Glimpses

Ron stepped quietly out onto the porch. It was close to midnight and the late spring air had a bite to it. Everyone else had already gone to bed, but Ron hadn't been able to sleep. He didn't often think about how dangerous it was to be a wizard these days. After all, since going to Hogwarts, he and his friends had always been faced with one life-threatening situation or another. Harry, most of all. And they'd managed to come out okay. Sardonically, Ron figured he'd gotten used to the stirrings of fear and the gritty, bitter taste of impending doom. Only now, things were different. He still refused to cave to the fear. But it tripped into his mind more often than before. Sometimes, he'd catch himself idly musing about You-Know-Who, hoping against hope that his best friend wouldn't have to face the Dark Lord again. Tonight was one of those nights.

Ron was surprised, therefore, when he latched the screen door and turned to look out at the still night. Hermione hadn't gone to bed, either, it seemed. She was sitting on the top step, her arms wrapped around her, presumably for warmth.

"Hermione?" Ron said. The word was torn from a roughened voice. Ron wasn't used to whispering. It was his nature to attack everything head-on, little hesitation or forethought. But for some reason, he didn't feel like disturbing the odd tranquillity of the cool spring night.

Hermione glanced quickly behind her. Seeing Ron, though, she rolled her eyes, huffed out a sigh and wordlessly faced forward again.

Ron ignored her reaction and moved to sit at her side. For several minutes, neither spoke. Instead, they sat quietly, shoulder to shoulder, gazing out at the clear, starry sky. The blackness of the night was broken by nothing, save those glittery lights, and it enveloped Ron and Hermione in its heaviness, like a velvet curtain.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ron said, after clearing his throat. He knew the words were mundane, but his mind was suddenly flooded by her and he couldn't think of anything more profound to say.

"No, I couldn't," she said, with a cursory glance at him, her expression schooled and indecipherable.

"Why not?" He said after she failed to elaborate.

"Well?" He asked roughly, his impatience getting the better of him when he was met with only silence.

His words kept splintering as they fought their way free from his throat. His cracking voice at once embarrassed and angered him. And bloody hell, he thought. She wasn't making this any easier. The least she could do was say something; give some reason why she was up and about in the middle of the night. Why should it have to be all on him?

Hermione flashed Ron a reflexive, stern look. Then, her face softened the slightest bit as a film of weariness fell into place inside her eyes. Ron recognized her fatigue immediately, having been victim to it, himself, more times than he cared to remember. He knew, from shared experience, that the tiredness had found a foothold in her at the deepest level. As best friends to Harry Potter, they were so accustomed to this bone-seeping worry that it had become almost a part of them. Ron supposed that Hermione didn't even notice it in herself, anymore. Finally turning her face away and forward again, Hermione spoke.

"I guess it's," she said, but faltered and paused to regroup. "It seems to happen mostly at night. I'm not sure why. Maybe that's the only time I let my guard down."

Ron was suddenly interested in what she was saying. Not that he hadn't been before. Only now, he wanted to hear what she said, not just how her voice changed as she spoke. Ron liked to listen to the nuances of her voice. Her pitch and intensity altered as she grew more comfortable and confident. It was at times mesmerizing and provoking, and Ron secretly suspected the sound of her voice was half the reason he picked so many fights with her. Listening, Ron nodded, unsure if she could see the encouraging movement out of the corner of her eye, but needing to participate all the same.

After a moment, Hermione continued, almost to herself. "Nighttime is when the fear and worry come. Nights like tonight, when it's too dark to see anything and there's no homework or books or classes or even chess to keep my thoughts occupied." With another quick, almost shy, glance in Ron's direction, she said, "No friends skulking about, forcing me to smile or to talk. That's when the fear and uncertainty hit."

Ron drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. He knew that she'd tried to lighten the impact of her words by teasing. He appreciated her efforts, but he couldn't think past the enormity of her confession.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes thereafter. Ron was dwelling on all she'd said when he noticed her wrap her arms more tightly around herself, as though to ward off a chill. He was tempted to put his own arm around her, but wasn't sure if the move would be well-received.

"Me too, I guess," he said with a scowl. "I mean, it's easy to forget everything we've been through and everything we might soon face. When we've got other things, and, and people to keep us busy, that is." Ron knew that he wasn't explaining himself very well. He wasn't even sure where his words were leading him. All he knew was that he understood. Though she hadn't said it directly, Ron knew that fear for Harry's life was what kept her awake.

"Yeah," Hermione said softly into the darkness. "My brain just won't shut up about it all. I can't seem to turn it off, not even for a minute."

"Hermione, I don't think your brain even has an off button," Ron said, chortling helplessly. "It's been working double time all these years. What can you expect? That it'd just lay down and rest when you want it to?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Hermione said. She exhaled with evident frustration before continuing. "I was being metaphorical. Besides, this is hardly the time to play dumb, now is it?"

Irked at being chastised, Ron frowned at her.

Hermione paused. When she spoke again, she was quieter. "And just where do you think you'd be now if I didn't use my mind as often as I do? Huh?"

Ron looked intently at her, but said nothing. He was slowly learning that the way to avoid fighting with Hermione was to not respond to her jabs, no matter how difficult it was to refrain. He was still far from perfecting the technique, but he decided to try his hand at it now, just to be safe.

When he didn't answer, Hermione turned toward him once more, sadness mixing with the annoyance on her face. "I'm scared, Ron. I know I shouldn't be. I mean, Harry's been through so much. And mostly, all by himself. He's strong. I know that. And I know that my worry is useless. Research and planning are the only things to really help. But I just can't help it. I'm really frightened...for our world, for Harry...for you."

Ron's head snapped up in surprise. He stared at her, their faces close together as he unwittingly leaned into her space. Not quite sure what he was going to say, he opened his mouth, desperate to say something. "Y-you're scared? For me? But why?"

Leaning back from him just enough to look in his eyes, Hermione said, "You know, Ron, you give me far too little credit if you think I can only worry about one friend at a time."

"No, that's not what I meant," Ron said.

"In case you never paid attention," Hermione said, ignoring his interruption. "I notice things. And while you may feel that the rest of the world doesn't see you because of your friendship with the famous Harry Potter, you've overlooked one fact. I do. You've been my friend for as long as Harry has. You don't see me all that clearly sometimes, but to me, you've never lived in Harry's shadow. And it's insulting to have you think I wouldn't worry about you, just because Harry is the Dark Lord's main target."

Ron was torn. Part of him suddenly felt elated, like a champagne bubble was floating through his veins, making him want to laugh. Hermione was worried. About him. But a larger part of him took offense at her insinuations. As usual, that part of him won out.

"I do too, see you," he protested lamely, before picking up speed. "You always assume I don't pay you mind, Hermione, just because I don't always say the things you want to hear. But I notice stuff too. And I'm not stupid. But I'll never be as smart as you or as famous as Harry. Only that doesn't matter to me. Not the way you think it does. What does matter is that Harry is famous for a reason. You-Know-Who has it out for him. So it seems to me that you're wasting your fears on me. With Harry around, I'm the invisible one. Harry's the one we should be worried about."

"You're not invisible, Ron," Hermione said. She lowered her voice, then, until she was almost whispering, but her words carried on the crisp night air with an almost magical clarity.

"Think about it," she said. "It's not a secret who Harry's closest friends are. Who do you think You-Know-Who will go after to get at him? Face it, Ron. We're a liability to Harry right now. And that puts us in danger. There's a reason memory charms go a long way toward keeping Muggles unaware of magic. It's because they don't want to know. Only now, Muggles aren't the only ones being misled. Following the Ministry's lead, much of the Wizarding world is denying even the possibility of Voldemort's rebirth."

Ron automatically cringed at hearing the Dark Lord's name, but said nothing.

Hermione continued. "Their refusal to see is as frightening as anything, because it means we're in for something more horrible than any situation we've witnessed before. I try not to be scared, especially in front of Harry, but it doesn't mean I'm not. Harry's in danger, but so are we. It's the risk we take as his best friends. And knowing that is the scariest thing in the world to me right now."

Ron was nearly blinded by the strength of her conviction. He shrank from it, turning his face toward the night beyond the porch steps.

Facing forward, herself, Hermione leaned against his arm. "Listen, Ron," she said. "I'm sorry to get so upset, but I can't stop worrying about either of you. And if you can manage it, then you are a stronger person than I am."

"You know I'm not," Ron said. Without looking at her, he cleared his throat and continued. "I mean, I'm worried about Harry, too, of course. But, I, uh, I'm just as worried about you. I just, um, don't like to think about it." He admitted this with his head tucked down, almost into his shoulder. He appeared sheepish and a bit ashamed, as though his confession was ripped unwillingly from him.

Hermione leaned further into his side and said nothing.

"I'm not really afraid of dying, though," Ron said, after several minutes of awkwardly companionable silence. "That is, I don't hope to die anytime soon, mind you. But, well, Harry's given me some perspective on life and death. All we've been through has too, of course. And well, I'm not afraid of it. There are, you know, worse alternatives." He knew she understood his meaning. Selling one's soul to Voldemort was one such fate. Having one's soul stolen by dementors was another.

When Ron lapsed back into silence, Hermione found her voice. "What are you afraid of then?"

"I guess my biggest fear, besides spiders," he said with a half-smile which gradually faded, "is to be left behind. Harry is just, he's Harry...the boy who lived. The only wizard who's ever faced You-Know-Who and lived to tell about it. And you, well, you're the smartest witch I've ever known. The thing that keeps me up at night is thinking that I won't be needed when this whole thing goes down. I'd rather die than be left behind to lose Harry....or, um, you...to the war." Ron stopped talking, but continued to stare unseeing into the distance.

Hermione's sharply drawn breath caught his ear, however, and he turned to look at her. He was surprised to see a shimmer of tears in her eyes. Wondering what he'd said wrong, Ron tried to backpedal. He hated making her cry, especially when he couldn't understand why.

"I-I'm sorry," Ron said, grasping at loose straws as he tried to pull himself out of her eyes and back to the safety of the night. "I didn't mean that I wanted to die, or anything. I, um, just meant that..." But he didn't get to finish what he was saying.

Brokenly, Hermione said, "Oh, Ron, you dolt. I know what you meant."

Without warning, she threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his torso, embracing him awkwardly, yet tightly. Her head was buried in his chest and he could hear her muffled sniffles as she tried to bring herself under control.

After a moment, Ron acclimated to her grip and her closeness. He reached around to embrace her in return. Ron had been on the receiving end of a few Hermione hugs in his day. This one, though, was different. As he held her warm figure close, something twisted in his gut. At first, it felt sharp and searing, like a knife, only less painful. But almost immediately, the intensity subsided and left a cold mist in its wake. His throat closed up and his hands and feet suddenly felt leaden. A hollow had formed where his stomach once was. In its place swirled a cloud of bubbles, which made him both dizzy and giddy.

Sliding his hand through Hermione's thick hair, Ron's senses seemed to shift and focus, until all he could see, hear and feel was his best friend in his arms. It terrified and delighted him. Since he didn't know how to handle these feelings, he opted for a change of subject. Their words had gotten far too serious, far too quickly. He wanted to be back on solid ground with her. His mind groped for a suitably safe topic, but came up with nothing. Bloody hell, he thought. There was really only one thing he wanted to say, one thing he needed to know.

Without releasing her, Ron spoke into her ear. "There's something I want to ask you, Hermione, but you need to promise you won't get mad."

Hermione pulled back just enough to look Ron in the face. She tilted her head to the side, questioningly. "What is it?" she said.

Ron swallowed hard. "What, exactly, is Viktor Krum to you?"

Pushing furiously against his chest, Hermione withdrew from Ron's embrace. "I can not believe you," she said. "That's what was so important? You are such a prat sometimes."

"Hey," Ron said, resentfully, "you promised you wouldn't get mad."

"No, I didn't," Hermione said without missing a beat. "Besides, what did you expect? Of course I'm mad. Haven't we been through this before?"

"Well, not since --," Ron said weakly, but was allowed to go no further.

"Enough already, Ron," Hermione said. "I spilled every last one of my fears at your feet just now. I let you in, and you respond by asking me about Viktor, who, by the way, has nothing to do with you and is really none of your business?"

"First of all, yes," Ron said. "I think it's a very important question. And I didn't realize that some topics were suddenly off-limits to the high-and-mighty Miss Granger. Maybe next time you decide to change the rules, mid-match, you'll tell me first. Secondly, I think I've been pretty damn patient on the subject of the great Vicky Krum. I haven't even mentioned the stupid git's name in nearly a bloody year! But I know you still owl one another. And in this day and age, as you so cleverly just reminded me, danger is everywhere. So I don't think I'm out-of-bounds in asking about your relationship with someone from Durmstrang, who may or may not be working for You-Know-Who! And who, let's not forget, is four bloody years older than you."

"Good God, Ron, Viktor is not working for You-Know-Who!" Hermione said loudly, clearly forgetting the lateness of the hour and the house full of sleeping people.

"Oh, just bloody forget it," Ron said, tossing his hands up in defeat. "I don't even care anymore. I'm going to bed. Good night!" With this, Ron rose from his place beside her. In truth, he wasn't tired in the least, but his pride wouldn't allow him to remain outside after that. If she took such offense to his question, it obviously meant she had something to hide. And he'd bloody well invite Snape to dinner before he'd humiliate himself further over Hermione Granger and her stupid bloody boyfriend.

So turbulent were his thoughts that he almost missed hearing her speak. Her voice was softer now, no longer indignant. She sounded small, and more tired than before. He turned back to her.

"What?" he said, although he'd heard her the first time.

"Viktor is just my friend, Ron," Hermione said again. "He and I are friends."

Ron was uncertain how to respond. It didn't help that he couldn't see her face. She'd remained on the top step, facing into the emptiness beyond. After all they'd said under the veil of darkness, for this, he needed to see her.

So he screwed his face into a sneer, and said the only words he could think of to make her turn and face him. "Oh, like Harry and I are your friends, then?"

As expected, Hermione stood to face off against him. "No," she said, her body rigid. "Not like you and Harry, though I might be better off for it."

At his hurt expression, Hermione let out a breath and continued. "You and Harry are my best friends. You always have been and you always will be. Nothing, not even your careless words, can change that. I'm closer to the two of you than to anyone else in the world. Harry is like my brother; the closest thing I've got to one anyway. And you, you're..." She faltered and caught herself. The astonished look on her face made it clear that she feared she'd said too much.

Ron's face danced between awestruck surprise and boastful humor. To Hermione's apparent chagrin, he seemed to have heard the truth, anyway, in the silence. Hermione's face flushed, and she looked down, unable to meet Ron's eyes directly.

"I'm what?" Ron said, grinning crookedly.

Hermione didn't answer him. Instead, she gathered herself, looked up and said, "Viktor isn't the one I want, Ron. He never has been."

She waited through several long, tense seconds for him to say something. But he didn't. He couldn't. He wasn't sure what he would say even if he could somehow get the words past his lips. Had she really just admitted what he thought she had? They'd both said a lot tonight, but this seemed more important, somehow. The air between them became charged, almost alive.

Despite his father's obsession with all things having to do with Muggles, Ron had never understood the concept of electricity. In truth, he hadn't really wanted to. All he knew about it was what Harry and Hermione had told him. They'd said it was a source of great power, which could light up an entire city at one time. But it was also deadly if it was mishandled. That warning was meant to keep Ron and his family from becoming too enamoured of something they did not fully understand. Harry and Hermione had insisted that the Weasleys respect electricity for the power it held, but not get too close.

Only now, for the first time, Ron thought he finally understood what electricity was really all about. He felt the space between him and Hermione change in that moment. It heated up, and though he could see no sparks, he felt the current travel around and through him. Its energy scared him, and he couldn't move. However, Hermione stood there, her hands planted on her hips, defiantly waiting for Ron to do something.

After a minute, however, during which Ron stood fixed to the spot, Hermione's shoulders sagged and she looked away. Ron could read the disappointment on her face even in the dimness, but he could think of no way to rectify it. How had this happened? He wondered frantically. He knew they were at a crossroads, but he couldn't see down the path far enough to know what to do. So he froze, allowing the moment to pass by like so many others. Yet this time felt different. Just now, Hermione had given him more; she'd said more. He didn't know if he was wrong or right. All he knew was that she seemed to be staking more on this conversation than all their previous conversations put together. And he'd let her down.

"Well, good night then, Ron," she said, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "I won't keep you." Just as quickly, she moved to walk by him into the house. Her fingers had just grazed the screen door handle when Ron suddenly burst out of his stupor.

Steeling his courage, he turned and grasped her arm in his hand. The movement caused her to hesitate in her retreat. Ron took advantage of this and pulled her back around to face him. Hermione gaped up at him and a fury began to steep in her eyes.

Before she could speak, Ron smiled daringly at her. "Funny thing, Hermione," he said. "Krum isn't who I bloody well want either."

Then he was kissing her. In the space of a breath, Ron had plunged ahead, leaned down and covered her parted lips with his own. Unsure of his reception, he kept himself as still as possible then, allowing her to direct their next move.

After only seconds, Hermione leaned forward, pushing herself more fully into him. It was all the encouragement Ron needed. Caught between adolescent hunger and tenderness, he began to kiss her more deeply. He lifted his hands and placed one around her shoulders to the nape of her neck, while he used the other to cradle her head.

Ron had never really kissed anyone before, and he could hardly believe he was now. Yet somehow he knew that this was the first perfect thing he'd ever done. And it had nothing to do with technique. It was perfect because the instant his lips touched hers, all other doubt and worry fled his mind. His entire existence rested on the subtle arch of her upper lip. That kind of clarity never happened when he did magic. This was something altogether different. Kissing Hermione gave him a far greater power. How could this not be right when, for the first time in his life, everything made sense?

Hermione smiled into the kiss as Ron ran his tongue shyly along the edge of her bottom lip. She whimpered softly somewhere deep in her throat, but found that it resounded in him, as well.

Ron slowly pulled back to look at her face. Inexplicably, the mere inches separating them now seemed too far. Leaning forward, he placed a short, chaste kiss on her lips and then rested his cheek against hers. He could feel her pulse threading in her neck, and its rhythm matched his own.

"I've wanted to do that since last year," he said, smiling against her skin.

Tears gathered in Hermione's eyes, even as a smile tugged at her lips. "Then why didn't you?"

"Because you're you," Ron said. "Bloody hell, Hermione. You were the belle of the ball on Krum's arm. I know my limits. I had no idea how to compete with that. It made me angry that I had to."

Ron leaned back then and frowned when he saw the moisture on her lashes. With his thumb, he reached up to wipe the stubborn wetness away.

Emboldened, Hermione stood on tiptoe and placed her lips squarely against Ron's. Taking his bottom lip between hers, she kissed him this time, sweetly.

"You've never had to compete, Ron," she said after drawing back. "This, with you," she gestured between them. "It's what I wanted. You were just too blind to see it."

Rubbing his thumbs absently against her cheeks, Ron's smile grew, until he couldn't contain the laughter bubbling out of him. Chuckling, he laid a quick kiss on her forehead.

"Guess I didn't need to disfigure my Krum action figure, after all," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled back at him.

There was at once something so beautiful about this night. Their fears were still there, still real, mingling and swirling just under the surface. But in the last place they'd expected, they had accomplished the impossible.

No matter what dangers they faced in the coming months, they'd already taken the hardest step...the first one. And they had survived it.

Suddenly, the not knowing wasn't as scary as before. Maybe, Ron thought, it was good enough for now.