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PART 4: LIKE I LOVE YOU

"Ronald Weaseley, what the hell do you think you're doing!?!" Hermione looked angrier than he had ever seen her. She'd called him Ronald. That wasn't good. In fact, that was even more worrying to Ron than when Professor Snape used his full name. It was like a one word declaration of war. Hermione's fists were balled up at her side, the knuckles white. Her face was going maroon with anger. This was Not Good.

"Now look Hermione, I can explain-"

"Explain what? That you're an absolute and utter tosser who goes poking around in his friends' rooms for fun and doesn't even ask their permission before he does it?"

"Yeah, well-" Ron could feel his ire rising, egged on by his own embarrassment. "Well, you're the one who should be ashamed of herself! At least my room isn't some den of iniquity dedicated to a Muggle twat who wouldn't last five minutes on a Quidditch pitch! And if you want to keep people out of your boudoir, missy, then you should lock the door!"

"In my own house? Have you lost what was left of that pea-sized mind of yours? This is MY HOME, Ron! I don't need to lock my doors and there's nothing wrong with my room."

"Oh yeah, nothing wrong except that it's plastered with pictures of that wombat! Harry, look at him, you can tell he's a muppet, can't you?"

Harry looked at him. There were moments that defined a close relationship like theirs and Harry could tell this was one of them. There was really only one thing he could say. "Ron, mate, I'm not touching that with a ten foot barge-pole. Sorry." And with that he walked out.

For a moment both Ron and Hermione were silent. It didn't last. "Ron," she said, her voice now deathly quiet. Ron was reminded of the silence just before Aragog had announced he would eat him. "I think you should go. Now." He looked at her and was astonished to see that she was close to tears. Suddenly he felt terrible.

"Look, I'm sorry Hermione, I didn't mean anything by it, I as looking for you and I poked my head around your door and then I saw this, and well, I suppose I just went a little bit nuts for a minute. I mean, haven't you ever heard of it, whatd'yacallit, temporary insanity? Just please don't be angry with me. Please."

She looked up at him, and Ron felt as if she could see straight through him. "What were you doing here Ron?"

He could feel himself going red. He wished he could come up with a lie, anything rather than admit what he had been doing. But the only other explanation was that A) he really was a closet Justin Timberlake fan or B) he'd been taking the piss out of Hermione for being a closet Justin Timberlake fan. Neither was at all appealing. So he would just have to tell her the truth and pray that she'd speak to him again.

"I thought that this, him, The Git, was what you wanted. I thought the only way you'd ever want me was if I was like The Git. So really, I was just doing what I thought you wanted." He looked up at her with a hopeful grin.

"So you did this for me? You broke into my room, looked through my stuff, for me?" Her voice seemed slightly strangled. And then suddenly she looked up suddenly, the same look on her face as when she figured out the answer to an Arithmancy problem. "You were trying to do him, weren't you? Me and Harry heard you in the hall. You were trying to do Justin."

"You can be bloody sure I'll never do Justin Timberlake."

"YOU WERE!" And now she was grinning, hopping from foot to foot like a child on Christmas morning. Ron had the sudden sinking feeling that he would be hearing about this till he was 80. "You were trying to do Justin Timberlake Ron!"

"Was not! And the only reason I was even thinking about that wombat was because I was trying to figure out what you saw in him!"

There was a moment of stunned silence. Ron's mind, for maybe the third time in his life, had gone absolutely blank. This was the end of everything.

He felt her sit down next to him. He couldn't look up. He'd never look up ever again. And then he heard her say "Finite Incantatum." He did look up then, and what he saw took his breath away. The room shimmered as the glamour lifted: the posters disappeared, and in their place Ron saw the room he'd expected. Awards from school. A Gryffindor scarf pinned to the wall. A poster for The Weird Sisters. Lots of books. And the wizarding photographs Ron had missed in the rest of the house. Him, Hermione and Harry grinning at the end of their first year. Hermione in her gown for the Yule Ball. The D.A. waving at the camera, Dean and Ginny proudly carrying a "Down with Umbridge," sign. There were so many of them, so many happy memories. And then he noticed something unusual. There was only one of them together, without Harry or anyone else. It was in the middle, spellotaped in top of two others. Given pride of place.

He looked at her. "They make my parents nervous, the moving photos. That's why there's none in the house. I can only keep them in here. And I- I was afraid that you'd well, guess. That the picture would give it away." She smiled a funny little smile. "So I bewitched the room. Gave everyone what I thought they wanted to see."

"So you don't like Justin Timberplank?"

"No. I like Ronald Weaseley." The grin grew wider. "I like Ronald Weaseley," she shouted, a sudden, delighted grin splitting her face. "I'm his senorita."

"You're mental."

"Don't I know it! Look who I'm going out with!"

Ron grinned. He'd have to write to Mr. Timberlake and thank him.