A/N - Some more Ron/Hermione fun times, hope you enjoy it!

"You lot stay up here," my mum cried, nearly shoving Hermione and I into one of the many rooms of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Okay, stop it!" I grumbled, keeping out of reach of her. She gave me one of her typical exasperated expressions and stepped out of the room, hand on the serpent doorknob.

"The meeting is starting soon and I don't want you anywhere near the kitchen," she announced, shifting her gaze from Hermione to me. "Do you hear me Ron?"

I wasn't invisible, was I? Of course I did, I was standing right there. "Yes, mum."

She gave us one last knowing glance before closing the door with a dull thump. Hermione plopped herself down on the rickety bed – a cloud of dust exploded around her and she wrinkled in her nose in disgust, flapping her hands wildly.

My mouth twitched. I wanted to laugh, but I kept it bottled up in case she shot me down with a deathly stare. She did that a lot. It's kind of scary, how much venom she puts into her looks sometimes, but it's safe to say I know when it's coming and how to prevent it. I think.

"This place is a bloody wreck," I said, inching the thick curtains aside to let a sliver of summer sun cut across the room, sharpening the dust particles like tiny snowflakes. Eugh, mothballs. Who knows what else was in there, bugs or – oh god, spiders. I jerked back, hoping Hermione didn't notice.

"I wish we were able to be a part of the Order's meeting," she said glumly, smoothing down her skirt. "You'd think we were trust worthy at this point..."

"We're reckless teenagers," I replied. "No one really trusts us."

Hedwig hooted and ruffled her wings from her cage on the table, as if to agree to that. I narrowed my eyes – what did an owl know, anyway? We trust them with our mail, and that's about it. Actually, I didn't trust Pigwidgeon with my mail, the little feathery git dropped them mid-air half the time.

"I think she's hungry," Hermione said, looking pointedly at me. Ohhhhhh no, no, no. You've got to be kidding me. Hedwig looked downright murderous today.

"Yep," I replied, coughing lightly. "Go on, then."

"Oh come on, Ron," she cried, crossing her arms. "I had to do it before, it's your turn."

I glared at her. She glared right back. She was infuriating, maybe that's why I fancied her. Do I fancy her? Harry thinks so. Maybe all this bickering will lead up to something dramatic, but thanks to my stubbornness, that is hardly likely. Yeah, I'm still bitter about Krum, don't judge me. What did she see in that bumbling oaf anyway...

"Fine," I muttered, breaking their glaring contest. I shook some owl food out of the box next to Hedwig's cage into my hand – by the looks of it, the owl was preparing to chop my fingers off. This was a bloody suicide mission.

I took a deep breath and stuck my hand through the cage – Hedwig instantly devoured the food, but not before she took a few gashes at my skin.

"Bloody hell!" I cried, yanking my hand out of the cage. It was times like these I thanked the heavens that Pigwidgeon always seemed to be happy.

"You think this is funny, do you?" I grumbled in response to Hermione's not-so-subtle smile.

"Of course not—"

"Whatever." Ha, the good old 'your excuses don't faze me' interruption.

She rolled her eyes all dramatically, saved for times I was being 'immature', I bet. Oh, she didn't fool him.

"Is this about Viktor?" Oh, here we go. Here we go. It always came back to this.

"Everything isn't about Vicky," I sneered, rubbing my throbbing hand. "So stop mentioning him to me all the bloody time."

Hermione gave me a sly look. "I know what this is about."

Oh did she? She always had a logical explanation to everything, the prude.

"Please enlighten me, because I haven't a clue!" I said, raising my voice.

"You're jealous," she replied, getting up from the bed and taking a step towards me. "It's been that all along. You're jealous."

Okay, so that's exactly what it was. But never in a million years will I give her the impression that she was right. Never. Nope.

"Oh of course," I yelled, stepping forward. "And why's that? He's no hot shot, Hermione, you're such a—such a—"

She took another step until we were nearly touching. She raised her chin and looked at me defiantly, her lip quivering with what? Anger? Tears?

"A what?" she cried shrilly, on her tip toes. Hedwig hooted loudly, as if she was egging the situation on. Damn owl. "A what, exactly?"

I always thought her eyes were nice. At that moment, they were bright with anger, but it didn't make them any less beautiful. I felt my face heat up and I turned away without answering her. Now she's going to think she's won this, brilliant.

She turned on her heel and sat back down on the bed, avoiding looking at me. I leaned against the peeling wallpaper of the room and continued to glare at her, but I was hiding a smile – she'd get over it. She always did. It's kind of sick how much I liked our arguments.

There was a long silence. Hedwig ruffled her wings and turned around, probably disappointed that she didn`t witness me getting torn to shreds. Hermione was looking at her hands, tracing something with her index finger. I was curious – to ask or not to ask? Well, I had to find out if she was really as pissed off as I thought she was somehow.

"What're you doing?"

She looked up and blinked, as if she forgot I was still in the room. "Palmistry."

"Come again?"

She smiled, amused. Fantastic, so there isn't going to be an awkward silence between us for days like last time.

She patted the bed. "Sit down, I'll show you."

I sat, keeping a reasonable distance between us. Just enough – not close enough to suggest anything was going on, but just enough in a best friend-y kind of way. Well, you know what I mean.

"Give me your palm."

I raised the hand that wasn't cut up, and she took it into her own warm hand. A jolt ran through me – the same jolt that always struck me when she touched my skin. I hope I wasn't blushing, but let's face it, I probably was. Stupid uncontrollable blush.

"Palmistry is the art of reading the palm," she said, tracing the lines on my palm. "Many believe that these lines tell us about our future. Tons of my old friends did this, before I came to Hogwarts."

I shook my head. Muggles and their foolish little antics. What are random lines on your hand supposed to tell you? It reminded me of Divination all over again. Dark, dark times.

"This," she continued, tracing the longest line on my palm, "is meant to be your health."

"Brilliant, I'm going to live forever by the looks of it."

She laughed. I loved making her laugh. Maybe even more than bickering with her. I tore my eyes away from her face and looked down again. "What's this line supposed to mean?"

"Wealth," she replied, raising her own hand glumly. "Mine is really short."

"Looks like I'm going to be filthy rich as well," I said, tracing my own line. This palmistry stuff wasn't half bad. Rich and immortal? Don't mind if I do.

There was one more prominent line that stuck out near the top of my palm. "What about this one?"

Hermione traced the line on her own hand. "Love and marriage," she replied. She put her hand next to mine. "Ours are nearly the same!"

I felt my face get hot. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before I could answer, we heard voices drifting up from the downstairs corridor, and footsteps. Hermione and I shot up off the bed the same moment Hedwig hooted shrilly, sensing her owner.

"Must be Harry!" Hermione said, elated. Damn it all, Harry ruining the moment. She paused, giving me a nervous look. I knew what she meant by it– if Harry was anywhere as angry as Hedwig was, they were in for the outburst of their lives.

I took a deep breath and braced myself, just as Harry opened the door.

Fin! Please don't forget to review your thoughts, I always appreciate them.

-heylooklisten