Something

By: epiphanies

Disclaimer: Duh

Summary: R/H, summer after OoP, one-shot, fluffy

Ron hummed tonelessly to himself as he held open the door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for Hermione. He didn't notice her frequent furtive glances shot his way.

He shut the door behind them quietly - for the rest of the house was probably asleep. It WAS three in the morning, after all.

Ron and Hermione had made it a sort of habit to sneak out late at night, skulking silently around midnight London... it was a beautiful and wonderful city, after all.

Never on these walks would they speak to the other. It had become a sort of spiritual ritual - they'd never fought less. Ever. Ron knew that the walks helped him think about everything... gave him a chance to blow off steam.

He stopped at hers and Ginny's door, which was the first bedroom on the second floor.

"So," Ron whispered, shoving his hands in his pockets, "See you in the morning, then."

"Yeah," Hermione said softly, nodding but not quite meeting his eyes. He turned to go to his bedroom, but he'd only walked a few steps when-

"Ron?"

He gulped and turned around.

She looked so afraid. Standing outside her door...so alone, so small.

So nervous, he realized as he gulped again.

"What's on your mind?" he said, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"Thanks for walking with me, Ron." her eyes held a bright, unusual warmth.

He grinned lopsidedly, "You're uh, welcome...no problem. Was that it? I was feeling kind of peaky..."

"No!" she said sharply, then slapped her hand to her mouth, either in horror of the volume of her voice or the allowance of her words.

He stepped closer to her - so he'd head her whispers, of course.

"What?" he said, noticing with a vague surprise the huskiness of his voice.

"It's just..." she said, and if Ron hadn't known better, he could imagine a blush creeping up her neck, "I need to...I know something. Something that I've known for some time...something that you might find interesting. Something that we really should talk about."

*Uh oh. She's actually going to say it out loud! Do something!* Ron's head screamed, but he stood, frozen in fear as she approached him, her hands wringing together with every step.

"Ron..." she stopped when she was about a foot from him, and took a deep, steadying breath, "Why did you give me that perfume for Christmas? Why do you get jealous when I mention Viktor? Why do you hold doors open for me, and worry about me, and always make me bicker with you, and always try to copy off of my homework?"

He was taken aback. Those were a big bundle of questions. Questions he wasn't sure he knew how to answer.

"Well...er..." he stuttered, and she looked up to him with wide eyes. He'd never noticed before how short she was.

"Ron?" she said quietly, "Is something going on? Are we...I don't know. Are we something?"

"Something?" he quaked, as he tried to hide his shaking hands, "Something? Well sure, we're wizards, aren't we? And we're humans, and -"

"No, Ron, you know what I mean, don't you?" she said searchingly, almost desperately, "You have picked up on some things, haven't you?"

"Things?" he said, his voice rather high, "Things? Like what?"

"Things!" she said impatiently, "Things like how we're always..I don't know...we're like an old married couple."

"Er.."

"Ron, I think we have something."

"We? Something?"

"We have something, I'm sure of it. Or, you have something...or I have something...I don't know! But, there IS something."

"Hermione!" he said, feeling impatient himself, "What are you trying to say? And if you say SOMETHING, I will wake up this entire house to tell them you've gone mad."

"Well," she huffed, "I'm talking about US."

"Us?"

"Us! The way we act! I don't feel the same way about you as I do about Harry."

Ron felt his stomach drop. Was she trying to tell him, in her amazingly difficult girl-way, that she had a crush on Harry?

"Ron? Say something."

He sighed, feeling as though the world should just be sucking him into the ground about now, "Hermione, if you like Harry, I say, go for it."

"What?!?" she looked severely scandalised, "Ron, are you a complete and utter git? Do you not understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I, uh," he said, dumbfounded at his own stupidity, "I suppose not."

She groaned, "Do I have to spell it out for you, Ron? I like you, ok, and I don't like it, and I'm sure you don't like it, but it's happening and I don't know why, and I just thought that you should know. There. Do you understand now?"

Ron's face split into an enormous grin, "Why didn't you just say so?"

She reddened, "Because! You're laughing at me, that's why! I knew I shouldn't have told you-"

Tears began to fill her eyes as she turned to run to her bedroom, but Ron caught her by the shoulder and pulled her into a hug with him.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, and she sniffed, "What, Ron? You going to crack a stupid joke?"

"No," he said quietly into her brown hair, "I was going to say that you're the bravest person that I've ever met."

She pulled back with a surprising strength to look him in the eye.

"Why?" she said suspiciously.

He laughed, "Because! I've been trying to tell you that I like you for months!"

At first, she looked confused. Then, tears filled her eyes again and Ron's eyes widened, "Oh, it's not that bad, is it? That we like each other? You sure don't have to cry about it!"

"Oh, Ron," she said tearfully, throwing her arms around him, "You're just...I can't explain it. You're great." she pulled back and gave him a peck on the cheek, "I've got to get to bed, Ron, I'll see you tomorrow."

And with that, she went to her door and disappeared behind it.

Ron blinked.

That wasn't nearly the scene his mind had created would happen when he and Hermione finally admitted their feelings. In one vignette, he'd told her and she'd laughed in his face. In another, he'd swept her off of her feet, kissed her like she'd never been kissed before, and told her he would always love her. But this? Not THIS. This was just STRANGE.

His mind flashed back to everything he and Hermione had ever gone through, and then reflected on his situation as present.

It actually didn't seem so strange. Considering their past.

Actually...it had gone exactly right. No false words. No false pretenses. No empty promises and no saccharine musings. Just a true truth, divulged in a moment of vulnerability...that turned out to be the most memorable evening of one Ronald Weasley's life.

He turned and, grinning, stepped into the room that he would hopefully soon share with Harry. He sat down, dipped his quill into his ink, and began to write, "Dear Ron, You Are the LUCKIEST MAN ALIVE, and you know why..."

FIN