Author's Note: Wow. This was a long time coming. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter. Frou Frou.

Headlock

sunbeam, stop tugging me
pull that door shut quietly
darling, what are you doing?
we don't have time for this
frou frou, shh

When Ron is away, lurking around the ministry under the cover of Harry's invisibility cloak, the house is too quiet. There is no laughter, no jokes, no singing. With Ron gone there is only silence and too much room for thought. With Ron gone there are ghosts that walk the hallways and whisper in Hermione's ear, their cool hands resting lightly on her shoulder, a butterfly's touch.

The house is too cold, too empty. The library is nothing but towering shelves and thousands of forgotten histories. Hermione pulls down a few books on the Dark Arts, settles into a wing backed chair. The pages are rough beneath her fingers, and no matter how hard she tries to concentrate the words keep blurring. Her mind keeps wandering back to Harry, the strangled sigh that had escaped his lips as he'd slipped his fingers past her shorts.

No, Hermione thinks with a shake of her head. She stops that train of thought before it can depart. It'll do her no good to daydream, not when Harry has spoken only a handful of word to her. With a sigh, she shuts the large tome on her lap. Rolling her shoulders, she forces herself to relax. The tension that's been resting between her shoulder blades eases, and she nestles further into her plush seat. She's almost completely at ease when the door to the library creaks open.

Hermione goes rigid, heart pounding violently in her chest as her throat seizes up. There's no doubt in her mind that the person in the doorway is Harry. She knew he'd seek her out sooner or later. She thinks the word in her mind before Harry has a chance to utter them.

"We need to talk," Harry says, walking around the chair Hermione's occupying. She notes that he's keeping a wide berth, giving her space. For a moment, she wonders how he'd react if she told him she didn't need the space. That what she does, in fact, need is for him to be as close as possible.

"Okay." The word feels thick and heavy on her tongue. Harry nods, sits in a chair opposite her and rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

"I should…I should probably start by apologizing," He says, voice quivering. His eyes dart down to the floor before flicking guiltily back up to Hermione's, and she sucks in a sharp breath. "But I'd be lying. I wanted, well, I've wanted to touch you for awhile now. There's another way I could have gone about it, I know, but—Merlin, this isn't coming out right."

"I am sorry. I'm sorry I took advantage of you. That was wrong. It's just—you were lying there and you were so fucking beautiful and I couldn't help myself. You've got this, this way of making feel like the world's been ripped out from under me and all I know is falling. Oh, bullocks, I'm botching this up."

Harry drops his head forward with a frustrated growl. Hermione's nails dig crescents on her palm, and she traces the pale column of Harry's neck with her eyes. Her heart aches painfully in her chest, too big and straining to get out. Harry's shoulders heave with a heavy sigh, and he glances up at Hermione.

"What," another sigh, "what I mean to say is, I love you. Completely. I love you, just you, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to realize it. And I'm sorry I'm confessing at the most inopportune moment, and I'm just so sorry for what I did. I know you don't feel the same, but I just thought you should know that there's someone out there who loves you and that that someone is me."

"And I am sorry. Well, half sorry anyway. Because you're perfect, Hermione. You're perfect and I just had to touch you, and you should know that the feel of your skin will stay with me for the rest of my life. What…what I'm sorry for is taking advantage, because you're my best friend and I should have respected that and just kept my hands to my—"

"I could have stopped you," Hermione interrupts suddenly. They both freeze, eyes locked on one another, and Hermione begins to tremble in fear. Her breath hitches, and she screams in her mind that she didn't mean it. She takes it back, because this changes things even more, and can they just go back to the beginning?

Harry stands abruptly, looking everywhere but at Hermione. She notices his hands are balled into tight fists at his side, and a small part of her is amazed that she's managed to set Harry on edge. "I have to go."

The door shuts loudly behind him, and Hermione's body sags as the tension that's possessed her for the last few minutes leaks out her fingertips. With a shaky sigh she collapses into her seat, hands reaching up to run trembling through her hair. "My God," she breathes to the dusty volumes who stood witness to her confession.

&

"Hey," Ron grins, leaning against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand.

Hermione glances up from handwritten charts, smiles warmly at her gangly friend. "Good morning."

"Don't strain too hard, okay?"

"What?" Hermione asks, laughing self-consciously. Ron smiles, pushes off from the doorway and makes his way towards the seat opposite Hermione.

"Right here," Ron answers, pointing up to the pale space between his eyebrows. "You always get these little wrinkles when you're thinking too hard."

"Oh," Hermione breathes, her heart giving an irregular jump in her chest. "I could try, I suppose."

"That's all I ask," Ron smiles, leaning back in his wooden dining chair. He takes a sip from his mug, casts an embarrassed glance at Hermione's left over toast and jam. "Are you going to finish that?"

Hermione shakes her head no, pushes the plate forward with a soft smile. She tries returning to her charts and notes, old copies of the Daily Prophet, but finds herself unable to focus on them properly. If she's honest, she's a bit torn between being embarrassed and flattered by Ron's observation.

On one hand, it's nice to be noticed by the opposite sex. However, her embarrassment lies in the fact that the attention is coming from the wrong best friend. Hermione inwardly groans at the realization. It all comes back to Harry, just like always. With effort, Hermione manages to shake her green eyed friend from her mind.

Ron, she thinks fondly, casting a quick glance at the boy opposite her, only to find him starring intently at her. A delicate flush blooms on her cheeks as she quickly averts her eyes back towards the shuffled papers before her.

Her heart begins a frantic pace, and she feel her grip on the quill in her hand tightening. Lately she's been noticing more and more the looks Ron has been sending her way. His eyes are dark, and they speak of compassion and the soft sounds lovers make in the dead of night.

"You're doing it again," Ron's voice breaks through her thoughts. "Concentrating too hard."

Hermione feels the flush of her cheeks flare up, and she ducks her head and whispers a mortified "Sorry."

Across the table, Ron laughs. Hermione wonders, not for the first time, what will become of her and the two boys in her life if she finally chooses one of them.