A/N: For the Quidditch League round 3.

- I don't own Harry Potter

Team: Puddlemere United

Position: Keeper

Position Prompt: Satisfied: Write about unrequited feelings.

Lyric Used: "His hands started fidgeting, he looked askance."

Word Count (Minus A/N): 1318

Beta'd By: falling winter roses

Ron watched with concern as Harry entered the Great Hall and slumped down into the Gryffindor table, looking like he'd just been delivered the news of a loved one's death.

"What's wrong?" said Ron, pushing aside his book bag to make room. "McGonagall give you two weeks' detention for the wand thing earlier? You can tell her I was doing it too, I—"

"No, it's worse," said Harry gravely. "I have to find a partner for the dance."

Ron winced in sympathy. Knowing Harry, he'd much rather go alone and stand off to the side the whole time than have to dance with a proper partner. Ron himself was tempted to go stag rather than work up the courage to ask the person he liked to the ball.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Hermione consoled. "You could just ask a friend to go with you, that way it won't be awkward and you'll have fun with someone you genuinely like."

Harry looked up.

"Hermione, you're a genius," he said, and Hermione smiled slightly. Ron averted his gaze and stuffed his mouth, cursing the little bite of jealousy that flared up. "Can you go to the ball with me?"

Ron choked slightly on his mashed potatoes, then covered it up with a cough.

He'd been expecting it, so he didn't know why he was surprised. Harry and Hermione clearly liked each other—for how long, Ron wasn't sure, but probably since last year. It was a perfect match, really: the brightest witch of their year with the Boy-Who-Lived. They'd be so happy together.

"Me?" Hermione sputtered, as if she hadn't suggested the very thing. "Oh—I mean, all right, sure, of course. I just thought—"

"You're my best friend—like you said, it'd be way better to go with you than some other person I don't know well," said Harry, looking relieved. Ron wished he'd been smart enough to ask Hermione first, and then felt bad. "I mean, other than Ron, but we couldn't do that."

"You could," Hermione said, frowning. "If you wanted."

"Nah," said Ron, because he couldn't get between Harry and Hermione's clear feelings for each other. "I'll find someone else to go with. It can't be too hard, it's one question, right?"

Hermione couldn't believe her plan had backfired so spectacularly.

It was clear to see that Ron and Harry were in love. Maybe not to the general population, since they wouldn't be looking there, but to Hermione, best friend of both, there was no mistaking it. Sometimes Hermione caught Ron looking a little jealous when Harry and Hermione mentioned spending time alone together, and Ron hated that Ginny had a crush on Harry. Obviously, he wanted to be the Weasley that Harry dated. They would be a great couple, too, Hermione reasoned to herself, ignoring the small pang at the thought. A little crush on Ron would be easy to ignore for her friends' happiness.

Which was why she'd tried to get Ron and Harry to go to the Yule Ball together. True, the plan had been made up on the fly, but it was so simple that Hermione was sure Harry would understand what she was implying and seize his chance. But no, apparently he was so clueless that he'd asked Hermione to the ball instead.

At least Hermione had someone to go with.

(Never mind that she'd rather it be Ron.)

She had nothing to complain about, anyway, for the reasoning she'd given Harry. Regardless of anything else, at least she'd have fun with her best friend and not have to worry about making an utter fool of herself. And she'd convinced her parents to let her splurge a little on a beautiful periwinkle dress—a Muggle one, but Hermione figured it would be a good statement for the Boy-Who-Lived to go to the ball with someone openly Muggleborn.

Hermione shook herself out of her thoughts as she went down the stairs to Gryffindor Common Room. Ron said nothing, but Harry beamed at her when he saw her. Ron was wearing admittedly horrible velvet, maroon dress robes, frayed around the neck and sleeves. Harry's were much nicer, in bottle-green.

"You look great," Harry said sincerely, and Ron made a little huffing sound. Hermione added it to her mental list of evidence.

"Thank you," said Hermione, smiling. "You too—er, both of you."

"You don't have to pretend," Ron said gloomily. He looked askance at his robes. "These are awful."

"Should we get going, then?" Harry attempted, changing the subject—Hermione knew he felt bad about having so much money, and despite Ron's constant refusals, he often tried to splurge for Ron, who was swimming in hand-me-downs.

"All right," said Hermione, and then decided to add, "You look fine, Ron. The robes aren't so horrible, you make them look…um, not as bad."

In fact, Hermione would even go so far as to say that despite the robes, Ron looked kind of handsome, but that would be too much, and she had a goal here of setting up Harry and Ron.

Ron smiled at her, which made it worth it.

"Ooh, this one's a slow dance, come on!" said Lavender, tugging Ron toward the dance floor. But Ron backed away.

"Sorry, I'm tired," said Ron, and it was a fair defense, because he'd been dancing with Lavender for four songs in a row. "I'll…come back, I'm just going to eat first."

Lavender's joyful expression dimmed a little bit, which made Ron feel bad, but not bad enough to take back his words and keep dancing. "All right, fine. Harry's over there, if you were going to find him—which you definitely were."

"I'm sorry," Ron tried, but Lavender just brushed him off and disappeared into the dance floor once again.

Ron sighed, and turned toward the tables along the edges of the hallway, spotting Harry's messy black hair, untameable even by the strongest of potions, and crossing to it. He sat down next to Harry and rolled the sleeves of his dress robes up.

"How've you been holding up?" Harry asked.

"Fine," said Ron, letting his eyes wander the dance floor. As always, he somehow found himself staring at Hermione, who looked stunning in her floaty blue dress and hair curled up on top of her head.

Ron looked away.

Who was he to get in the way of the perfect romance?

"Hello, Hermy-own."

Hermione whirled around to come face-to-face with Viktor Krum.

"Oh, hello," she said, brushing whisps of hair back from her face. She remembered how Viktor had asked her to the ball, and Hermione had had to turn him down. Viktor had taken it graciously, and continued to talk to her, and Hermione had to say he was growing on her as a friend.

Viktor's hands started fidgeting. He bit his lip.

"Vould you like to dance?" he said hopefully.

"All right," said Hermione, and then they were spinning around the dance floor as a new song played.

Hermione looked around, spotting Ron and Harry get up from their table and slip out of the dance. A tiny part of her heart clenched, even as she knew that this was her goal all along.

Viktor followed her gaze.

"Veasley and Potter?" he said. "…You are in love with Potter, aren't you?"

"What?" Hermione laughed in disbelief. "What makes you say that?"

"He vent to this ball vith you," Viktor pointed out. "You are very close."

"No, no, he's my best friend," Hermione said firmly. "It's—"

"Is it Veasley, then?" Viktor said, and Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Ah, I'm correct?"

"All right, fine," said Hermione, because Viktor had proven himself trustworthy over all of the conversations at the library. "But it doesn't matter anyway, he likes…someone else. And I'd want both of them to be happy together."

"Even if it means you won't be happy?" Viktor said.

Hermione's answer was fast.

"Of course."

Harry through this entire fic: come on guys just get together already im tired of being in the center of all this pining