Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

Truth springs from argument among friends

--David Hume

**

When Ron Weasley heard the portrait hole swung open on Monday night, he glanced up from his homework, took one look at Hermione Granger, and roared with laughter before shouting to her from across the way: "And what have you been up to?"

Hermione pulled a face as she said good-bye to Neville and crossed over to Ron's table in the common room. Professor Sprout had asked her and Neville to come give her a hand after dinner. One of the Snargaluff stumps had unfortunately died so Professor Sprout had been forced to have another one delivered to the greenhouse. She needed students who properly understood how to restrain and placate the cantankerous plant to help so she called on her two brightest N.E.W.T. students. Knowing it would be strenuous, dirty work, Hermione had dressed appropriately but now she knew she had to be quite a sight. She had plaited her hair back in pigtails that were now falling out dreadfully, her jeans were muddy, and her vividly orange T-shirt now had a long rip in the left sleeve. Ron bent forward to take the hem of her shirt between his fingers with a large grin while Neville gave them a lingering look as he went to the boys' dormitory to change. "Nice shirt," he quipped good-naturedly.

She pulled another face. Ron had gotten her this shirt for Christmas fourth-year: a bright orange, cotton, Chudley Cannons Quidditch shirt. He seemed infinitely pleased that she was wearing it. Little did he know that over the summer, when she was at home and missing him dreadfully, she always pulled on this shirt. She of course had to be careful and wear it on days she was certain no Muggles would come to her house, but Hermione always managed to find time to put on the beloved shirt, smile, and think about Ron.

"Did Harry already go to Dumbledore?" she asked to distract herself from the fact that Ron was still holding the edge of her shirt. A very naughty vision of Ron ripping the shirt off of her was threatening to invade her imagination and she didn't want to go there just yet. She didn't have the time to lose herself in a daydream.

"Yeah. Just left a few minutes ago." Ron scooted his chair closer so he could remain seated and reach up to touch the rip on her sleeve, grazing her bare shoulder in the process. "You'll want to fix that," he advised with that damnably wonderful smirk still on his face. "This being your favorite shirt and all."

"Yes, of course, that's why I wore it tonight, knowing I was going to be attacked by vines and all," Hermione said sarcastically, somehow keeping a straight face. Ron had absolutely no idea how much his simple gesture had wreaked havoc on her stomach, heart, and hormones.

Ron finally decided that enough was enough and slid his hand down her arm. For one exhilarating moment, Hermione thought he was going to take her hand, but instead, his fingers stopped on her wrist so he could guide her into the empty chair next to him. "It's about time you got here," he told her with mock severity. "That essay for Charms is a nightmare and I don't have the Prince to help me--" He hurriedly continued as he caught Hermione's trademark scowl of disapproval at the mention of the Half-Blood Prince. "--so I really need your help--"

"I can't," Hermione interjected apologetically. "I have to be at Slughorn's party at eight-thirty. I'll probably be late as it is." A pang of irrational guilt assailed her as Ron's face fell with honest disappointment. "But I can help you when I get back--"

"No, no, don't bother," Ron muttered as he banged his Charms book shut much louder than necessary, attracting the attention of several observers.

But after staying up with Ron until nearly dawn on Saturday night and wrestling with a writhing stump for two hours, dealing with Ron's foul mood didn't seem to be such an impregnable task. Hermione's hand boldly shot out to rest on Ron's forearm. "You're not a bother," she said firmly. She didn't understand why she had unconsciously used that choice of words, but from the way Ron stiffened with a new light to his eyes, Hermione knew that they were the right ones. "Slughorn parties never last longer than ten o'clock--maybe I can even leave early if I get the chance. We'll want to wait up for Harry to get back from Dumbledore anyway, right? While we wait, I can help you then." Daringly, her thumb moved back and forth in a soothing rhythm to further reassure Ron that she considered him to be anything but a bother. "See? No bother at all."

Ron remained silent for a minute, staring down at the cover of his textbook before looking up at Hermione. His Adam's apple bobbed as though he had forgotten how to work his vocal cords for a moment. "You know, I've never seen you wear your hair like that," he noted irrelevantly. Quite against his will, he reached out to tug lightly on one of the pigtails. Hermione remained very still, wondering how they had suddenly come to this and hoping against hope that moments like this could happen more often. "I like it," he added. "You should wear it like that more often."

"Why, so you can pull my hair like a five-year-old?" Hermione retorted, her voice softly teasing.

He feigned a double-take. "What? I act like a five-year-old? Last year, I was a four year old!" His hand, balled in triumph, shot up over his head with resounding victory. "I am growing up!" Hermione laughed and he seized the opportunity to playfully grab both pigtails, one finger creeping forward to unflinchingly wrap a stray wisp of her hair around itself, causing everything inside of Hermione to start to tremble. He continued to very lightly tug each pigtail in succession, unintentionally scooting Hermione a millimeter closer with each little pull. He had never been this affectionate with her before except if she was crying, hurt, or if they were trying to convince Malfoy that they snogged. They were adding yet another moment to the rapidly growing list and this time the moment was occurring when Hermione looked unbelievably atrocious--which made it all the more wonderful--and in front of a common room full of people--which meant that Ron didn't care who knew...

A common room full of people. Hermione's hand shot off of Ron as her eyes immediately found a scowling Lavender Brown across the room. Ron hastily extricated his hand from her hair as he sensed that something had gone horribly wrong. He looked at her in honest confusion, his ears flushed with mortal embarrassment, his eyes heart-wrenchingly hurt as they asked her isn't this what you wanted? Hermione's feet danced with confusion under the table, wishing she had the audacity to blurt out that she did want this, she wanted this very, very badly so please continue playing with her hair before she died from wanting him for so badly for so long, but being a coward, Hermione just rose, excused herself, and retreated to her dormitory. She slammed the door behind her and banged her hand in frustration against the solid oak few times. Why did Lavender have to ruin everything? Why hadn't she had the courage to say something Ron? She should have said something; she should have let him know--

Hermione let out a quiet growl of frustration and stalked over to her trunk. She would have to fix this later when she came back from Slughorn. Momentarily, she debated ditching the stupid party and staying here to sort things out, but after remembering her promise to go to the party with Ginny, Hermione reluctantly opened her trunk. She had to go.

The dormitory door slammed open and there stood Lavender Brown, ready to spit nails. Hermione gritted her teeth and slammed her trunk shut again. Now really wasn't the time to incur the wrath of Lavender Brown.

"Lavender--"

Lavender just shushed her irately and waved her hands for silence. Parvati crossed over to her bed so she could have prime seats for what seemed to be a very entertaining show. "Do you or do you not have a study date with Ron?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Lavender must have questioned Ron after she had left the common room. She didn't appreciate someone else sticking her nose into her and Ron's business. "It's not a date..."

"Do you have plans to meet and study?"

"Yes..."

"Just the two of you?"

"Yes..."

" Just the two of you will be studying by yourselves?"

"Yes..."

"Then you have a date!" Lavender concluded with a shriek.

"If that is the definition of a date, then I'm sorry, but I lied to you; Ron and I have dated," Hermione retorted hotly.

But Lavender had already moved on to another topic. Her hands went defiantly to her hips. "Is Ron the reason you crept in here at four o'clock in the morning on Sunday?"

Oh God. Hermione had thought she had snuck in without waking anyone up, but obviously she had been mistaken. "Yes," she admitted unabashedly. "We were just talking--"

"And that bear?!" Lavender pointed to Bilius who was sitting his usual perch on Hermione's bed. "He gave you that bear, didn't he? That's why you keep it on your bed all the time!"

"Well, yes, but--"

"You said you didn't like him!"

"Lavender--"

"You said you wouldn't mind if we went out!" Lavender pointed to Hermione's bed. "You stood right there and you told me that you wouldn't try to interfere!"

"I'm not interfering! I just--"

"How am I supposed to go out with him if you're hanging all over him?!!"

"I'm not--"

"How could you do this to me, Hermione? I thought we were friends!"

Hermione didn't think this was the best time to bring up that they had only become tentative friends because Lavender was convinced if they weren't, she was going to swoop in and seduce Ron right from underneath Lavender's perky little nose. "We are," she reassured in a loud, firm voice so Lavender couldn't commence shrieking over her clarifications again. "And if you would let me talk for a minute, you'll see that I didn't interfere, I just--"

"It's okay if you like him," Lavender huffed sulkily, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't mind a little competition." She gave Hermione a cocky stare. There was finally a stretch of silence in which Hermione could have explained her actions that afternoon, but Hermione couldn't speak at the moment. She could only stare back at Lavender, slightly agog. What was with her this year?

A crisp knock on the door finally detracted the two sixth-years' attention away from each other. Parvati, who had been sitting cross-legged on her bed, head whipping back and forth as if watching a fast and furious tennis match, quickly called for the person to come in. Ginny popped her head in, a casual smile on her face although Hermione detected a suspicious look on her face. She must have heard the row from the stairwell.

"Hi," Ginny said cautiously. She looked over at Hermione. "I was just seeing if you were ready to go."

Damn. Lavender's screeching had prevented her from changing. Now she was going to be late. Hermione turned to find a more suitable outfit. She didn't think Slughorn would appreciate her showing up in muddy jeans and Chudley Cannons T-shirt. "I need just a minute," Hermione said, slightly flustered. "I can meet you downstairs."

"No, no, stay for a minute, Ginny," Parvati requested suddenly. The girl looked desperate to discuss something other than who was going to win Ron Weasley's heart. Ginny warily obeyed, giving Hermione a desperate look. Hermione quickly pulled a jumper with a high enough neckline to hide the Quidditch shirt over her head and opened her trunk to rummage for a suitable skirt. Ginny wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. "So you and Dean Thomas, eh?" Parvati pulled out a brush from her nightstand. "How did that happen?"

"It just did," Ginny said warily. "Nothing too remarkable about it." This was the first real conversation she had ever had with Lavender and Parvati and she wasn't about to be spilling her guts on the secrets of her love life.

"And then last year it was Michael Corner, right?" Parvati continued.

Lavender, who had been still sulking and glaring at Hermione, abruptly came out of her foul mood, honest interest in her eyes. "I didn't know about that! Michael Corner?" she repeated. "In our year? Not so tall, but dark and very handsome?"

"That's the one," Parvati answered. She grinned proudly at Ginny. "You lucky thing."

"Hey, is that why you and Michael broke up?" Lavender demanded. "Because of Dean?"

"Hermione," Ginny begged.

"I'm almost ready," Hermione reassured. She had just slipped on her skirt and was tossing her dirty jeans to the side. Normally, she didn't like to change in front of people, but she and Ginny needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. Hastily, she shook her hair out of the pigtails and with a glance in the mirror and loads of good luck, managed to contain it in a quick bun that didn't look too horrible. All she needed now was to find her shoes and she would be ready to go.

"You like the dark-haired, handsome ones, don't you?" Parvati inquired innocently.

Lavender raised her eyebrows back at her best friend, knowing exactly which tall, dark, and handsome boy Parvati was referring to. It wasn't Dean or Michael. "Interesting observation."

"Yes, very," Ginny said sarcastically. She was starting to see why Hermione spent as little time in her dormitory as possible. "Hermione, I'm going to wait--"

"You know, I think you're very smart," Lavender praised. "If you want him to ever notice you--and by notice, I mean not see you as Ron's little sister--you have to make him jealous."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ginny said through gritted teeth. Hermione had been busying herself with trying to find her left shoe, but she looked up when she heard Ginny's tone of voice. Sure enough, Ginny's fists were starting to clench; Lavender was treading on dangerous ground.

"Leave it alone, Lavender," Hermione interjected sharply. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Lavender whirled back to her, all too pleased to fire the questioning at her rather than Ginny. "And you do, I suppose? You know all about dear Ginny's plan? You know all about making boys jealous?"

Bugger. "No," Hermione said in a small voice but with her chin high.

"So you've never tried to make any one jealous?" Lavender asked a hard, skeptical voice.

"No," Hermione contradicted waspishly. "I don't think that's the best way to get a boy's attention. Playing those sorts of games never turns out well."

Parvati interceded, holding out her hand to stop Lavender from responding, and took a calculated step forward. "You would never try to get the boy you like's attention that way?

"No."

"If you liked a boy, you wouldn't try to make him jealous?"

"Right!"

"If you liked a boy, you would find another way to get his attention?"

"Right!"

"So how would you get Ron's attention?"

"Well, I just talk to him, of course--" Hermione broke off when she realized what Parvati had gotten her to admit. "Parvati!" she protested when she saw her roommate smirk as though she was Crookshanks with a mouse between his paws. She slapped her hand over her mouth in irritation--she couldn't believe that she had fallen for Parvati's trick. Lavender really must have distracted her if she had fallen for--oh God, Lavender.

Lavender just stared at Hermione, eyes colder than the lake in January. She had paled considerably, but all she did was point forebodingly at the corner of Hermione's bed. "Your shoe," she said shortly before turning on her heel, stalking into the bathroom, and slamming the door behind her. Parvati gave Hermione a cryptic look before scurrying after her friend. Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. Great. The absolutely last thing she needed right now was being murdered in her sleep.

"Is she--are you two fighting--does she--" Ginny gaped back and forth from the door of the bathroom to Hermione. "--does she fancy Ron?"

Hermione didn't answer; it wasn't her business to inform others about Lavender's love life. She knelt down on the floor to retrieve her shoe from the exact spot Lavender had indicated. "We better go," she said quietly.

Ginny however had no intention of leaving. She sank down onto Lavender's bed with a look of utter revulsion on her face. Hermione hadn't needed to answer the question. "Hang on; I have to throw up."

"My thoughts exactly," Hermione said grimly. She remained on the floor although her shoes were on her feet, tensely staring at the door to the bathroom in case Lavender came flying in to continue their row.

"Why?" Ginny asked in disbelief.

"I have no idea," Hermione admitted. "She started flirting with Ron a little after the Ministry--she came and visited him and everything, but I never imagined--and then she wrote to him this summer and the next thing I knew, I was being asked if I would interfere if Lavender and Ron started snogging--excuse me, when Lavender and Ron started snogging."

"She said that?" Ginny shook her head, face still tinged with distaste. "I thought Lavender was supposed to be good at Divination," Ginny remarked. "Can't she see with her 'Inner-Eye' that she hasn't got a chance in hell?"

Hermione smiled. It felt really good to hear someone else say that. "I guess not."

With a clenched jaw, Ginny stared at the door to the bathroom, seriously debating bursting through and thumping Lavender on the head. Instead, she just rose from the bed and nodded to the door. It would be far too easy to rush in and wallop Lavender. Ginny always preferred a bit of a challenge. "We better go."

"Wait." Hermione paused to lovingly take Bilius off the bed and place him in her trunk before locking it with a quick swish of her wand. There was no way she was going to leave Bilius alone and vulnerable so he could be decapitated. "Okay, let's go."

They silently exited the dormitory. Ginny waited to speak again until they were a safe distance away from the dormitory although they had been openly discussing the taboo topic in the dormitory where Lavender could have easily heard them. They had almost reached the bottom of the stairs before she turned and looked at Hermione dead on. "She won't win. You know that, right?"

Fiddling with the hem of her skirt, Hermione considering lying, faking a smile, and saying with a little laugh that of course she knew that Ron wouldn't choose Lavender over her. But Hermione was tired of lying and hiding how she felt from the people she cared for the most so she just shook her head mutely. For all she knew, Ron secretly preferred dim-witted blondes to intelligent bushy-haired brunettes.

"No." Ginny mirrored Hermione's shake of the head ten times more emphatically. "She won't. Ron's an idiot, but he'll do what's right in the end. You'll see." She paused slightly. "And Lavender's no prettier than you."

Hermione smiled wanly. She wasn't certain that was necessarily true, but it was still a very nice thing to hear. "Thanks."

Ginny shrugged. "I just call them like I see them." She pushed the door to the stairwell open and led the way through the common room, giving Ron a merry wave as she went. Hermione wagged her fingers more shyly in Ron's direction which he promptly returned, still looking bewildered. Smirking, Ginny once again waited until they were a safe distance away from certain pairs of ears before speaking again. "Remember your promise," she reminded Hermione. "You're not giving up on him. Never give up, no matter what stupid thing he does next." She walked backwards for a few paces and raised a stern finger to ensure that the pact was sealed once again. "Promise?"

"I promise."

**

Promises, however, are very hard to keep sometimes.

When Hermione dropped down into the seat across from Ron the next morning and greeted him with a bright 'good morning', Ron merely grunted and shoveled a spoonful of eggs the size of his head into his mouth. Hermione blinked. Ron had seemed to be in a foul mood when she returned from Slughorn's party, but she had thought it had been because he was tired; as soon as she had returned and tried to help him with his essay, Ron had told her that his essay was fine--he had gotten some help from someone else--and he was going to bed since he was too tired to wait up for Harry. Disappointed, Hermione had also gone to bed without waiting for Harry, but she had secretly stayed up in case Pig fluttered into the room with a request to go downstairs. But the only person who had come into her dormitory later was a surprisingly smug Lavender who didn't say a word to Hermione--

An awful, horrible, hateful, terrible, appalling idea popped into Hermione's head, causing her to almost choke on her coffee. He wouldn't--she wouldn't--would they?

Harry was pensively eating his breakfast, not really listening to the conversations buzzing about around him. He was probably still mulling over what he had learned at his lesson with Dumbledore last night. She of course had asked him about it straightaway, but Harry had just shaken his head, raising his eyebrows discretely at the crowd of students around them. He couldn't say anything until they were somewhere more private. Hermione subtly leaned away from Harry so he wouldn't hear what she was about to ask. It wasn't a particularly intimate question, but the idea of Harry finding out everything that was happening between her and Ron made her more than a little nervous. She wasn't certain how Harry would react to the news; she'd imagine it feel rather disconcerting to discover that your two best friends in the world were almost dating.

"So who helped you with your essay last night?" Hermione asked Ron quietly.

Ron couldn't speak at first thanks to another disgustingly huge mouthful of eggs. He really needed to learn better table manners. "Lavender," he finally got out, bits of eggs clinging to his bottom lip.

For the first time ever, Hermione really wanted to punch a girl in the face.

"Oh." She tried to think of something particularly clever to say in response, but her mind was drawing a big, fat blank. Ron was looking at her expectantly, as if gauging her reaction to answer some vital question. The intensity of his eyes was making her more uncomfortable and restless than ever. She wanted to say something, do something, hit someone; she didn't care. She couldn't just sit there and let Ron stare at her, knowing what she was thinking and grinning in that awful cheeky way that he did because he knew what it did to the pit of her stomach every time he looked at her. Something had to be done.

Harry jumped as Hermione abruptly stood up, rattling the silverware and goblets on the tabletop. Ron appeared to be remarkably unfazed, mutely and slowly sticking his last bite of breakfast into his mouth. "Where are you going?" Harry asked.

Sheer luck allowed Hermione to look down at her watch at this moment. "Class," she said stupidly.

"But we still have fifteen minutes," Harry pointed out.

"The fog," Hermione said briskly, her lightening-fast mind finally coming back and allowing her to think properly. "It's back. Remember last time it took us longer to get to the greenhouse." She lightly and discretely nudged Harry knowingly on the arm. "Besides, don't you have something you want to tell us?"

Harry cottoned on straight away and stuffed his toast into his mouth. He at least had the good sense to swallow before speaking unlike someone. "Come on," he urged.

As predicted, the weird dementor mist obscured the way to the greenhouses and since they were so absorbed in Harry's story, it took them a little longer than usual to find the correct greenhouse. Fortunately Harry's lengthy description of Dumbledore's memory of the first time he met Voldemort was enough to shake Ron from whatever mood he had worked himself into. Hermione too allowed herself to be drawn into the story, her irritation with Ron subsiding so when she couldn't see the path sharply turn upwards thanks to the dementor mist and she stumbled, she blushed as brightly as ever when Ron quickly grabbed her arms to keep her upright. Luckily, the fog successfully shrouded her flaming cheeks and by the time they finally entered the greenhouse, she looked as composed as ever.

But her composure didn't last for very long. The subject of Harry's class with Dumbledore exhausted, Harry turned to Hermione expectantly. "So how was Slughorn's latest party?"

Hermione rather wished that that subject hadn't been brought up now for several reason. The main reason was that Ron always felt left out whenever this topic came up and Harry should know better by now. Harry may be the 'Chosen One' but at times he could be as insensitive as Ron. And there was that pesky other reason--Hermione glanced surreptitiously over at Ron and took much more time than usual putting on her protective goggles. She wished she could lie and say that the party was awful, but she never lied to her friends unless it was for a very good reason. Besides, Ron really should get over his childish jealousy sometime soon--before Christmas, for example. "Oh, it was quite fun, really," she said, hoping that Ron was listening and not sulking. He had to know how fun it was to go to Slughorn's party. "I mean, he drones on about famous ex-pupils a bit, and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he's so well-connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones."

Ron's eyes, already magnified by his goggles, grew even wider--good God, his eyes were blue. "Gwenog Jones? The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"

Was that the team she played on? Hermione hadn't really been listening at that point in the conversation. Even Harry at this point looked mildly impressed. She smiled; she had rather wished that Ron and Harry could have been there. Their faces at the sight of the world-famous Quidditch captain would have been very amusing to see. It wasn't often that she saw Harry star-struck and Ron star-struck was always an adorable sight. "That's right," said Hermione. "Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but--"

"Quite enough chat over here!" said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. Hermione quickly looked down, abashed. Harry and Ron never failed to get her in trouble on a regular basis. "You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's already got his first pod!"

Retrieving the pods from the Snargaluff stumps was a trying process so Hermione couldn't discuss Slughorn's party any further just yet, giving her a little time to think. It was difficult to concentrate while darting the prickling vines and jamming her arm into the hole, but Hermione was always very good at multi-tasking. Besides, she had thought about this a lot last night after she had gone up to bed. Slughorn's announcement that he was going to have a Christmas party was the best part of the entire evening, as he had informed them that they could bring a guest with them. And Hermione knew precisely who she wanted to bring. She finally had a viable reason to ask Ron on a date. He had wanted to go to one of these functions for so long that it almost made sense that she ask him. Ron would finally know that the Slug Club was really nothing to get jealous about. Of course, there was that tricky issue of actually asking Ron, but after serious thought, Hermione decided the best way would be to casually mention it to him in the course of a normal conversation so if Ron started to act jumpy and tetchy about going on a date with her, she could claim they were just going as friends.

Harry passed her a bowl for the pulsating pod she had just extracted from the stump and Hermione dropped it with a look of disgust on her face. She snuck another glance over at Ron. If she waited much longer to ask him, she was literally going to explode. Flobberworms of anticipation had been writhing away in her stomach ever since Slughorn had informed them about the party and she couldn't stand it much longer. And although it wasn't even November yet so she still had plenty of time to ask, she had to do it now. Ron was going to learn that he was definitely not her last resort.

She had to do it quick, like ripping off a bandage. With another quick glance over at Ron to make sure he was listening while attempting to squash their pod, Hermione summoned every ounce of her Gryffindor courage and plunged ahead, turning to Harry but keeping her voice loud enough for Ron to hear her. "Anyway, Slughorn's going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come."

Harry groaned and didn't say anything else. Ron however was mashing their pod with more vigor and vehemence that necessary with an angry scowl. "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," said Hermione calmly. She set her face in an unreadable mask of composure. She would have to work fast before Ron lost his temper completely and they ended up rowing instead of setting up their first date.

The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the greenhouse glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old, patched hat. Hermione flinched; even she at times underestimated the infinite bounds of Ron's anger. Harry hurried to retrieve the lost pod, probably sensing that the best thing to do right now was to run and take cover. Ron wheeled to face her with an irately amused expression on his face. Hermione raised her chin and waited grimly. She knew what was coming. "Just for the what?"

Hermione folded her arms over her chest. She changed her mind; she was not going to ask Ron to the party today if he was going to act four years old again. "The Slug Club," she repeated tonelessly.

Ron practically keeled over with mirthless laughter, actually slapping his hand against the table as though he was having some sort of fit. With a frown, Hermione waited for it to subside considerably before attempting to reason with him. "Look, I didn't make up the name 'Slug Club'--"

"Slug Club," repeated Ron with a sneer worthy of Malfoy. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug--"

Oh. God. Millions of thoughts screeched around in Hermione's head as everything whizzed into place with a loud crash of comprehension. Ginny had to meet Dean after Slug Club, so Hermione had walked back to Gryffindor Tower with Cormac McLaggen. Cormac had been in such a good mood after meeting Gwenog Jones that he was actually halfway nice to Hermione so she had entered the common room with a smile on her face and McLaggen by her side. Ron had been sitting at his table, waiting for her to come back, and Ron being stupid Ron had assumed the worst. Never mind the fact that he must have waited up for her not because he needed help with his essay, but because he wanted to see her; never mind that Ron was jealous of McLaggen because he cared so bloody much for Hermione. All Hermione really cared about was that after all of the progress she had thought they had made--especially over the past few days--she thought they were past this. She had thought Ron had grown up. She had thought he was over stupid, petty jealousies that weren't even justified. In some ways, Hermione supposed she could understand why he would despise Viktor so much: after all, she had snogged the Bulgarian Quidditch player. But McLaggen? The idea of her dating McLaggen was so repulsive that Hermione momentarily felt as ill as she did the day Lavender had told her about how she felt for Ron. Did Ron really think that little of her? Was he going to think that every boy who talked to her was just trying to get into her knickers--Ron had even gone as far as to glare at her and Harry suspiciously a few times. He was actually jealous of Harry. It was ridiculous--Hermione loved every little thing about Ron, but honestly, he had to stop acting like this. He was going to drive her mad one of these days.

With all of these thoughts, accusations, and furies whirling around her in her mind, there was no way she could think properly. So she just spoke in a hot, infuriated voice that matched her bright, boiling scarlet cheeks and made her feel ready to spit fire. "We're allowed to bring guests and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's that stupid then I won't bother!"

What the hell did you just do??!!!!

Hermione seriously considered throwing herself against the nearest pane of glass and taking her chances making it back to the castle in the fog alone. Had she really asked Ron now? In the middle of a row? Hermione thought about it for another second and shrugged ever so slightly. It actually made perfect sense for her to ask Ron out in the middle of a row.

That didn't make her any less furious. Ron was still acting like a total prat. She looked about her for the bowl and the pod they had been working on. She suddenly felt very prepared to smash their stubborn pod with her bare hands, feeling the wriggling tubers trying to break through her fingers as she ripped them to shreds.

But her eyes met Ron's. She had never seen him so happily hopeful before. She fidgeted on the spot. Somehow, she suddenly felt absolutely wonderful. Which of course made her furious again. Her mind spun and reeled with the dizzyingly fast alteration of emotions. Why could he twist her emotions like that so effortlessly?

"You were going to ask me?" asked Ron in a completely different voice: the soft, earnest voice he only used whenever they were alone.

Hermione clenched her fists, really wanting to pound their recalcitrant pod into a purple, stick pulp. She wouldn't give into him now. She wouldn't fall into his arms like some simpering twit. She had wanted to ask him her way, on her terms, and of course, Ron had messed up her plans and made her blurt it out like this. She had every right to be angry with him and perhaps even retract her invitation. He didn't deserve to go with her if he was going to continue to be a four year old. "Yes," said Hermione angrily. "But obviously if you'd rather I hooked up with McLaggen..."

Although every nerve inside of her was urging her to move, to do something with her hands so the storm raging inside of her could be abated, Hermione remained perfectly still. She had asked a question: she wasn't moving until she got an answer. It was the least she deserved from him. Hermione folded her arms over her chest and waited. Prat, she thought childishly at his shoes. She couldn't look anywhere near his face and not keep herself from either screaming at him or kissing the hell out of him. It was really aggravating how many times she had been overwhelmed by that irrational compulsion.

"No, I wouldn't," said Ron, in a very quiet voice.

Her eyes shot up to him quite against her will. Their eyes met and BANG: electricity sizzled between them, the current surging back and forth and back and forth and back and forth...Hermione fought to stay on her feet, suddenly feeling very-lightheaded. Okay, she said faintly to herself. Now we're getting somewhere.

CRASH

Hermione jumped a mile, right down on Ron's toes as she turned to see Harry hastily repair the bowl he had just broken. He must have overheard everything. Oh God, she moaned to herself. Harry knew everything now. She hadn't told him properly about how she felt for Ron; she always meant to discuss it with Harry before she and Ron started something serious. Her cheeks boiling again, Hermione fumbled for her Herbology book to double-check the proper way to juice the Snargaluff pod. They had to get back to work.

"Hand that over, Harry. It says we're supposed to puncture them with something sharp..."

Harry passed her the pod in the bowl; he and Ron both snapped their goggles back over their eyes and dived, once more, for the stump. She stooped to retrieve an appropriate pointy object to puncture the pod, pausing slightly to look at Ron's back as he wrestled with the vines. As air returned to her frenzied lungs, Hermione slowly felt her cheeks return to their normal shade. Okay, she said to herself once again--this time with a small smile--now we're definitely getting somewhere.

**

Hermione read a sentence, looked quickly up at Ron, and just as quickly returned her eyes to the page. The process repeated numerous times before Hermione finally became fed up and stubbornly stared down at her book, sternly telling herself that she would not look up until Ron or someone else said something to her. Ron and she had finally gotten somewhere: now they needed to get somewhere else and it was up to him to get them there.

She had asked him to Slughorn's party three days ago and not a word had been exchanged between them on the matter. It was just like what had happened after the Yule Ball, the only other incident where they had come dangerously close to revealing everything right then and there. They had acted almost too polite around each other, not wanting to start a row in case the dreaded topic came up again. Her stomach wrenched. Did Ron consider her asking him out to be a 'dreaded topic'? Or was he just as confused as she was?

Hermione squashed another incredible urge to look up from her book. This would be a perfect opportunity to discuss this. Harry was off trying to retrieve another book so she and Ron were alone. Now was the perfect chance to straighten everything out. All Ron had to do was open his bloody mouth and say yes or no.

But Ron didn't say a word. He had to keep studying. Prat. Hermione scratched out the sentence she had just written with more vigor necessary; instead of copying down the proper sequence of wand movement and incantation to conjure animals, she had started to write Ron's name. Now she couldn't even take notes properly. Hermione didn't know what it was about this year, but Ron seemed to be driving her insane more than usual.

Ron had looked up when he heard her quill scrape viciously against the parchment, but Hermione stubbornly kept her head bent as though the hormones had not invaded her mind and taken complete control of her body. She had thought he had returned to work as he didn't say anything for several more seconds, but finally he cleared his throat slightly to catch her attention. "So. This party." Ron rolled his quill under his fingertips, inordinately fascinated with the way the quill tip periodically scratched the surface of the table. "What would I have to wear?"

"Dress robes," Hermione answered calmly as she closed her book although on the inside, she was leaping up on the table and dancing a wild, gleeful jig in celebration. If he was asking about dress code, that must mean that he was at least considering going with her.

Ron straightened up and picked up the quill so he could edgily twirl it. He didn't say anything for a moment while Hermione held her breath. "Cool. I've been waiting for a chance to wear those," he finally said before reaching for the Transfiguration textbook Hermione had been using as another source. He flipped through the pages and settled back down to work. She stared at him expectantly, not believing that that this conversation was already over. Ron had to know that he hadn't answered her question yet. But if he sensed her eyes, he was ignoring her completely.

Her left leg bounced nervously. Fine, Hermione thought impatiently as she returned her attention to her textbook. If he didn't want to talk to her about the party anymore, that was just fine. They had work to do anyway. They could discuss the party later. That decision only last for five, anxiety-ridden seconds before she slapped her book back closed and looked squarely at Ron. "So you're coming?" Hermione asked directly, dropping her pretense of confident coolness so when Ron looked up at her, he was looking into the eyes of an infinitely hopeful girl who was absolutely dying for him to accept her invitation.

He treated her to the smile that burned so wonderfully through her. "Oh, yeah," Ron replied sincerely. "Wouldn't miss it."

Something about the way he said it made Hermione blush to the very roots of her bushy hair. He wasn't going because he was curious about what happened during the Slug Club or because there was the off-chance that Gwenog Jones could be there. He was going because she had asked him and he wanted to go where she went. If someone else had asked him, he would have said no. The only person he would want to go with was her. "Good," she said happily. She had the abrupt urge to excuse herself so she could skip around the castle and yell a triumphant 'ha' right in Lavender's face. Looking back down at her book, she fiddled with the corner of the cover and wondered if her face would ever stop burning with delight.

Her everlasting blush must have amused Ron greatly for he swept his hair up as he did whenever he was infinitely proud of himself. He looked about as happy as she did. "Yeah, the robes Fred and George got me are really nice."

"What do they look like?" Hermione asked, propping her chin up in her hand. Transfiguration suddenly became quite unimportant.

"A lot like Harry's," Ron explained, leaning back to indicate the cut of his new robes. He paused as he realized something for the first time. "You know I reckon when Harry gave the twins that money, he told them to buy me new robes."

"That does seem like Harry," Hermione agreed although she had suspected Harry had done that ever since Harry told them he had been the one to give the twins the money.

Ron didn't say anything else on that subject; he just paused to flash a grateful look in Harry's direction. Hermione had a feeling that Harry was going to get a really good Christmas present this year. "Anyway, they look like Harry's except they're blue," Ron continued. He pulled a face as he recalled how the twins had given him the robes. "They told me they were maroon," he told Hermione, as if that was the most atrocious crime imaginable and the twins deserved to be shipped straight to Azkaban.

"Hmm," Hermione said distractedly. A very entertaining image of Ron in the described dress robes was floating around in her mind, stealing all of her attention. Luckily, she maintained enough good sense to keep herself from blushing again. Ron had seen her blush far too much over this past week.

But now it seemed to be Ron's turn to flush although all he was doing was rolling his quill nervously again. "What about your robes?" he asked ever-so-casually. "They like the ones from the ball?"

Oh. It seemed that Ron was entertaining the same thoughts she had about him except they were about her. She averted her eyes so her hair could hide the damning pink hue that popped up on her cheeks once again. Sometimes, Hermione really hated that she had such a fair complexion. "You were there when I bought them," Hermione reminded him. "Didn't you see them?"

"All I saw were the wizard one's she tried to give you." Ron laughed at the memory and Hermione pulled a face. Of all of the things Ron could have seen her in, why did he have to see her in men's clothing? "But what was wrong with the blue ones you had?" Ron asked after he had finished chortling.

"Well, I grew," Hermione explained matter-of-factly. "They didn't fit anymore."

"Oh." Ron looked rather disappointed and startled, Hermione realized that Ron had really wanted to see her in those periwinkle blue robes again. "Are your new ones blue?" he asked.

Hermione couldn't resist. "No, they're maroon."

"Are they?"

"Actually, they're more of a burgundy," Hermione corrected with a smothered giggle. She wasn't certain if Ron knew exactly what shade of red burgundy was or even if burgundy was a shade of red, but she certainly never would have expected to be sitting here with Ron Weasley, discussing the color of dress robes. Dress robes they would be wearing on a date. Hermione glowed brightly. She finally had a date with Ron.

Whether or not they would have continued this conversation about robes, Hermione never knew for Harry finally returned to their table, looking infinitely weary; he had been cornered by one of the applicants for Chaser who had tried to convince him that he should replace Katie. The two boys instantly began to discuss Quidditch tactics and how rude--they actually used a stronger word than rude-- some people could be about Harry's decisions. He was the Captain, after all; they should respect that he knew what he was doing. Hermione shook her head as she returned to her book. No matter what happened between her and Ron, some things would never change.

She allowed them to expound on the topic for five minutes before giving them both a stern, don't-you-think-this-conversation-can-wait-until-later-when-we've-finished-our-homework glare that both knew very well. With the traditional roll of the eyes, Harry and Ron returned to their essays but with one small but deliberately meaningful change. Eyes still on his book, Ron purposely moved his foot forward so it pressed against Hermione's. At first, she thought he had just shifted his position and bumped her foot in the process, but then he didn't move it. They remained connected underneath the table, currents of sharp, tingling heat jolting sporadically up and down their legs. It wasn't enough to distract Hermione completely from her studies--which was very fortunate--but it was just enough to let her know that he was there, sitting across from her, knowing how she felt about everything and still choosing to hold true to his promise and remain with her. Hermione blew out a soft, inaudible contended sigh and settled down to study, pushing her foot a millimeter closer to Ron's. Studying had suddenly never been so much fun.