CHAPTER 1
"Ron?"
"Mmm?"
"Shut it." There was a short pause followed by Ron's soft chuckle.
"Not very ladylike," he teased her.
"I'm no lady, and don't you know it!" she retorted.
She was right there; despite looking very fragile, Ron knew that Hermione did not have the reign on her temper that a proper lady should possess, and almost laughed out loud at the memory of her slapping Draco Malfoy across the face when he made the mistake of not taking her seriously.
It was the second week of term, and they were alone in the Seventh Year boys' dorm.
Ron was already late on his homework, and Hermione was helping out, as she had done so often before. But somehow, she found herself enjoying the time she spent alone with Ron more than she used to. And they did spend more time alone together than they had done before; they did all their homework together, and she was always present at his Quidditch practice. Of course, a lot of her friends were on the team, not just Ron, but she would probably not make such an effort to never miss a training-session if it weren't for him, especially since she didn't think Quidditch all that interesting. In fact, she didn't think Quidditch was very interesting at all; there was really only one reason she was present at practice-sessions. And his name was Ron.
Not that she had told him that. Or anybody else for that matter. She liked to keep her emotions private, especially if she was pretty sure that it was her 'problem'. She didn't think that her affections were being returned.
They had been on vacation together: Ron and his family, Harry and Hermione, in the south of France for the last two weeks of the summer holidays. Hermione had spent the beginning of the holidays at home, and had seen neither Ron nor Harry during this time, and she had had butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing them again after four weeks; usually they didn't spend that much time apart. Ron had been really sweet to her while they were still at the Burrow; he'd even noticed her new haircut, which had surprised her. But in France, he had flirted notoriously with every French girl that crossed his way, a sure sign for Hermione that he wasn't interested in her.
Deeply disappointed, she had told herself to make the best of their friendship, which was a beautiful thing in itself, they had grown steadily closer over the years, and her friendship with Ron was somehow different to her friendship with Harry, or any girl.
"Moine?" Ron's voice threw her out of her reverie.
"Yes?"
"Were you even listening to me?"
"Hmm?"
"I said, I'm sure Professor Snape is going to be even more horrible this year. Look at what he's doing to us already! Three feet of parchment about rhinestones by tomorrow. The man's a sadist, and he's letting it all out on us. Somehow I have the feeling he will not be measuring the Slytherins' essays... pray tell me why is that so?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
"Experience?" she suggested.
She had stopped telling Harry and him off for making nasty remarks about Snape long ago. Not only because she knew that what they said was true, but telling Ron off for nasty remarks could prove very tiring indeed; as he had grown older, his tongue had become steadily more vicious; he was one of the most quick-witted people in school. Must be a Weasley thing, she thought to herself. Ginny was neither shy nor stupid, and had her own share of biting remarks in store for anyone who provoked her, and Fred and George had, of course, never had any inhibitions whatsoever about telling people their opinion.
"I thought you liked him, Moine," he teased.
She looked indignant.
"No, I just don't blame every bad thing that happens to me on him or Malfoy. It's not the same thing. I'm just as annoyed as you are about him being so unfair to Gryffindor all the time. It's not as if he does it to any other houses - he behaves neutrally at least, towards Ravenclaw. And it's not justified either, because it's not like any other teacher favours us the way he favours the Slytherins?"
"Yeah, you're right, you know. It wouldn't be so bad if McGonagall would act like he does. But she doesn't. The man just drives me mad," he said wearily.
"That's not going to finish your essay for you though," she pointed out.
"I know," he sighed. "You know, I really couldn't be bothered right now."
She looked at him sternly.
"What kind of attitude is that?" she demanded. "You know you've got to do it sometime."
"Yes, but not now."
Her brow furrowed even more, and she looked at him half expectantly, half commandingly, for all the world like Professor McGonagall when she had been waiting to hear what they had to say for themselves after being caught flying to school in Second Year.
"I couldn't care less about Snape, and I couldn't care less about Potions." he added by way of explanation. She opened her mouth to say something, but he stared her down.
She closed her mouth and looked away, but could not resist the gaze she still felt on the back of her head. She turned back towards him, and he was still looking steadily at her. His blue eyes were fixed on her brown ones, and she felt like she was drowning in a deep, clear pool.
His eyes were the same colour as the lake reflecting the sky on a bright summers day, and without even realizing it, she leaned in closer to him. He blinked for the first time since he had started staring at her, and it threw her out of her trance-like state. But she didn't back away, and suddenly his hands were on her shoulders and he pulled her towards him. He brought his mouth down on hers, not hard, but demandingly. There was an impalpable craving behind it that was almost physical, and the question where it came from flitted through her subconscious at the same time as she returned his kiss with the same force and passion.
She was trembling like a volcano about to erupt, and her heart was beating so loud she was sure everyone down in the common room must hear it. She tried to draw back, but he pulled her in close, one arm around her waist and holding her head with one hand. Fire coursed through her veins, and his fingers left a trail of goosebumps on her skin.
Where on earth did he learn to kiss like that, she wondered dizzily. Probably practice...
His tongue explored her mouth and he held her tight, like he never planned on letting her go. She thought her chest might explode from the pressure building up inside it; she was filled with a nervous energy that wasn't under her control. Just like the rest of her body. She was grateful that she was lying on Ron's bed; her knees were weak and she thought her legs would buckle under if they had to support her now. Thunder roared in her ears and she was oblivious to the world around her.
It was Ron who finally broke the kiss, still holding her tight. She felt safe with him near her, calm somehow. Like he was protecting her, even though she wasn't sure from whom or what.
They lay tangled on his bed with their arms around each other, not a bit of space in between. She felt happier than she ever remembered feeling, her cheeks flushed and her heart still thumping as if she'd run a marathon. She lay with her hands clasped around his back, head buried in his chest.
He pulled back from her and looked into her eyes.
"Moine?"
"Hmm?"
"Say something." He didn't elaborate, but she didn't have to ask what he meant. She shifted to lie on her back, and stared at the ceiling. He lay next to her, and she took his hand in her smaller one. She could feel his rapid pulse through the sensitive skin at his wrist.
"For lack of a better word to describe my feelings, I'd say I'm happy." She smiled, although she knew he couldn't see it. "Somehow I feel as if this was meant to happen a long time ago. But it didn't, it happened now, which is okay, as long as it happened at all. Please don't tell me you don't feel like that."
He retracted his hand from her grasp and turned around to rest one hand on either side of her shoulders. She looked up into his huge blue eyes and relief flooded her; she could tell from his expression he wasn't going to tell her that he had just made an enormous mistake.
"You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that."
"You didn't seem to be waiting for anything of the sort in France," she mentioned, in what she hoped was a casual tone, but her curiosity was piqued in spite of herself. Had he already felt the same way then that she had?
"That was just sheer force of habit." He grinned sheepishly down at her. "But seriously, I just didn't have the courage to tell you how I felt about you. And I didn't think I would stand a chance with you, so I had to go and break some French hearts to vent my frustration. But you mean so much more to me. And you taste so much better. Like honey," he added as an afterthought.
She looked at him and tried to keep her face straight, but a smile played about the corners of her mouth.
"You taste like honey, honey, tell me can I be your honey?"
She grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling him down towards her, and kissing him passionately. When she let go of him he laughed. "I'll just go right ahead and take that as a 'yes'" he informed her, and bent down to kiss the tip of her nose. She closed her eyes contentedly and simply nodded. There was no need for more words.
~*~
Ron was lying awake in his four-poster.
It was 2 am. and he couldn't sleep. He heard Neville's snores from behind the drapes of the bed next to his, but that was not was keeping him up. It was the warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach, like thousands of moths fluttering around inside it. He hadn't been this happy in a long time.
Sure, he'd been flirting and had had several girlfriends in the last year, not like Harry, who was always busy with something. Ron had more time for the simpler things in life, and simple it was indeed, for him; being the youngest of the Weasley boys, he had some kind of a reputation where this kind of thing was concerned. Well, he thought, at least I've carried on the tradition. He smiled wryly. Charlie and Bill were, of course, handsome, Bill to a degree that made even veela heads turn; he'd been going out with Fleur Delacour since she had come to England from France in the holidays after the Triwizard Championship. She had decided not to go back to France and was living with Bill in Egypt, where he was currently on some mission for Gringott's; Ron had never been sure what it was exactly that Bill did for a living.
Percy was the more serious type, but Fred and George had never had a problem with any girl they wanted, being known throughout the school for their sense of humour, cunning and notorious pranks. And good looks, well of course, they were Weasleys. Ron grinned to himself in the dark; he had gained so much confidence in his Sixth Year. He had been Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and they had won the house-cup. Being referred to as 'the Gryffindor Keeper', and not 'that guy that Harry Potter hangs out with' pushed his self-esteem a great deal, as well as the fact that he really was an extraordinary Keeper. He was good; for the first time in his life there was something he could do well, and that nobody outdid him at.
There would always be people like Malfoy, the 'Ice Prince'. But even though Ron hated having to admit that Malfoy looked good, he knew that Malfoy felt the same way about him. Obviously, Ron didn't date Slytherins, and Draco wouldn't even look at Gryffindors, but Ravenclaw, at least, was 'mutual territory' where girls were concerned, and Ron had proven himself to Malfoy in that aspect more than once. He loved the look on Malfoy's dumb face when he caught Ron making out with a girl he, Malfoy, had been wooing.
But even more than that, he had loved the look on Hermione's face this afternoon. She was special. His thoughts jumped back to when he had seen her for the first time, on the train to Hogwarts in his First Year. He had been on the train, sitting in a compartment with Harry, and she had come in with Neville, looking for his toad. Somehow she had managed to look pretty, even with her bushy hair and snobby expression. And that was nothing compared to what she was like now.
After saving Hermione from a mountain troll in first year, she, Ron and Harry had become inseparable. The three of them had been through so much... Suddenly Ron felt himself wondering how Harry would take the news.
He had seen for the first time just how pretty Hermione could be when she had dressed up for the Yule ball in Fourth Year, and he hadn't been the only one. She had been dancing with Krum all evening, and Ron had practically cracked under the strain of his jealousy. She shouldn't have been dancing with anyone except him or Harry. Preferably him. He knew how stupid that sounded himself; he knew he didn't own her. But that evening, he had wished he did, because she had been stunningly beautiful there was no way he could have watched her dancing with Krum and kept calm.
He never would have risked endangering their friendship because of his feelings for her, but her place in his heart had grown, taking up more space than a normal friendship would. This was helped by the fact that, to him, she became more beautiful every year. She had a heart-shaped face with regular features, and was quite pretty, but ordinary enough, until she smiled. Then, by some unexpected alchemy, some mysterious redistribution of light and shadow, some subtle shift in arrangement, she became beautiful, completely beautiful. Madam Pomfrey had shortened her teeth in Fourth Year, and in Fifth Year she had started using straightening charms on her hair. Ron wasn't the only one who had noticed it, and Hermione had had her share of boyfriends over the years, even though not near the number of girls Ron had been out with, since she spent a lot more time on studies than he did.
Harry was a lot better at masking his feelings, especially since he had actually had a crush on Cho Chang at the time. This didn't stop him from getting butterflies in his stomach everytime Hermione came near him, though, he had confided to Ron one day. Ron had been very surprised, and just a little shocked. He never would have guessed.
He kept thinking about her face, bathed by the afternoon light that fell in through the dorm window; her light skin and honey-coloured hair. Her brown eyes fringed by lashes that didn't need cosmetic charms; he had heard Lavender talking to Parvati about it: they were definitely envious. And he was enchanted.
But it was her aura that made her special. She had charisma in a way that he'd never seen before, and she radiated intelligence, you could see it in everything she did.
He was sure Harry was over his crush on Hermione by now, because he hadn't mentioned the feelings he'd had towards her during Fifth Year for a while now. Still, you never knew...
Ron decided to tell Harry about everything that had happened first thing in the morning. Well, not everything. But everything he had a right to know. And then he'd figure out what to do in the unlikely case of Harry being jealous. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. With these things on his mind, he finally fell asleep, feeling very much content and at peace with the world.
~*~
Hermione lay in her bed and enjoyed the rays of light falling through the window onto her face.
She stayed like that for a while, basking in the peacefulness of the world so early in the morning and thinking about Ron. She had often wondered why she felt so attracted to him. He was good-looking, but not a 'pretty boy' or even bursting with sex appeal, come to think about it. It was the realness and honesty about him that she loved. It was written on his face like a script. If he were a woman, he would never have to wear rouge. He had that natural redness on his cheekbones. Although he was a bit on the thin side, it was his height she liked, and the way his blue eyes smiled and changed instantly with his moods.
Slowly the other girls in her dorm, first Lavender, then Parvati, then the rest of them woke up and started dressing and getting their stuff ready. Hermione got up too, wondering how Ron would behave when she saw him this morning. She had not told anyone that they were going out yet, not even Harry, even though she was sure Ron would have mentioned it to him by now. No one had seen them in his room the day before, and she hadn't thought it necessary to run around shouting it out loud to all passers-by.
She put her books, ink and parchment and quill in her bag and left for breakfast. She entered the Great Hall looking for Ron or Harry, but they weren't there yet, so she sat down next to Neville instead.
She buttered herself a piece of toast, and dug in with great gusto. Suddenly someone put their hands over her eyes, obscuring her vision.
"And a lovely morning to you, too." Ron's voice was abnormally cheerful; he was usually grouchy in the mornings. She took his hands in hers and turned around to give him a small kiss before he sat next to her. Neville goggled at them.
"Gee, Neville, I hope your face doesn't get stuck like that," Ron said absently while reaching for the breadbasket.
"Are you two going out?" Neville asked suspiciously.
"Why, I do believe we are." Ron grinned his broadest grin at Neville, who still looked slightly baffled.
"How come I didn't know?"
"Because I only decided on it yesterday." Ron winked at Hermione. She poked him in the ribs and pecked his cheek.
"Don't get cheeky with me." She grinned mischievously. "What went wrong with your upbringing? I think I'm going to have to start over."
"Fred and George's influence."
"I might have guessed." She squeezed his hand. He filled his plate with toast, pancakes and a blueberry muffin. Hermione sighed. Ron was one of those people who could eat non-stop (which he did) and never get fat. He was probably underweight. It was so unfair.
Harry had appeared shortly after Ron, looking as disheveled as he always did before lunch (his hair seemed to grow tidier the course of the day, in contrast to Hermione's, which always turned slightly frizzy by the end of the afternoon). He did not look quite as flabbergasted as Neville had upon seeing them kiss, and Hermione suspected that Ron had told him all about... well, almost everything; not only girls felt the urge to communicate... or gossip. She grinned to herself and returned to her breakfast.
"Ron?"
"Mmm?"
"Shut it." There was a short pause followed by Ron's soft chuckle.
"Not very ladylike," he teased her.
"I'm no lady, and don't you know it!" she retorted.
She was right there; despite looking very fragile, Ron knew that Hermione did not have the reign on her temper that a proper lady should possess, and almost laughed out loud at the memory of her slapping Draco Malfoy across the face when he made the mistake of not taking her seriously.
It was the second week of term, and they were alone in the Seventh Year boys' dorm.
Ron was already late on his homework, and Hermione was helping out, as she had done so often before. But somehow, she found herself enjoying the time she spent alone with Ron more than she used to. And they did spend more time alone together than they had done before; they did all their homework together, and she was always present at his Quidditch practice. Of course, a lot of her friends were on the team, not just Ron, but she would probably not make such an effort to never miss a training-session if it weren't for him, especially since she didn't think Quidditch all that interesting. In fact, she didn't think Quidditch was very interesting at all; there was really only one reason she was present at practice-sessions. And his name was Ron.
Not that she had told him that. Or anybody else for that matter. She liked to keep her emotions private, especially if she was pretty sure that it was her 'problem'. She didn't think that her affections were being returned.
They had been on vacation together: Ron and his family, Harry and Hermione, in the south of France for the last two weeks of the summer holidays. Hermione had spent the beginning of the holidays at home, and had seen neither Ron nor Harry during this time, and she had had butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing them again after four weeks; usually they didn't spend that much time apart. Ron had been really sweet to her while they were still at the Burrow; he'd even noticed her new haircut, which had surprised her. But in France, he had flirted notoriously with every French girl that crossed his way, a sure sign for Hermione that he wasn't interested in her.
Deeply disappointed, she had told herself to make the best of their friendship, which was a beautiful thing in itself, they had grown steadily closer over the years, and her friendship with Ron was somehow different to her friendship with Harry, or any girl.
"Moine?" Ron's voice threw her out of her reverie.
"Yes?"
"Were you even listening to me?"
"Hmm?"
"I said, I'm sure Professor Snape is going to be even more horrible this year. Look at what he's doing to us already! Three feet of parchment about rhinestones by tomorrow. The man's a sadist, and he's letting it all out on us. Somehow I have the feeling he will not be measuring the Slytherins' essays... pray tell me why is that so?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
"Experience?" she suggested.
She had stopped telling Harry and him off for making nasty remarks about Snape long ago. Not only because she knew that what they said was true, but telling Ron off for nasty remarks could prove very tiring indeed; as he had grown older, his tongue had become steadily more vicious; he was one of the most quick-witted people in school. Must be a Weasley thing, she thought to herself. Ginny was neither shy nor stupid, and had her own share of biting remarks in store for anyone who provoked her, and Fred and George had, of course, never had any inhibitions whatsoever about telling people their opinion.
"I thought you liked him, Moine," he teased.
She looked indignant.
"No, I just don't blame every bad thing that happens to me on him or Malfoy. It's not the same thing. I'm just as annoyed as you are about him being so unfair to Gryffindor all the time. It's not as if he does it to any other houses - he behaves neutrally at least, towards Ravenclaw. And it's not justified either, because it's not like any other teacher favours us the way he favours the Slytherins?"
"Yeah, you're right, you know. It wouldn't be so bad if McGonagall would act like he does. But she doesn't. The man just drives me mad," he said wearily.
"That's not going to finish your essay for you though," she pointed out.
"I know," he sighed. "You know, I really couldn't be bothered right now."
She looked at him sternly.
"What kind of attitude is that?" she demanded. "You know you've got to do it sometime."
"Yes, but not now."
Her brow furrowed even more, and she looked at him half expectantly, half commandingly, for all the world like Professor McGonagall when she had been waiting to hear what they had to say for themselves after being caught flying to school in Second Year.
"I couldn't care less about Snape, and I couldn't care less about Potions." he added by way of explanation. She opened her mouth to say something, but he stared her down.
She closed her mouth and looked away, but could not resist the gaze she still felt on the back of her head. She turned back towards him, and he was still looking steadily at her. His blue eyes were fixed on her brown ones, and she felt like she was drowning in a deep, clear pool.
His eyes were the same colour as the lake reflecting the sky on a bright summers day, and without even realizing it, she leaned in closer to him. He blinked for the first time since he had started staring at her, and it threw her out of her trance-like state. But she didn't back away, and suddenly his hands were on her shoulders and he pulled her towards him. He brought his mouth down on hers, not hard, but demandingly. There was an impalpable craving behind it that was almost physical, and the question where it came from flitted through her subconscious at the same time as she returned his kiss with the same force and passion.
She was trembling like a volcano about to erupt, and her heart was beating so loud she was sure everyone down in the common room must hear it. She tried to draw back, but he pulled her in close, one arm around her waist and holding her head with one hand. Fire coursed through her veins, and his fingers left a trail of goosebumps on her skin.
Where on earth did he learn to kiss like that, she wondered dizzily. Probably practice...
His tongue explored her mouth and he held her tight, like he never planned on letting her go. She thought her chest might explode from the pressure building up inside it; she was filled with a nervous energy that wasn't under her control. Just like the rest of her body. She was grateful that she was lying on Ron's bed; her knees were weak and she thought her legs would buckle under if they had to support her now. Thunder roared in her ears and she was oblivious to the world around her.
It was Ron who finally broke the kiss, still holding her tight. She felt safe with him near her, calm somehow. Like he was protecting her, even though she wasn't sure from whom or what.
They lay tangled on his bed with their arms around each other, not a bit of space in between. She felt happier than she ever remembered feeling, her cheeks flushed and her heart still thumping as if she'd run a marathon. She lay with her hands clasped around his back, head buried in his chest.
He pulled back from her and looked into her eyes.
"Moine?"
"Hmm?"
"Say something." He didn't elaborate, but she didn't have to ask what he meant. She shifted to lie on her back, and stared at the ceiling. He lay next to her, and she took his hand in her smaller one. She could feel his rapid pulse through the sensitive skin at his wrist.
"For lack of a better word to describe my feelings, I'd say I'm happy." She smiled, although she knew he couldn't see it. "Somehow I feel as if this was meant to happen a long time ago. But it didn't, it happened now, which is okay, as long as it happened at all. Please don't tell me you don't feel like that."
He retracted his hand from her grasp and turned around to rest one hand on either side of her shoulders. She looked up into his huge blue eyes and relief flooded her; she could tell from his expression he wasn't going to tell her that he had just made an enormous mistake.
"You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that."
"You didn't seem to be waiting for anything of the sort in France," she mentioned, in what she hoped was a casual tone, but her curiosity was piqued in spite of herself. Had he already felt the same way then that she had?
"That was just sheer force of habit." He grinned sheepishly down at her. "But seriously, I just didn't have the courage to tell you how I felt about you. And I didn't think I would stand a chance with you, so I had to go and break some French hearts to vent my frustration. But you mean so much more to me. And you taste so much better. Like honey," he added as an afterthought.
She looked at him and tried to keep her face straight, but a smile played about the corners of her mouth.
"You taste like honey, honey, tell me can I be your honey?"
She grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling him down towards her, and kissing him passionately. When she let go of him he laughed. "I'll just go right ahead and take that as a 'yes'" he informed her, and bent down to kiss the tip of her nose. She closed her eyes contentedly and simply nodded. There was no need for more words.
~*~
Ron was lying awake in his four-poster.
It was 2 am. and he couldn't sleep. He heard Neville's snores from behind the drapes of the bed next to his, but that was not was keeping him up. It was the warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach, like thousands of moths fluttering around inside it. He hadn't been this happy in a long time.
Sure, he'd been flirting and had had several girlfriends in the last year, not like Harry, who was always busy with something. Ron had more time for the simpler things in life, and simple it was indeed, for him; being the youngest of the Weasley boys, he had some kind of a reputation where this kind of thing was concerned. Well, he thought, at least I've carried on the tradition. He smiled wryly. Charlie and Bill were, of course, handsome, Bill to a degree that made even veela heads turn; he'd been going out with Fleur Delacour since she had come to England from France in the holidays after the Triwizard Championship. She had decided not to go back to France and was living with Bill in Egypt, where he was currently on some mission for Gringott's; Ron had never been sure what it was exactly that Bill did for a living.
Percy was the more serious type, but Fred and George had never had a problem with any girl they wanted, being known throughout the school for their sense of humour, cunning and notorious pranks. And good looks, well of course, they were Weasleys. Ron grinned to himself in the dark; he had gained so much confidence in his Sixth Year. He had been Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and they had won the house-cup. Being referred to as 'the Gryffindor Keeper', and not 'that guy that Harry Potter hangs out with' pushed his self-esteem a great deal, as well as the fact that he really was an extraordinary Keeper. He was good; for the first time in his life there was something he could do well, and that nobody outdid him at.
There would always be people like Malfoy, the 'Ice Prince'. But even though Ron hated having to admit that Malfoy looked good, he knew that Malfoy felt the same way about him. Obviously, Ron didn't date Slytherins, and Draco wouldn't even look at Gryffindors, but Ravenclaw, at least, was 'mutual territory' where girls were concerned, and Ron had proven himself to Malfoy in that aspect more than once. He loved the look on Malfoy's dumb face when he caught Ron making out with a girl he, Malfoy, had been wooing.
But even more than that, he had loved the look on Hermione's face this afternoon. She was special. His thoughts jumped back to when he had seen her for the first time, on the train to Hogwarts in his First Year. He had been on the train, sitting in a compartment with Harry, and she had come in with Neville, looking for his toad. Somehow she had managed to look pretty, even with her bushy hair and snobby expression. And that was nothing compared to what she was like now.
After saving Hermione from a mountain troll in first year, she, Ron and Harry had become inseparable. The three of them had been through so much... Suddenly Ron felt himself wondering how Harry would take the news.
He had seen for the first time just how pretty Hermione could be when she had dressed up for the Yule ball in Fourth Year, and he hadn't been the only one. She had been dancing with Krum all evening, and Ron had practically cracked under the strain of his jealousy. She shouldn't have been dancing with anyone except him or Harry. Preferably him. He knew how stupid that sounded himself; he knew he didn't own her. But that evening, he had wished he did, because she had been stunningly beautiful there was no way he could have watched her dancing with Krum and kept calm.
He never would have risked endangering their friendship because of his feelings for her, but her place in his heart had grown, taking up more space than a normal friendship would. This was helped by the fact that, to him, she became more beautiful every year. She had a heart-shaped face with regular features, and was quite pretty, but ordinary enough, until she smiled. Then, by some unexpected alchemy, some mysterious redistribution of light and shadow, some subtle shift in arrangement, she became beautiful, completely beautiful. Madam Pomfrey had shortened her teeth in Fourth Year, and in Fifth Year she had started using straightening charms on her hair. Ron wasn't the only one who had noticed it, and Hermione had had her share of boyfriends over the years, even though not near the number of girls Ron had been out with, since she spent a lot more time on studies than he did.
Harry was a lot better at masking his feelings, especially since he had actually had a crush on Cho Chang at the time. This didn't stop him from getting butterflies in his stomach everytime Hermione came near him, though, he had confided to Ron one day. Ron had been very surprised, and just a little shocked. He never would have guessed.
He kept thinking about her face, bathed by the afternoon light that fell in through the dorm window; her light skin and honey-coloured hair. Her brown eyes fringed by lashes that didn't need cosmetic charms; he had heard Lavender talking to Parvati about it: they were definitely envious. And he was enchanted.
But it was her aura that made her special. She had charisma in a way that he'd never seen before, and she radiated intelligence, you could see it in everything she did.
He was sure Harry was over his crush on Hermione by now, because he hadn't mentioned the feelings he'd had towards her during Fifth Year for a while now. Still, you never knew...
Ron decided to tell Harry about everything that had happened first thing in the morning. Well, not everything. But everything he had a right to know. And then he'd figure out what to do in the unlikely case of Harry being jealous. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. With these things on his mind, he finally fell asleep, feeling very much content and at peace with the world.
~*~
Hermione lay in her bed and enjoyed the rays of light falling through the window onto her face.
She stayed like that for a while, basking in the peacefulness of the world so early in the morning and thinking about Ron. She had often wondered why she felt so attracted to him. He was good-looking, but not a 'pretty boy' or even bursting with sex appeal, come to think about it. It was the realness and honesty about him that she loved. It was written on his face like a script. If he were a woman, he would never have to wear rouge. He had that natural redness on his cheekbones. Although he was a bit on the thin side, it was his height she liked, and the way his blue eyes smiled and changed instantly with his moods.
Slowly the other girls in her dorm, first Lavender, then Parvati, then the rest of them woke up and started dressing and getting their stuff ready. Hermione got up too, wondering how Ron would behave when she saw him this morning. She had not told anyone that they were going out yet, not even Harry, even though she was sure Ron would have mentioned it to him by now. No one had seen them in his room the day before, and she hadn't thought it necessary to run around shouting it out loud to all passers-by.
She put her books, ink and parchment and quill in her bag and left for breakfast. She entered the Great Hall looking for Ron or Harry, but they weren't there yet, so she sat down next to Neville instead.
She buttered herself a piece of toast, and dug in with great gusto. Suddenly someone put their hands over her eyes, obscuring her vision.
"And a lovely morning to you, too." Ron's voice was abnormally cheerful; he was usually grouchy in the mornings. She took his hands in hers and turned around to give him a small kiss before he sat next to her. Neville goggled at them.
"Gee, Neville, I hope your face doesn't get stuck like that," Ron said absently while reaching for the breadbasket.
"Are you two going out?" Neville asked suspiciously.
"Why, I do believe we are." Ron grinned his broadest grin at Neville, who still looked slightly baffled.
"How come I didn't know?"
"Because I only decided on it yesterday." Ron winked at Hermione. She poked him in the ribs and pecked his cheek.
"Don't get cheeky with me." She grinned mischievously. "What went wrong with your upbringing? I think I'm going to have to start over."
"Fred and George's influence."
"I might have guessed." She squeezed his hand. He filled his plate with toast, pancakes and a blueberry muffin. Hermione sighed. Ron was one of those people who could eat non-stop (which he did) and never get fat. He was probably underweight. It was so unfair.
Harry had appeared shortly after Ron, looking as disheveled as he always did before lunch (his hair seemed to grow tidier the course of the day, in contrast to Hermione's, which always turned slightly frizzy by the end of the afternoon). He did not look quite as flabbergasted as Neville had upon seeing them kiss, and Hermione suspected that Ron had told him all about... well, almost everything; not only girls felt the urge to communicate... or gossip. She grinned to herself and returned to her breakfast.
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