A/N: This was written for the 2024 Romione Trope Fest: Only One Bed Category. Thanks to adenei for the beta help!

Hope you enjoy!

"I resign. I'm pathetic."

"You're not pathetic and you're not resigning!" said Harry fiercely, seizing Ron by the front of his robes. "You can save anything when you're on form, it's a mental problem you've got!"

"You calling me mental?"

"Yeah, maybe I am!"

"I know you haven't got any time to find another Keeper, so I'll play tomorrow, but if we lose, and we will, I'm taking myself off the team."

It was a start. At least Harry had completed his main objective, which was to secure Ron as Keeper for the match the following morning. His best friend's state of mind, on the other hand, seemed to be up for debate.

The first Quidditch match of sixth year was set for the following day, and whoever made the schedule clearly didn't want to wait for the school's biggest rivalry to play out. Gryffindor were set to play Slytherin, and the winner of the game would quite likely sit in pole position for the rest of the season. As captain, Harry was feeling reasonably good about the state of the team. Up until three days prior, of course.

Something in Ron had snapped. One day he was happy, friendly, and playing some of the best Quidditch Harry had ever seen him play. The next, however, it was as though a dementor was trailing him everywhere he went, bringing out the worst in him at all times. Mood swings, angry outbursts, and dirty looks were only the beginning. Of course Harry was worried about his friend above all else, but he had responsibilities to his house to put forth a competitive team, and the longer Ron continued to act out, the more he worried that they stood no chance in the match.

"Well don't expect me to help," Hermione said when Harry cornered her just before dinner in the Common Room. "At least he's talking to you. Something about my presence seems to trigger a level of anger and frustration so visceral I'm lucky if he responds with anything but a dismissive grunt."

"You couldn't even…I don't know, give it a go? For the sake of the team?"

"Oh, right," she replied, acidic sarcasm lacing her tone as she rolled her eyes. "The precious Quidditch team! Merlin help us if the Quidditch team is affected! Honestly, it's like you don't even know me at all."

"Hermione…"

"Harry, no! This happens every time! Why is it always my responsibility to fix everything?"

"It's not," he begged, trying to think of a different angle. "But…sometimes he'll listen to you when he won't listen to anyone else."

"Haven't you been paying attention? Over the past few days, he runs for the exits as soon as I show up!"

Harry groaned with exasperation. "Come on, Hermione. If not for the team, then for Ron. Even if he's being a git, he's still our friend. Help me figure out what's bothering him?"

"He very clearly doesn't want my help!"

"Please? I don't know what else to do," he whinged, trying to make himself sound as pathetic as possible.

Her eyes stared him up and down, finally dropping to the floor as she sighed. "Fine. If he can be civil and participate in an honest conversation, I'll talk with him."

"Brilliant! I'll go find him. Thanks, Hermione, I owe you one."

"You owe me many," she called after him as he dashed up the stairs. "We'll just add this to the pile!"

As soon as Harry entered the sixth-year boy's dormitory, it became clear that Ron would not be as easily convinced. He was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, face fixed in a permanent frown as he flipped through the latest issue of Quidditch Monthly.

"Hey, Ron, how are you?"

"Fine," Ron mumbled, barely glancing up from his reading.

"Mate, could you come downstairs for a minute? I was hoping we could have a chat before going down to eat."

"Not interested."

"Come on, Ron. We can play a game of chess if you like. Just…you've been locked up in this room since classes ended. And it was the same thing yesterday. You need to get out of here a little bit."

With a heavy groan, Ron tossed the magazine onto the bed and slowly pushed himself off the mattress. "Fine, one game. But that's it. Then I'm coming back up after dinner, Harry, I mean it."

"If you say so."

The two of them trudged down the staircase side by side, winding their way down. Harry tried to make conversation about the Cannons, but Ron continued to respond with monosyllabic answers. It was like trying to draw water from a stone, and he suspected that his efforts might fail, but he had to try. He couldn't stand his best friend being so despondent going into the big game.

When they reached the Common Room, Ron led the way over to the chess set in the corner of the room, plopping down in the armchair as the pieces snapped to attention. Once he arrived, Harry glanced up at Hermione, giving a small jerk of the head as a signal. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but just as he instructed the queen's pawn to advance two spaces, she appeared beside the table. She didn't seem confident as she glanced back and forth between Harry and Ron.

"Hi, Ron," she said. "Erm, how are you?"

"Fine," he answered, eyes fixed on the board.

Hermione glanced back at Harry, frustration obvious in her expression. It wasn't enough to make him regret his decision to ask her for help, but he was immediately beginning to see how hopeless the situation was.

"That's good," she continued with a small huff. "How's your, uhh, Potions essay coming?"

For a moment, Ron stared blankly back at her before pushing the chair back from the table, shooting up out of his seat, and barreling back through the crowd toward the staircase.

"See?" Hermione said once Ron had disappeared from sight. "I told you he wouldn't listen. Whatever his problem is, it seems to be with me."

"I'm sure it's not," Harry offered, not even believing himself any longer.

"It is. It's clear as day. Why, I haven't the faintest idea. I can't recall doing anything to offend him lately. But something about me has got his wand in a twist. Until he's ready to talk about it, and knowing Ron that'll probably be never, I don't think we're going to get anywhere. Like I've already told you. When we spoke before. Because I–"

"Alright, alright, you've made your point. You're sure you didn't maybe criticize him too much in class or something? Did something happen on Prefect rounds? Tell me you didn't insult his broomstick…"

Hermione stamped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. "I did nothing of the sort, and I'll thank you not to keep blaming me for his foul mood! I honestly can't think of anything that's happened recently that would make him this upset. At the moment, though, it seems like you'll need to lock him in a room and slip him Veritaserum to get to the truth."

With that, she spun on her heel and marched back across the room, sitting down in front of her books and returning to her Arithmancy essay.

The situation seemed more and more hopeless. It was getting to the point where Harry was starting to think about how he'd approach McLaggen to substitute for Ron as Keeper if absolutely needed. It was an abhorrent thought, but Ron looked like he wouldn't even be able to get out of bed for the match. If only he could get him to see reason. If only he could figure out his friend's anger. If only Ron and Hermione would actually talk about whatever was bothering him instead of beating around the bush as always.

As Harry's eyes drifted back toward Hermione, one thing she said kept ringing in his ears.

Lock him in a room…lock him in a room…lock him in a room…

No, I couldn't….could I? They'd kill me, like actually kill me.

But.

But it might work…

It was evil. It was more than a little cruel. It was certainly not the type of thing one best friend would do to another. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and as the plan took shape in his mind, Harry swiveled his head back toward the fireplace, searching for an accomplice. It didn't take long before he landed on Ginny.

Quidditch matters more to her than anyone else on the team. And she has Hermione's complete trust, which would come in handy. Yes, with Ginny on board, I might be able to pull it off…

"Oi, Ginny. Could you come over here for a minute?"

"Ron, come quick!" Harry called, skidding to a stop in front of the sixth year boy's dormitory.

Dinner had just ended, and while Harry, Ginny, and Hermione had taken their time, Ron had barely stayed for five minutes, shoveling a mountain of food into his mouth and leaving without a word. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that something needed to be done…quickly. After a quick detour to the seventh floor to set his plan in motion, he returned to Gryffindor Tower, intent on resorting to any means necessary to get his friend to follow him.

"Piss off, Harry."

"No, you have to see this!"

Ron glared daggers at his friend as his face scrunched up in anger. "Harry, bugger off, I told you. Especially after…whatever that was earlier this afternoon. I'm not interested."

"You don't even know what it is, and I promise it'll be worth your while!"

"I'll hex you, Harry, I really will…"

"Ron," Harry said, making himself sound as breathless as possible. "I don't know what happened, but I walked by the Room of Requirement and it was loaded with cakes and tarts and candy and everything. Nobody else was there; I don't think anyone else even knows! It was like Honeydukes opened a new location and it was all free!"

Turning toward his friend, Ron's eyebrows arched upward. "Free candy?"

"Yes! And I can't help but think that someone's going to figure it out soon!"

For the first time in days, a small yet genuine smile appeared on Ron's face. "Alright, then. Bring the cloak just in case, yeah?"

"Right, good thinking."

Digging through his trunk, Harry located the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it in his back pocket just in case. The two of them set off down the stairs and out the portrait hole, Ron peppering him with questions the entire time about the offerings.

"Were there Fizzing Whizbees? Chocolate frogs? If there were chocolate frogs, were they just running around loose or in the packages? I'm still missing a few cards to complete my collection, this could be a brilliant opportunity."

"Erm, yeah, I think they were there, but I only got a quick look. We'll see when we get there."

Together the boys bounded up the stairs to the seventh floor, sprinting down the hall before coming to a stop in front of the troll tapestry. The wall across from it was blank save for a small, ornately decorated door. Carvings in the wood of the door took the shape of stars and moons, and as Ron moved to barge in, Harry stopped him.

"Wait! Should, uhh, should we use the cloak?"

"There's nobody else here…"

Where are they?

"Yeah, but what if we go inside and it's a trap or something?"

Ron shrugged. "I'll take the risk."

Come on, come on, hurry up.

"Ron, you're a prefect. Not the best look, now is it?"

"Harry, I'm a prefect. If anyone else is in there, I'll just say I was patrolling. Perks of the job, right?"

Just as Ron's hand closed around the doorknob, Harry heard the voices he was waiting for.

"–And maybe they'll have the rare first edition of Hogwarts: A History. You know, the library has one, but you can't check it out, and I would just love to have more time with it," Hermione said as she and Ginny rounded the corner.

"Erm, yeah, maybe…" Ginny stammered.

As soon as Hermione approached the door, though, she glanced up and caught Ron's eye. In return, the lanky redhead took a step back, the grin vanishing from his face as he clammed up.

"Ron?" Hermione asked. "Since when are you interested in a new rare books library?"

Ron tilted his head as he stared back at her, clearly confused. "Rare books library? It's a whole stash of candy. Surprised you're here, actually…"

As the two of them tried to make sense of the situation, Ginny pulled out her wand and wordlessly opened the door just a crack. Then, trying to remain inconspicuous, she and Harry slid to the opposite side of their friends, placing Ron and Hermione between them and the door.

"Now!" Ginny screamed, jolting forward into Hermione's side.

Harry did the same to Ron, whose face finally demonstrated understanding a split second too late as he tumbled into the room, catching Hermione as she fell on top of him. After unceremoniously shoving their friends inside the Room of Requirement, Harry slammed the door shut behind them and murmured a quiet incantation, sealing the room from the outside.

Ginny met his gaze, let out a sigh of relief, and the two of them chuckled and shared a high-five.

"What the bloody hell is this?!" Ron shouted, banging on the door from the inside.

"Ginny, this is not funny!" Hermione added.

Harry's voice was muffled as it echoed through the door. "I'm sorry, but we've both decided that we're done trying to get you two to see reason and communicate."

"No, what it seems you've decided is that you're not interested in any help with your homework from now until eternity!" Hermione spit back.

"Harry, if I were you, I'd step back, because I'm about to break this door down and strangle you!" Ron said as he backed up and prepared to charge.

"I wouldn't," Harry mentioned. "I've sealed it. The room will only let you out once you've figured out whatever problems you have with each other. To be honest, I'm not even sure how it will know, but I trust the room."

"You trust the room?! The ROOM?!" Hermione screamed.

"Oh, stop!" Ginny called. "Both of you stop playing dumb! You each know exactly why you're in there, you're just too stubborn to admit it. Well, Harry and I are sick of it, and we're sick of being your go-betweens when you can't get along for whatever asinine reason of the week you always manage to come up with."

Harry cleared his throat before explaining further. "I asked the room to find me a place where you two could talk things over and not come out until you've settled your differences. So that's what you have."

"Well, then the room's as barmy as you are because it got it all wrong!" Ron yelled, scanning the space.

It was small, much smaller than it had been during D.A. meetings the previous year. About the size of Ron's bedroom at the Burrow, it only had one tall, narrow window, which was odd as it was an interior room with no walls facing the outside. At least, that's what Ron had always assumed. The sun was setting outside–or whatever version of outside it was–its rays casting long shadows across the thick, carpeted floor. A round wooden table was pushed into one corner of the room with a pitcher of water and two glasses on top of it, and a perfectly made bed sat in the middle of the space, just big enough for two people.

Scratching his head, Ron tried to make sense of whatever implications the room was making.

"I don't know what to tell you, Ron," Harry said. "The room has never been wrong before, has it? It's always provided exactly what we needed."

Hermione's eyes were boring through Ron as his gaze swiveled back toward the bed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It was clear the two of them were thinking the same thing; how could one bed and some water be all they'd need? Was the room expecting their argument to take all night?

"Harry. Ginny. Listen to me," Hermione said, intentionally speaking slowly. "I have work to do. I do not have time for this. If you don't open this door–"

"Nope!" Ginny answered with an infuriating chuckle. "Not going to happen. Your work can wait. You just got done telling me how you're completely caught up and just getting a head start on next week's assignments, so don't try to tell me now that you're too busy."

"This is important, guys," Harry added, ever trying to be the peacemaker. "You know me well enough to know I didn't want it to come to this, but something had to be done. Being both of your friends is becoming too exhausting."

On the other hand, Ron, ever unable to control his emotions, started kicking the door as hard as he could. "Come on, Harry, you're being a complete arsehole! How am I supposed to play tomorrow if I'm locked in this room?"

"You don't have to be locked in there any more than a few minutes if you don't want to. It's only half seven, there's still plenty of time to solve your issues and get a good night's sleep. Everything is up to you. Both of you. I know you can figure it out."

"Harry," Hermione said sternly. "Harry Potter, you let us out of here this instant!"

When Ginny's voice floated through the door, it was fainter than before, as though she was walking away. "See you both later!"

It took a few moments for Ron to stop trying to kick down the door, and when he did, he resorted to pacing the room and muttering curse words to himself.

"Can you believe them!" he yelled to nobody in particular. "Honestly, can you?"

Hermione blew her hair out of her face, arms folded over her chest as she silently stewed. "I cannot."

"I'm going to kill him. Her too."

"I'll stop just short of killing them but get pretty close."

Ron charged over to the window, leaning his forehead against the cool pane of glass. It was a living nightmare. His supposed best friend had intentionally made him as uncomfortable as possible. Of all the people he could be trapped with, Hermione was the one he would least prefer.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. In fact, in most instances, he'd be thrilled to have more time to spend with her. The last few years had been a constant exercise in restraint as he tried to keep his emotions hidden, always paranoid that someone would catch on. Steeling himself against heartbreak was the only way he knew how to proceed, and so he kept it all inside, admiring her from afar but taking great care never to show it. Anytime he laid eyes on her since his row with Ginny after practice, though, all he could think about was Viktor Krum putting his filthy lips all over her mouth.

"Look, I don't like this any more than you do, but maybe we should just…try it," Hermione said, pouring herself a glass of water and taking a sip. "What choice do we have?"

"Yeah, good thinking, okay," he agreed. "Oi, room! Listen up! Hermione, I have no problem with you and forgive you for everything you've ever done!"

Predictably, nothing happened, causing another series of curses to explode from Ron's mouth.

Hermione rolled her eyes, hands on her hips as she shot him a deadpan expression. "Did you honestly expect that to work?"

"Worth a shot…" he grumbled.

"The room is magic. You think you can trick it?"

"I don't know! I'm just trying to get us out of here!"

"And what's all this about you forgiving me? What am I meant to have done?"

That was a loaded question. The crux of Ron's entire grievance with Hermione hung on what he thought she'd done wrong, even if a very small part of him realized it was a little silly and judgmental. His anger drowned that part out, of course, leaving only simmering resentment…and more than a little jealousy.

"Oh," he started, his voice softening as he tried to backpedal. "Nothing. Just…trying something."

"Ron, I'm serious. This is clearly not what I had in mind, but I've been hoping we'd have a chance to talk. Something has been off with you for days, and I know it has to do with me. I'd really prefer not to go back to the way things were in third year with the whole Scabbers and Crookshanks issue. Or fourth year with–"

She stopped short, but she'd said enough. Ron felt a stinging sensation zip through his chest at the memory. The Yule Ball. One of the worst moments of his life. The irony of her bringing up the night Viktor kissed her wasn't lost on him, either.

More importantly, she was right. They were usually both miserable when they were fighting, but as much as he would love for things to go back to normal between them, it wasn't that simple. In order to solve the problem, there would need to be…admissions. Admissions he wasn't sure if he was prepared to make.

"Yeah. Right."

"So," she started, probing for information. "What do you think? Could you tell me what's been bothering you?"

"Hermione…"

"I'll contribute too, of course. But I can't do it by myself."

"This is all ridiculous," he whined, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trying to convince a bloody magic room that we're friends or something…"

"I agree, but what's your solution, then? How are you planning to get out?"

"Might not have been helping, but kicking the door sure felt good."

Hermione sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a silver Sickle. "I'll ignore that. Tell you what, let's try this. I'll flip this coin, and if it lands on heads, you have to tell me something about why you've been upset. If it lands on tails, I'll tell you something. Maybe if we play a few rounds, we'll get out of here."

"Probably charmed to always land on heads, isn't it?"

"Ron!" she screamed, stuffing the coin back into her pocket. "Why do you have to be so adversarial?"

Shoulders slumping, he leaned against the wall, his head drooping down to his chest. "Sorry."

"Fine, not a coin flip. How about we do it the Muggle way?"

"You'd have an even bigger advantage that way, then, wouldn't you?" His voice started rising again no matter how hard he tried to stop it. "How am I supposed to know what the Muggle way is?"

"If you'd stop yelling and listen, perhaps you'd find out!" she insisted, waiting several seconds to confirm his silence before proceeding in a quieter tone of voice. "Now, the game is simple and can't be affected by magic. It's called Rock, Paper, Scissors."

He slowly walked across the room and poured himself a drink, downing the glass in one swallow before turning his attention back to her. "Rock, Paper, Scissors?"

"Exactly. Now, when I say, 'Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot', each of us show our hand in the shape of one of those things. Rock looks like this, paper like this, and scissors like this," she finished, demonstrating each of the motions along the way. "Rock crushes Scissors, Paper covers Rock, and Scissors cut Paper. Do you get it?"

"Still think you're going to cheat somehow."

"Ron," she started, squeezing her hands into fists and taking a deep breath, "can you think of any magic that allows me to change the shape of my hand instantaneously?"

"No, but you probably can."

Hermione groaned, her eyes slamming shut as she massaged her temples in search of relaxation. "Let's just try it, okay?"

"Fine."

"Remember, if I win, you'll answer my question, right?"

"Yes, fine, I will."

"And you have to tell the truth."

"Let's just get on with it…"

"Alright. On 'Shoot', remember? Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot!"

Wanting to go for the strongest of the three, Ron threw his fist out immediately. But Hermione outsmarted him, her flat hand coming to rest on top of his as her paper covered his rock.

She looked pleased with herself, and her tone of voice was almost too sickly sweet. "I win."

Her sudden change of attitude should have been a refreshing change of pace from the constant arguing. It should've made him feel hopeful that a reconciliation would be easier than it was a few moments ago. But in order to appreciate the shift, he'd have to look past her gloating, which at that moment was a bridge too far.

"Yeah, I get it," he growled back.

"Alright, let's start with an easy one. What's your favorite Quidditch team?"

"My what? You already know that!"

"Come on, Ron," she responded with a grin. "I'm just trying to keep you honest."

It was impossible to watch her smile and not react in kind, and the curling of his lip only brightened her reaction. "Fine, my favorite Quidditch team is the Chudley Cannons. Happy now?"

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"So this is the whole game?" he asked, forming each of the options with his hand over and over again. "And then we ask questions?"

"Well, the questions portion is just our take on it to try to help solve this predicament."

Ron rolled his head around, stretching his neck in every direction as he moaned. "Right, okay."

"Go again?"

"Why not."

The strategic side of his brain kicked into gear, trying to work out what Hermione would do. If she just won with paper, she would assume that he might throw scissors the next time to cut her paper. And if she was expecting him to throw scissors, she would throw rock. And if she threw rock…

"Ha!" he exclaimed, his flat hand covering her fist as he gloated. "Not so clever that time, were you?"

"I'm glad you're enjoying this," she replied through gritted teeth.

His grin widened. "I'm starting to…"

"Go on, then. Your question."

"Hmm. Alright, what's your favorite thing to do on a Friday night?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Hermione frowned. "What? Why would you–"

"Just trying to keep you honest."

"More like trying to take the mickey," she answered as her chin dipped to her chest. "Fine. As you well know, my favorite thing to do on a Friday night is…is study in the library."

He started laughing before she'd even finished talking, prompting her to storm to the other side of the room, her heavy footfalls sending ripples through the pitcher of water.

"That's not funny!" she insisted.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."

"Maybe this was a bad idea. I should've known you weren't going to take it seriously. And by the way, you know the worst part? For the last several days, I've been really hoping to see you smile again, and now that you are, all I want is for you to stop!"

The words hit him like a bludger to the head, and he crossed the room after her, hands lodged firmly in his pockets. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, Hermione. I'll play the game for real."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Because I, for one, would like to get out of here! There are much more productive ways I could be spending my evening than arguing with you about how we stop arguing!"

As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. Poking fun at her wouldn't get him any closer to leaving, and he didn't want to be stuck in that room forever.

Besides, when Hermione was sad, the way her lower lip would stick out broke his heart, and he didn't think he could take much more himself.

"You're right, I'm sorry. Let's have another round, okay?"

Reluctantly, she turned back toward him, another pang of shame coursing through him at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. "Fine."

A moment later, her scissors cut his paper, and he just shrugged, the loss barely bothering him. "Your turn."

"Alright," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Why are you so worried about Quidditch when you're a brilliant Keeper?"

Compliments never failed to boost Ron's mood, and compliments from Hermione, as rare as they were, added more to his happiness and confidence than any other. Still, it was a difficult question to answer. "I'm not a brilliant Keeper."

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm, her fingers sliding up and down his forearm through his robes. "Of course you are. I've been watching you as Gryffindor Keeper for over a year now, not to mention all the pickup games at the Burrow over the last couple of summers…"

He chuckled, focusing all of his energy on enjoying the feeling of her thumb stroking his arm.

"So while I may not know as much about Quidditch as you or Harry do, I know that you're quite good at it. In fact, the only one who doesn't know how good you are is you."

"Thanks," he whispered as her bright eyes locked on his.

"Of course."

Neither of them looked away as Hermione called out a new game. "Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot!"

When they finally broke their stare to look down, Hermione's fist dropped down onto Ron's two outstretched fingers, sending waves of electrical current up his arm at her touch.

"Okay, I've got another one. What's making you so grumpy lately?"

Finally, the question he was dreading. He slowly backed away, feeling the tips of his ears blazing red as he stared out the fake window again. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only a dim pink glow spread through the cloud-streaked sky. What could he say to her that wouldn't be a lie but would also skirt the uncomfortable aspects of the truth?

"Uhh, Ginny, mostly."

"Ginny?"

"Yeah, Ginny," he answered, turning back toward her but still avoiding eye contact. "We got in a fight and it's really been irritating me."

"About what?"

"Oh, nothing. Just sibling stuff."

One glance at Hermione was enough for him to realize that she didn't entirely believe him. "But you two fight all the time?"

"I know, but…look, it had been a long day and a hard practice and–ugh, I don't know, it just bothered me. Probably shouldn't let her get to me so much, but she's had years of practice and is actually quite good at it."

"I see. I'm still confused, though. Why did it seem to me like you were less angry with her and more angry with m–"

"You only get one question, remember?" he deflected, sure he didn't want to hear the end of her thought.

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Oh, right."

Immediate regret washed over him; he hadn't meant to say it so forcefully. But the thought of having to answer her second question had spiked his anxiety. Still, he worried that he had ruined the game and their chance to escape from the bloody room. "Erm, sorry. I didn't mean…"

"No, it's okay, you're correct."

Instead of walking over to him for another round, though, she climbed onto the bed, settling herself against the fluffy white pillows and leaning back against the headboard.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked.

"What? I'm tired…"

"Sure, but that's not your side of the bed."

As soon as he said it, he realized his mistake. He should never admit to his crush that those thoughts went through his head! How could he so stupidly let himself slip like that?

"I'm sorry, my side?" she asked, cheeks turning red. "Wasn't aware I had an assigned…"

"R–Right, I mean, not assigned, mind you. Also, it can just be all your bed if you like, because I'm not–I wasn't planning–" He could feel himself stuttering, but he was powerless to stop it. "But…anyway, remember, we went to the Quidditch final before fourth year and you shared that camp bed with Ginny. You were on the other side then."

She looked back at him, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Okay…"

"Well, it's because you always sleep on your right side, yeah? If you slept on the right side of the bed, you'd be facing out over the edge which makes you nervous. So you sleep on the left side of the bed so that when you're on your side, you're facing the middle of the bed…or the other, you know, the other person."

"Hmm.

"That–that's what you said, anyway. Back then. Back…at Quidditch."

It felt like she was analyzing his entire soul as she continued staring. Hermione could read him like a book, and at the moment he felt like he was leaving his book open to the page with 'I love Hermione' scribbled all over it accompanied by drawings of tiny hearts and flowers.

"Guess I forgot I mentioned it," she finally responded. "But you're right."

She slid to the opposite side of the bed, a small smile spreading across her face. "This does feel more…right."

"Yeah, thought so," he said with a chuckle.

"You can sit too if you like. We've been here a while and who knows when we're getting out. And it's actually quite comfortable."

Did he dare? Of course he wanted to, but was it worth the risk? It was strange to think how he had sat just as close to Hermione in class, in the Great Hall, in class, and in the Common Room for years, and yet sitting next to her on that bed seemed like a monumental step.

That said, he was kind of tired, and it did look comfortable.

"Okay," he said, climbing up and plopping down next to her. "You're right, pretty nice."

"Now, how about another round?"

"You're on."

Ron gave up trying to strategize what she was going to choose, instead just watching her eyes as she called out the preamble and clenching his hand into a fist on pure instinct. When she extended two fingers, he brought it down on top of her, lingering a bit and leaving their skin touching as he thought of his question.

"Okay, here's one. Why do you always help me when I ask?"

Retracting her fingers, Hermione's brow furrowed with confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"I ask you for help with essays and assignments all the time. It clearly bothers you at least some of the time. So, why do you always help?"

"That's a ridiculous question! Because we're friends, of course!"

"You're friends with Neville and Seamus and Dean and Luna and Ginny as well, and I know some of them have asked you for help before. But you don't help anyone as much as you help me. Not even Harry."

She scoffed. "Maybe because they all get their work done on their own."

"Maybe…"

"And." She paused, sighing as her hands fell to her sides. "I don't know, I suppose that in a weird way, I kind of enjoy it."

"Because that way you can show off, eh?"

"Not because I can show off!" she scolded, slapping him on the shoulder as he cackled in her ear. "Because…well, I'm not friends with them the way I'm friends with you."

It should've been a simple statement, one that boiled down to pure logic. Ron, Harry, and Hermione had been best friends since the day they arrived at Hogwarts over five years ago. The way the words left her lips, though, made Ron feel tingly throughout his entire body. He had to look away for a minute to keep from letting her see him blush.

"H–How are you friends with me, exactly?"

By the time he glanced back at her, her eyes were locked on her own lap, and her fingers were weaving in and out of each other. "Well, we're…closer. We've always been closer."

"Yeah, I suppose we are."

The room fell into silence. Everything blurred in front of Ron as his eyes relaxed. Vision was unimportant as he sat contemplating the deeper meaning of her words, especially when every interpretation he came up with made him happy.

"Thanks, by the way," he added, lifting his gaze back to her. "For all the help."

She chuckled and adjusted her position on the bed, sliding slightly closer to him. "Of course. Go again?"

"Sure."

A few seconds later, Hermione's palm was covering his balled-up fist, once again holding on tight for far longer than strictly necessary to confirm the victory.

"Why did you get me that perfume last Christmas?" she asked.

"The perfume?"

"Yes. You usually get me chocolate or books or something. Why perfume?"

Her hand still lingered over his, causing blood to rush into his fingers as they heated up under her grip. It was nothing compared to the warmth he felt in his face, though, as he tried to think about how to answer her question.

The real reason he'd gotten her the perfume was because Fred and George had explained to him that Hermione might fall in love with him if he did. By the time they'd finished their explanation, he was convinced that as soon as she opened it, she would be overcome with emotion, rush into his room, and kiss him square on the lips as a reward for his thoughtfulness. It was supposed to be the best Christmas ever and the start of their budding relationship all rolled into one.

Instead, Hermione had told him it was 'unusual' and refused to elaborate. He'd always assumed she simply didn't care for the gift and had moved on accordingly. Perhaps she'd thought about it more than he realized, though.

"Oh, erm, just thought you might like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Don't…don't girls like that kind of thing?"

"Some girls do," Hermione replied with a shrug.

"Not you, though?"

"I never said that."

The layers of meaning were boggling his poor brain. Did she like it or didn't she? Was she happy he got it for her or not? Would she have preferred the regular old box of chocolate frogs?

"Oh. Well, I guess…I guess I just wanted to get you something…special."

Clearly he'd said the right thing as she smiled at him, tucking her lower lip under her front teeth in the most adorable way possible. "It was special. Because it was from you."

Did gravity still exist? Could he be sure he wasn't actually floating? Her words were a salve on the scar he'd always assumed would be permanent, the one from the unintentional gash she cut into his soul when she hadn't seemed to like the gift in the first place. Knowing what it had meant to her, though, was everything he never knew he needed.

"I'm, uhh, glad you like it."

He swallowed hard, but there was nothing to go down his throat, only an ever-expanding lump. It was dark outside the window, yet at some point, the room had illuminated the chandelier overhead, flooding the room with dim candlelight. Glowing flames reflected back at him in her eyes, their dancing and flickering only contributing to the mystery of the situation. Her eyes remained steadfastly locked on his as she held up her hand to signify the start of a new round.

"Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot!"

Pushing the limits of what he thought was acceptable a mere hour ago, he ran his makeshift scissors through the gaps in her flattened hand. His soft skin slid against hers as she separated her middle and ring fingers, allowing them to interlace with his own.

"Speaking of Christmas, why did you come to Grimmauld last Christmas in the first place? Weren't you supposed to be skiing with your family?"

"I was, but like I said at the time, your father…"

"My father was fine. You knew that by the time you showed up."

Hermione adjusted her hand in Ron's but didn't let go, instead swiveling her palm around to fully capture him in her grip. "I know, but…I suppose I assumed it would be a difficult time for everyone. For you, in particular."

Her eyes were avoiding him for a second, but as soon as they met his again, they were filled with affection and sincerity. Something about her expression told him that he could tell her anything, could tell her everything.

"Honestly?" he started, finally deciding to display a level of vulnerability he'd never imagined he would let her see. "It was a hard time…for all of us."

"I know…"

Taking a deep breath, he allowed her deeper under the surface. "But once you got there…I don't know, things just seemed…easier. Better. Safer. Quite silly, really. It's not as though you're a healer or could change anything that had happened or would happen. But I was still really glad you came."

No reply came, but her hazel eyes were fixed on him, flecks of caramel dotting her iris that he'd never properly appreciated before. A stray curl had broken loose from the rest, and he summoned his courage before reaching up and tucking it behind her ear. She smiled and giggled, ducking her head down to her chest. If anything, the room seemed dimmer, but her smile lit it up brighter than any magical candle ever could.

"I was glad I came too. It was a great holiday."

Once again, she held up her hand, called out the cadence, and covered his rock with her paper. Before she spoke, her expression sobered, sucking the ambiance from the room as her eyes filled with worry.

"Why are you so mad at me?" she finally asked, once again unable to meet his gaze.

He tried his best not to take offense or internalize the disappointment at the shift in tone. After all, his moodiness over the last several days was the reason they were stuck in the room to begin with. Despite all of the tenderness they'd just shared, there were still some barriers to overcome before things could get back to normal…or more. Nevertheless, there were some things he wasn't sure he was ready to discuss.

"I'm not mad at you," he lied.

"That's ridiculous, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, then you were."

"No, I wasn't."

She huffed, dropping her hands onto the bedspread with a dull thud. "Ron, you're not playing the game correctly. You have to answer honestly. Otherwise, what's the point?"

"Well…alright, maybe I was, but I'm not now."

"Okay, then why were you angry at me befo–"

"Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot!" he yelled, cutting her off.

Half expecting to get slapped, he was surprised to see Hermione acquiesce and go through the motions, clumsily throwing out another paper against his scissors.

"Why did you kiss Krum?" he spluttered before he could talk himself out of it.

Hermione retreated, physically recoiling her body to the other side of the bed as her face screwed up with bewilderment. "Excuse me?"

It was over before it started. He knew he'd bollocks it up somehow, and it looked like he'd done it all in one go. Not that he saw any option; if whatever was happening were to continue, he needed answers.

"Krum," he said, voice rapidly losing confidence. "Ginny told me you kissed him during fourth year."

She stood up, padding over to the other side of the room before peeking back in his direction. The expression on her face was somewhere between confusion, anger, and annoyance, and she seemed rather nauseous. "Ginny…wait, I'm sorry, where is this coming from?"

"A few days ago…" He took a deep breath and prepared to try to explain himself the best he could. "Harry and I ran into Ginny on the way back from practice. She was snogging Dean in the stairwell, so I told her off. Of course she took that about as well as you'd imagine and started yelling at me."

The story made even less logical sense every time he went through it, but he continued nonetheless. "She said that Harry had kissed Cho and she had kissed Dean and you had kissed Krum and I was only cross because I'd never kissed anyone myself."

"And that's why you were so mad?" she asked. Her body was rigid as she took a few menacing steps back toward him.

"Well…yeah. Perhaps it was kind of stupid, but–"

"It was absolutely stupid! It was completely mental!"

"Maybe, but it still didn't change that–"

"Didn't change what? The only thing it didn't change, Ronald, is that you still didn't have any good reason to be a complete arse to me!"

She was right, of course. Sitting on the bed, he felt so small, so petty. Hermione's nostrils were flared as she glowered at him, and her eyes were wide with rage. At her angriest, she could rival any of their Hogwarts professors when it came to inspiring pure terror.

Still, Ron felt the need to try to get out his explanation, fully aware of how close he was coming to outing his true feelings.

"It didn't change that it made me feel quite poorly about myself. Like there was something wrong with me."

It was half of the truth. The less important and less dangerous half, to be sure. Seeing as how Hermione's expression barely changed, he could immediately tell he wouldn't get off the hook that easily.

"Ron, it was just Ginny taking the mickey," she offered with an eye roll. "She does that all the time. I've seen it every time I've come by your house through the years, not to mention half a dozen times this month alone in the Common Room."

"Yeah, well, maybe she struck a nerve, then."

Hermione sighed, the muscles in her neck relaxing as she dropped her arms to her sides with a soft clap against her legs. "Fine," she started. "That's fair. Nobody likes to be made to feel bad about themselves. It seems to be a bit of an ongoing sport between the two of you, but I'll take your word for it that it bothered you more than usual. However, none of that explains why you've been taking it out on me."

"I haven't been taking it out on you…"

"Oh, please! You haven't said two words to me in days. You've been looking at me with nothing but disdain. And every time I walk into a room, you find a way to leave if at all possible. Plus, any time I do say anything, your response is always rude! How can you say that you're not taking it out on me? What did it have to do with me?"

Of course, he had no good answer for any of her points. As he sat on the bed completely mute, he tried to think through his options quickly, fully aware that the longer he went without saying anything, the more he was tacitly admitting his childish guilt. The more possibilities he considered, though, the more he realized that he was down to one obvious choice. Honesty.

His voice was small, timid like a mouse when he finally spoke. "You kissed him."

"I what?"

"You kissed him. You kissed…him."

Hermione stepped closer, perplexed by his phrasing. "And? Is that illegal or frowned upon for some reason?"

Part of his heart broke at her implicit admission, but he knew it wasn't the time to dwell on it. That was what got him into the mess in the first place. "No, it's not. I just…I wish you hadn't."

"Trust me, Ron, I know. You made your opinion on me going to the Ball with Viktor quite clear at the time."

"Yeah, but–" He stopped. Why was he so scared of telling her how he felt? They'd been friends for years. Perhaps she even already suspected that he fancied her. But to say it out loud? It was a big step. "When Ginny said that, it felt like it wasn't just to make me feel bad about not having kissed anyone. It was to rub it in my face that you…ugh, I don't know."

"That I what, Ron?" Her voice was softer and less belligerent, with a hint more understanding than before.

"Nothing, never mind, forget I brought it up."

"No, tell me! That I what?"

"It's stupid, I told you…"

"RON!"

"That you kissed someone besides me!"

A tense quiet dropped over the room, and Hermione's wide eyes met his briefly before she quickly spun and hurried over to the window, staring out into the artificial night as her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of her jumper.

So much for any kind of happy ending. He'd blown it all, he knew it. She couldn't even look at him any longer, and honestly, he couldn't blame her. There were some things a person couldn't unhear.

It was surprising to him, then, that she marched back over and sat down on the bed next to him again, causing him to slide as far to his side as possible in case she was planning on hitting him. But she didn't, instead leaning back against the headboard and closing her eyes as she inhaled and exhaled through her nose. He couldn't look away for a moment but also didn't want to be caught staring, so he focused on the bright white duvet instead, counting its seams as he waited.

An eternity had passed before she even moved, but when she did, she turned her head toward him, prompting him to look back up as well.

"And that was what you wanted?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"For me to kiss you instead of Viktor. That was what you wanted at the time?"

"Oh. Erm…well, I just…I mean, the point was…"

She pinched her lips together and took a deep breath before reaching out toward him. He flinched, only settling when her hands landed on his shoulders, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "Ron. Please. Stop. Just be honest with me."

Their faces were millimeters apart, close enough that Ron could feel the rhythm of her warm breathing against the bridge of his nose. The smell of her rosemary and citrus shampoo was flooding his nostrils; he'd never been allowed to be so close to her in such an intimate position before. He had to force himself to focus to respond.

"Well…yeah, kinda."

"And how about now? Do you still feel that way? Do you still want that?"

After all of the thinking, wondering, stressing, and hemming and hawing, everything finally faded as he concentrated on the contours of her beautiful face. For the first time, it all seemed so simple. All he had to do was tell her how he felt. All he had to do was say yes to the possibility of them.

And why shouldn't he?

"Yes," he stated confidently.

Before he knew it, she'd flown at him, tackling him backward on the bed and landing on his chest as her lips immediately found his. His arms wrapped around her petite frame, one hand running through her hair as the other splayed across the small of her back and pulled her closer. Their tongues started to wrestle for position and shuttled back and forth between each other's mouths, searching for an irrelevant and temporary dominance in a never-ending game of cat and mouse. The feeling of her fingers skating over his evening stubble sent chills down his spine.

Odd. For someone who never eats candy, she really tastes like candy. Could this get any better?

Eventually, they had to break apart and catch their breath, shy smiles going between them as they held each other. Peppering a few more quick pecks along her jawline, Ron lay down on his side and faced her. She mirrored him, keeping one hand looped around his waist and lightly scratching the skin of his hip under his shirt.

"That was new," he said with a chuckle. "Brilliant, but new."

He wasn't sure if her face was red from the slight embarrassment they surely both felt or from being out of breath, but it only glowed brighter when she smiled. "It sure was."

Without shifting his eyes off of her, his hand found hers and gripped it tightly. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I know I should've just been honest with you from the beginning but…I don't know, I hope you can understand why it was a bit…treacherous. I just couldn't…say it."

"I know," she answered with a nod. "I understand."

"Still, there was no reason to be mean to you. I was an immature fool. I let Ginny get to me and–well, I let myself get to me, really. I can only hope you'll forgive me."

She leaned forward, kissing him once more through her grin. "Of course I do."

Across the room, a faint click sounded from the door, prompting both of them to stare at it with confusion.

"D'you think…?" he asked as she tentatively stood up and walked across the room.

As soon as she turned the doorknob, the door creaked open, troll tapestry visible across from the entrance to the room like always. Ron got up and joined her as they both peeked out the door and glanced in either direction to see if anyone else was around. The hallway was deserted, though, and judging by the shadows dancing in the candlelight of the torches along the wall, it was nighttime in the castle.

"Huh," Hermione said, only slightly surprised. "I guess the room believes we've sorted things out."

"Well, you did just snog me."

"I didn't exactly see you putting up a fight."

"No, of course not." He laughed, wrapping a hand around her waist. "I just mean…well, the room has eyes…or something. Point is, it can tell these things, I guess."

"I suppose so."

They stepped backward into the solitude of their private hideaway, pushing the door so it was only left open a crack. Ron's fingers were still digging into Hermione's side, and she lifted her arms and leaned in for a hug. He gripped her tightly, savoring the feel of her body against his and the smell that he'd only gotten teasing wafts of in the past. It was flooding his senses and he didn't want to go anywhere.

That said, there was still the matter of the Quidditch game the next day. If he was going to perform well, he'd have to be prepared, and being prepared entailed a good night's sleep.

"So, I guess we should maybe head back? Big day tomorrow."

"Right," she said, a hint of sadness in her eyes as she glanced back at the bed. "Yes, you're probably right."

When his fingertips trailed down her arm and tried to capture her hand on the way out the door, though, she pulled him back.

"Tell you what," she said as her eyes darted around the room, always indicative of her mind spinning a mile a minute. "Rock, Paper, Scissors. One more game. Winner gets to pick…anything. Anything they like."

"Anything they like?"

"Yes, anything. Ready?"

Her proposition was confusing, but when it came to Hermione, he'd do anything she asked. "Alright, let's do it."

"Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot!"

Ron's fist hovered in the air over the top of her split fingers, but as he started to bring his rock down on top of her scissors, she flattened her palm into the shape of paper and lifted her hand over his, covering his fist.

A sly smile spread across Hermione's face. "I win."

"You cheated…" he said, his tone mischievous.

"I win," she repeated.

Finally catching on, his upper lip curled upward, and he allowed himself to be backed toward the bed. When the back of his legs hit the mattress, she kept pushing, shoving him backward as they tumbled down together. She fell into his arms, her lips finding his instantaneously. The pad of his thumb rolled over her cheek as she settled on top of him, her hands carding through his wavy hair.

"Hey," he said, pulling away for a moment, "how about instead of pushing me around, you tell me what it is you want?" he teased.

"You," she said, dropping kiss after kiss all over his face. "Here. With me."

As happy as he was, there were too many meanings to her words, and he needed to clarify before getting too excited.

"Erm, you mean…well, probably not…I'm confused."

He was disappointed for a moment as she stood up, but she pulled the covers down and slid under the duvet on her side of the bed. When she patted the other side, he was quick to reciprocate, hopping in next to her and allowing her to come to rest with her cheek against his chest.

Yeah, this side is perfect.

"I don't want to go back to the dormitory. I want to stay here with you instead, just for one night. And just to sleep, to be clear."

It was everything he always wanted. Well, almost everything. The more mature parts of those daydreams would have to remain fantasies for the time being, but the night was still turning out infinitely better than he'd ever dreamed it could. And to think, it all started with his tosser of a best friend locking him in a room. He should buy that guy a present or something.

"Well, your wish is my command. After all, you did win."

"I did."

"How about sleep and a bit of snogging?" Ron asked hopefully.

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his nose before smashing her lips against his again, probing deeply into his mouth with her tongue. When she finished with a few more small pecks on the lips, she smiled, eyes meeting his across the pillow.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, pulling her closer as the lights extinguished overhead, only the light of moonbeams illuminating them as they snuggled closer under the sheets.

The next morning, Ron and Hermione showed up at breakfast together, taking up their normal positions across from Harry at the Gryffindor table. Their friend's gaze shifted between the two of them, and his eyes were wide with anxiety as they gave no indication of their reconciliation. In fact, per their early morning conversation filled with laughter and extra kisses, they were both sporting miserable expressions and barely looking at one another.

"Well, you're here, and nobody's bleeding. That seems like a good start, at least," he said, clearly fishing for information.

"Harry, that was entirely inappropriate," Hermione said, her stony exterior showing no signs of breaking.

Ron, on the other hand, was already stifling a giggle, a sure sign the ruse would only last so long. "Yeah, mate. Erm, how dare you."

"You did not have our consent to do that," Hermione continued, reinjecting a sense of gravity. "I'm appalled, and quite frankly, as a prefect, I'm considering taking this to Professor McGonagall."

Harry groaned, dropping his head toward the table and rubbing the back of his neck. "I said I'm sorry, but…come on, what was I supposed to do?"

"Maybe try some compassion for a change, right Ron?" Hermione said, looking next to her for some backup.

The backup never came, though, as Ron broke out laughing, prompting a look of pure confusion on Harry's face.

"What…what's going on? Are you two…or…?"

Ron turned to Hermione and planted a kiss on her cheek in response, prompting an even more exaggerated expression from Harry.

"So now I have to worry about that?" he asked, feigning vomiting.

A wide smile spread across Hermione's face as she scooped up Ron's hand on top of the table. "We'll keep it to a minimum, I promise."

Harry sighed and chuckled as he took another bite of eggs. "I'm happy for you, really. And I'm happy to have my Keeper back for our match. I was getting a bit worried there for a minute…"

Ron leaned back, swallowing a large chunk of sausage as he dropped his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "I feel like I could stop anything right about now."

"That's good to hear," Harry said.

"But if you thought I couldn't do it, you should've just slipped me some of that Felix, mate. Would've saved plenty of time."

"Huh. Felix. Good thinking. Never crossed my mind."