Busy, a Ron/Hermione one-shot

[wouldbedorothy]

Hah!  I finally finished this, which I started months ago and then got distracted writing yummy boy-boy stuff, lol.  Ron pov, 2nd person.  2590 words.  PG-13.

Busy
by AHS

A/N: Short, R/Hr one-shot. Set in 6th year, but looking back on and inspired by OotP, p. 68. Written in 2nd person, Ron's pov.

You're not quite as thick as your friends and family seem to believe. Maybe you have been guilty of being oblivious, once or twice, but you knew. You knew exactly why you chose that time and that place to give your lips and tongue the Lavender Brown workout. No, it wasn't a sudden, belated surge of your teenage hormones, although they did have fun for a bit. It wasn't your wounded pride at having a baby sister who'd logged more hours of practical snogging experience than you had. Because that - you're pretty damn sure - wasn't even true.

You were jealous. That was bloody obvious, even to you... the last one, apparently, to realize your feelings for your best friend, Hermione. You'd spent pretty much the whole of your fourth year being jealous of that git, Viktor Krum... the bloke you could just barely admit to yourself had been your hero up until the moment he started making eyes at her. You'd thought you were both rid of him last year, and finding out that they were writing letters back and forth was more than enough to keep your not entirely rational hatred of him alive. But this year's news had been too much. When Ginny told you Hermione had snogged Krum, that jealousy that had slowly eaten at your heart began to burn so painfully, you seriously thought it might blow you up and kill you. So you tried to put out the fire. You doused yourself with Lavender.

You know Harry got it, but not as much as he thought he did. He thought you and Hermione were bound to get together eventually. He thought you were upset at yourself for never making a move, and at her for letting Krum kiss her before you got a chance to. Maybe he wasn't completely wrong, but he wasn't in possession of all the facts. He didn't know that it wasn't just that Hermione had kissed someone else, but when it had taken place, that hurt you. And not because you hadn't kissed her, but because you had.

You knew immediately that the Krum incident had to have been in fourth year. After the Yule Ball, or in the library some afternoon when the guy kept following her and staring at her, or a sickening farewell before the Durmstrang students returned to their own school. You didn't like to think about it and still don't. But it didn't matter where or how, not really. Only that it seemed the summer after fourth year hadn't meant quite the same to her as it had to you.

That summer things changed between the two of you... at least for a while.

When Harry had shown up at 12 Grimmauld Place at the end of the summer and asked bitterly what you and Hermione had been "busy" doing all the time you'd been there, you're amazed you didn't cough or choke or blush more than you did. It helped that Harry had been a bit pissed off and not actually looking at either of you. She had responded a little too quickly, with something about decontaminating the house (which you'd been doing, but sure as hell not all summer long). Then Fred and George showed up, followed by Ginny, and conversation turned to Extendable Ears, and Bill and Fleur, and you can't remember what all. You breathed a sigh of relief and were pretty sure you felt her do the same, but her face was impassable when you tried to look at her. And when you tried to discreetly reach for her hand, somehow she was on the other side of the room.

You couldn't understand why she kept avoiding you, only speaking to you when Harry was around. If she wanted to be mad, that would be one thing, but it was like she was pretending none of it ever happened! Okay, so maybe you had said to her at one point something along the lines of, "We should pretend this never happened," but... Merlin, you didn't mean it! Not really. You just meant it should be a secret the two of you shared. As much as he claimed your inevitability, you still thought it might weird Harry out. And your mother would probably have had a wedding thrown together for you before Bill and Fleur even managed to get engaged. Besides, it wasn't like she wanted you to be her boyfriend or anything... She'd never said so.

How were you supposed to know? It was impossible to understand girls, and Hermione was the most confusing of all. From the very beginning and every year more and more. Just because you would catch her looking at you sometimes... quite a bit, actually... what did that mean? You probably had food on your face or something. Just like the fact she asked you to Slughorn's party sixth year didn't mean it was a date. You figured it was probably a pity invite, because she felt bad for her poor, decidedly not special, not chosen friend. And just because you spent all those hours together... days, weeks... in that creepy old house, trying out a new closeness with each other, until the cold that filled every room felt like warmth at just the thought of her... still, it was nothing. It was practice.

It had been her idea. You reckon you'd both been going out of your skull by that point, with all the cleaning all day long, every day. With no way to talk to Harry and being kept firmly out of Order business. So when she suggested one day, very logically, almost formally, that the two of you use some of that extra time while the adults were in meetings, the twins cooking up new products for the joke shop, and Ginny in her room writing to Dean or some such girlyness, not to read books or do nice things for that horrible house elf, but to experiment with kissing… it took you a good hour or more to be able to speak again, much less to...

You couldn't believe it was Hermione saying such a thing. Honestly, you'd never been more terrified, but you weren't fool enough to say no. You were already fifteen, and you still hadn't bloody kissed a girl. You wondered if she knew that. You had a feeling she did, but she was kind enough not to point it out, and to paint the situation more as if you would be doing her a favor. Eventually, you smiled at her proposal, thinking that really it was just like her. How she always had to know everything there was to know about a subject, even kissing. Knowing there wasn't anything you could teach her, no experience to draw from, but that at least the same was true of her... and hoping you could learn together.

It was a bit awkward at first. You've never felt so gangly or clumsy, even later when you became the shame of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. You stepped on her foot when you tried to just stand close to her. Your nose banged into hers when you tried to move in. But she was patient, and so soft, and possibly the most beautiful girl you'd ever known, you realized, even in the semi-darkness of that closet. She was letting you touch her. Her lips were parting, slightly, for you. You felt unworthy, but thank Merlin your body soldiered on where the rest of you doubted. Over time, she began to treat these stolen moments less like school, some sort of test she was studying for, and more like something she just wanted to do. You stopped bumping noses, and you stopped fearing her reactions... her rejections.

Because you learned she liked it when you touched her face... her hair, her neck... her shoulders, her waist. All new territory but familiar somehow. She liked it when your feather touches turned to pressing the skin, holding on. She shared your evolution from lightly treading curiosity to desperately seeking... you think the only word is hunger... and she liked kissing you as much as you liked kissing her. Her sweet mouth no longer offered resistance, only welcoming. You marveled at how your tongues seemed to know what to do, without thought, without plan. You treasured her every little sigh of breath or gentle tug of her hand in your hair.

Once, you were nearly as surprised as she was to find your hand inside her shirt. Around the back. You actually got her bra unhooked, without aid of a spell, before your brain snapped back to attention. You stopped even before she could, mumbled an apology, and hid out in your room the rest of the night. Needing to touch yourself until the sheets went sticky, and though it certainly wasn’t the first time you’d done it thinking of her, you were left feeling the guiltiest you ever had.

And the next day, Harry arrived. You were saddened and relieved for the end of your time alone with her. You knew he would again be the focus of much of her attention, but that was how it should be. Your best mate was the ultimate reminder of the bigger issues to be dealt with… from Harry’s possible expulsion from Hogwarts, to what had happened to Cedric, and the reality that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back. So you followed her lead, behaving like the Ron and Hermione you had always been. Griping at each other, usually good-naturedly. Her helping you with homework. And, though it hurt, you were just glad you hadn’t lost her, and that she was still your friend.

By the next summer, you’d gotten so good at pretending nothing had changed, you almost convinced yourselves. You never snuck away, never kissed in a wardrobe, nearly never touched at all. Maybe she decided you had both learned enough and there was no reason for it anymore. You could think of a few. But you kept them to yourself, held in.

Then came sixth year, and everything came spilling out… Her move again, invitation, things finally going to be the way they should… Damn it Ginny, seeing red, embarrassment then anger, Hermione snogged Krum… Giggles and hair swishes, hands touching you, oh why not… Means nothing but you guess it never did… Jealousy, flying at you, yelling then not speaking, she hates you… Pain continuously interrupted by a bubblegum tongue but never lessened, only added to… Wanting out, wanting to go back, wanting her…

Then you almost died. And it was worth it, because all the rubbish, the stupidity, the bollocks that had been in between you just seemed to go away. Overtaken by memories or dreams, or dreams of memories, of her hand warm and worried in yours… her voice, soft and throaty from lack of sleep and wet with tears… whispers that she was sorry and you were strong and it would all be all right now.

When you woke up, she was still there. Your mum was hovering over you and crying and hugging you until you almost couldn‘t breathe again, but over her shoulder you saw Hermione standing just outside the door, peering in. She took a step back when she realized you‘d caught her, but you called her name… barely audible, but she heard you… and she stopped. Your mum quieted, looking at the two of you, and with all too knowing eyes kissed your forehead and said she would be back later with the rest of the family. On her way out, she nudged Hermione inside. You stretched out your arm, half-numb but so alive reaching for her, palm turned up, and finally she rushed forward, taking your hand and sitting beside you.

First there was silence. Then she filled it with stories of what you’d been missing in lessons while in the hospital wing. Completely unnecessary and nothing you wanted to hear, but she was talking to you, and that was all you really wanted.

Then her head fell to your shoulder, and she confessed how frightened she had been, and your hand smoothed over her thick mane of hair. You told yourself to just hold the moment, not complicate it, but as usual you didn’t listen to yourself. You brought up Lavender. You said you were sorry, too. She touched your throat lightly, concerned you would strain yourself talking, but she couldn’t help but want to hear as you explained the reasons why as best you could… Ginny and Dean, Krum, what you’d found out and what you‘d felt. All of it, even going back to that summer, #12, and that closet.

Considering how you were very recently almost dead, holding back out of fear of… anything… just seemed silly. So you were brave. You asked her. You asked her why she didn’t wait for you. Why she had given her first kiss to him and kept it from you. Let you think your first was hers, too. Why she had needed to practice at all when she’d already…

She stopped you with a fingertip pressed to your lips. She told you the kiss with Krum had happened after the Yule Ball, after your fight. She had been crying and he had appeared offering comfort. She had shut her eyes tightly, she said, and imagined he was you. She had always imagined that moment with you and wasn’t willing to let that go. Maybe it didn’t make a difference to you, but she’d thought of you as her first and still did. That’s why she had come to you that summer, scared to death but cloaked in confidence as if she were raising her hand to answer a professor’s question. Why she had kissed you, and touched you, and let you touch her. She wanted it to be real, and the only way was to make it so.

Her logic was a beautiful thing, and her bravery magnificent, and if possible you fell harder. And for a moment it was like you’d swallowed poison again, the way you lost your breath when she told you your relationship with Lavender had made her feel like she’d been your practice dummy. Like your time together had finally paid off for you in the form of a pretty, popular girlfriend. Watching you with her, doing things that were once only between the two of you. How could Hermione think that? You and her, you and Lavender… It wasn’t the same, not at all. You had to show her it wasn’t the same.

And though you were still weak you felt stronger as soon as your lips touched hers. More so as she kissed you back.

And you pulled her hand up to rest over your heart so she could feel it beating for her. Not the same, not even close.

And you weren’t sure why you were still capable of blushing at this point, but you felt your cheeks warm as you whispered that practice with her had always been the real thing. More real than anything else could be.

And maybe you’d be a better, kinder person if you could say that you noticed when Lavender showed up and saw the two of you, or heard or cared as she sobbed and ran away. But you didn’t.

You were with Hermione. You were busy.