Author's Note: Whoa! So there actually are other people out there who like musicals! Sorry, folks, I don't have enough points to dole out to all of you. Thank you, though, for renewing my faith in people's music tastes!

Also, thank you for all of the kind reviews you've given me. What an ego boost! :) In return, here's another chapter—and thanks for sticking with it. Keep 'em coming, 'cause I love your input!

In His Eyes

The middle of the night was not the best time for deep thinking, Hermione thought. It allowed for entirely too much meandering.

It was the middle of the night. And she couldn't help it.

This is stupid, she scolded herself as she picked up her brush, smacking it against her palm. With short, furious strokes, she began to tame her hair. Stop thinking about it so much.

The problem was, she reflected, that she couldn't stop her mind from circling the same topics again and again, as it had all night. She could make her face look interested, she could make the right comments and laugh when appropriate, but she couldn't fool her own mind. She couldn't stop replaying the night over and over and over again. She had sudden flashes of memory—the feel of the music in her heart, the heated press of the crowd, Ron's hands on her body. That last bit raised gooseflesh on her arms every time.

Her heart stopped altogether whenever she had a sudden memory of his eyes in that last instant before the music ended.

And what had that been about? she wondered as she slowly removed her earrings and dropped them on her dresser. Had she imagined it? No, she thought quickly, remembering his eyes with a shiver. Definitely not. There'd been a time, when they were in school, that she'd been able to read his every thought, and most of his emotions. He was, after all, a boy. But then they'd graduated, and he'd started work at the Ministry, and now…now it was harder to see what he was thinking. Every once in a while, in times like last night, she felt an odd disconnect when she looked at him and didn't see everything he felt in his face.

Well, then she had only one recourse, Hermione thought as she finished brushing her teeth and neatly put her things away. As she walked into her bedroom, she whispered a spell to light candles sitting next to her bed. Settling under her blankets, she thought of the next day. She'd just go to his flat tomorrow morning, she thought. And she'd ask him exactly what had gone on.

Her mind made up, she whispered "Nox," turned over, and went to sleep.

---

Hermione awoke slowly the next morning, relishing the comfort that surrounded her. She showered and dressed while mentally reviewing her activities for the day. It wasn't until she was standing in front of her mirror ("Oooh, late night, dearie?" it said) that she remembered her resolution to talk to Ron. Ignoring the little tingle in her belly, she uttered an incantation to dry her hair. And, telling herself it was foolish, she added a little makeup with a flick of her wand.

She assured herself it wasn't for him.

Her mother had always said that food didn't go amiss when one was bearing news, good or bad. And what about when one was going to ask tricky questions?Hermione thought, and snorted out a laugh as she headed out the door. Either way, she'd stop by the bakery on the way to Ron's flat two streets away.

Wasn't it interesting, Hermione reflected as she started down the street, that she, Ron and Harry had all ended up living in London? They would have stayed friends regardless of where they lived; they were too close to do otherwise. She remembered that she'd breathed a sigh of relief though, when, after Hogwarts and the Defeat, she and Ron had settled in flats mere streets from each other; Ron, so he could work at the Magical Games and Sports division of the Ministry, and Hermione so that she could study at Blakentode University, hidden in the heart of London.

Everything had fallen into place when Harry had finally chosen a place near Diagon Alley. The Defeat of the Dark Lord had left him shaken and uneasy, gaunt and exhausted, and he only seemed to improve once he'd been able to tell his best friends (in choked, hushed tones) exactly what had happened. After that, he'd seemed to find new resolution and purpose, walking with a stride full of quiet confidence. It had been a relief to everyone when the color returned to his face, when he laughed and joked around, and then when he began to play Quidditch again. At first, it was just pickup games with Ron's brothers and anyone else he could con into playing, but soon he played in real matches. It had come as no surprise to anyone when he'd been asked to try out for England's national team...and had made it.

Really, it was such a relief to have her two best friends so close, Hermione thought as she selected a variety of bagels and doughnuts. She'd never be as happy living away from them, and although Harry spent a great deal of time on the road, they always managed to spend minutes, hours, even days together when he was home. She admitted to herself often when she was alone that she never would have imagined, in her younger days, living in London with friends who were really family, studying what she loved best: magic.

Juggling the box of pastries and her purse, Hermione didn't immediately see Harry as she neared Ron's flat. In fact, she didn't see him at all until he took the box from her arms, surprising her into a yelp. He flashed his teeth in a cheerful smirk and said, "All right there, Hermione? A bit jumpy this morning?"

Hermione blew out a breath that fluffed her bangs. "No, I'm just…maybe a little. Thanks for your help." They began walking together, up Ron's short walk and his front steps. "So what are you doing here this early? I thought you had a match today," Hermione said.

"Nah, just a little game between friends," said Harry. "Actually, Molly invited us all to dinner tonight at the Burrow, and I'm supposed to spread the word around 'cause she couldn't get a hold of Ron last night. Bill's coming in from Egypt for a couple of weeks, and since Charlie's already here, she decided it was past time for a celebration."

"Sounds like fun," Hermione said. Depending on what Ron says this morning, she thought privately to herself, and tried to ignore the flutters in her stomach again.

Harry knocked, three short raps on the front door. From inside the apartment, they both heard a loud bump and an even louder curse, and they barely had time to exchange puzzled looks before the door opened to reveal a fuzzy-headed, bleary-eyed and shirtless Ron.

"What happened to you, mate? You look terrible," Harry said as he pushed past Ron, heading for the kitchen.

"And this coming from the Boy Who Never Combs His Hair," Ron growled. His eyes settled on Hermione, whose feet seemed to have grown roots into the concrete. Her eyes were glued to his chest, and so she saw the blush travel up his pale, cool skin, up, up, all the way to his hairline. What is wrong with you? she wondered embarrassedly. You've seen him plenty of times without his shirt. Still, she couldn't help thinking that where he'd once been skinny and gangly, he'd settled comfortably into tall and slender. With an enormous effort, she tore her eyes away from his chest and looked directly into his face. His eyes, she noticed, were bloodshot and full of frustration and embarrassment.

"You really…don't look well," she said, and was surprised to hear the words come out raspy and hoarse. Ron seemed to struggle for words for a moment, then gave up, and, leaving the door wide open, sloped off in the direction of his bedroom. Hermione took this for an invitation and walked back to the kitchen to join Harry, who was emptying a full kettle and putting fresh water in.

"Figured I'd brew him a fresh pot," Harry said when he noticed Hermione. "Won't go too well with those lovely pastries you brought, but it's his indigestion."

"Ron digests anything and everything," Hermione remarked without thinking. She was pleased to note that her voice was back to normal. She opened the box Harry had carried in and began to set them, one by one, on a plate. Ron came back in then, dressed in a dark green t-shirt that made his hair and his ears—still flushed as they were—seem redder. He pulled a carton of orange juice out of his refrigerator and glugged some down.

"So, do you want to tell me what you two are doing here so bloody early?" Ron asked. Hermione looked at her watch. "It's past ten, Ron," she replied mildly, which earned her an irritated glare.

"Your mum's having a dinner at the Burrow tonight, since your brothers are coming home," Harry broke in. "Everyone's invited, so I just came by to see what your plans were."

Ron relaxed against the counter. "No plans tonight, although I do have to stop by the Ministry today to pick up a few things," he said.

"Great," Harry said. "Well, why don't you have some of the doughnuts Hermione's brought you. It'll make you that much heavier and that much slower when I play you and your brothers this afternoon." He added a sly and teasing wink.

"Yeah, all right, just let me get changed," Ron said, walking out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom. "The heavier I am, the faster I dive!" he yelled back, making Harry chuckle.

Hermione slowly gathered her things. Well, she hadn't had a chance to ask him about last night, she thought. But there was always tonight, and besides, things seemed to be almost back to normal. Maybe whatever had passed between them last night had been a fleeting occurrence. Then she thought of her reaction to his shirtlessness, and her cheeks flushed hot. Maybe not. A sudden vision of his eyes, set into his blushing face, flashed through her mind. She'd been almost sure she'd seen something there too…something hot, something full of longing. She felt a momentary flash of triumph that she'd been able to read him once more.

So it wasn't all one-sided, she thought, and her heart sped up foolishly. Well, she thought, there'll be plenty of time to watch him tonight…and maybe she'd come to understand what was happening between them.