Mother Knows Best

"No...bug off...Just five more minutes...c'mon, no...I said BUG OFF!"

Ron Weasley sat up abruptly, his vivid red mop all over the place, and sticking up in odd directions. The stifled laughter of his mischievous twin brothers aggravated him even more. He was obviously NOT a morning person.

A long, beautiful feather had been charmed and was tickling his feet, which he gathered had been done to arouse him. This did not help his mood, no matter how good it felt on the tips of his toes.

"Wha?" grumbled Harry, who had apparently just awakened at Ron's angry cry.

Fred and George stumbled into the tiny bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place, still chuckling heartily. "Alright, as much as we would love for you two to stay in bed for the rest of the day and catch up on your much needed beauty sleep, Mum's not feeling really well, so I would not advise getting on her nerves, or upsetting her in any way," George suggested disappointedly.

"So, it's up and out, you two," Fred ordered gravely.

Harry groaned and fell back into a sleeping position.

"Hey, we don't like it any more than you do, but if Mum got out of bed and started bawling you out, we, as in me and Fred, would be in just as much trouble," George warned.

"What?" Ron asked fearfully. In all his life, his mother had been scarcely ill, for her being the strong woman she was, it took a lot to bring her down.

"Don't worry, little bro. All she's got is a small cough, nothing a good day in bed won't cure," Fred consoled.

"And she's in bed? That's not like her at all," Ron pointed out groggily.

"Like hell it's not. But you know Hermione. She wouldn't have it. She told Mum to go straight to bed, that we needed her to recoup A.S.A.P. and laying down was the best way to do it," George explained with a grin.

"And Mum did it? Wow, I wish she would listen to me like that," Ron said longingly. "What a hypocrite, that Hermione. She's not even completely healthy yet."

"Yeah, well, that's Hermione for you," Harry mumbled, as he regrettably slid out of bed.

* * *

Hermione, equipped with a full flagon of Pepper-Up Potion, tiptoed up the stair case, careful in case Mrs. Weasley had fallen asleep. As she reached her room, she paused and gazed in cautiously. Mrs. Weasley was sitting up in her bed, with an old issue of Witch Weekly in hand.

"Mrs. Weasley?"

"Yes, Hermione? Come in, you don't have to knock," she replied with a small smile.

Hermione strolled in, and handed her the goblet.

"How is everything going?" Mrs. Weasley asked politely, as she prepared herself to down the potion.

"Pretty good, so far. Fred and George just got up and said they would wake up Ron and Harry. And Ginny, of course, has been up as long as I have," Hermione answered, shifting her weight uncomfortably.

Mrs. Weasley gazed bemusedly at Hermione as she finished her drink, fully aware of the slight awkwardness and formality that engulfed her during Hermione's presence. There was a barrier between them. An uneasiness that was going to be ended, or rather verbally acknowledged. Now.

"Hermione?

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley?" she answered in her polite tone.

Mrs. Weasley set aside her magazine, and sighed solemnly. "During these past few years and all the hardships that we have all endured together, I haven't been the warm and caring individual I should have been. Towards you."

"What? Oh, no, Mrs. Weasley, you--" Hermione began, determined to prove Mrs. Weasley's motherly behavior.

"I will not be offended in any sort, you may be completely honest with me. Really."

Hermione paused, her compassionate heart pounding with the remorse it was about to feel, bit her lip in embarrassment, and gave a tiny nod.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated before responding, "You are probably the cleverest witch I have ever known. Surely you can figure out why."

She pondered for a moment, and barely whispered, "Well, the only reason I could ever think was, well, you just didn't approve of me, o-or something like that." She bowed her head and flushed with shame. Hermione couldn't believe they were having this conversation. Deep down, for many years, she knew that Mrs. Weasley didn't like her. Well, not dislike her, but she never was as protective or over-hospitable and amiable to her like she was towards Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, or Harry. But, then again, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were her children, parts of her that could never be replaced or put aside. And Harry was...well, he was Harry. Harry Potter, who always got special treatment from whoever it was. Sometimes he was treated like a king, but the rest of the time, he was treated a worthless bug to be crushed. But always specially. If you could call

having countless murderous plots concocted to destroy him and all his existence, special.

Not that he was friendly, Hermione always thought he was great, after all, he was her best friend. But Mrs. Weasley always treated Hermione differently, a little rougher, a little colder, a little odder.

And Hermione never knew why. She always felt that she had treated her best friend's mother with the utmost respect and kindness. Hermione had always helped out when she could, thanked her graciously...she couldn't think of something that Mrs. Weasley could have misinterpreted foully. Then again, there was that corrupt and deceptive article about her and her relationships with men and how she was a ruthless and sleazy heartbreaker, but she knew Mrs. Weasley didn't believe that rubbish anymore.

Mrs. Weasley smiled gravely, and shook her head. "Not at all. I have always approved of you, and I have greatly respected you, much more than most other witches I know." She sighed heavily. Hermione watched her anxiously, she had no idea what to expect, and was racking her bran with possibilities. "I guess it is expected though, that every mother feels resentment toward the girl that will take away her little boy."

Whatever conceivably plausible excuse Hermione thought was coming, this was farthest from it. Completely stunned, she stuttered, "P-p-pardon?"

"My Ron. Your Ron. He is more than your best friend isn't he?" She asked, her eyes desperately hoping for confirmation. Even though the idea of Ron leaving her for good was breaking her heart, she was very overjoyed for him, knowing that he had found his soulmate. He could never be happier than when he was with the girl standing before her.

"R-Ron? Not at all! I mean, he has been my best friend since first year and...uh, I would do anything for him, no question, but, uh, more than that? I can't...I have never thought that...W-W-we are very very close, I-I am closer to him than probably anyone I have ever known. We have been through so much together, you know, with Harry in all...you know, and...uh...um...Oh, how I wish I was a better liar!" Hermione admitted, chuckling nervously and flushing.

Mrs. Weasley grinned at Hermione.

"Please tell me that I am not that obvious all the time, now am I?"

"The only one I have ever known to be more obvious than you is, well, him."

Puzzled, Hermione asked, "Him who?"

"Ron, of course."

Her heart clunked as it sank heavily. "Who...who...who does he...?"

Mrs. Weasley sighed happily. "You, Hermione. There is no doubt in my mind about it."

She gaped back at Mrs. Weasley, speechless for one of the first times in her life.

Mrs. Weasley smiled satisfiedly. "Now, why don't you run downstairs and get back to what you were doing?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes unfocused and mouth wide open.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she headed through the doorway.

Hermione turned her head.

Mrs. Weasley winked mischievously, and resumed reading her magazine.

* * *

"Mmm! Nothing like freshly cooked bacon to wake you up in the morning!" Hermione proclaimed to an empty kitchen, as she savored a bite of the delicious breakfast that she had wittingly cooked up herself in light of Mrs. Weasley taking ill. Cooking had been a pastime she participated in at her home for many years, and Hermione yearned desperately to cook again, to experiment, to bake, to slyly steal a taste of her concoction, to see her creation in the making. Not since the summer after her third year had she felt the joy. Potions wasn't nearly the same.

A shuffled footfall shook her out of her reverie, as Ron and Harry both entered the kitchen, sporting apprehensive and fearful expressions. Hermione shivered pleasantly. She was going to watch him very carefully, his every move, to see if he accidentally dropped a little clue, that might help her understand how he really felt.

"And what do you think you are doing, Hermione?" Ron inquired nervously.

"Hm. Good morning to you, too, Ron. I'm making breakfast, what does it look like?" she responded cheerfully. Mrs. Weasley's revelation to her had really perked her up.

"You? Cook? Is that even safe?" Ron pointed out, noting Hermione's unusually jaunty and spirited manner.

Hermione replied with a reproachful frown and cynical retort. "Ron, are you implying that I lack cooking skills? That I would simply starve to death on my own? For your information, Mr. Weasley, I have been cooking my family's breakfast and the majority of dinners since I was tall enough to reach the stove, thank you very much." She turned around and bent over the fire to check the sizzling pancakes. "Cooking is a mandatory quality for a girl, it is something that every girl needs to do, and--"

"Yea, but since when have you done things that every other girl would say 'needs to do'?" Ron asked distinctly.

Harry, who had been dozing off as Ron and Hermione bickered, seeing it was completely normal, chuckled lightly and said, "He has got a point, you know that Hermione."

She rolled her charming brown eyes in exasperation as she picked up a large silver platter, which Harry and Ron recognized as part of the ancient collection that Sirius had showed them the previous summer. The tarnished metallic tray carried upon it pancakes, bacon, toast, a great range of condiments, orange juice, and a bubbling goblet that was emitting crimson sparks as Hermione cautiously staggered through the kitchen's threshold.

"I will never understand that girl. Remind me again why we're friends with her?" Ron asked in a hopeless tone.

Harry secretly smiled behind his best friend's back. He, and everyone else for a matter of fact, knew that underneath the mountains of sarcasm, criticism, endless questioning and suspicion, Ron was enamoured with the clever and caring woman his old friend had grown to be. Deep down into the regions of his charmed heart was the only place where his true feelings could be, because in his stubborn mind, Ron Weasley was in complete and total denial. I mean, this is Ron we are talking about. Harry never understood how Hermione's usually very observant self, could pass right over it.

Harry's dazed eyes landed on a miniature pitcher, containing syrup. "Looks like Betty Crocker forgot the syrup," he announced.

Ron turned towards him, his face engulfed in confusion. "Who?"

"Er, never mind. I guess I'll bring it up to your mum, Hermione won't want to make another trip."

"What? Nah, I'll do it. I should go and see her anyway. If I don't, all I'll hear for the rest of the summer is 'You couldn't even visit me up a single flight of stairs', which I'd rather pass up," Ron grumbled as he grabbed the innocent pitcher and hustled up the stairs.

"I have your breakfast, along with a refill, Mrs. Weasley. A hearty meal should have you up and running in no time," Ron heard Hermione say as he reached the landing, in an uncharacteristically motherly tone. Mrs. Weasley smiled gratefully.

"Oh, thank you, dear. This wasn't necessary, you know," Mrs. Weasley reminded as Hermione carefully placed the tray in front of her, coughing intensely.

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you know it was. It is a....thanks. For everything," Hermione admitted, smiling shyly.

Breaking up the sentimental moment, Ron burst in. "Betty Crocker, you forgot the syrup in the kitchen," he said as he unceremoniously slapped it into her hand.

Hermione let out a short laugh and raised her eyebrows in hysterical confusion. "Betty Crocker?"

He shrugged his burly shoulders and gave her a puzzled face. "I dunno, that is just what Harry said." Minor clue #1?

Still chuckling in amusement, Hermione lightly placed the pitcher on the tray aside the pancakes. "Also, Mrs. Weasley, I heard from Ginny you favored chocolate chip pancakes, so I made sure to sprinkle in some for you."

"What would I do without you, Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley said between coughs, but her eyes were saying something different. They were smiling as if to say 'Look at him! I told you so!' and 'Go right ahead,'.

Hermione smiled thankfully in return, as her stomach flipped in satisfaction. "Well, I have to get back. The rest of the breakfast will be burnt to a crisp pretty soon. I hope you feel better, Mrs. Weasley," she announced as she backed out of the room.

Before she left, she caught Mrs. Weasley's eye and winked.

Mrs. Weasley cringed anxiously as she stared at the Pepper-up Potion bubbling menacingly on the tray, closed her eyes, and took a long draft.

Seeming still a little dazed, she turned to her youngest son, who was staring at the door through which Hermione had exited. "I am very glad that you found a girl like her. She is wonderful, Ron. I know you know that."

He eyed her incredulously.

"Incredibly intelligent, sweet as a lamb, and would give up her life at the drop of a hat for those she loves. Doesn't get the credit she deserves, really. She'd make a wonderful wife, too. Especially for you," she added as she sipped her orange juice.

Ron stared at his mother as if she had just grown four gigantic horns out of her head. "Oh, Mum! I sure hope that that potion's side effects are what's making you think crazy things like that. Hermione? That would be a...a..." Ron searched for the phrase he was looking for, but his mother found one first.

"A dream come true, perhaps?"

"Dream? Nightmare more like!" Ron exclaimed in obviously concealed deceit.

Molly sighed in exasperation, and fell right back onto her track. "Ron Weasley, sometimes you are such a denying and insensitive idiot! Exactly like your father. I have been around a long time, much longer than you and trust me; I can tell when two friends share that special bond of love, even if it isn't the most obvious thing in the world. Well, to you two at least."

"La, la, la! I can't hear you..." Ron sang, his fingers in his ears and pretending to not have heard a word she had said.

"And stop making those grotesque faces and noises when I am speaking to you! You know more than you know Quidditch that you just adore her."

Ron pulled his fingers out and frowned. "The potion must be concocted wrong and is...wait, what in the name of Merlin do you mean by 'two friends'? And 'well, to you two at least'? And that I just adore her? What are you saying, woman?" Ron cried as he plopped down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

Mrs. Weasley smiled knowingly and said, "I knew you were listening to me, Ronniekins. Now, go downstairs and eat your breakfast, you will need your strength. Remus told me that he found some nasty boxes under a hidden trapdoor in the attic, which you will all need to eliminate. We must have missed it last year during the Decontamination Operation."

Ron groaned. "Whoa, you still haven't explained--"

"Get out, Ron!"

"But--"

"And have fun!"

Accepting defeat, Ron turned around and clunked out of the room.

"Good luck too, sweetheart!"

* * *

A loud slam, followed by a disgruntled Ron, greeted Harry, Ginny and the twins, who were waiting for their breakfast, somewhat apprehensively.

Hermione, as cheery as if all the house-elves of the world had been set-free with high wages and luxurious mansions and currently ruled the Wizarding world, was carefully setting the kitchen table.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked.

"What?"

"Hmm, I don't know, maybe that distinct bang that I easily recognized as a door slamming shut?" Ginny piped in, whose bouts of sarcasm usually related to stressful situations.

"It is none of your business, Ginny!" Ron snapped.

Then he turned to Hermione.

"The table doesn't have to be perfect, you know."

Her brilliant chocolatey eyes flared. She placed the last dish down and said, "I'm done now, are you?" She took her seat next to Ron and immediately dug into the food.

Ron glared at her, and reluctantly swallowed the provocative rebuttal he longed to

throw at her. Hermione noticed this...minor clue #2?

Since timing is both a spontaneous yet perfect curse, and a wonderful yet horrible blessing, his mother's word's echoed throughout his head. He noticed that everyone at the table, save Hermione, was still eyeing the food as if it was poisoned. They obviously did not trust Hermione's cooking skills.

Neither did he, for that matter.

Instead of having Hermione's feelings get hurt, he followed her and doled out an excessive amount of bacon onto his plate, along with several scrumptious-looking pancakes.

Everyone stared at him, thinking he would drop dead if he put even a single solitary crumb into his mouth.

Soon, after he began devouring all the edible objects on his plate with rapid force, they got the idea.

Hermione beamed at him, radiating with pleasure. Major clue: #3.

"So, who's up for a round of Exploding Snap after breakfast?" George asked cunningly.

"Actually, Lupin said that we have to--"

"Clean out some stuff in the attic. Some boxes were in a concealed trapdoor or something," Ron grumbled, which was hardly distinguishable from the amount of food packed into his mouth.

Finishing each other's sentences, now are we? sassed the back of Ron's mind. Hermione tallied minor clue #4.

The whole table moaned in unison.

"Okay, who agrees to a new subject?" Fred inquired.

"Yes, Hermione, this was absolutely delicious," Harry said, as the group nodded eagerly in agreement, because their mouths were stuffed to capacity and incapable of speaking.

"Just as I suspected," Ron chimed in innocently.

Hermione snorted in amusement. "I bet you did, Ron. I do recall a 'You? Cook? Is that even safe?' that completely cemented your confidence in my breakfast preparing skills to me." Minor clue #5.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that you could cook without starting the house on fire?" he retaliated defensively.

"Ron, there are a lot of things you don't know about Hermione, trust me," Ginny interrupted, causing Hermione to shoot her a warning glance, and for the girls to simultaneously start giggling.

"Oh, really, Hermione? You keep secrets from me and Harry, but you go right on and tell my sister? What kind of friend is that?" Ron interrogated.

Hermione turned to face Ron, ready to present her case.

"Don't you agree, Harry?" Ron said, slightly angry, his control freak lapses approaching rapidly, as his ears reddened.

Harry paused, guiltily remembering his well-kept prophecy secret, that was eating him away inside along with the fresh grief of Sirius's death, still thriving relentlessly. "Er..."

"See? Harry agrees with me!"

"Ron, in case you haven't noticed, Ginny and I--"

"What? Share a room? Big deal! We are supposed to be your best friends--"

"Ron--"

"--you should tell us every--"

"Ron! In case you haven't noticed, yes, Ginny and I share a room. That's true. But we are also the only girls here, and girls need to talk to other girls! Do you know how relieving it is not to be rooming with two extremely annoying giggling gossip queens? With somebody with an actual conscience and is trustworthy like Ginny?"

"Oh, now we are not trustworthy? I can't believe you, Hermione!"

She sighed with obvious aggravation. "Fine, Ron. Next time I'm having menstrual problems I'll come straight to you," Hermione announced, looking him straight in the eye, somehow still sporting a straight face.

"Oh, gross! Hermione! Spare us, we were eating! Ugh, you win!" He shouted as he hastily covered his ears.

Hermione and Ginny burst out laughing, exchanging satisfied nods while the rest of the boys looked slightly disturbed.

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, the group marched up the stairs to the attic.

"I thought that we weren't allowed up here?" Ginny asked nervously.

"That's what I thought too, but I guess not," Harry announced, shrugging his shoulders.

A strong musty and rotting odor reached their nostrils. They all recoiled in apprehension.

"That smell is putrid!" Ron exclaimed, plugging his nose.

"Now, where are these alleged boxes?" George questioned, as he wrinkled his nose.

"Those look like them in the corner," Fred replied, edging cautiously closer.

Neatly stacked, six old and rotted cardboard boxed sat innocently in the corner.

Several minutes later, after Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys each had carried a box downstairs, the majority of the old junk had been disposed. Most of what they found was partially shredded and worn robes, and some ancient school books.

No one in the group doubted whom they had originally belonged to, and no one said anything, out of respect to Harry.

Finally they reached the last box. All the apprehension and caution had evaporated long before, so Ron carelessly ripped the box open.

It happened so quickly that neither Hermione, Harry, Ginny, George, Fred nor even Ron had any idea what had just occurred. But something sprung out, and began shooting what looked like metal toothpicks at Ron's arm, knocking him back. They dug into his skin and blood was slowly oozing out. Everyone sat in pure shock. Hermione's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes were wider than Galleons.

It leaped off the box and attempted to skitter off, except Harry tackled it forcefully with Sirius's Transfiguration book. Squish squish.

"Ron, are you all right?" Ginny exclaimed, as she rushed to his side.

Ron winced painfully as he attempted to sit up straight. Harry and Hermione scurried behind him, helping him up.

"Yeah, it just tingles. A lot."

"C'mon Ron, I'll clean you up," Hermione offered, shaking silently.

"Whatever we do we can't tell Mum, because she'll just flip her lid," Fred advised, with Ginny nodding in agreement.

"The rest of us will finish up out here, c'mon all of you," George suggested, slightly shaken.

* * *

"How are you feeling, Ron?" Hermione asked as she ushered him into the bathroom.

"It is not as bad as it looks," Ron assured her, but he wasn't very sure she believed him.

Hermione sighed. "Well, since your mum is upstairs and we don't want to disturb her, and we can't do it magically, we'll have to do this the Muggle way."

Ron abruptly turned to her, his eyes bugging out. "What? Hermione, did you forget what happened when my dad was treated the Muggle way? It completely backfired, and--" Ron reminded her, as he hopped onto the counter top.

"Don't worry. I have done it a hundred times to myself and nothing ever went wrong," Hermione said convincingly. She leaned her head out the door and called for Ginny. "Could you go into my trunk and in the side compartment there is a little plastic box--"

"Be back in a second."

Ginny returned swiftly, the container in hand.

"What did you do that you had to nurse yourself? Do I even want to know?"

"Ha ha. I used to ride my bike to the library several times a week and--"

"Why am I not surprised?" Ron mumbled, barely audible enough for her to her him, causing Hermione to sigh in mock-aggravation.

"Alright now," Hermione began. She reached towards Ron's wounded arm, but he pulled it back before she touched it.

"Hermione, are you sure about this?"

"Yes, Ron! You didn't believe I could cook, right? Have some faith in me for once," Hermione pleaded fiercely.

Ron surrendered his arm. "Hermione, I have always had faith in you. Well, except for the whole cooking thing. Which I must admit was one of the best meals I have ever had," Ron confessed, grinning at her proudly. "Just...don't tell my mum that." Wow- major clue: #6.

Hermione felt a guilty smile creep up onto her face. She blushed, yet was taken back by this. Maybe Mrs. Weasley was right. No, he couldn't possibly...

Not thinking, she looked up, his eyes planted on hers. Those mesmerizing and passionate blue eyes melted her completely. How she hoped Mrs. Weasley was right.

"Ron, this might hurt a bit, okay?"

He reluctantly stopped talking as she pulled out the needles. Not until now had he realized how much he was enjoying himself, despite the prickling stings from his arm, and the anxious beat of his heart. Hermione's arm was steadied under his, which felt very warm, comforting, and right. Her light touch made Ron on edge and nervous, yet he felt like it was exactly where she belonged. Right here. Taking care of him. Oh no, he realized, his mother was right. There was NOTHING he could do about it. And there was nothing we wanted to do about it. Except, he eventually had to tell her. We wanted to tell her more than anything, he discovered. But, how?

"Last one," she said. Hermione was very slow and careful, trying so hard not to cause him any pain.

Ron grimaced slightly as she gently extracted the last needle.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Ron! I--"

"Don't worry, you are doing fine, Hermione," he chuckled as she went into her tidal wave of apologies.

"I didn't mean to--"

"Hermione--"

"But--"

"Knock it out--"

"I'm so--"

"Don't even think about saying you are sorry! Again." Ron warned, grinning at her. Clue? Tally #7.

She stopped, and he saw a sad smile take over her face. And then, she frowned disappointedly.

Ron hated when she got like this. Irritated at herself for every little nit-picky mistake she made. She never gave herself enough credit. Why didn't she? People always telling her how clever she is, or how...wait. They're not. Well, if there is nothing he can do about the actuality of his fondness for her, then...

"So, let me get this straight. You're smart, you cook, you nurse, you're fun, you're brave, you're sweet. You are wonderful, just like Mum said," he paused, gazing at her yet again. "What aren't you?" he added, flashing her his trademark lopsided smile. He couldn't believe what he was saying, nor could she, he figured. The words were falling out of his mouth, and he couldn't control them. But, he knew what he was saying was true. He prayed that he wouldn't regret this.

Hermione gaped at him, totally at a loss for what just happened. MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR Clue! #8! And oh, how she loved that smile. Did he really say what she thought he did?

"R-Ron, I...I, uh..."

He raised his eye brows skeptically at her as she faltered.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she whispered semi-triumphantly, but she didn't look like she believed it.

She was suddenly very aware of body, more than she knew was possible. Her heart was beating louder and stronger than she knew it could. Hermione was feeling very self-conscious of it-- it could have been beating out of her body it was hammering so enthusiastically and steadily.

Palms sweating tensely, she noticed how warm she was. Her bushy hair was glued to her forehead, and no matter how many times she shook her head, it remained steadfast. Her fingers were trembling nervously. They clumsily fumbled the wrap she was tying around Ron's arm. Hermione was determined to have the bandage nice and tight, and with this objective she discovered how muscular his arm was, strong and sturdy. This knowledge shot a light tingling sensation straight to her heart, and she paused for a second, a curious smile unknowingly grew on her face.

And through all of this, Hermione realized that she had never been more comfortable in her life.

"You really don't give yourself enough credit, you know," he sincerely revealed. #9 here, these clues are just cascading in! Almost ten!

"Look who's talking," Hermione retorted, the first words to come to her mind. Ron was acting very strangely. Not that she was flattered more than she had ever been in her life, but didn't have the slightest clue how to react to his peculiar behavior. She also didn't know what he was going to do, a first in many years. Hermione had grown with and excelled in reading Ron, and predicting him to a fault. Ron was her all-time favorite book, one that she had read infinitely more than she had read Hogwarts, A History.

"Excuse--"

"Don't you even think of saying that. Who was the one who won us the Quidditch House Cup when he wanted to resign because he thought he was so horrible? Who was the one who thought he had failed all his O.W.L.s and when we got them in the mail, only failed Divination, which is an insult to magic? Never in the world did you think that you had the leadership qualities and responsibility to be elected a prefect. And you did! You are the best friend that I have ever had, and I know that Harry feels the same way. He didn't save the Stone, solve the Chamber of Secrets mystery, rescue Sirius, make it through and win the Triwizard Tournament, and survive the chaos and pandemonium that was fifth year all by himself. He needed you at all those times, just as he needs you now," she paused. This passionate and spontaneous rant was making Ron stare at her, with an expression that she couldn't place. "And I need you now. Especially in the future, so that we all make it through this war thing together. I am not the one who doesn't give themselves enough credit."

Their eyes were locked on each other. Hermione had unknowingly ceased cleaning his arm ten minutes before. Ron noticed that her beautiful eyes were growing watery and her entire body began to tremble.

"I am really scared about this, Ron. I don't know what is going to happen," she whispered, as her voice cracked. Don't cry don't cry don't you dare cry in front of him, Hermione Jane Granger! But she couldn't help it. Her eyes stung and she started to leak. "I can't believe it! He was there one day and gone the next!"

Ron got a lump in his throat as he watched her worry and cry. She looked so helpless, and Ron couldn't bear seeing her like this. He knelt down beside her, arms

around her shaky and fragile body, and he pulled her tight.

She gave up trying to keep it hidden that she loved him; she didn't care about how humiliated she would have felt crying onto his shoulder like this, before now; she forgot about how this was the one person that she had tried so hard to impress and fascinate; she threw away the list of clues; she let go of it all. She was frightened and overwhelmed about the upcoming ordeals. But she was safe now. Safe, here, now. With Ron comforting her.

"I know, Hermione. I am scared too."

"Who will it be next? Oh, I hope that it is not you, Ron. I couldn't take it. It can't be. It can't ever be you! You can't ever be next!" She curled up so she could be closer to him.

His other arm came around, and he was holding her. She looked up at him, and she saw something she had never seen before. A tear tricking down the side of his handsome freckled cheek. Her head found its way to his chest. She adored him at this emotional moment more than ever. She never wanted to leave.

"It won't be me. Don't worry about me, as long as you are here, I am here. Alright?" He picked up his head, which had been leaning on hers, and gazed deeply into her eyes. She nodded slowly, eyes puffy, face red, hair sticking to her.

Hermione felt like a damn had broken inside on her. The endless crying suggested that. But another damn had been burst. The one where she carefully locked her most secret thoughts, and secret desires. Screw it. Screw it all.

It felt like an invisible magnet was pulling her towards him. She didn't care much, either. Hermione had stopped crying, also. The moment their lips touched was momentous. Climactic. Finally.

"Well, now I understand," Ron said, and Hermione sensed final comprehension.

"Understand what?" she asked him nervously.

"Why Harry made a face when he said that his first kiss was wet."

She slapped him playfully. "Ha ha. You know what I finally understand?" she mentioned, leaning her head back onto his shoulder.

"You mean you actually didn't understand something for once?" Ron said in mock-surprise, causing Hermione to slap him again.

"Well, your mum said something to me this morning. She said that the only person more obvious than me about being in love with someone was you. I counted, until I forgot, 9 clues from you," Hermione announced triumphantly.

Ron sat up bluntly. "Wait, who said this to you? My mum? This morning?"

She nodded in confusion.

Ron laughed shortly, and he grinned widely. His own mother. He roared with mirth. "I should have known," he muttered.

"Should have known what?"

"Did you get this long, mushy lecture about well, me?

"You have no idea, Ron," she declared, rolling her eyes with amusement.

"Oh no, I do. I got one too. Right after I brought you the syrup. Covered everything. Who I was in love with, why, extensive mockery about how I attempted to hide the fact, that you will be a great wife for me someday..." Ron stopped talking, took a sideways glance at Hermione. How could he let THAT slip out? But, she was smiling with pride and excitement. "Wait! Um...."

She chuckled happily. "Don't worry Ron, I got that too. She said she always knew that I would take away her little boy."

Ron groaned with embarrassment.

"Hey, I guess we have her to thank, though," Hermione remarked, as he rubbed her arm.

He looked at her again, a weird questioning expression on his face. Hermione smiled broader than she had in years.

Ron sighed, and shook his head.

* * *

Ginny hopped up the stairs, two at a time, Pepper-Up potion in hand. "Mum? Mum, I have you potion for you!"

"Hello, Ginny dear," Mrs. Weasley said as her only daughter sauntered into the room. She discarded her Witch Weekly magazine. "How is everything going downstairs?"

Ginny hesitated. Her mother was NOT supposed to know about Ron getting attacked by a mutant-toothpick-firing creature. "Uh...everything's going...good. Ron and Hermione are off...cleaning, cleaning up and Harry and I--"

"Yes, Ginny, I wanted to talk to you about Harry..."