Author's Note: this is a companion piece to "Caught In The Middle." If you haven't read that story yet, please do so before reading this, or else it might not make much sense (and some of the ironies can't be fully appreciated :))

Give me a kiss to build a dream on
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss
Sweetheart, I ask no more than this
A kiss to build a dream on

Give me a kiss before you leave me
And my imagination will feed my hungry heart
Leave me one thing before we part
A kiss to build a dream on

When I'm alone with my fancies
I'll be with you
Weaving romances
Making believe they're true

Give me your lips for just a moment
And my imagination will make that moment live
Give me what you alone can give
A kiss to build a dream on

When I'm alone with my fancies
I'll be with you
Weaving romances
Making believe they're true

Give me a kiss to build a dream on
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss
Ah sweetheart, I ask no more than this
A kiss to build a dream on
and my imagination
will feed my hungry heart
Leave me one thing before we part
A kiss to build a dream on

When I'm alone with my fancies
I'll be with you
Weaving romances
Making believe they're true

Oh, give me your lips for just a moment
and my imagination
will make that moment live
Give me what you alone can give
A kiss to build a dream on

--from "A Kiss To Build A Dream On," by Louis Armstrong

"Checkmate."

Ron as usual, tried not to inject too much glee into the word, though he still saw Harry flinch noticeably at the move almost as soon as he made it. This made for five victories this afternoon alone, and as much as Ron enjoyed winning (by his own admission, this happened a lot, even if he had lost count sometime over the last five years), he simply didn't believe in gloating.

Well, at least not too much.

So he pretended to concentrate on the chess pieces, watching intently as his bishop took a vicious swipe at Harry's beleaguered king, all the while avoiding his best friend's eyes. Of course, if he had to be honest, it wasn't just because he felt the tiniest bit guilty at winning again (all right, perhaps that wasn't it at all), but because a question had been bubbling up inside him ever since last night at the infirmary, and try as he might, he still had not quite worked up the nerve to ask it.

Harry, for his part, seemed oblivious to Ron's inner struggle, or if he did sense something, he was kind enough not to call Ron on it.

"Want to play another round, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. "Nah," he said, "it's all right."

Okay, he thought. Perhaps now would be the right time to casually broach the subject.

Casually.

He would need a chocolate frog for this, however. He reached beside him, fumbling for the box he knew he had left there when they started playing an hour ago. "Bloody hell," he groaned, feeling nothing there but the wizard card--another bloody Morgana, at that. "Did it leap away when I wasn't looking?"

Harry shrugged, and began putting away his chess pieces. Ron sat watching him in silence, steeling himself for the inevitable. Now or never.

"So..."

Was that a bloody smile he just saw on Harry's face? Ugh, thought Ron, thanks for making this loads easier, mate...

He took another breath, hoping he did it quietly enough that Harry wouldn't notice that as well.

"Hermione looked kind of cross with me yesterday..." His throat felt incredibly dry, and he could have sworn his voice even cracked. Blimey, this was not going at all the way he had hoped. Feeling the lame urge to add more, he said, "After Madam Pomfrey kicked you both out..."

Harry was still putting away the pieces. "Did she?"

"I dunno, Harry," Ron muttered, "sometimes girls are so much trouble..."

"She's not so bad, Ron, you have to admit that."

But Ron couldn't answer straight away. He felt as if his insides were doing the jig, and he was certain that if Harry could only look up now, he would notice the goofy grin that just appeared on his face of its own free will.

Damn, he thought. Better hide that before he sees.

"I... I guess so," he forced himself to say. "Still... what is her problem, anyway?"

"Well, if you want to know so badly, why don't you just ask me?!"

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He looked up and saw Hermione standing there at the portrait hole, her arms full of books and her eyes flashing dangerously. Her uneven breath told him she was clearly upset with him--yet again.

Wait a minute. Why would she be upset? It was his private conversation that had just been interrupted, after all!

Finding his voice, he bellowed, "Who says we were talking about you, Hermione?" He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, the nerve... And what're you doing eavesdropping on our private conversation, anyway?"

He thought he heard her cluck her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Excuse me for being so presumptuous," she said. Ron tried to ignore the little voice inside him that was reminding him how beautiful she was when she was all angry like this. "I mean, what was I thinking! You, talking about me? What a bloody joke!"

Whoa. Did she just... did he just hear... What was she playing at?!

Hermione started to make a break for it, but Ron chased her and managed to fly up to the step above hers, blocking her way to the girls' dormitory.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

God, not now. Why did his face have to turn into the human tomato now??

She narrowed her eyes in that annoyingly condescending way she did sometimes, making Ron's blood throb all the more. "If you have to ask," she said, "then there's absolutely no point in me telling you, is there?"

"Er..."

They whipped around their heads at the same time. Harry was standing now, rather awkwardly, Ron observed. Not that he could blame him, of course. Hermione was being downright impossible at the moment.

"Um... perhaps I should leave you two alone for this-"

"No!!"

No?? Was she insane? He didn't want Harry to hear this row for a million years! What was she doing?

"You stay put," she said, finger aimed straight at Harry. "There's no need to go anywhere." She turned to him again, voice as cold as an arctic blast when she spoke. "This conversation is over, believe me."

That's what she thinks.

"No, it's not!"

Her mouth dropped open, and for a while it seemed as if she were speechless, for she couldn't make any sounds come out. Ron grinned triumphantly, crossing his arms across his chest and continuing to watch her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Harry make a quiet getaway, which meant they were now alone.

Mano a mano.

"Something you wanted to tell me, Hermione?"

She didn't remain speechless for long.

"How dare you contradict me in front of him!!"

"How dare you give us orders?" he countered. "You may be a prefect, but you don't own me or Harry!"

"Ron Weasley, you're so... UGH!!!"

She tried to go around him, but he shifted over quickly and blocked her again.

"Get out of the way," she said.

He could feel her seething underneath, and part of him felt almost sorry for her--but not enough to budge.

"I said," she repeated, "get out of the way!"

"Make me."

She laughed. She actually laughed. Ron could feel his ears being set on fire as he gawked at her.

"Make you??" she said, finally calming down somewhat. "What are we, Ron, six years old again?"

He clenched his jaw and refused to take her bait.

"Stop being such a child, would you-"

That was it. That was all he could stand. He came up to her, their bodies almost touching, their faces so close, he could feel the warmth of her breath and smell the light, flowery fragrance of her shampoo.

Someone kill him now, he thought. This was too much torture.

"Is that how you see me?" he said. "A child?"

"Well, you're not acting very mature right now, are you?"

"That's because you drive me insane, Hermione Granger!"

She scoffed. "And you don't do the same to me?"

The gap between them was getting smaller by the second. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and began to inch away. Hermione must have caught the movement, because she grabbed hold of his arm before he could back away any further.

"Ron," she said, her voice far more gentle now than it had been just moments before.

He stopped to look at her, suddenly wishing he hadn't said all those things he had said. He hated seeing her this upset--especially when he was the cause of it.

"I... I don't..."

He blinked back in confusion. "Don't what?"

"I don't see you like a child," she said. She looked away, and he noticed her cheeks redden gradually while she stared at the step on which she was standing.

"You... don't?"

She shook her head.

"Oh."

Just what was he supposed to say now? Silence engulfed them, thickening the air, making it difficult for both of them to breathe now.

"Hermione..."

She looked up, making him panic slightly; he hadn't yet thought what words should come out of his mouth next.

"I'm... sorry..."

She looked as if she had been expecting him to say something else, as if she were disappointed at his apology, though he couldn't think of any reason why she wouldn't be happy to hear the words "I'm sorry" from him, of all people.

"Sure, all right," she muttered.

She started to walk up the stairs again, but Ron stopped her, touching her shoulder gently.

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

"You're still cross with me?

She sighed, not looking at him, but at the ceiling, and he could see the tears beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes.

"No," she said. "Just..."

"Just... what?"

"Ron, don't you ever..."

He saw her bite her lip; she never did that, unless she was particularly torn up over something. Ron wondered what this could possibly be.

"Don't you ever... think of... me?"

"What d'you mean, Hermione? Of course I think of you! All the time! You're my best friend, how can I not-"

"No, I mean... I mean, don't you ever think of us?"

Ron swallowed. "Us?"

"Yeah, you know... us..."

Of course, I do, he thought. But he just couldn't quite seem to make himself say it out loud. Especially to her.

"Oh, what am I thinking," she said. "Of course you don't--I mean, why else would you have asked everyone but me to the Yule Ball last year, and then you didn't even properly ask when you did... You didn't even care if I went with you or with Harry-"

"What??" He stepped closer to her. "Yes, I did... I did care..."

"That's not what it sounded like, Ron."

She was right, he supposed. But then, he had been daft then. Just as he had been in the months since.

"But... But don't you remember how I was... at the ball? Don't you remember how crazy I was?"

She chuckled, for which he was grateful. He loved her laugh.

"You said you were just mad because I was fraternizing with the enemy..."

He felt himself blush. "Come on, Hermione, you're the smartest witch in our class--in the whole school, I bet... Didn't you figure it out then?"

She looked up at him, her eyes widening slightly. "What... what are you saying?"

Good question. What did he mean by that?

"I... I'm saying..."

Oh, the hell with it.

He leaned in, taking the both of them by surprise, and, cupping her face in his hands, kissed her: gently, slowly, as if the world would come to an end if he ever let her go. He felt her respond, felt her arms encircle his waist, then travel up his back, coming to rest on his shoulder blades, and she pulled him even closer to her.

It was the most exquisite feeling in the world.

Blimey, he thought. Am I glad Harry wasn't around to see this.