He was a prat.

There was no getting around the fact. Ron Weasley was a big, overbearing, insensitive prat--quite possibly the most infuriating one Hermione Granger had ever met in her entire life. Fraternizing with the enemy, honestly! How dare he? How dare he be so presumptuous and self-righteous with her? If Harry didn't have a problem with her fraternizing with Viktor Krum, then why in the world...

No. No, she was not going to do this, she had promised herself she wouldn't do this. She had decided as soon as she had stomped out of the common room just a few moments ago that it would do absolutely no good to keep reliving this disastrous night over and over again. Just remembering pieces of it made her ill. Sure, it had started out promising enough, with Hermione taking a rare (very rare) opportunity to put schoolwork out of her mind for the moment (all right, not completely out of her mind; there was that Transfiguration essay due the first week of the new term, after all). And she had to admit, as shallow and frivolous as it made her feel, everyone's double-takes as she entered the Great Hall with Viktor on her arm did give her a twinge of triumph.

Well, if one were to value that sort of thing, anyway.

But regardless of how well the night started off, it was all downhill the minute Ron Weasley got in the picture.

Ooh, he was just so maddening!! Her ears were still burning from that ridiculous row in the common room just now. They'd already started to get warm at the Great Hall when Ron had accused her of betraying their best friend, but it wasn't until Ron followed her through the portrait hole just after Viktor had said good night to her that they really went up in flames. Hermione wouldn't be surprised at all, in fact, if they were red and glowing like hot coals.

And sure enough, they were. She groaned as she caught sight of herself in the mirror, seeing the frightful mess staring back at her. Her hair, which had been so neat and sleek and tucked elegantly into a twist earlier this evening, had all but come undone now--and worse, the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion she'd so generously lavished on was wearing off fast, leaving her with wild, unruly tangles that certainly couldn't be deemed too attractive right at that moment. And then there were her cheeks, which were flushed deep crimson, and to her horror, she could see the beginnings of blotches spreading across her easily-offended skin.

"Poor dear," the mirror said, "looks like you could use a bit of touch-up, hmm?"

Hermione scowled back at her reflection.

"No thanks to Ron Weasley," she said through gritted teeth.

She began pulling the hairpins and carelessly throwing them onto her bed. She knew it was completely irrational to take her anger out on inanimate objects, but as Ron was not around at the moment for her to pelt him with the blasted things, there wasn't a whole lot she could do.

Fraternizing with the enemy...

Did he really think... No!!! She was doing it again!! Why, why, why did Ron have to show such a fuss over this? Harry seemed perfectly all right with everything. Harry seemed as if he couldn�t care any less, as a matter of fact. But Ron... Ron had to be the one to find fault with it!

What was he playing at, anyway?

It's because he's a git, she thought. He's a git who lives to make me cry and make me feel like the biggest fool alive...

No, that wasn't true. That was nowhere near the truth, actually. And really, that was part of the problem. It would be easy for her to say that all Ron did was get under her skin and provoke her and upset her and drive her to tears (or else insanity). It would also be a bold-faced lie.

For all his faults, and his extraordinary ability to find all the right buttons to push on her, Ron Weasley could also be incredibly sweet, gentle, thoughtful, and downright... amazing. Which is why moments like these were that much harder to take.

It was like that moment a few weeks ago, when the harsh realization hit her that Ron didn't even see her as a girl. In a way, she supposed she should have thought of it as a compliment, that he thought of her as 'one of the blokes.' Certainly, it was nice to think that he considered them to be such good friends that he didn't see those normal boundaries that separated the boys from the girls. But on the other hand, there was no getting away from the fact that, well, it hurt. A lot. Was she so unappealing, undesirable that it would be so easy to overlook that she had come into her own over the last few years?

She looked into the mirror again and tilted her head, eying herself carefully. All right, so she would never be mistaken for a stunner. She would never the type that drew people's attention as she walked down the street. But she didn't need to be that girl--nor did she even want to be.

The truth was, there was only one person whose attention she cared about getting, but by some cruel twist of fate, he also happened to be the one person who seemed to be completely and utterly oblivious.

Well, no use dwelling on this sort of thing, anyway. There were far more important things to fret over: her Transfiguration essay, for one. It lay on her bed, half-done and taunting her. She supposed there would be no better way to distract herself from this perplexing situation than to work on it.

Gathering her essay, books, quills, and ink, she lumbered to the door and started to make her way down the staircase. It was deathly quiet downstairs; most Gryffindors were still out and about after the Ball, not too eager to come back just yet, Hermione guessed. Ron and Harry had already come back, but after their showdown, Ron wasn't likely to come down anytime soon, nor would Harry, who by now must have heard the whole sordid story from Ron (though Hermione doubted very much that Ron's version of events would be all that accurate).

There was still a low fire cracking in the hearth. By the looks of it, she would have light for another hour or two, and that should be enough to make some headway in her essay. But just as she dipped her quill into her ink bottle, she heard the distinct sound of footsteps nearby.

Someone had just come down the staircase from the boys' side: a very tall, red-headed someone, clad in his pajamas and frozen in his spot, as if unable to make up his mind whether he wanted to come down all the way or not.

But it was too late--she had spotted him already, and she could tell from the way he shifted from one foot to the other that he knew she had.

"I, erm... didn't think anyone would be down here," he muttered. "You probably want to be alone-"

"It's not just my common room," she said. "Don't let me stop you from coming down, by any means."

He looked as if he didn't know how to take that statement at first, then his eyebrows came together in a clear sign of annoyance.

"Fine, don't mind if I do," he said.

With that, he strode out with a bit more confidence and headed straight for the comfortable armchair by the fire. Hermione followed him with her eyes--as inconspicuously as she could, of course. Just what did he intend on doing down here, anyway? It's not as if he had come down to read, since he was empty-handed, and he had come down alone, so he obviously wasn't intending to play chess.

After a while, he must have sensed her looking at him, because he turned around, catching her off-guard, and she couldn't tear her eyes away quickly enough. She felt heat settle in her cheeks as she stared at her essay, hoping that by focusing on one word in particular that it would look as if she were busy.

But he knew better.

"Something you wanted to tell me?"

"I believe I said all I wanted to say to you earlier."

She heard him snort. She hated it when he did that.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That was not a sound of nothing, Ron Weasley. If you have something to say, then say it."

"All right," he said, and all of the sudden, Hermione felt panic grip her from him having taken up her challenge. "I want to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"What you said earlier... you know, when we were fighting..."

She knew exactly what he was talking about, but it felt better to feign innocence.

"I said a lot of things earlier," she said. "Could you please narrow it down just a smidge?"

He sighed. "Come on, Hermione, you know perfectly well what I mean," he said. "About... the Ball..." She saw him swallow hard. "You said... that next time I should ask you... and not as a last resort..."

"Oh... that..." If her cheeks weren't already on fire, they certainly were now. "I just meant... that... if you're so worried about me fraternizing with any more enemies, then you should go with me and keep an eye on me yourself."

Oh God, did she actually just say that?? Where did that come from?? It was the furthest thing from the truth!

Ron seemed to be surprised at what she said--disappointed, even? No... no, that couldn't have been disappointment... could it? Blimey, what had she just done??

"That's good then," he said. "That's good, because, you know... I just want to make things perfectly clear. Because, you know... we're friends and all..."

Hermione never thought the word friends could sound as bad as it did right now.

"Right," she said, "friends..."

"And we wouldn't want anything to come between our friendship... especially Viktor Kr--er... this tournament..."

"No, of course..."

Finally he stood up and walked over to the table. She craned her neck to look up at him.

"All right, so let's make a pact, then," he said. "We'll both say we're sorry, and we'll wipe the slate clean. After tomorrow, we'll never mention another word about this again, deal?"

She nodded. "Yes, that sounds fair," she said, standing up. "So... how do we seal the deal?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, this is sort of a contract. And in order for a contract to be legal and binding-"

Ron's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Wait a minute!!" he said, cutting her off. "I am not signing anything in blood-"

"Don't be stupid, of course that's not what I meant!"

"Oh... well, good then... I was really worried there for a second..."

She rolled her eyes. Honestly, he could be so trying sometimes.

"So, what did you have in mind?"

She blinked back at him. Suddenly, the ability to form words had left her, and she couldn't help but notice that the space between them had got considerably smaller in the span of the last few minutes, and getting smaller still by the second. She was even starting to feel his breath on her face.

"Hermione?"

"Yes..."

His eyes flickered to her mouth--she saw it, however brief a movement it was. Just then she couldn't tell whether this was panic she was feeling, or...

"So it's a deal then."

He had pulled back abruptly, jerking Hermione out of her thoughts. His hand was extended towards her, and it took a few seconds for her to register what he was trying to do. He gave her a bewildered look, then nodded towards his hand.

"Well?" he said.

"Oh... right..."

Slowly, she took his hand, and she forced herself to say something--anything.

"Right, then. It's a deal."

He smiled. God, it just had to be that smile, didn't it?

"Deal."