| Part Five |
Gryffindor common room was much quieter that night than it had been on Friday. Most of the students had gone to bed early, having been directed by the prefects to get a decent night's sleep before their workloads started to increase. Voices echoed down both stairways, making it clear that the younger students could be told to go to bed, but not to sleep.
Hermione stood on the landing, overlooking the still common room. A solitary figure sat quietly by the fireplace, chin in hands, staring deeply into the flames. Hermione couldn't help but admire the scene, as the firelight reflected in the shining hair outdid the shades of red-gold which had appeared in the sky at sunset.
Hermione wondered what could be causing her friend such unhappiness, and wished she were clever enough to fix it.
No matter what she did, Hermione couldn't seem to make Ron realise how deeply she admired him. She had been thrilled when he'd been selected as Head Boy, and impressed that he'd chosen to forego the opportunity for a private bedroom so he could continue to live with the four boys who had grown up alongside him in the Gryffindor dormitories.
There did not exist in this world a friend as steadfast as Ron Weasley. Ron held quite an enviable position as the best mate of the most famous wizard of their generation, but it never seemed to have occurred to him to use his relationship with Harry to his advantage, unless it was to get Harry out of a difficult situation. He never used it for himself. He never even got jealous - Hermione had thought he was, during the early weeks of the Triwizard Tournament, but later understood that it was only that Ron thought he'd been deliberately left out. So long as he and Harry, and Hermione, were in it together, Ron always thought of his friends before himself.
It can't have been easy. It wasn't the same for Muggle-born Hermione, who had not grown up with the name Harry Potter ringing in her ears. Ron had; yet he'd nonetheless seen immediately past Harry, The-Boy-Who-Lived, to Harry, the boy.
Of course, Ron's character was only the root of Hermione's attraction. Over the years, Ron had grown strong and tall, and his boyish features had matured into a kind, handsome face.
Every time those blue eyes settled on her, Hermione felt delightful flutters grow in her heart - and often elsewhere, as well. She ached to feel those muscular arms around her again, to bury her face in that broad chest, the way she had when Mr. Weasley had fallen from that ridiculous old bicycle and Ron had held her to give comfort and reassurance.
Lately, though, Ron seemed impossible to get alone. Every invitation from Hermione met a new rejection from Ron.
The situation had become so extreme that she had begun to doubt herself. Was it possible that Ron was repelled by her advances? His affection had been so clear the day she and Harry had arrived at the Burrow a month earlier; what had changed?
Hermione tiptoed down the stairs and approached her friend silently. Not wishing to intrude on his introspection, but unable to stay too far away, she seated herself at the opposite end of his couch without a word. She watched the firelight play over Ron's face, caressing each angle in exactly the manner she didn't dare do herself.
So lost was she in admiration that it took Hermione a moment to realise when Ron had turned to look at her.
The blue gaze held her eyes so hypnotically that Hermione found it impossible to look away, to swallow, or almost to breathe. Ron appeared so lost, so vulnerable, and yet guarded against any gesture of help she might offer. All Hermione could do was to continue to return his stare.
Finally, Ron turned back to the fire. Only after his eyes had left his friend's did his voice break the silence. "It's too much, sometimes, you know?"
"I know," responded Hermione immediately, in an equally soft tone.
"No," he argued, "you don't." The whispered words carried an intensity greater than any shout. "You're perfect. You can handle everything - Head Girl, all top-level classes - like it's nothing. You deserve to be here." He sighed resignedly. "Not like me."
How could he even think such a thing? She was so imperfect it was laughable! But that wasn't even the point!
"Ron," Hermione's voice matched the urgency of her friend's. "Don't you ever say that about yourself! You got the Captaincy and Head Boy because no one deserves them more than you do."
"What about Harry?" He continued to stare blankly ahead.
Hermione exhaled softly. What about Harry?
Poor Harry had had so much thrust on him, at such a young age. Hermione really did feel sorry for him sometimes, although Harry's inner strength made it difficult to feel pity for him for long.
She hoped, now that Harry had defeated Voldemort, and at a relatively low cost of life, that he would be able to move past that chapter and live his own life. It had been unfair, for Harry to have been forced to commit murder before he even came of age - even if it had been Voldemort that he'd murdered.
She knew Harry also held himself responsible for what had happened to the Death Eaters, even though they themselves had made the choice to bind their souls with their master's. It still pained Harry to know that he had caused so many of their classmates to be orphaned, having grown up as an orphan himself. It didn't matter to him, entirely, what their parents had done to seal their own fates.
Somehow, despite Harry's great destiny, and great deeds, Hermione had never exactly seen him as a leader. Maybe it was that she'd always viewed him a bit as a younger brother, and had felt protective of him for that reason. It was friendship and that kind of love that had spurred her to fight beside Harry. Harry had never asked others to join in his battles. He had welcomed the help of those who had chosen to follow him, but he had never tried to lead.
Harry was sort of a loner who couldn't seem to get people to leave him alone.
Ron, on the other hand, was a natural leader, when he could find the confidence to ask others to follow him. His success in Quidditch the previous year had shown that.
Unable to articulate all of these thoughts, Hermione simply repeated herself: "Nobody deserves it more than you."
Her words brought the blue eyes back up to meet hers. "I was pathetic on that Potions essay today, Hermione. I revised with Harry for hours, but I couldn't write anything."
She inched slowly closer to him, afraid that any sudden or large movement might break the trance that had kept him in her company even this long.
"It's only one essay, Ron," she offered in a tone that she hoped would reassure. "You can make it up on the next. If you want, I'd be happy to help you."
He nodded vacantly, his eyes still fixed on hers. Hermione took this as a sign of encouragement, and plunged forward.
"We could even start tonight," she offered, in excited anticipation at the possibility of extending their time together.
Ron tensed visibly, and moved his head in two sharp shakes. "Too distracting," he murmured vaguely.
The opportunity was too sweet to miss. If Ron had trouble concentrating in public setting of the common room, maybe he would prefer a more private location...
"Come and study with me," she invited gently. "You can come to my room, where you won't have to worry about distractions."
Ron's eyes widened to resemble a pair of saucers. Hermione's hopes crashed to observe the panic written there.
"Your... your room? But I can't... I shouldn't..." Ron had stood and was backing away, a deep flush rising in his cheeks. "Girls' dormitories... no boys... I..." Still sputtering, Ron turned and fled toward the boys' staircase.
Hermione watched the retreating form of her best friend helplessly. Ron knew perfectly well that the Head Boy was allowed in the girls' dormitories. What was wrong with him?
When had everything suddenly become so complicated?