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Ron rips his arm from Harry’s grip, fuming as he glares at his sister. Ginny, her face streaked with angry tears, continues to yell. Her words are muffled in his ringing ears, as though he’s been submerged under ice cold water and the sound around him is distorted.
Hermione and Krum.
His ears and neck are hot, and his heart is beating so fast that he's sure it might push out of his chest. He turns and strides away, ignoring the echoes of unintelligible shouting that follow him down the corridor.
Hermione and Krum.
The words reverberate in his skull, colliding and exploding with his every insecurity.
Was it so awful that he didn’t want to witness his sister snogging anyone , let alone his dorm-mate? She and Dean hadn’t even bothered to find a very hidden spot. Ginny’s lucky that he tolerated her relationship to begin with! He could pull the bro code out on Dean anytime he wanted, but he doesn’t, does he? He’d just been trying to say that she should keep some things more private and she retaliated by…
He punches a passing suit of armour, his fist bouncing off the shoulder plate with a loud ping and a flash of pain.
“Fuck.” He scowls, shaking his sore knuckles and blinking his stinging eyes.
How could Ginny think that taunting him about Hermione was a fair blow?
“Ron?”
He freezes, clenching his throbbing hand and refusing to turn around. Usually, the sound of her voice makes him smile, but at the moment- when he’s angry, flustered, maybe even close to tears- she’s the last person he wants to see.
“Not now, Hermione.”
“What’s…what’s wrong?” She’s timid, no doubt as a result of his dark mood.
He shakes his head and continues along the corridor, away from her. “Nothing I want to talk to you about.”
Hermione and Krum.
Scowling, he stalks through the Entrance Hall and pushes the doors open, revelling in the bite of the evening air against his blazing skin.
What did she see in that idiot anyway? Talent? Riches? Good looks?
Tosser .
Ron kicks moodily at a loose stone, shoving his hands in his pockets. Who is he kidding? He could never compare to Krum. What can he, Ron, possibly offer Hermione that Vikor bleeding Krum can’t do better? Of course she picked Krum, with his stupid broomstick and stupid World Cup final.
His spontaneous trek across the grounds is mindless, but Ron isn’t altogether surprised to find himself near the boathouse. He descends the last few stairs to the door, which is rough and splintered by weather, and pushes it open with practised ease.
He’d been spending more and more time here over the past few months, seeking comfort in the quiet solitude of the lapping water. He walks to his usual spot, a column near the open mouth of the building, and leans against it, enjoying, for a moment, the view of the sunset reflecting off the dark, rippling water.
“Ron."
He hadn’t heard her approach, and his muscles tense again.
“Hermione. You followed me here?”
“Yes.”
He turns around, glaring at her. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what’s wrong with you.” She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Nothing.”
She takes tentative steps towards him, trying to meet his eye. “You said it was nothing you wanted to talk to me about. Me specifically. Are you mad at me?”
She was too damn perceptive.
“Leave it.” He clenches his jaw and tries to slide past her, too angry and embarrassed to explain his behaviour. She blocks his path, wringing her hands like she always does when she’s worried.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
Despite her obvious fretting, he recognizes the determined set of her jaw and knows he’s in for a healthy dose of stubbornness.
This bloody witch. Sometimes, she makes him want to tear his hair out.
He’s plagued by the sudden image of her pulling on Vicky’s hair while they snog, and Ron’s ire boils to the surface again.
“Why don’t you just go and write to Krum?” The words explode out of him and he pushes past her, aiming to make a quick getaway.
She shrieks, though the sound is interrupted by an abrupt splash. His heart jumps into his throat as he wheels about, searching for her in the undulating waves between tethered boats. A moment later, she resurfaces, gasping.
“Hermione!” He kneels down. “Are you alright?”
She wipes her face as she treads water, and her wet curls wrap around her head at all angles as she scowls at him. “You knocked me in!”
“It was an accident!” He rubs the back of his neck. “C’mon, let me help you.” He extends a hand to her.
She accepts his offering, gazing up at him. Before he can register the dangerous flashing of her eyes, she braces her feet against the wall and pulls. This unexpected tactic knocks Ron off-balance and he launches headfirst into the freezing lake. The water surges up his nose, and he thrashes to reemerge, coughing when he can again breathe.
“Bloody hell, Hermione, what was that for?”
She’s a wild kind of beauty when she's glaring at him like that, and he sometimes wonders if she reserves this vibrancy just for him.
She narrows her eyes. “Did you say Krum?”
His fight with Ginny floods his brain, though it’s hard to be angry with Hermione while they’re still submerged in water so cold that he’s losing feeling in his extremities.
“Your lips are purple.” Ron swims towards the ladder. “Let’s at least get out first.”
“Fine,” she sniffs, and he hears her following him. “As long as we actually talk.”
They perch themselves on the edge of the walkway, in Ron’s favourite spot. The sun has set by now, but Hermione performs a clever little charm that dries their clothes and hair instantly.
They sit in silence for long enough that Ron halfway hopes she won’t bring Krum up again. He likes sharing his oasis with her. Even in the quiet, her presence comforts him, and he finds that he doesn’t want to pick a fight with her anymore.
He sighs. Nothing like a plunge into freezing water to cool a temper, but, if the purse of her lips is any indication, she isn’t going to let him off of the hook so easily.
He decides to get it over with.
“I ran into Ginny snogging Dean tonight.” He stares at his hands as he talks. “And I…I freaked out. We were shouting at each other, she was crying, and-”
It’s difficult to explain the next part of the story. Hermione shifts her weight back on her hands, surveying the dark water and waiting for him to finish. The low lighting reflects off her olive skin, and her profile is swathed in shadows. His next words come out as a whisper.
“She said I’m weird about snogging because I’m the only one who hasn’t done it. She said…she said that you and Krum…”
Darkness shrouds them, though the light of a nearby burning torch dances over her cheekbones.
She’s so beautiful, sometimes it hurts to look at her.
She sighs as she leans forward, swinging her dangling legs. When she finally meets his gaze, her expression is sad. “Well, Ron….we did.”
His heart clenches and he grits his teeth, jerking his head. “Right.”
“It was two years ago. I admit I was curious, and it felt like he was the only person in the school who knew I was a girl. It was nice, but it’s over.” She shrugs, biting her lip. “There’s only one person I want to snog now, and it’s definitely not Krum.”
The way she’s looking at him tempts him to ask her who it is that she wants to snog now, but he’s equally worried that he doesn’t want to know the answer. He settles instead on addressing her other comment.
“I knew you were a girl.”
She tilts her head, catching a glint of light off her honey-brown hair. “You did?”
“Yes. I’ve known it for a while.”
“You…you have?”
He can’t tear his eyes from hers, and his secrets tumble away from him, unplanned. “It’s driving me mad, actually.”
“How so?” She swallows, licking her lips, leaving them so glossy and kissable that he has to suppress a moan.
“You know when you can’t reach something because you’re too short, and you have to ask me to help you?”
“How does that drive you mad?”
“Your, erm, well, your skirt raises.” His voice cracks as his ears heat, the sensation continuing down the back of his neck. “Just so. When you’ve got your arms up. And s’not much, nothing I should even notice, really, but that extra inch of your legs...”
Hermione shivers. “What about it?”
“Well, by the time I reach over your head to get whatever it is that you need, you’re so close to me and I’m distracted by your skirt and all I can think is what I would do if you…if you were to turn around to face me.”
She mulls on this information, rubbing her legs together and resuming her surveillance of the lake. With the loss of her eye contact, the spell breaks and he puts his head in his hands, groaning. “I’ve mucked this up, haven’t I?”
“No.” He whips his head around, and with a casual movement she positions herself so the outside of her hand rests against his. The slight contact burns his skin with the fire of the sun.
“Is there more?” she asks.
He gives a shaky laugh. “Definitely. Hell, yes.”
“Keep going.” Her gaze is imploring, and something else. Something unfamiliar, but exciting. Arousing. “Please?”
Ron isn’t positive about what's happening, but he likes her fiery expression and is sure he’ll do anything to keep it that way.
“You chew on your lip.”
She nods, skin flushing. “I know; it’s a bad habit.”
“Remember the other day in History of Magic when you got mad at me for not paying attention?”
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “Every class.”
“It’s your fault. You're the reason I’m always distracted.”
“I am?” She’s breathless, and he’s surprised to hear that his voice dropped lower and took on a gravelly tone.
“Nibbling on your bottom lip, brushing your quill on your cheeks.” He reaches a shaking hand to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, letting his fingers graze her skin.
She’s watching him as though he’s the last book on the New Releases shelf.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispers.
She entangles her fingers with his, cupping his hand against her cheek. The softness of her skin sets his insides on fire.
“You do stuff that drives me crazy too, you know.”
He blinks, ignoring the stutter of his heart. “In a good way?”
“Yes, of course in a good way.” She smiles. “After Quidditch practice, you come to the common room, fresh from a shower. Your hair is all wet, swept like this.” She runs her fingers through his long locks, pushing them to the side. “And you smell like sandalwood and mint.”
They stare at each other, closer than they’ve ever been.
“I’m worried that if I say anything, I’m going to ruin whatever is happening,” Ron admits.
She giggles, and the uncharacteristic sound vibrates through him. He decides to ask her the question he’d avoided earlier.
“Who is it that you want to snog now?”
“I asked him to go to Slughorn’s party with me.” Her smile is flirtatious as she squeezes his fingers. “We’re sitting together in the boathouse, and I’m hoping he’ll make a move.”
Time seems to pass in slow motion. His heart hammering wildly, he closes the distance between them, nuzzling his nose against hers. She pushes her lips into his, and, after a moment of ecstatic disbelief, he reciprocates her movements. He’s overwhelmed by sensations that are distinctly Hermione: the fruity smell of her shampoo, the feeling of her soft skin, the way her wild curls tickle his cheeks, how small her fingers are, entwined within his much larger ones.
They pull away from each other, breathless and beaming. Ron’s sure he’s the luckiest damn bloke in the world.
“Mione?”
“Yes?”
He grins. “Thanks for following me out here.”
She frowns, and the delicate bubble in his chest pops.
“What’s wrong? Was the snogging not very good?” His ears are burning with mortification.
“Oh no, Ron.” She grabs his face and plants a firm kiss on his lips. “The snogging is perfect. We’ll definitely be doing more of that.”
He can’t stop the smile that tugs on the corners of his mouth. “We will?”
She giggles again, a delicious sound, and nods her head. “I’d like that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s just that, I don’t want a repeat Third Year, or Fourth Year for that matter.” She pulls both of Ron’s hands into her lap and grips them tightly. “We do better when we talk to each other.”
The sentiment is simple, but more honest than he’d previously been with himself. He’d meant to push her away tonight, and not tell her a single thing about his fight with Ginny. He probably would have ignored her the next morning, and if history was any indicator, their estrangement would have stretched out weeks, even months. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to go to Slughorn’s party with her, and he’s so looking forward to seeing her get dressed up to spend an evening with him, Ron Weasley.
He meets her earnest eyes as she brings one of his hands to her lips and kisses his knuckles. “Promise me that we’ll always talk?”
It’s the easiest, most honest oath he’s ever made.
“Always, Mione. You’re my best friend.”
They walk back to the castle, and she smiles at him as she slips a tentative hand into his. He squeezes it, equal parts ecstatic and overwhelmed by the events of the evening. Sneaking a glance at her, his heart skips at the prospect of more.
Sixth year is going to be great.