Unresolved

A/N: This is my attempt at making sense of the non-sensical. Ron’s feelings for Hermione. I honestly don’t get it. I really don’t get the idea that Hermione would ever feel anything romantic for Ron. So, I’ve done two things here. I challenged myself to write something that I could consider humor – not something I thought I’d be able to handle (and I’m still not sure that I did). And I wrote a Ron/Hermione date scenario that I could believe. *shrugs* We’ll see if any of you agree with my view.

Whether you agree or not, I do hope you enjoy. Happy Holidays to one and all! Whatever you celebrate, wherever you are…have fun!

Thanks, as always, to my wonderful friend, Cheering Charm, who beta’ed this piece (and every one I’ve written) for me. I’m running out of adjectives to describe her extraordinary-ness. See? Most of you know what an amazing writer she is and I’m more than thrilled that she’s willing to review my, er, stuff. Thanks, CC! You’re the best!

Disclaimer: Sadly, these are not my characters, but I happily play with them. Thank you, Ms. Rowling. (And, er, whoever handled the movie casting. Nice job. *winks*)

May heaven smile down on us on the 16^th of July 2005. *says prayer regarding outcome of Half Blood Prince*

____________________________

Christmas is a magical time.

An enchanting, magical, miraculous…seriously fucked up time of year.

Ron was certain that there was something about the month of December that had it in for him. His parents never failed to embarrass him with the story of his first Christmas, when he "overfilled" his nappy all over Father Christmas’s trousers in front of the entire population of Diagon Alley. Apparently, Fred and George were over the moon, even at the ripe old age of two knowing when to take advantage of a golden opportunity. They’d bounced up and down for hours telling anyone who would listen, "Ronnie poo! Ronnie poo!" It didn’t help matters that the whole episode was captured by a wizard’s camera for posterity, now proudly displayed in the lounge at the Burrow.

When he was five, he’d spent Christmas day hugging the loo, chundering chocolate frogs for hours. Evidently, twenty-five of the buggers in an hour isn’t recommended. They oughtta put a warning on the frigging wrapper, not that I would have read it. He wasn’t allowed any chocolate for a month afterwards. A black day indeed.

When he was nine, he’d gotten into his brothers’ wardrobe while they were still away at Hogwarts. He proceeded to scarf down what looked like some tasty Christmas peppermint sweets, only to find out that they were just another Gred and Forge prank, carefully placed where little brother Ron would see and be tempted by them. He was passing gas (to put it politely) at an alarming rate for days. His mother had taken to locking him in his room with an ever-freshening charm. She said it was too exhausting to have to keep charming the entire house and she was in fear for the lives of her house plants.

At Hogwarts, his luck had not improved a vast amount. First year was okay, even though his parents did drop him at the last minute to visit Charlie in Romania. Second year was a bit of a downer, given that the entire school thought Harry was Salazar Slytherin reincarnate. Third year, well, everyone thought a crazed killer was after his best mate, or should he say, another crazed killer was after his best mate.

Mental note, genius. No more being jealous of Harry.

Fourth year. Ugh. The Yule Ball, also known as the only time Ron would ever allow lace anywhere near his body. Followed soon after by the Yule Brawl, in which Ron attempted to drive away his second best friend a matter of weeks after alienating the first one. He didn’t even what to think about that.

During his fifth year, things got more than just uncomfortable or embarrassing. His father had been attacked by the giant pet snake of He-Whose-Name-Will-Never-Pass-Ron-Weasley’s-Lips-No-Matter-How-His-Best-Friends-Nag just before Christmas. And the real bonus was that his best friend saw it all through the eyes of the snake. Woke up screaming. Yeah. Precious memories. Life is never dull when you’re Harry Potter’s best mate.

So, now in his sixth year at Hogwarts, he approached his plans for the holiday season with great trepidation. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to "do the deed" now, but he did. Maybe it was his "inner eye" winking at him. He just felt like it was time. There was a Hogsmeade weekend coming up – the last one before Christmas – and he’d be damned if he didn’t grab this opportunity to deal with this thing. He had been holding back his feelings for far too long now. It wasn’t good for a bloke. He could explode or break out or go blind from all the, er, other activities he was engaged in to take his mind off of his unbelievably annoying crush.

Argh. He didn’t even like to call it that.

How appropriate. Crush. It certainly crushes all hope I had of living a normal life. It crushes my dreams of a quidditch groupie or a bird with big, er, hands. Or someone whose hair doesn’t require it’s own entry in the List of Untamed Magical Creatures.

It crushes my spirit. What will we talk about? The plight of the blast-ended skrewt? The unfair treatment of garden gnomes? The principles of some potion I haven’t even heard of or the components of a charm I can’t pronounce?

It crushes my effing will to live. Bloody hell, this is torture. Why, oh why, am I feeling this way?! Isn’t there some vile potion I can swallow to rid me of this…this…sickening, appalling, dreadful condition? Crush. Ugh. And great Merlin’s ghost! If it’s more than that, then I’m really in trouble.

When all was said and done, it simply had to be dealt with. Ron knew it. He knew he would never feel okay about dating until he explored his feelings for…for…for….

Blimey! I can’t even think it, how in Merlin’s name am I going to say it out loud?!

Do it. Do it. You can do it, you ruddy ponce. Do it. Here it goes. I have feelings for…for…for….

"HERMIONE, for fuck’s sake!"

Every face in the Common Room turned toward him. Eyebrows were raised in question and eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Who knew so much could be said with the placement of an eyebrow?

"Er, I don’t think she can hear you, Ron, although I do think everyone in the Tower heard. She’s, er, in the library, mate." Neville was looking at Ron as though he was sizing him up for a straightjacket.

"No, Neville, you twit. I’m not looking for Hermione. I just…er, was having, er…trouble with some homework and it occurred to me that she could probably, er, help." Ron fumbled through his explanation, puffing his chest out and challenging all those eyebrows with a confident eye move of his own. But the growing blush on his face was betraying him, along with his stupid, effing defense book, and his useless transfiguration book…and for that matter his completely worthless divination book and every other book he owned, which all remained closed and tightly tucked away in either his bag or his trunk. Didn’t matter, really, as both his bag and his trunk were in his dormitory at the present time. He inwardly cursed himself.

"Stupid effing git."

Oops. Not so inwardly. He shook his head clear and walked out of the room, heading for anywhere but the library. He’d made progress. He admitted he had feelings for…for…for…oh, sod it! He had feelings for She-Who-Was-More-Frightening-Than-That-Really-Bad-Wizard. No need to tempt the fates today. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day. It took those wizards at least a week to get the charms right.

* * *

Ron had made his way to his favourite part of Hogwarts’ grounds – the quidditch pitch. Okay, his second favourite, next to the Great Hall at mealtime. And his bed was a pleasing place. Whatever. He liked the quidditch pitch and here he was flying around lazily contemplating his love life, or lack thereof. Only he wasn’t alone. Before he circled the pitch once he noticed a blur about a hundred feet up and knew who it was just by observing the flying style. Harry must have had something on his mind, as well. That was a given these days. Ron shifted from feeling sorry for himself to feeling sorry for Harry, who was still struggling to deal with the loss of his godfather. Ron shook his head, wondering what he was going to say this time to perk Harry up.

Well, it’s not my favourite subject, but I could confide in him about my plans. After all, I really should see how he feels about the whole situation. She is his best friend, as well. Grrrr. I hope he knows what a good friend I am…sacrificing my sanity to take his mind off things.

Oh, quit your whinging.

The guilt he felt around Harry lately…that was an added bonus. How could he begrudge Harry anything? His best friend was smack-dab in the middle of Ron’s worst nightmare. He was the singular obsession of a pretty powerful wizard who was born a few cards short of a deck. And it wasn’t only Ron feeling guilty. Harry felt guilty about Ron and Hermione being injured during their confrontation with the death eaters at the Department of Mysteries. Ron felt guilty that he wasn’t able to help more at the Department of Mysteries, and Hermione felt guilty that she hadn’t found a way to stop them from going to the Department of Mysteries in the first place. A right mess. So far, sixth year had been filled with awkward silences, lots of alone time, and very little laughter.

So if you have to endure a bit of embarrassment and confess your feelings for…HER to get Harry’s mind off his troubles, then you’ll bloody well do it.

Steeling his resolve, he flew up to greet his mate.

"Hiya, Harry," he shouted over the wind. Harry slowed his pace and steered his broom toward Ron.

"Hi. What are you doing out here? It’s not half cold," Harry replied, breathing rapidly and looking disheveled after an obvious race with the wind to see who was faster.

"I needed to sort some things out in my head. Actually, er…can I talk to you about something?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Sure." They flew to the Gryffindor stands and sat down.

"Right." Ron steadied himself, but his mind was playing tricks on him. What was his plan again? Tell Harry about his feelings. Right. Tell Harry about his…WHAT?! What was he thinking? They don’t talk about their feelings. They take the mickey out of Hermione when she talks about her feelings…their feelings, house elves’ feelings, Snape’s feelings, the Whomping Willow’s feelings….

I’m crushing on a girl who’s barking mad. Something is seriously wrong with me.

"Er…Ron? Is there something you wanted to talk about?" Harry was eyeing Ron in the same manner that Neville had an hour or so ago.

"What? Oh! Yeah. Yes, Harry, of course there is. I, er…." He had to think fast. "How are you, Harry? We haven’t talked lately." So much for thinking.

"We talked a few hours ago, Ron. Before I came out here. Went something like, ‘I’m going flying, Ron, see you later then?’ And you said, ‘Not if I see you first’ or something equally witty. What are you on about? You look like you’re constipated or something. Attempting to do homework, were you?"

"Ha ha. No, as a matter of fact, I’m…I’m…."

Oh, grow a pair already, you prat.

"I’m planning on asking someone to go to Hogsmeade with me and I wanted your advice, or…er…your opinion…er, permission, really." He had started out with a bang and ended with a whimper.

Harry’s facial expression was made up of an interesting mix of emotions – shock, curiosity, and suspicion, along with a healthy dose of amusement.

"Who?"

"Me."

"No, you idiot, who? Who are you going to ask"

"Sorry?"

"Who are you asking to Hogsmeade?"

"Pardon?"

Harry squinted his eyes and leaned forward. "Are you all right, Ron? Been eating something Fred and George sent? I said, who the bloody hell are you going to ask to Hogsmeade? Looking for a name here."

"Right. You want to know who. I get it. You want me to tell you who I want to ask to Hogsmeade next Saturday. So you’re looking for the name of the girl…."

"Oh, bloody hell, Ron! YES! Who are you going to ask?"

Ron turned his head away from Harry and muttered, "hrmne."

"Pardon?"

"Yeah, her."

"I didn’t hear. Who?" Harry was gritting his teeth now.

"Um…"

"Right." Harry’s face was stony now. "Hermione."

"Bloody hell, Harry, if you knew all along…."

"Well, if you can’t even say it, Ron, what advice do you think I’m going to give?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Ron’s demeanor changed from confused and embarrassed to defensive and tetchy.

"It’s supposed to mean that if you can’t even admit to me…me, Ron…that you want to take Hermione to Hogsmeade, then how are you going to ask her without making a complete arse of yourself?!"

"Is that a requirement, then?" Ron wasn’t at all sure what he was trying to get at here. "That I not make a complete arse of myself? Who died and made you king?" He wanted to give Harry a good "hmph," but found himself lacking in conviction.

Brilliant. Is that the best you can do? ‘I can be an arse if I want to.’ Next thing you know, you’ll be sticking your tongue out at him.

"For Merlin’s sake, Ron. It’s not like you have the best track record talking to Hermione when you’re not thinking about her as a…as a…you know…girl."

"What do you know about it? Like you and she have some grand relationship where you understand each other perfectly."

Harry blinked.

Right. Score one for boy wonder.

"Did you just stick your tongue out at me?" Harry seemed incredulous. Then his face crumpled and they both burst into laughter.

"Well, who can argue with that?" Harry’s laughter continued for a few moments. Then it slowed and his expression grew solemn. "Are you serious about this Ron? Are you telling me that you fancy Hermione?"

Ron was trying desperately to read Harry’s face. Or his body language. Or maybe his eyes were the place to find the clues to what he was thinking. Damn. It seemed to always work for Hermione.

"Yeah, Harry, I’m serious. I mean, I don’t rightly know how I feel about her, but that’s what dating is for, isn’t it? Look, I only know that it bugs the piss out of me when she mentions that git, Viktor Krum, or when that pompous arsehole Terry Boot starts flirting with her. ‘Ooooh, you’re so clever, Hermione. I can’t believe you’re not in Ravenclaw. You’d be soooo much happier with us. We all sit around thinking about advanced potions all day and arithmancy problems, and don’t get me started on ancient runes…I might have to touch myself.’"

Harry laughed again, and Ron was glad to see that scary, don’t-mess-with-my-Hermione face disappear. "How about that Anthony Goldstein git?" Harry added. "‘Hermione, luv, meet me in the library at nine. I promise I won’t ask you to review my homework. Ha ha ha. But I wouldn’t mind looking over you, uh, I mean your work, if you’d like.’ Tosser. Like our Hermione would fall for that load of bollocks. She deserves much better than the likes of those losers."

Ron’s laughter died down a bit as a sudden realization left him cold. He eyed Harry with suspicion.

He doesn’t. Does he? He can’t. Can he? No. No way. I’d know. Brother and sister. That’s what they are. Brother and sister who spend a lot of time together. Who can communicate without words. You know, like twins or something. I mean, not so much like twins as like two people who know what the other needs all the time. Who look to each other in times of need and protect each other at all costs. Who freaking ignore absolutely everyone else when they get into one of their ‘we’re on another planet entirely’ discussions. Like friends. Like me and….er, me and….

Fuck.

"Er…Harry? Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, ‘course."

"You don’t…I mean, you’re not…er…." Ron looked away and tried to think. He looked back at Harry’s face and assessed the situation. "You don’t mind me asking her, do you?"

"Mind?" Harry looked away. Now Ron was worried. Without quite meeting Ron’s eyes, Harry gave a nervous chuckle and blurted out, "Why would I mind? It’s not like she’s my, er, sister or anything." More nervous laughter. "I mean, it’s between you and Hermione, right? I’m not fussed. I’ll find someone else to tag along with. Maybe I’ll ask a girl myself."

Ron squinted his eyes and tried to read Harry again. His expression? Nope. His body language? Nothing. His eyes? Fuck-all. Bugger. How does she do that?

"All right. I reckon all that’s left to do is ask her then."

"Right." Harry looked out over the pitch. After a few moments of silence, he asked, "Have you, er, been thinking about this for a while? I mean, did this just come up or have you and she…."

"What? No. No, we haven’t, er, done or said anything to each other. You’re the first person I’ve mentioned this to." Harry looked at Ron with a meek smile.

"That’s good. I mean, I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me about…you know, girls and whatnot. Just because of Sirius and Voldemort and stuff."

Ron was reminded of his earlier desire to take Harry’s mind off things. "No, ‘course not. We’re mates, right? Course we talk about girls and stuff. I mean, you told me about Cho Chang, right?"

"Yeah, right. Like there was a lot to tell. And if I remember correctly, Hermione did most of the talking."

"Right. She’s a nosy bint, isn’t she?" Ron was shaking his head while looking at nothing in particular.

"Um, I’m no expert, but you might want to adjust the flowery way you talk about her when you ask her out. She might not be able to handle all that charm. Blimey." Harry chuckled.

"Well, she is. Can’t leave you alone for a second without checking out the status of things. ‘Are you feeling okay, Harry? Had any nightmares lately, Harry? Do you want to talk about Sir-, er, anything that might be bothering you, Harry?’ I don’t know how you do it, mate. If she was that interested in my life, I might just offer myself up to Aragog’s spawn to get some peace and quiet."

Ron was still staring off into space until he could practically feel the heat of Harry’s glare. Turning to face him, he wondered what Harry was thinking. Why is he looking at me like that?

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Ron. Think about what you just said.

Ron thought. Hermione is a nosy busy-body. Right. Normal Ron-speak.

"What?"

"Oh, I don’t know. The idea that you’d rather be torn limb from limb by a gang of hungry spiders than deal with Hermione’s concern about your life makes me think that perhaps she’s not the ideal girl for you. What gives, Ron?"

Ron contemplated his words. Shit. Did I just say that? I mean, spiders. I hate spiders. That’s messed up.

"Huh. Good point."

"Okay, Ron, this is where we might have a problem. Don’t go asking her out if you’re going to spend the whole day insulting her or baiting her or whatever. You need to figure out why you fancy her. Is it the constant arguing? Winding her up and watching her seethe? Do you actually enjoy that?"

"Enjoy it? Yeah, about as much as I relish Snape’s class." He thought for a second and then added, "Snape’s class twice a day. Snape’s class with the Slytherins and no other Gryffindors. Snape’s class twice a day with the Slytherins…."

"Yeah, I get it. So if you’re not all hot and bothered because of the rows, then what is the attraction? Ron. Don’t screw up this friendship because you want to put Viktor Krum in his place. Please."

"What? No. That’s not it. I dunno, Harry. She’s just the only girl I can ever picture myself with. I’m used to her. You know, it’s like your favourite pair of worn jeans. They may not be the trousers you should wear, but they’re so damned comfortable you can’t help yourself."

Sizing up Harry’s less than impressed expression, Ron decided he needed to take this conversation in a different direction. "And let’s face it, she is kinda cute when she gets all bent out of shape over something. Or when she’s studying so hard she forgets what time it is. Or when she wears her jumper around her waist and rolls her sleeves up in class. There’s something dead sexy about that. Or when…."

"When she bites her lip as she works out a problem," Harry said with a grin. Ron was relieved. Don’t need angry, sulky Harry on my arse. Then Harry continued. "When the quill she’s using starts to wear out because she’s written so much and she gets all flustered looking for a new one, trying to get back to writing before she loses all of her ideas." The relief Ron had been feeling was replaced by annoyance at the smile on Harry’s face as he stared off into the distance. And Harry kept going.

"When she’s knitting and she feels good about the finished product and she leaves it on the chair with such pride written all over her face. When she wears one of those little jumpers, you know like that red one that just meets her waistline, and she reaches for something and you can see a bit of her skin. Or when she smiles." Harry sighed. "I wish she’d smile more."

For the love of all that is holy.

"Yeah, well, I reckon you understand why I want to ask her then. Harry, mate, is there something you want to tell me?"

"What?" Harry looked confused. Genuinely confused.

Ron was confused. And since he was confused and Harry was confused, Ron figured his best bet was to cut and run.

"Nothing. Never mind." Ron stood up and picked up his broomstick. "Guess we ought to get in some flying before it gets dark. Hermione will go spare if we’re not back in the castle before the sun sets."

Harry shook his head, as if to clear it of the cobwebs that had settled there. "Right. Excellent idea."

They both flew off and circled the quidditch pitch a few dozen times before heading back to the castle for tea.

* * *

Hermione was a hard girl to pin down. Other than the three meals they ate together every day, and the times they sat and did homework and she reviewed every single word of everything he and Harry wrote, and the walking to and from classes, and sitting together in the classes they shared, and huddling together in the common room while she read and he and Harry played chess, and all those prefect meetings…he practically never saw her. How was he supposed to find the time to ask her to go to Hogsmeade with him?

"You wanted to speak to me, Ron?" Hermione’s voice interrupted his internal excuse-building session.

"Wh-, what?"

"Harry said you wanted to speak to me about something…alone. That’s why he’s heading to bed early. So what is it?"

Ron found his mouth irritatingly dry at the moment, but it made sense because it seemed his palms decided to suck all the moisture from his body as they started to sweat. And Harry. That traitor. What’s he thinking, going to bed and taking away Ron’s excuse du jour?

Bastard.

"Er…right. Well, I was wondering…er, are you…I mean, do you want…er, would you have any objection to…er…."

"For pity’s sake, Ron, spit it out. Anyone would think you were trying to ask me out or something. What is…." Seeing the look on Ron’s face, Hermione’s scolding trailed off as her jaw dropped.

"Er, well, this weekend, er, Hogsmeade. I was thinking that maybe, er, you’d…we’d…you and I could…."

Hermione was standing still with her mouth open in shock. Ron had been hoping she would rescue him from himself, but she stood there as if she were incapable of doing anything else. She hadn’t even blinked.

I’ve stunned her into a full body bind. Talk about wandless magic. I don’t need no stinking wand.

Right. Just threaten the enemy with the thought of spending quality time with you. Brilliant.

"Er, Hermione? Are you okay? Can I get you anything? A glass of water? A healer? A memory charm?" He laughed a wooden laugh praying for a quick conclusion to this debacle.

"Er, no, Ron." She blinked at last. "I’m fine. I, er, wasn’t expecting…you to say that, that’s all." She shook her head and looked at him as if she was working out a homework problem. "Are you asking me to Hogsmeade this weekend? On a date? As in, no Harry? Just us? Just the two of us? You and me, going to Hogsmeade together? Am I understanding you correctly, Ron?"

"Merlin, Hermione, we’re speaking the same language, you know. YES. You understand me correctly. I. Am. Aware. Of. Your. Understanding. But if it’s this painful for you, don’t bother to even answer…."

"Honestly, Ron. Of course it’s not painful. Stop being so melodramatic."

"So what?"

"Nothing. Fine, Ron. I’ll go." His eyes were narrowed and he found himself questioning his judgment once again. I’m sorry, wasn’t this about having fun?

Hermione blanched at her own words and looked contrite. "Sorry, Ron. I mean, I’d love to go. Yes. I’ll go with you. If you still want. You know, if it’s okay with Harry and all. I mean, I don’t want him to feel left out or anything, especially as we approach the holidays. It is his first Christmas without Sirius, after all."

"Bloody hell, Hermione, can’t we even discuss a possible date without Harry effing Potter coming into the conversation?!" Ron was surprised by the venom apparent in his tone.

Where did that come from? Down boy.

"S-, sorry, Ron. You’re right. Er, I mean, well…have you talked to Harry about…."

"Ye-es," he said in a sing-song voice. "I’m not completely daft, you know. He’s fine with it. No worries."

"Oh." She looked a bit crestfallen. "Right. Good. All settled then. Er, what time did you want to go?"

"Um, same as always I reckon. What do you think?"

"Fine." She started busying herself by gathering all of her work. "Right, Ron. I reckon it’s time for bed. We’ve been up late several days in a row now. Don’t want to fall asleep in class, do we?"

"You mean, again? No, I guess I should try to break the habit."

Hermione smiled and Ron felt encouraged. "Night, Hermione."

"Good night, Ron."

* * *

The morning of the Christmas Hogsmeade visit arrived, finally. Ron was so nervous, he only ate one serving of bacon, eggs, and toast at breakfast. Harry ate very little as well, and Hermione hadn’t even shown up yet.

Weird. We’re all acting weird. This isn’t supposed to be such hard work, is it?

"So, er, Harry. You’re going with Seamus and Dean, then?"

"Yeah. And I guess we’re meeting up with a few other people at the Three Broomsticks. You know, some of the fifth years, I suppose. Don’t really know." Harry shrugged as he picked at his eggs with his fork.

"Maybe we’ll see you there, then? I mean, I don’t really know what we’re going to do just yet." Ron shrugged his shoulders. He was feeling queasy about facing Hermione and uncomfortable about talking to Harry. Stupid effing crush.

"Maybe."

Hermione finally joined them, looking flustered and hassled and, it had to be said, darn cute. She had chosen to wear a skirt and Ron felt good about that at the very least. Trying to impress me. Glad I wore the jeans with only one hole in them. Both Harry and Ron looked up at her with apprehension written all over their faces.

"Morning, Harry. Morning, Ron."

"Morning, Hermione," they both said at the same time, sounding like obedient schoolchildren.

Ron wanted to say something to break the tension, but the lump that had settled in his throat was a bit of an obstacle. He swallowed with effort. The lump reappeared. He swallowed with more effort. The lump grew. He was beginning to worry about his ability to breathe, much less speak.

"Ron?" Harry inquired. "Are you all right? You look a bit…green."

"’m fi…, Har-…."

"Seriously, Ron, drink some water," Hermione said. She handed him a glass.

Awww. That’s nice. She doesn’t want me to die. How could I have doubted my decision to ask her out?

Ron took the glass and chugged the water. Then he grabbed another glass and emptied it as well. Finding it a bit easier to swallow, he had another go at speaking.

"So," he squeaked out, sounding like a mouse on helium. That’s sure to turn her on. He cleared his throat and started speaking with a voice so deep, Harry actually laughed out loud. "So, Hermione…. Something wrong, Harry?"

Harry finished the food in his mouth before speaking with an unnaturally deep voice. "No, Ron. Nothing’s wrong."

Hermione chuckled and tried to pass it off as a cough. "Excuse me." She patted her chest. "Sorry, Ron, were you going to ask me something?"

Ron’s eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged it off. They may be laughing at me, but at least they’re laughing.

"Yeah," he said, in a completely normal voice, thank Merlin. "I was just wondering if you had any idea what you wanted to do today." Ron could have sworn Harry’s ears perked up. Seriously, his ears actually perked up. What is he, a cat?

Hermione reached for a piece of parchment she had in her pocket, carefully unfolding it and ironing it out on the table in front of her. Ron’s left eyebrow raised, almost of its own volition. Harry put his fork down and sat back, as if expecting a bit of a show.

She can’t be serious. Is she serious? She made a list? An effing to-do list for our date? I thought girls were meant to be romantic. That’s not romantic. It’s not even warm and fuzzy. It’s downright…unromantic and unfuzzy.

"I have a few things written down here, just as suggestions. I mean, I’ve finished my Christmas shopping, but I thought perhaps you hadn’t, and I need a few things for school – some quills, some supplies – so I thought we could start by getting all of that out of the way. Then, if you’d like, we could visit some of your favourite shops – Honeydukes, Zonkos – before heading to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. Maybe you’d like to meet us there, Harry." Harry raised his eyebrows and slowly turned to Ron.

"Hermione," Ron began. "How is that any different from every other visit we’ve made to Hogsmeade? And why in the world would you feel the need to write that down?"

I went through all that…shite to ask her out on a real date…no way are we doing the exact same thing we always do.

"Who said it had to be different? What else is there to do in Hogsmeade, anyway? And of course I wrote it down. I don’t stay on top of things the way I do without making lists and sticking to them."

"Stay on top of things? What the bloody hell does that mean? This is something you need to ‘stay on top of’? It’s a date, Hermione. You’re supposed to have fun. Be spontaneous. Do things without other people around." With this last statement, Ron tilted his head and rolled his eyes toward Harry at his left. Harry then rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, obviously impressed with Ron’s ability to be subtle.

"I didn’t know there were rules involved, Ron. Perhaps you should have shared them with me the other night when you asked me to go with you. I’m simply trying to make it as pleasant as possible for us. And I don’t see how eating lunch with Harry is going to throw the world off its axis. It’s not like we’re not eating breakfast with him right now. And we’ll be eating dinner with him, too, I suspect. So what’s the difference?"

Ron could feel it coming on like an inevitable sneeze. Or, more like a spot you can feel developing under the skin but can’t do anything about. Better yet, it was like watching a seeker go into a dive at the wrong time and being powerless to stop it. An accident waiting to happen. A train wreck, really.

"What’s the difference? What’s the bloody difference?!"

"I’d appreciate it if you’d watch your language and your tone with me, Ronald Weasley."

"I’ll tell you what the difference is," Ron said, ignoring her. "It’s a date. A DATE, Hermione! D-A-T-E! We’re meant to go to Madam Puddifoot’s and talk to each other and hold hands and go on a long walk and eat alone in a secluded corner and k-,kiss and all that mushy stuff." In the back of his mind, Ron began to wonder if her idea wasn’t better after all. But still…it was the principle of the matter. "What kind of girl are you?" He could feel Harry flinch in the seat next to him. "You’re supposed to be telling me, Clueless Bloke, this stuff…not the other way around!"

Hermione’s face turned an interesting shade of red. She pursed her lips and started to breathe deeply. When she spoke, it was with a calm voice, but not a soothing one. This calm voice sounded capable of ripping out his vocal chords with little effort.

"What kind of girl am I? I don’t know, Ron, you tell me. You have known me for the better part of…," she pretended to count in her head, "five and a half years. Though, that’s not much time, to be fair. Only a third of our lives. Perhaps I should introduce myself again." Her evil eyes were narrowing and she reached out a hand to him but he knew better than to take it.

I wasn’t born yesterday. She’s not being sincere about this handshake thing.

Undeterred, Hermione dropped her hand and went on with her rant. "Hello, Ronald, my name is Hermione Granger. I’m a girl and yet I don’t live up to all of the insulting stereotypes of females that you’ve managed to foster in that uncharted territory known as your brain. I study, I plan, I do my homework. I make lists and I prepare for things. I write letters to people, even if I’m not romantically involved with them, and I think that the enslavement of any form of life is hypocrisy of the worst sort from those who speak of fighting for freedom from tyranny and oppression. I brush my teeth a lot. I speak of muggle things. And, yes, I have two best friends that are both male. Although, at the moment, I’m reconsidering the wisdom of this last point."

Ron had braced himself and therefore felt little to no injury on impact. He started to reply once, then twice, but thought better of his words. Then his best mate saved his arse, once again.

"Listen, you lot," Harry started. "Why don’t we all just head out and you can go where your feet take you once we get to Hogsmeade."

"Exactly, Harry, that was my point." Ron couldn’t help but point out that Harry’s suggestion sounded an awful lot like his spontaneity idea – and look very smug while doing it. In fact, it took all the strength he had not to stick his tongue out at her.

Before Hermione could retort, Harry stood up and said, "Excellent." He pulled at Ron’s arm. "Let’s go then." Looking over at Hermione, Ron noticed that she was less than thrilled about the plan, but she was coming along anyway. She would never refuse Harry.

Ouch. Score two for boy wonder.

* * *

Once in Hogsmeade, Harry took off for Honeydukes with Seamus and Dean. Left alone at last, Ron and Hermione looked at each other warily. Ron knew that breakfast might not have been the most auspicious start to their date, but he was willing to put it behind them if she was.

"Truce?" He said, offering her his hand to shake.

She sighed. "Truce." Then she shook his hand.

Hermione started to pull her hand away, but he held onto it thinking this could be his only chance to make the move to handholding inconspicuously.

We’re touching. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. Bugger. Something’s not right.

It occurred to him that people didn’t generally hold hands this way – right hand to right hand. It made walking a bit difficult, as he’d have to walk backwards or Hermione would. Idiot. So he dropped her hand about a minute after he should have, smiling meekly and turning away as a blush stained his cheeks. He could see out of the corner of his eyes a bit of an eyeroll from Hermione, but she also was smiling at him, clearly amused at his nervousness.

He inwardly shrugged. Whatever. As long as she’s smiling.

"So, er, I reckon we could go to Scrivenshafts if you’d like. You know, for your quills and shit, er, stuff. Quills and stuff. Is that a good start?"

"Sure, Ron. That sounds fine," she replied as she smiled up at him. Her smile was giving him that funny feeling in his stomach that had led to this dating adventure.

Hermione’s smile. His fluttery stomach. It wasn’t much to go on, but he was fairly sure he wouldn’t mind seeing more of that smile. Right now, it was particularly painful, as that adorable smile was combined with her rosy cheeks, tinged with colour from the cold, and her not-hidden-in-jeans legs, covered in black tights and just too "out there" for him not to notice. He and Harry had talked about them once – Hermione’s legs.

"Not bad for a bookworm, eh? Who knew?" Ron had noted, after they had both delivered looks-that-could-kill and threats-to-back-them-up to a couple of Gryffindor fourth years who they heard commenting on the finer points of Hermione’s rather tone and long and lean legs.

"We shouldn’t be talking about her like this, Ron," Harry had scolded. Then he looked around the common room, making sure no one was listening, and leaned in close to Ron. "But since you mentioned it, I have to say, I reckon she’s got the best pair of legs in the school! Our Hermione." He shook his head in disbelief. "She doesn’t make our overprotective brotherly act half difficult, does she?"

"Too right," Ron replied.

At the time, he had been relieved that he was not alone in noticing Hermione’s, er, assets. Now, he wasn’t so sure he was happy to hear that Harry had noticed that their bookworm had blossomed into a decent looking girl.

But I’m the one on a date with her. She’s here with me. Not Harry. So stop thinking about him, you git. Concentrate on Hermione. Oh, dear. She’s talking. Been jabbering on for a few minutes, I think. I’m so used to tuning her out. I knew Harry was around for a reason. It’s his job to pay attention. Ugh. This can’t be good.

"Don’t you agree, Ron?" Hermione looked at him with a real question in mind. She was expecting an answer. Luckily, it was a yes/no question.

"Er, yes?" Ron offered, although he knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he should have probably answered in the form of a statement of conviction as opposed to going with the weak, hesitant question approach. He cringed.

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying that because you agree with me or because you think that’s what I want to hear?"

Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t. Bugger.

"Er…a little of both?" He braced himself.

She sighed. "Well, at least you agree." An idea occurred to her and she looked at him with excitement. "Maybe we can sign a petition. You know, a letter to the Headmaster stating that all of us prefects think we ought to cut the holidays short and skip the Easter hols altogether in order to deal with our revision while preparing for Voldemort’s next move!" She looked at Ron expectantly.

WHAT?!

"WHAT?! Are you mad?! Have you lost your tenuous grip on reality, Hermione?! Give up holidays? You’ll likely lose each of the few friends you have if you suggest that one. No way!"

Hermione smirked and Ron felt that sinking sensation.

"That’s not really what you said, is it?" Ron said in his smallest, most repentant voice.

"Bet you’re missing your buffer, a/k/a/ Harry, now, aren’t you?" She rolled her eyes and marched into Scrivenshafts ahead of him. Ron exhaled slowly and wondered, not for the first time, if really great legs were worth this struggle.

* * *

After spending an inordinate amount of time studying the relative merits of the varying quills in stock and going over just how much parchment Hermione should attempt to carry all over Hogsmeade with her, Ron had finally gotten her to leave Scrivenshafts. They then walked around a bit more, carefully avoiding any topics of conversation that might lead to one of their patented battles of will, and had finally found their way to the infamous Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. Ron had convinced Hermione that they should at least check it out, as it was something neither of them had experienced before.

"It’s, er, nice, isn’t it?" Ron said as they entered the shop. There wasn’t a spot on the walls or the counter or the tabletops that wasn’t covered with some sort of Christmas decoration. It was excess done to perfection. Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes.

"It’s over the top. Ridiculously over the top."

"Well, if you’re having trouble getting into the Christmas spirit, this is the place to come. Or if you are in great need of reindeer statues that dance a jig while you drink tea and flirt," Ron said, chuckling and attempting to lighten her mood.

"Honestly. It’s not even tastefully done. Those blasted blinking ‘Happy Christmas’ signs on the ceiling are giving me a headache. And what is that dreadful noise?"

"I reckon it’s the elf ornaments on the tree singing carols…all different carols. Tis a bit noisy, isn’t it?"

She huffed and led him to a table to sit down. They ordered their tea and looked about the shop. Ron was certain that this would be the longest cup of tea he’d ever endur-…enjoyed. They ended up at the last open table, which was, of course, smack dab in the middle of the café. Every pair of eyes in the place had turned to them when they walked in and they were still under the scrutiny of a good number of those eyes. Any couple makes news at Hogwarts, but Ron understood that he and Hermione were more than news. They were somewhat famous at Hogwarts…well, along with Harry…or alongside Harry. Infamous might be a better word, actually.

They can all stuff themselves. It’s none of their bloody business what we do. Fa la la la la, la la la la. Hmmm. Not bad. Those elves can sing. Uh-oh. I did it again.

"Ron? Did you hear me?" Hermione was sounding less than pleased.

"Er, no." Better just to confess, isn’t it? She’s into all that honesty bollocks. "No, Hermione, I didn’t hear you. I was, er, enjoying the music. What did you say, then?"

She heaved a sigh and crossed her arms in disgust. "Ron, if you’re not interested in what I have to say, why are we here? Dating isn’t just about holding hands and being all goofy at Madam Puddifoot’s bleeding Tea Shop. It’s about getting to know someone. Listening to them. Talking to them. You know…," she mocked gasping, "conversing?"

Ron flinched. "Shhh. Hermione, keep your voice down. We don’t want to get chucked out of this place, do we?" he whispered to her across the table.

"Honestly, Ron. Tossed out of a tea shop? For what? Asking for darjeeling instead of Earl Grey?" She chuckled, amused at his concern. "Anywhere else, no one would even notice us. But since we’re the only ones actually speaking instead of staring all googly-eyed at each other…."

"Shhhhhh. Hermione!" Ron raised his hands and motioned for her to quiet down. "All right, all right. I’m listening. What did you want to talk about?" he asked in an attempt to turn her attention away from the farcical surroundings.

She sat up and un-crossed her arms. "I was asking what you were doing for Christmas this year? Are you going to the Burrow for the entire time? I’m certain your parents have invited Harry but I was thinking that this might be a good year for him to come to my house. I mean, he’s been to the Burrow. It might be nice for him to spend some time in the muggle world where his so-called plight isn’t a topic for constant dissection. Don’t you think he’d be happy to spend a quiet holiday without all the worry and fuss? I’m sure Dumbledore could arrange some discreet security. As it is…."

Ron stopped listening. He couldn’t help it. First, she was waffling on at such a pace, he might have been impressed if he wasn’t expected to pay attention. Second, she was talking about him again. Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry. Always Harry with her. He was amazed that they’d spent the whole time in Scrivenshafts without Harry’s name popping up. Wait. That could have been because I wasn’t listening to her then either. Damn. This listening thing is hard work. And third, he was quite fond of those singing elves. Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of….

"Ron? Ron!" She was seriously interrupting some good Christmas music. And every person in the place, who had only recently stopped staring, again turned their gaze on the pair. He blushed.

"What, Hermione? I was listening. I swear. You want Harry to spend Christmas with you and your family. There. I said in…," he started counting on his fingers, "eleven words what took you, what? A few paragraphs? Blimey. I was just enjoying the Christmas music a bit. And forgive me if I don’t want to talk about Harry again. You’re a right hound when it comes to him, you are. All Harry, all the time. Does he pay you for this ‘constant vigilance’ campaign you’ve got going on his behalf? I mean, he’s my best friend, too, Hermione, but I know when to give it a rest. A concept you obviously aren’t familiar with!" He knew scolding her and making a scene wasn’t the smartest tactic, but his self-control was wearing thin. And it started out pretty malnourished in the first place.

She looked murderous. "So sorry, Ronald. I was merely trying to point out the fairies with the flying candles."

Oops. Time-turner, anyone?

"Oh," he said with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, they look pretty." He smiled, trying desperately to think up something to make her laugh.

"Yes, they are pretty, aren’t they?" She smiled but her eyes were twinkling in that you’re-such-a-dolt-I-almost-don’t-want-to-smack-you-down kind of way that always scared him. "And they’ve just set your scarf on fire." She smirked with fiendish delight, picked up her things, and marched out of Madam Puddifoot’s with her head held high.

Ron sat staring after her, trying to process what had just happened.

She just walked out on me. In front of all these people. All these happy, lovey-dovey couples. All these simpering, sickening, sappy people. Tossers.

Blimey. Is it hot in here?

"Bloody hell!" His mind had finally caught up with everything Hermione had said. He jumped out of his chair and pulled his scarf off of him, the flames coming dangerously close to his face as he untied the knot. He threw the scarf on the floor and jumped on it a few times until the flames disappeared. Then he looked around at all the gawking faces.

"I’ll be leaving now. So sorry, but you’ll have to find your entertainment elsewhere." Ron began to march out in that same self-assured way that Hermione had exited. Ha! I showed them what dignity is.

"Not without paying your bill, you won’t!" said the round woman behind the counter as she grabbed him by his ear and pulled him back. "And get rid of this mess on my floor!"

Yes, mum. So much for dignity.

* * *

Ron caught sight of Hermione as she entered Gladrags. He called out her name before she got through the door and she stepped back out to talk to him, none too pleased about him finding her.

"What is it, Ron? I need to look for some new robes. I forgot to put that on my ridiculous list." She was barely holding on to her temper, he could tell.

"I was hoping we could start over," he said as he was gasping for breath, having run to catch up to her. "I know things have been a bit, er…tense. But the day’s not even half over yet." He sensed an opening. "Go on, Hermione. Give us another chance." He put on his best puppy dog eyes.

"Oh, all right. But only if you try to put forth some effort. If you want to talk about quidditch or something, then fine. Just so long as we talk." She looked serious and Ron knew he needed to work extra hard this time.

"Promise. We’ll talk. And I’ll even help you pick out your new robes." He gathered up all the sincerity he had in his body and put it into his smile. This seemed to appease her. She smiled back and his stomach flip-flopped once again.

Damn smile. Must have something to do with those muggle dentists she lives with. Maybe they’ve concocted a way to charm her toothpaste or something.

Inside Gladrags, the Christmas rush was in full swing. Ron had thought this wouldn’t be so hard, given that Hermione is not your typical girl and does not spend a lot of time shopping, but as he glanced around at the clothing strewn everywhere and the teeming crowd of teenage girls all clamoring for the latest in fashionable witches’ wear, he started to get a bit concerned.

The temperature was curious…was the heat caused by the fact that he knew there were girls dressing and undressing in the rooms he was standing near or was it just the vast number of bodies in the small space? Young, nubile bodies. Either way, he was glad he no longer had his scarf. He was rather wishing the fairies had destroyed his hat and gloves as well. The sweat started to bead up on his forehead.

Hermione seemed nonplussed by the chaos. She very nimbly worked her way to the racks she was interested in and chose several different robes to try on.

"Do you mind if I try these on, Ron? I won’t be a minute. I’ll be a right mess if I have to wear my old dress robes anywhere. They’re two sizes too small at this point." She looked up at him for an answer and he was proud that he knew what she was asking and could answer her question.

"Nope. Don’t mind. Take all the time you need." He bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling like he’d just passed an exam of sorts.

Looking around, he vaguely wondered why he and his mates had avoided this place with such fervor in the past. This shop was chock full of skin. There were girls trying on bits of clothing behind other girls, so as not to have to wait in the queue for the dressing rooms. There were girls coming out of the dressing rooms only half dressed. And Gladrags was apparently also in the business of selling knickers. Rather nice knickers. Knickers without much fabric.

Whoa. I’m not sure that this pair would fit Crookshanks. What is this meant to cover, anyway? Not much. Cor, blimey, are those stockings over there? Bloody hell, they’re soft. Imagine these things on actual legs. Wonder if Mum wears stuff like this. Or Ginny. Or, he gulped, Hermione.

It took me three tries to get to Hermione. That’s disturbing on so many levels.

Thanks be to Merlin no one can hear my thoughts.

Ron was being led around the shop by his…well, not by his senses. When he heard Hermione’s voice, he rejoined the land of the living and realised he was standing in the middle of the lingerie section running his fingers through a pair of red silk stockings. There also might have been some drool on his chin, he wasn’t quite sure. Sweat, drool, whatever.

He threw the stockings down like they were on fire and he knocked a few third years over on his way to answer Hermione’s call.

He looked at her face, peering over the top of the dressing room door. "Yes, Hermione? You called?"

She is not naked in there. She is not naked in there. Hagrid is taking a bath, and Snape is wearing Neville’s grandmother’s clothes. Great Merlin’s Ghost! Why did I just think of Neville’s grandmother wearing silk stockings?!

"Ron, would you mind telling me what you think of these robes if I come out there? They’re a bit different from my usual style and the sales people are all busy. I’d really appreciate your opinion." She could be excruciatingly cute when she wasn’t talking about, you know, important things.

"Of course! Be glad to." Ron was pumped. Hermione was changing clothes and asking his opinion about her new dress. He was surrounded by nearly naked girls and his fingers still tingled from the feeling of silk in his hands.

Get over it, already. Focus.

Hermione stepped out of the dressing room and he fought to swallow. She was wearing a rather alluring little number meant for someone a bit older, Ron thought. And a bit more well-endowed. He pondered whether or not he should tell her this. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but then again, she was trusting him to be honest with her. She was very big on those value thingies. Honesty. Trust. Integrity. Bit annoying, really, but all the same….

"I reckon that’s meant for someone a bit older, Hermione. You know, with a bigger rack."

What?! That didn’t come out right. Honesty, idiot, not teenage boy hormonal talk.

"Er, I mean…I didn’t mean it like that…I meant, er, you know, a bit bigger in the area of the, er, tit-NO! I mean, baps…breasts, er, chest?" He flinched. "You know, since it’s, er, strapless and all…er, you know, er…PLEASE FORGIVE ME!" He threw himself on the mercy of the court.

Hermione looked…almost amused. He could tell she was trying to figure out the best way to play this to her advantage as she chewed on her lower lip. Bless her scheming little heart. Harry and I have brought her up right.

"Are you saying I’m not big enough in the rack/tits/baps/breasts, er, chest, Ron? Something wrong with my anatomy? Are you implying that I’m flat as a board? Hmmm?"

Ron blinked.

"The dress looks lovely on you, Hermione. And have I mentioned how thin it makes you look?" Ha. Can’t go wrong telling a girl she looks thin.

"How thin it makes me look? Meaning I’m fat in reality?" Game, set, match.

Seeing the torment written all over his face, Hermione took pity on him and laughed. "I’m just having you on, Ron. I agree with your assessment, if not for the exact same reason. Do you think you can manage waiting a few more minutes so I can try on one last set of robes?" She asked so sweetly he forgave her for torturing him.

"Course. Let me know if you need my opinion," he deadpanned. She smiled. Flutter flutter.

Ron stood near the dressing room this time, having learned enough not to venture off into the wilds of the lingerie section. He thought about heading over to the wizards’ department, but she’d likely be done before he could manage to work his way through the crowd.

Just then, two young witches walking side by side brushed past him in a hurry to get to some robes they’d spotted from across the store. He stood his ground and accidentally knocked the Honeydukes’ bag out of one of the girls’ hands. Candy spilled everywhere. Being the gentleman his mother raised, he offered to pick it all up for her. She’d quickly grabbed her bag back from him when it was three quarter’s full, not wanting to waste another moment in case some other witch grabbed the perfect robes out from under her.

Score, thought Ron. Free sweets.

Just then he noticed that he was precariously close to the door to Hermione’s dressing room, which only covered the middle parts of the person dressing. If you were looking, you could still see the girl’s head as well as her lower legs and feet. And if you were looking from the ground, up under the door…well, you could see quite a bit of the girl’s….

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

I’m dead.

Ron tried to get up with as much haste and grace as possible, hoping Hermione hadn’t noticed the bellowing voice of his little sister or his position on the floor. Unfortunately, Ginny’s scolding scream gave him a start and he hit his head on the bottom of the dressing room door. So much for Hermione not noticing.

"OUCH! Ginny! Bugger me! You almost gave me a bloody heart attack!" Ron stopped and considered his situation. The survival instinct kicked in, and the conversation, as well as his tone, took a one hundred eighty degree turn.

"Hiya, Gin. Fancy meeting you here. Looking for some new clothes, are you? I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you some…." Ron knew he was stretching things here. There was no way he was going to escape this one. He thought he could see steam coming from the direction of Ginny’s ears.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? PLEASE TELL ME YOU WERE UNDER IMPERIUS JUST THEN! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’D DO SUCH A THING! AND TO HERMIONE, NO LESS! YOU RAGING GIT!"

That’s it. Ginny was channeling his mother, despite the fact that his mother was very much alive.

Oh, no. His mother.

If there is any way that I can keep this from getting to my mother, I’ll gladly trade places with Harry and incur Voldemort’s wrath. BLOODY HELL! Did I just think his name? All right, Ron.

SMACK!

Ouch.

"Ginny, what the…." But it wasn’t Ginny who’d slapped him. When he shook the stars out of his head, he found himself looking down at the angry and hurt face of his best friend. Tears were welling in her eyes. Ron couldn’t have felt smaller if he’d been transfigured into a mouse. She didn’t speak. She merely grabbed her things and rushed off to another dressing room to change. Ginny fixed Ron with another death glare and ran after Hermione.

Once again, he’d managed to become the center of attention. You could have heard a pin drop. Taking a deep breath, he headed for the nearest exit, enduring the whispering taunts of many an outraged witch. One impressed ten year old wizard, who’d been dragged in the shop with his mum, asked with wide eyes, "Did you see anything?"

"Piss off, kid."

* * *

He trudged back to the Three Broomsticks, hoping to find his best mate there.

What?! Shit for brains. Harry is going to kill you. All you need is a butterbeer. A real butterbeer. Forget Harry. That road can only lead to humiliation and reproach, and possibly some pain. I’m full up on the first two, thanks, and not in the market for the third.

He entered the Three Broomsticks and looked around. He spotted Neville at a corner table looking at a menu. Neville saw him at the door and motioned for Ron to join him.

"Hiya, Ron. Care to join us for a spot of lunch?"

"Thanks, Neville, I’d like that. Who’s us?" Just then, Harry appeared, having just come from the loo. "Er, but I, er, am not hungry." Yeah, like anyone’s going to buy that. "Thanks anyway." Ron tried to leave, but Harry was in his way and wouldn’t let him pass.

"Ron. Fancy meeting you here?" Ron couldn’t help but notice the glee in Harry’s voice. "I thought for certain you’d find a way to have lunch somewhere else. Hermione convinced you, then?" He looked around the pub. "Where is Hermione?"

"Er…what happened to Seamus and Dean, Harry? I thought you were…." Ron was almost trembling. He wasn’t truly afraid of Harry hurting him, but he was mortified by what he’d done to Hermione. The guilt was getting to him.

Blimey. How does Harry carry so much of this stuff around every day?

"They’re meeting us here in a few minutes. Where’s Hermione, Ron?"

"She, er, was looking at, er…she’s with Ginny. They were shopping. Didn’t want to disturb them in the midst of looking for fancy dress robes." The guilt was starting to gnaw at his gut.

"Oh. I thought you were going to try to keep her away from, you know, all her friends. I mean, I thought you wanted to spend the day alone with her. Guess Ginny is different from, er, well…."

"You thought I wanted to keep her away from you." Ron had given up on the charade. This was all way too exhausting.

"No! No. I didn’t say that." Harry was fidgeting and not meeting Ron’s eyes.

Neville was confused. "Keep her away from Harry? Why would anyone want to do that? That’s like keeping Fred and George apart, Ron. It’s not natural." Ah, Neville and his lovely voice of reason.

"Exactly! Like twins."

"Or Torville and Dean or Holmes and Watson or…." Ah, Neville and his useless Muggle Studies.

"No, no, wait! I’ve got it! James and Lily."

Ah, Neville and his ability to cut my heart out and serve it up for tea.

Score three for boy wonder.

"What are you on about, Neville?" Harry said in a harsh voice, throwing Neville an icy glare and almost convincing Ron that he didn’t understand what Neville was saying. Almost.

Harry turned to Ron in an obvious attempt to smooth things over. "Ron, I didn’t mean to imply that you were doing any such thing. I just thought you’d be with Hermione all day. You made it painfully clear that you wanted to be alone with her today."

Ron’s mouth was about to run away without consulting his brain. He was witnessing the proverbial train wreck once again – like an out-of-body experience.

"Thought I’d try the half-day approach. You know, like the date you had with Cho Chang last year. Take a girl out, act all stupid, make her feel like shit…after all, I did attend the Harry Potter School for Dating. Then again, it was all Cho’s fault, wasn’t it? I mean, she was hung up on another bloke. Oh, wait," he slapped his forehead. "I’ve got that covered as well. You really ought to add that to the course, Harry, old boy. Don’t date a witch who can’t open her mouth without mentioning some other loser. Or some bloody hero, for that matter."

I refuse to acknowledge that I am trying to make my best friend, whose life sucks, feel worse than I do. I refuse to believe that I can sink so low. No, this is simply not happening. Where’s the goddamn firewhiskey?!

Ron shut his eyes tight, willing himself to stop thinking altogether. The internal struggle was killing him. "What does a bloke have to do to get a drink around here?" he said in a booming voice, raising his hand to Madam Rosmerta.

"Er, how about I go get us some butterbeers?" Neville offered.

"The strong ones, Neville, mate. I’m not joking." Ron looked at Neville and made his intention clear from his expression. Neville wandered off to the bar, looking relieved to get away from the table. Seamus and Dean came in from the cold and Neville intercepted them, calling them to the bar with him. They looked puzzled but joined Neville nonetheless.

"All right, Ron. Level with me now. Where. Is. Hermione?"

"I. Don’t. Fucking. Care. Now piss off, Harry, before I get really mad."

Harry pursed his lips and was beginning to take deep breaths. "I don’t know what in Merlin’s name I’ve done to you, Ron, but I swear on the effing Chudley Cannons, if you hurt her because of your…."

"I SAID PISS OFF, HARRY! Get the hell out of my face!" Ron pushed Harry in the chest, causing him to fall into a wizard sitting at the next table. Harry apologized to the wizard and turned to face Ron with murder in his eyes. Meanwhile, Neville, Seamus, and Dean headed over to the table and stood between Harry and Ron.

"Oy, guys! What are you playing at?" Neville said.

"Yeah, you don’t want to get us thrown out of here, do you? Nobody wants detention with Snape or anything the week before Christmas. He’d likely get off on making you shine his shoes or something equally squeamish." Seamus was trying to lighten the mood, but all five of them were looking uncomfortable with the situation.

"Don’t worry. I’m leaving. There’s someone I need to find." Harry hadn’t taken his eyes off Ron. Ron had tried to hold the stare but was feeling too ashamed of himself to do it. His gaze drifted to the floor. Part of him wanted to spit back something about Harry running off to save Hermione once again, but his heart wasn’t in it. Truth be told, he wanted Harry to make sure she was all right.

I can’t believe it’s happened again. December. Christmas. Giving me a right good buggering. Without so much as a ‘by your leave,’ I’ve taken it up the arse once again.

Harry grabbed his things and headed out of the pub, never looking back. Ron’s shoulders sagged. He plopped down in the closest chair and downed his completely alcohol-free butterbeer in one.

* * *

A strange thing had occurred following the worst Hogsmeade visit of Ron’s life. His best friends had forgiven him for his horrid behaviour. Not only had they forgiven him, but they approached him about it, making it so much easier, since he had planned on staying hidden behind the curtains of his four-poster for all time, or until his hunger won out…whichever came first.

- FLASHBACK -

"Can we talk, Ron?" Harry stood at the door to the boys’ lavatory where he’d followed Ron when Divination ended.

It was now three days since Ron had humiliated himself on his first official date. He had done his best to completely avoid Harry and Hermione. Of course, given that he slept within feet of Harry and they all shared some classes and ate in the same place, he had seen them. But he avoided eye contact at all cost. If I can’t see their eyes, I won’t feel the sting. He had counted on the fact that they would avoid him as well. Harry cornering him in the loo had never occurred to him. Thankfully. My dreams are strange enough of late. Neville’s grandmother in stockings…I shudder to think what Harry cornering me in the loo would mean.

"Er…I don’t want to get into it, Harry. Can’t we just ignore it for a bit longer? Until we leave for Christmas hols, then we can start the new year and pretend it never happened?" Ron was never more uncomfortable in his best friend’s presence. He stared at his hands as he continued to wash them, not wanting to get caught up in Harry’s pleading expression.

"C’mon, mate. We need to get past this. I don’t want it to fester over the break. Ron, I can’t afford to lose any friendships at this point. Let’s just get everything out in the open so we can move on." Harry shifted, his hands planted firmly in his pockets. "Besides, you’re going to wear out your skin that way," he said with a meek chuckle. "Hermione’s waiting for us in the common room, so we…."

"Hermione?!" Ron looked at Harry for the first time since he shoved him in the Three Broomsticks. "Are you mad?! I’ve been extremely creative in finding ways to avoid her, thank you very much, and I don’t want to ruin my perfect record at this point. Bloody hell, Harry! I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to face her again. She must hate me…," he trailed off in a melancholy voice. He cast his face downward as the sting hit him…hard.

"She doesn’t. She doesn’t, Ron. That’s the thing. It’s Hermione that wants to get past it most of all. She was more embarrassed than anything. She’s even joked about it…a bit. She knows you wouldn’t do anything to intentionally…er, hurt her." Harry turned to allow Ron room to pass him. "Let’s go, mate. She’s waiting." He looked at Ron.

Ron nodded and dragged his feet a bit as he passed Harry. He muttered, "I was looking forward to the festering…bloody spoilsport."

Harry smiled.

When they reached the common room, Hermione was sitting in "their" spot by the fire. She was staring into the fire and wringing her hands. Ron could see her lips moving – she was obviously practicing what she was going to say to him.

And I’m going into this cold. Ugh. Prepared Hermione versus unprepared Ron is never a good thing. Common, but not good.

"Hey," Harry said to her in a quiet voice. For the first time, Ron wondered what kind of conversations they had shared in his absence over the past few days. He hadn’t let himself think about it before, and he felt certain he didn’t want to know. A pang of jealousy washed over him.

Better get used to it.

Hermione stood to face them. "Hi," she whispered, smiling at them in a shy manner. "I’m glad you came, Ron." He couldn’t look at her. He turned to the fire and stared. Harry and Hermione followed suit. They must have looked a sight. The three of them – staring off into the fire.

"I, er, wanted to say…." Hermione started.

"No." Ron took a deep breath. He turned and looked right at Hermione. "No. I should do this. I need to do this." He looked down again, gathering his courage.

"I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m sorry for the whole bloody day. The whole idea. It was ludicrous to think that we could, er…well, you know. And as for what I did in Gladrags…I was a right plonker for doing it. What can I say? I don’t know what got into me, but there’s no excuse. I only hope that some day, you can forgive me." He exhaled.

Ahhh. Oh, I feel so much better. Even if she hits me…that guilt is a soul-crusher.

"I forgive you, Ron," Hermione quickly said, sounding relieved herself. "It was…odd, but I don’t think you intended to do…that. I reckon you were a bit, er, overwhelmed by the circumstances." She looked down, clearly trying to work out how to approach this unpleasant topic. "Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly on my best behaviour, either. I could have put more effort into enjoying the things we did. That’s not to say I excuse what you did…but, well, I’ve thought a great deal about it and…it’s just that…," she groaned in response to her inability to finish her sentences.

"Wow," Ron joked. "If I’ve rendered you speechless, I’m a better wizard than I realised. Perhaps I should try to harness this power and use it for good."

They all chuckled and things seemed a smidgen closer to normal. But there was still the matter of his crush.

Blasted, horrible, effing crush.

"Thing is, Ron," Hermione blurted out, "I don’t think we’re meant to…I mean, if one good thing came of Saturday, it’s that things are a bit clearer, aren’t they? Don’t you reckon…aren’t we better as…." She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Bless her.

"Friends," Ron said. "Yes, Hermione, I reckon we’re better off as friends." His expression was dour. He simply couldn’t bring himself to smile at them. And he couldn’t look at Harry, not wanting to know how he was taking this.

"Best friends, Ron." She hesitated for a moment, then threw her arms around him. He hugged her back and noticed that Harry was still staring into the fire, with a small smile on his face.

"Harry, mate," Ron started, still holding a tearful Hermione. She backed away when she heard him address Harry. "I, er, don’t know what possessed me to, er, well…I pretty much lost my temper with you and I reckon it was, er, because I wasn’t exactly proud of my behaviour. I took it out on you, and it was wrong of me."

Harry nodded his head a bit. "Yeah, well, we all have our moments. Merlin knows I’m no one to talk. My mood swings are famous around here." They all smiled again, enjoying each other’s company more and more.

Harry’s smile faded and his expression became serious. "But…Ron, can we please not do this again, do you reckon? Can we avoid the rows? I need you two now, more than ever. I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t know when it’s coming." His voice became very soft. "But I know that you’re all I’ve really got in this world. You can’t chuck me now," he added with a half-smile, "much as you may want to."

Ron’s eyes widened as he tried to keep the odd sensation in his eyes from producing any tears. Blast. He felt one escape. He looked at Hermione, who was letting tears run unchecked down her face.

Harry forced a chuckle. "Can always count on me to suck the life out of a party, eh?"

You’re not kidding, Ron thought. He then inwardly smacked himself for thinking it.

Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. "Right, then. It’s nearly Christmas. No more of this talk. We’re meant to be exhaustively cheery this time of year. And I didn’t eat nearly enough at dinner, so what’s say we pay a visit to our favourite house elf?"

Ron’s smile grew. "If you want me to stop fancying you, Hermione, you ought not make brilliant suggestions like that." He thought for a moment, then looked at Harry with a sly grin. "And you should stop wearing skirts, as well." With that, he ran out the portrait hole as Hermione threw a pillow at him and Harry laughed.

Good friends. I’ve got good friends. And bugger me if that girl doesn’t have perfect aim!

- END FLASHBACK -

Over a late dinner in the Hogwarts kitchen, Hermione had said that there were bigger things to be worrying about than whether or not Ron caught a glimpse of her knickers. (He had, by the way.)

And it was almost worth all the hassle that had followed. Let’s just say Hermione’s overachieving brain and tone legs are not the only things to be admired on her body. And let’s just NOT say that to her…or Harry…or, well, let’s just keep that between us – the many personalities inside my head.

Harry had said that there was little worth losing their friendship over…and that Ron fought like a girl. They stuck their tongues out at each other, Hermione wiped her tears away and rolled her eyes, and then they had all walked to Hagrid’s hut for his final Christmas visit.

After that, Ron felt better. And he felt worse at the same time.

The least they could have done was act as badly as I did. Bastards. Hermione and her spirit of Christmas…. Harry and his valuing friendship above all else…. Losers. Argh! I can’t even feel grateful in a selfless way. What is wrong with me?!

So he decided he needed to do something extra special for them both for Christmas. He didn’t have much money, as usual, but he was able to speak to the Headmaster and arrange for Harry to spend a safe and secure Christmas holiday at the home of the Grangers. Hermione was right, as usual. Harry could use a less intense experience this year. Some quiet time.

I wonder what that’s like. Our house would have to implode, caving in on itself and vanishing altogether, for a Weasley to get quiet time.

Ron had thought a great deal about his friends. The whole dating fiasco had set him to rights where Hermione was concerned. Putting his every-day complaints aside and judging her objectively, he was able to sort himself out.

Hermione was a talker. An incessant talker. She was a lot smarter than he was or would ever likely be. She actively pursued abstract ideas, like freedom and justice, in a way that made him uneasy. She was muggleborn and was therefore permanently tied to a world he cared little about. She was interested in completely different things than he was, and she got on his every last nerve when given the chance. She was a lovely girl. A brilliant witch. A friend unlike any other, loyal and steadfast until the end.

But most importantly of all, from Ron’s vantage point, she was head over heels in love with Harry. And not for the boring old reasons that every other witch at Hogwarts was infatuated with him – his heroism and his good looks.

Well, they think he’s nicely turned out. But what do they know? They go all gooey over his obnoxiously messy hair and that goofy shit-eating grin.

Oh, who are you kidding, Weasley. He’s a hot ticket and well you know it.

But Hermione barely noticed these things. There was such a massive difference in how she acted around Harry as compared to how the rest of his fan brigade swooned. The more Ron thought about, the easier it was for him to discern what it was he had been witnessing all these years.

It was simple to worship Harry’s surface qualities. Try sticking with him through his hellish nightmares, putting up with his sulky side, standing up to him when he throws a tantrum…or knowing what to say or not to say to him when his life kicks him in the nads yet again. Try keeping on your friendly face when you have to watch him leave Platform Nine and Three Quarters with his rancid relatives. Try thinking of him first when you endure the ridicule – the rumours and gossip generated about you because you’re the girl who spends more time with him than any other. Try holding your temper and not blaming him when your hands are filled with bubotuber pus and your friends’ mother treats you like a tart. Try facing an entourage of death eaters because you couldn’t convince him that he was being tricked. Try keeping calm when the Headmaster lists the litany of threats he faces from a wizard so scary, no one can even say his name.

But she says it. She says that wizard’s name. She heals Harry’s wounds when he’s too proud to ask anyone for help. She listens to him recount his nightmares without crying from the terror of it all. She offers suggestions, no matter how far-fetched, and stands firm when he tells her she’s mental. She stands up to him and tells him when he’s making an arse of himself. She stands up to him and accepts his ire, doing whatever it takes to save him. She talks calmly to him after he bites her head off. She figures out the oddest ways of helping him. She breaks the rules when she needs to, and she faces any threat…for him. She tells him what’s on her mind, and he listens.

And Ron knew why. It all made sense to him now.

He listens because she’s always been there. He listens because she is so reliable – because she’s brilliant. He listens because hers is the only voice he can hear any more. She’s the only one that hasn’t let him down. The only one that doesn’t cower when he raises his voice. The only one that cares enough to keep speaking. He listens because she is the only one that will love him come what may. He listens because he can no longer function without her.

He listens because he loves her.

It all came full circle for Ron. It struck him like a slap in the face as he lay in his bed the night before they left for Christmas break.

Ow. Bloody hell, it isn’t supposed to hurt when you think, is it? Clearly, I’m overtaxing myself. Must schedule loads of kip time when I’m home.

He had begun this adventure with an inkling of what Harry was feeling for Hermione. Now it was clear…to him, not Harry. Not Hermione. But to Ron, it was clear. The relationship between his two best friends inhabited a different plane entirely. And he was glad of it, if it made Harry’s life more tolerable and if it made Hermione realise how special she was.

He would deal with the fluttering in his stomach. Maybe he would find another bird who could make his stomach flutter. Maybe not. He would deal with his jealousy. He would deal with his insecurities. This was his sacrifice for them. He would continue to see so plainly what they were oblivious to and keep it to himself. He would protect them and their secret and make sure that they made it to a place where they could feel safe in revealing it to themselves and each other.

He was their best friend, after all.

It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it.

Christmas wasn’t so bad after all. As he headed home with Ginny and his parents after wishing Harry, Hermione, and the Grangers a Happy Christmas, he laughed quietly at the memory of his first date. It may not go down as one of the most romantic trysts in Witch Weekly’s yearly countdown, but it was certainly memorable.

Memorable, magical, mystical, miraculous.

Whatever. It was Christmas.