, and his heart shattered into a million pieces for her.

"Oh! Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I – I understand if you, well, want to be alone right now, Mione," he mumbled, fidgeting with the edge of his jumper. "I just – I mean Harry and I were just wondering if you were alright and all. Dinner's almost over. I – I bought you a bit of treacle tart –"

Hermione laughed good-naturedly as she heard this, and rubbed her eyes roughly before looking up at Ron with wide eyes. "Really? You – Ronald Weasley, the Official Winner of Hogwart's Treacle Eating Contest – managed to tear your eyes away from dinner, DINNER! And brought me some treacle to top it all off. Amazing, simply amazing." She tut-tutted and shook her head slowly from side to side.

Ron let out one short laugh, but stared at his friend in concern. "Yes, I know, it must be some sort of new record for me. Er . . . well, are you alright? You sort of just leapt up and ran out without much of an explanation or anything . . ." His words hung in the air as Hermione stared miserably at her fingernails.

"Hermione?" Ron prodded gently.

"I suppose I'm alright. Just overreacting, really," she sighed quietly. A troubled look clouded her eyes. "Ugh! I just hate it when the people I despise seem to know more about my own feelings than I do." She laughed nervously, and continued speaking, almost to herself. "I mean, I've laughed it off all these years as something Malfoy does to egg people on . . . but I was thinking . . . and I realized maybe the people who you feel are the farthest away from you emotionally can . . . I don't know . . . see your emotions the most objectively." She broke off suddenly, as if realizing Ron was still standing there, a few feet away from her. He sat down next to her on the desk, peering at her bemusedly.

"Wait . . . are you saying Malfoy said something to you again?" Ron demanded suddenly.

"Yes . . . well, no. He didn't say anything really. More like . . . the way he acted. Smug. Like he knew something very obvious that I didn't."

His eyes crinkling up into a smile, Ron murmured, "And we know how much you hate that."

"Oh, quiet, Ronald."

"Seriously, if Malfoy did anything to hurt you, Mione . . ."

Hermione sighed and gazed at Ron. "No, Ron, it's fine." Ron went on to explicitly state several things he would be more than willing to do to Malfoy that Hermione was sure he would never say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"No, Ron, let it go." But she couldn't help laughing out loud at the evil glint in his eyes.

"Alright, alright," Ron snorted. "Are you ok now, though?"

"Yes. I suppose. But . . . it was you . . . and me."

Ron's eyes widened. "Wh-what?"

Hermione became very flustered all of a sudden. "I mean – It – I – Malfoy was smug about you – and, well, me – and – I don't know – he was implying - "

Ron realized the pinky finger of his hand had somehow ended up touching the side of Hermione's hand, and he drew back quickly as if he got an electric shock. He coughed loudly and sputtered something about treacle tarts and a spotted dessert.

"Yes! Lovely idea! Thanks so much for coming to find me, I'll just run on ahead to the girl's room! Catch up with you and Harry in a bit!" And with that Hermione had rushed out of the classroom in a flurry of robes and bouncy hair.

Now, no more golden rays peeked into the classroom, and Ron was left alone in the cold, silent dark staring out at the swirling leaves outside the window.

What exactly is it that Malfoy said to Hermy? What will Ron do from here? Will this fic ACTUALLY have a REAL PLOT? Excellent questions, young grasshoppers. You must learn the Sacred Ways of the Fanfiction: Review, review some more, and then a bit more just for good measure, and then return here very soon to find out the answers . . .