A/N: Here's part two (duh). I should say that this first segment (the one in italics) was actually supposed to go at the end of the previous chapter, but I didn't realise that until right now :) Anyway, you get the picture. Maybe I'll fix it someday, but for now, I'll keep it like this.

Disclaimer: Same as in the previous chapter.

~*~

Honestly, Ron. You are such an idiot. Snickering and punching the air like that. Like the fact that Harry's kissed someone is the joke of the year. That's all these things are to you, aren't they? Jokes. Laughing matters. You can't ever have a serious conversation without throwing in a joke or two. Or an insult. Look, now you've made Harry all worried that he's a terrible kisser. As if Cho would start crying just because Harry wasn't any good at kissing. As if anyone would start crying over something as trivial as that. But you wouldn't know, would you? I bet you've never cried in your life.

What? What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? Surely you can't… I mean, you wouldn't think I'd… kissed Harry, would you? Like I ever would! I'm not like Parvati or Lavender or any of those other hysterically giggling girls, I wouldn't ever kiss someone for the sheer fun of it, and especially not Harry. I thought you'd know by now; that I'm not like them. But I can't say I'm surprised you haven't picked up on it. "Hermione, you're a girl…" Honestly. That must've been one of the most stupid things you've ever said. And there are many to choose from, trust me. Just as there are many things that have passed you by without your noticing it. Sometimes I wonder if you're doing it on purpose, if you're just pretending to be this ignorant and blind. I want to think so. I want to think that you see it, just like I do, that… Well, you know.

Don't look at me like that. Don't tell me you were actually hurt by that. Because, honestly Ron, sometimes I really do think you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon. Or something even smaller. Anyway, it's for your own good. You need a good wake-up call every now and then. Although my calls never really seem to wake you up. When are you going to wake up, Ron? Do you know?

Oh, of course you don't know.

Sometimes I wish I could just walk up to you and do something really drastic, like grab your shoulders, shake you around for a bit, and then shut that annoying mouth of yours in a way that I think would be highly efficient. I wonder what you'd do. I like to think you'd kiss me back; prove my suspicions in a way that you never could with words. Because sometimes words seem to inhibit you. Maybe if you'd just go act on it, you wouldn't have such a hard time expressing things. But then again, sometimes you act on things a bit too quickly, and I know I've reprimanded you for it a number of times.

I wish you'd act quickly now, though.

And here we are, having one of those hidden conversations again. I know you want to ask me, Ron. And I know I want you to ask me. Don't you see that? What am I doing wrong? What should I do differently to make you understand? Last year, after the Yule Ball, it felt like I'd revealed everything, made everything clear, but obviously I hadn't, 'cause you didn't do anything. And this year's no different. You're not doing anything. And I feel like I'm doing things all the time, only you're not picking up on them.

Like right now. It's the same as always. You just narrow your eyes and say "Krum?", like it makes you sick to the stomach, but you don't do anything. I hope it does make you sick. I hope you're up all night in fevers and abdominal pains just because you hate Viktor so much.

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I don't hope that. All I want is for you to say something nice, for a change. I know you can, you've done it before. Why can't you see that I'm only writing to Viktor because I'm hoping you'll react? Why can't you see that? And why can't you react unexpectedly for once? Not the Krum's-a-git-routine, 'cause that's getting rather old. Why can't you just step up to me and somehow show me that you're better than him, show me that it's you, not him, I should be writing novel-length letters to?

Me? I already know it's you. And I know you're better. So why can't you just believe it yourself and show me?

You're hopeless, Ron, you know that? Perfectly hopeless.

That's it, I'm going to bed. It didn't work today either. You didn't get it. So I'll just go up to my dormitory and marvel some more at how dense you can be sometimes.

Oh, don't look at me like that. I hate it when you do. I hate how your hopelessly blue eyes make my stomach lurch and my spine tingle, because I know you haven't understood today either, and for all I know you'll never understand. I'll just keep on dropping countless hints and clues and you won't ever get it.

Oh, honestly. Why do I even bother?

~*~

Hermione tiptoed down the stairs, flinching every time the steps creaked under her. It seemed to her that everything in Grimmauld Place creaked, even if it wasn't wooden. Everything just creaked and whined and sounded as if it hated being here, which it most likely did.

She tried to make herself as light as possible as she made her way down the entrance hall. She couldn't help but stick out her tongue at the curtain concealing Mrs Black's portrait before closing the remaining distance to the staircase leading down to the kitchen.

Tip-toeing just as lightly as she'd done going down the other staircase, Hermione reached the kitchen and was pleased to find that it was empty. Although she hadn't really expected anyone else to be there, seeing as it was two o'clock in the morning and everyone was, most likely, sound asleep.

She walked up to the table and sat down, then retrieved a parchment and a quill from the pocket of her dressing gown. It would've been better if she'd been able to write her letter on Muggle-manufactured paper and just send it in an envelope, but there were no such goods in this house, so she'd have to make do with this. Besides, her parents ought to be used to owls pecking at the windows by now. They'd know what to do.

It was silly, really, that she felt she had to wait until everyone was asleep to write the letter. But there were always so many people running around in this house, so much noise and commotion, and she really wanted to write something meaningful to her parents. Not the regular old "Everything's great, we're all well, I miss you heaps…" No, this time she felt she really had to make it sound true, and full of meaning, because she'd given up vacation with them again, and they'd been supportive and understanding, as always, but she knew they weren't entirely happy about it. So she owed them this much at least.

She'd written no more than "Dear Mum and –" when she heard one of those characteristic, whining noises that the staircase made when someone actually had the audacity to use it. Looking up, she saw Ron entering the kitchen, and the sight of him made her heart skip a beat.

He looked positively adorable. His striped pyjamas were a few sizes too small, and a worn robe hung haphazardly across his shoulders. He was squinting sleepily at her and pulled a hand through his hair, making it stand even more on end than it had before.

"Hey," he said and yawned widely before making his way over to the table. Hermione just looked at him, perplexed. What was he doing up?

"What are you doing up?" Ron asked her then, echoing her own thoughts as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Oh, I'm just…" she began, but didn't finish the sentence. Instead she discreetly removed the parchment and quill from the table. Ron didn't notice, as his eyes were currently closed. For a moment she thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he spoke.

"Trouble sleeping, eh?"

Hermione looked at him, considering for a moment telling him the truth, but then settled on a little white lie. "M-hm," she said.

"Me too," Ron mumbled, which wasn't as much a white lie as it was a blatant one, seeing as his eyes were still closed and he was obviously working hard to avoid falling asleep right there and then.

"It doesn't seem like you're having any trouble now," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe you should go back to bed."

At this, Ron opened his eyes and eyed her sleepily. "Do you want me to go?" he asked.

The answer to this was definitely no – his mere presence made her whole body tingle pleasantly – but instead of revealing this she shrugged, saying "Do as you please."

And apparently he felt like staying, because he didn't rise from his seat. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he yawned again and leaned back against the backrest of his chair. "This bloody house," he muttered. "It's just too creepy."

That was, in Hermione's opinion, the understatement of the year.

"Sometimes," Ron continued, "I can swear I hear it talking. Whispering, you know?"

Hermione frowned. "About what?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. It's just a feeling I have." He looked around, almost apprehensively, before adding, "I mean, it's nasty, don't you reckon?"

"I suppose so."

They fell into a short silence, in which Hermione realised that she hadn't talked to Ron alone since she'd arrived here a few days ago, so there were subjects that had yet to be dealt with. She glanced at him before speaking.

"Ron, I'm sorry about your dad." She winced at how timid her voice sounded.

Ron looked at her, and something odd flickered in his eyes. Shrugging, he replied, "It's okay. I reckon he's gonna be alright."

"Yes, but…" She wanted to say something more, but didn't know how to formulate her thoughts. She wanted to tell him how terrified she'd been when she'd heard of it, how desperately she'd wanted to join them and see how they were, how much she'd thought about them all – Ron especially – and how much she'd worried.

"It must've been awful," she finally said quietly, looking down.

Ron snorted. "Well, I wouldn't know," he said in an uncharacteristically cool voice. "Me and my teaspoon emotions weren't all too affected."

Hermione's head snapped up and something cold enveloped her heart as she saw the bitter look on his face. He couldn't have… Or could he? Could he really have thought she meant something by that?

Clearly, the answer was yes.

"Oh, Ron," she managed finally. "I didn't mean anything… I swear I didn't. I mean, that was just something…"

"Something you've wanted to say to me for a long time, I'll bet."

"No! It was just… I was frustrated… And you were… I just wanted to…" But she couldn't explain what she'd wanted to achieve with her words.

Ron looked anything but convinced. "It's alright, Hermione," he said. "It's better you tell me now than that I'll find out later, right?"

"Ron, honestly…"

"No, really. I mean, this way, I'll have a chance to maybe expand my emotional range, before it's too late. Maybe there's a book on the subject, you know, a do-it-yourself kind of thing? Hey, maybe you could give it to me! Wouldn't that be the perfect Christmas gift?"

Hermione just stared at him, her mouth hanging open. She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you took it like that," she said. "We say things like that to each other all the time, and you've never reacted like this before."

Ron narrowed his eyes at her and raised his index finger, clearly wanting to make a point. "We do not say things like that to each other all the time," he said angrily. "Do we bicker? Yes. Do we jokingly make jabs at each other now and then? Absolutely. But do we shoot vicious, unprovoked insults at each other just for the fun of it? I don't think so."

And then he did something she was thoroughly unprepared for: he placed his head in his hands and sighed dejectedly. Hermione watched him, concerned and highly mystified.

"Ron?" she said anxiously. "I…"

"I'm sorry," he muttered, interrupting her. "I didn't mean to get all worked up like that. I just…"

Sighing again, he leaned his cheek in one hand and let the fingers of his other hand tap absently at the table.

"You know," he began, not looking at her, "when we sat here, waiting for someone to come and tell us how Dad was, I…" He took a pause and swallowed hard. "I was so scared, you know? I mean, completely bloody terrified. The longer it went, the more certain I got that he was… that he hadn't… well, you know."

Hermione knew, and felt a lump form in her throat at his words. She felt like reaching out and grabbing his hand, but knew that she couldn't. Instead she silently urged him to continue.

"It was the worst I've ever felt. The most scared I've ever been. I mean, gigantic chess boards, bloodthirsty Acromantulas, malicious Death Eaters… that's all just peanuts compared to what this felt like. I thought… I mean, it felt… It felt like there was something huge and cold and dark lying in my stomach, and it was just eating away at my insides, like it wanted nothing more than to see me go completely crazy. And I couldn't do anything. I could just sit there, and wait, and everything was so bloody silent, 'cause no one wanted to say anything, and there were so many thoughts flying through my head… I remembered so much about my Dad during those hours; things I haven't thought about since I was a kid. And I imagined what it would feel like, if he would… If he was gone. I thought I was going to go insane, everything was just a mess, and half the time I didn't even know what I was thinking, or feeling, because it was all just a huge, bloody mess."

He paused at this, and Hermione felt the lump in her throat grow even bigger. She swallowed hard and dug her fingernails into her hands, desperate to keep herself from crying.

"And you know what the strangest, most stupid thing was?" Ron continued quietly. "Somewhere in the middle of all that, where everything was dark, and messy, I came to think of what you'd said. And I thought to myself, Hermione doesn't know. She can't know. Because if she had any idea…"

At this, he looked up at her and her stomach churned at the look in his eyes. "And I wanted you to be there," he continued, his voice barely audible now. "As stupid and strange and completely ruddy wrong it was to think something like that at that time, I wanted you to be there, just so you could see that I wasn't…" He took a deep breath, as if gathering strength to finish. "That I'm not insensitive. That I can feel."

The silence that followed his words was so thick it could've been cut with a knife. Hermione just stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears and her heart swelling with all kinds of emotions.

"Oh, Ron," she said, and a sob escaped her. "I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean… And I know that you're… Oh, I wanted to be here, too, I really did! The minute I heard what had happened, I wanted to come over here and see how you were, but they wouldn't let me, and I just… I just cried and cried, 'cause I was scared, too, I was terrified, and I wanted to see you and talk to you, but they wouldn't… And no one told me anything, I couldn't…"

She trailed off, shaking her head and crying freely now. Ron's expression was one of equal alarm and concern. "S'alright," he said. "I mean, he's gonna be okay. I'm sure of it."
And then his big hand reached out and awkwardly patted her small one on the table. The physical contact made her spine tingle, and she couldn't resist the impulse to turn her hand over and give his a quick squeeze, while she dried her eyes on the sleeve of her dressing gown.

The tips of Ron's ears turned a telltale red as he carefully withdrew his hand and gave her a lop-sided smile. "All I'm saying is, I don't think there's anything to worry about anymore," he mumbled, clearly flustered.

Hermione looked down. "I know. But I do worry. About all of you. And when I don't know how you are… Oh, it's just terrible."

She turned her gaze up and met Ron's blue eyes again. There was something there, in his eyes… Something she'd wanted to see for so long, something she'd seen flashes of sometimes during their arguments, or when they were laughing together over something utterly stupid… And she suddenly felt rather assured, if not of his feelings, then at least of the fact that there was something. And something, vague as it may be, seemed good enough for now, because it had the potential of becoming not just something, but something great, and wonderful, and positively astounding. So all these feelings could wait. She could keep them in a little longer. There was no rush. But she felt in her heart that someday, she was going to have to let it out. There was no escape; the ending was inevitable. She saw that now. But for some reason, she wanted to savour this uncertainty, revel in the maybes and what ifs and allow herself to daydream. Because underneath it all, there was now this sudden security; she could look into Ron's eyes and see a flicker of something, which would sooner or later turn into a world of wonder.

She knew that now. And this notion gave her the courage to look Ron straight in the eye and say, in a perfectly even voice, "I think I have to make this clear: I know you can feel. I know you're not insensitive. And I know your emotional range is bigger than a teaspoon."

Ron's face flushed slightly, but he looked rather pleased. "Thanks," he said. "Although, I have to commend you for your choice in words. I mean, that's a quotable, if I ever saw one. Teaspoon. Bloody brilliant. Maybe we can use it on Malfoy one day."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe," she said.

At that moment, Ron yawned widely and stretched his long arms over his head. "Ruddy hell," he said when he was finished. "I'm just about ready to pass out. Maybe I should get to bed."
Hermione smiled. "That sounds like a good idea."

He rose from his seat and made for the staircase, but stopped halfway there and turned around. "Aren't you coming? I mean—" here, the tips of his ears turned red again, "—not with me, but, you know, to your own bed, or…"

Hermione felt herself blush as well at these words. "Oh. No, I think… I think I'll just stay for a while."

Ron nodded. "Right. And finish the letter?"

Hermione was utterly startled. How had he known about the letter? Hadn't she hidden it before he'd been able to see it? "What? I don't…"

He grinned at her. "Oh, come on. How dense do you think I am? Sneaking off with a quill and a parchment in the middle of the night? You were either writing a letter or doing something school-related, and frankly, I don't think even you are crazy enough to do homework at two o'clock in the morning during the holidays. So, I figured it was a letter."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. If you must know, I was writing a letter. And yes, I would like to finish it before going back to bed."

Ron nodded and gave her another grin. "Fair enough. All I wanted was some honesty." He turned and walked over to the staircase, but had only put one foot on the bottom step when he turned again, looking almost worried. "Who's it for?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly constrained. "I mean, the letter."

Hermione eyed him for a moment. She knew that by lying a little and telling him it was for someone else than it actually was, she could make him go back to bed irritated and frustrated, and dwelling on things that were likely to keep him from sleep for another couple of hours. But suddenly this – an opportunity that she would have jumped at only days earlier – didn't seem quite as appealing anymore. So instead, she smiled at him and said, "My parents."

Ron's evident relief almost made her laugh out loud. It was amazing how he could be so scared of voicing certain thoughts, and at the same time have a body that never failed to give him away. She wondered if he was aware of it. "Oh," he said. "Alright. Well, tell them hi from me, then." Mumbling a "Goodnight", he turned and slowly began ascending the staircase, leaving Hermione to herself in the silence of the dark kitchen.

She smiled to herself and pulled out the parchment once again, but didn't continue writing. Maybe the letter could wait a couple of days. Maybe she could just allow herself to sit here in the silence and think for a while.

Yes, she decided. That was what she would do.

Just think for a while.

~*~

Honestly, Hermione. What are you trying to do to me? I swear, sometimes I think it's intentional. When you give me one of those looks… Bloody hell. It's like you know. But you can't know, can you? I mean, it's not like I know what you… Although, sometimes it's like there's something hidden there, something in your eyes that's talking to me even if you're not saying anything.

Oh, shoot me, please. I'm sounding like one of those daft prats in Mum's cheesy novels.

I have to say, I was worried you were going to say "Krum" back there. I don't know, but finding out you were writing a secret letter to him in the middle of the bloody night wouldn't exactly have made me whoop with joy. It's better that you do that when I'm around, so I'm there to inform you of his negative attributes. Although I'd say he's pretty much one big negative attribute, that one.

The git. He doesn't deserve you.

Ruddy hell. I don't know what to do with this. It just keeps on getting worse and worse. Or better. Frankly, I'm not sure which one it is. All I know is that when you give me one of those looks, you might as well just punch me in the gut or slap me in the face, because the effect's just about the same. Everything spins and tiny little stars pop up everywhere.

I can't wait 'til you look at me like that again.

The way you reacted when I told you about my Dad, about waiting for news about him… Damn. I mean, you cried. My words actually made you cry. And you said you'd wanted to be here. With me. Well, with all of us, but that includes me.

I really, really wanted you to be here. I wanted it so much it's not even funny. I kept thinking that if you'd been there, I would've… Well, I would've… Oh, I don't know what I would've done.

I just missed you like crazy, is all.

Damn it. What are you doing to me? I swear, sooner or later, this will make me completely, bloody insane. You will make me insane. It's already taking me over, I reckon. 'Cause every time you look at me like that, I have to suppress these weird urges to walk up to you and do something crazy, like touch that wild hair of yours, or find out exactly how much taller I am than you by standing really, really close.

Insane. That's what you're making me, Hermione. Insane, and messy inside, but not in the horrible way that Dad's accident did. In some other way, which I can't really describe.

I reckon it's a good way, though.

And I swear, one of these days I won't be able to keep it in anymore.

~The End~

A/N: There. Done. I must say, those thought-rant-thingies were fun to write. Maybe I'll do some more of them. Anyway, hope you liked it, and please leave a quick/medium-length/elaborate review to let me know what you thought!