That Sunday came with torrents of rain, and Ron wasn't too pleased with it. He, Harry, and Hermione were all sitting in the common room again that night, as they always did when they had nothing in particular to do. Harry was tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair rhythmically, and Hermione was sitting at one of the few tables closeby finishing something or other for Arithmancy. The tapping and scribbling was driving Ron mad along with his restlessness, but he stayed quiet and still. Harry hit the arm of his chair weakly and rested his head back against the chair, exasperated. "I'm going to bed," he said tiredly,with a note of dissappointment in his voice that conveyed that he was sorry there was nothing better to do.
"Yeah, okay. Have fun," Ron replied.
Harry smiled and made his way towards the stone steps behind them. Ron looked over at Hermione. Her quill was poised in midair and she was watching Harry climb the steps. she looked back over at Ron suddenly and their eyes met for a moment. Ron looked away into the back of the chair across from him, which had now become rather interesting. "Ron," he barely heard Hermione whisper. He looked over at her again as she said,
"Come sit with me."
Ron could already feel the back of his neck getting hot. He didn't want to do this, this was bad. He got up, however, and went over to the table she was sitting at. He pulled out a chair across from her and sat down softly. The wood felt hard against his back, making him even more uncomfortable. Ron stared at his hands, thinking of something Harry had told him earlier. Something about Hermione really being into him. This had only put a seal on what Ron already knew to be true, and it just wasn't something Ron wanted to hear anymore.

Hermione set her quill down gingerly on the table. This was not a good sign. She wanted to talk.
"Ron," she started, "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing perfectly well what she meant.
"Between us. We used to be so close, but now that you know that...that I like you, well, y-you've just sort of backed off," she said quietly, her face slowly turning red. Ron stayed silent for a moment, thinking about what he wanted to say to her. He knew that he didn't want to sugar coat it, he was through with half-truths and glossed over emotions with her. Looking up, he replied,
"Well, for one thing, it's just so sudden. I mean, I think we've both known for years that I had feelings for you, but something was just different for you this year I guess, and it makes me wonder if it isn't my looks. You're the one that backed away from me a long time ago when you wouldn't even talk to me about it or tell me Yes or No. I got over you over the summer. I waited for you ever since about second year, and I was through waiting."
Hermione looked worried as she said, "I won't lie to you and tell you that it isn't your looks, because I think there has to be a certain physical attraction there, too, along with a good personality. You weren't that bad looking, but it wouldn't have been fair to you to date you when I wasn't attracted to you. I didn't want to talk to you about it because I was afraid I'd upset you. You just seemed so infatuated and happy, and the attention was nice."
Ron replied sarcastically, "Well, I'm so sorry that I wasn't aware of how gruesome I looked! It's just too damn bad that I wasn't good enough to be seen with the likes of you! Fair to me? When has anything concerning this ever been fair to me? You should have at least told me why instead of tormenting me like that, Hermione!"
"I'm sorry, I--"
"Yeah, you're sorry, I'm sorry, everybody's sorry! Who cares anymore?" Ron yelled, watching the tears rolling down Hermione's face. She stayed silent, looking down. The ink on the paper she had been writing was smearing drastically as her tears dropped onto it. All of the other rare times in which he had seen Hermione cry, he had always wanted to cry himself, and had tried console her. This was different. He wanted her to hurt the way he had hurt. If she thought he was going to sit there and feel sorry for her again, then she was mistaken.

Ron stood up abruptly, pushed his chair in, and followed Harry's footsteps up the staircase,still angry. He stomped up them, hoping that everyone in the common room had heard their conversation. He turned down the hall towards the door to his dormitory, letting his hand brush the stony wall to his right. A candle flickered in it's bracket and Ron blew it out as he passed, annoyed. He came to his door, opened it harshly, and slammed it, not caring who he woke up. No one was in bed but Harry, who was now sitting up in bed and watching Ron cross the room to his bed next to his. Harry knew better than to ask what had happened, it was best to just let Ron bring it up, or else he'd get an earful about whatever was making him so mad. So he just nodded at Ron when he didn't say anything, and then went back to sleep.

The week passed slowly. Ron took part in all of the things he normally did with Harry and Hermione, but there was a strange coldness between all of them somehow. Ron was still as defiant as ever, Hermione was still hurt, and Harry was simply caught in the middle, unsure of what to say. They walked the halls, as silent as death, awkwardly breaking the silence every once in a while to ask a question or share a bit of information hopefully or to give up a 'yes' or 'no.' This was yet another reason to trod up to the fifth floor to meet Draco and actually talk to someone about things.

So, that Friday evening, Ron made his way to his dormitory quickly, threw his things on his bed, and rushed out to meet Draco, frustrated to the point of screaming about his friends' denial. The noises he made as he walked echoed against the stone walls and rebounded off them, making Ron a little paranoid as he repeatedly looked behind him. If Harry or Hermione found out...he would be pretty much fair game to his whole house. Not that things were going that well with Harry or Hermione already, but he had faith in them. They had been his best friends since he was twelve. There was just that one thing that they couldn't give him that Draco somehow could. He wanted understanding. It was a little ironic since Ron's family was worse off financially, and Draco's was well endowed, and there were all sorts of differences that they had besides this fact, but somehow things seemed to even out and strike some kind of balance that is typical of opposites attracting.

Ron arrived at the door he was looking for quickly and flung it open. He looked around at the empty desks and tables with their scratches and burn marks, ghosts of things that really happened. Everything was coated with an ancient layer of dust that had gone undisturbed for years, and the sun was shining through the dirty windows, casting a weird light over the room. Ron loosened his tie, sat down at one of the desks, laid his forehead down against the cool surface of the desk, and closed his eyes solmnly. The dust was making his nose twitch, but he paid it no attention, he had just wanted to get away, to go somewhere that he could lock his problems out of. Building up a wall of indifference around him already, he relaxed and his breathing slowed.

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews...they really help and mean a lot!