Just Ron

"You think the pink?"

"Oh, yeah, I think the pink."

Parvati looked up at her best friend. "You're sure, Lavender?" she asked. "You don't think the gold?"

Lavender sat herself down next to Parvati on the bed. She picked up the little vial of "Molten" and held it next to Parvati's hand, squinting critically at the effect. "Nah."

It was the evening after the Yule Ball. Parvati had gotten back to the girls' dormitory quite late, and quite, quite angry. Oh, yes, maybe not all the evening had been a complete waste; the second half of the Ball had really not been too bad--but really! Harry had behaved so dreadfully!

She could, she supposed, theoretically speaking, have forgiven a guy that spent half the evening gazing across the room at an Athletic Type who he didn't even know, if only he'd paid an itty-bitty smidge of attention, at some point in the evening, to his actual date.

"You know, the girl he's supposedly taking to the Ball?" she had angrily asked Lavender. "You know, the girl he's supposedly spending some time with? He didn't even care when I went off! Do you know what he said, when I asked if he would mind? He said--" Parvati quickly switched to a lower, dopey sort of voice--"'What?'"

"He didn't!"

"'What?'" The voice returned to normal. "Yes, he did. I mean, boys!

"I know, I know."

"Honestly!"

Lavender had been immensely understanding. She had roundly condemned Harry as an immature insensate. She had made many supportive noises when Parvati asked if she really should have just gone off with that French boy. And she had giggled appreciatively as a somewhat-assuaged Parvati described that second, not-a-complete-waste, part of the evening. (The French boy's name was Jean-Denis, and he had the most wonderful blue eyes.)

And then Lavender had suggested that the both of them really needed to redo their nails, and had brought out the little kit that had just come in the post from Teen Witch Weekly.

Parvati had squealed.

'Thank heaven for "Passionate Pink,"' Lavender thought now. It had really been the manicure suggestion that had blown off the last of Parvati's steam; and Lavender wasn't sure if she could have borne to have made one more lousy supportive noise. She was friends with Parvati, but the girl had a temper.

*thud.*

*thud, thud, thud, thud.*

What was that?

"What's that?" asked Parvati, not looking up from the carefully lengthening pink strip glowing on her nail.

"I don't know," said Lavender, not altogether honestly. She had a suspicion. . .

It was awfully late for Hermione not to be back yet.

And the noise, now that she thought about it, was almost certainly coming from the staircase that led to the girls' dormitory.

*thud, thud.*

And it was definitely getting louder.

"D'you think it's Hermione?" asked Parvati, now waving one hand lightly through the air.

"I think it probably is," replied Lavender, her voice slightly tart. The footsteps didn't sound very happy, and she didn't want to spend the rest of her night consoling random room-mates.

*thud, thud, thud, thud.*

Not to mention the fact that she really didn't think that nail polish would do any good with Hermione.

*thud, thud, thUD THUD.*

There was a brief second of silence. Then

*BA--*

The door did not quite bang open. It certainly flew forward at a remarkable velocity--but a hand suddenly shot out and caught it 'round one edge before it could hit the wall.

The hand dropped down to the doorknob, and Hermione Granger shut the door carefully behind her as she entered the room.

'She looks rather in need of consoling,' Lavender thought, and felt grouchy. 'Well, isn't this just my night.'

"Hermione?" she said resignedly.

Hermione spun around. Lavender noticed that her hair was looking a right mess again--little twists and frizzes were coming down out of the elegant bun she had helped to construct.

"Yes, Lavender?" she asked, extremely politely. There was something not. . . not right, edging her voice. Lavender realized that it would perhaps be best to tread cautiously.

"Um. . . Hermione, is there something wrong?"

"No," snapped Hermione, turning back and walking briskly towards her bed.

"But Hermione--"

"Everything's fine, Lavender! And I should like to go to bed now, so please stop quizzing me! There's absolutely nothing wrong!"

She wrenched the bed curtains open. Lavender heard rather a loud squeak as the bed springs complained about the sudden weight. Then a hand reached out and snapped the curtains back shut.

Lavender looked at Parvati, who was no longer quite so intent on her finger nails. Lavender raised one delicately tweezed eyebrow at Parvati, and Parvati arched one shapely-ly tweezed eyebrow at Lavender.

Parvati leaned towards Lavender. "*Well," she said, very quietly, "what happened there?"

----

"Well," came Parvati's voice softly, "what happened there?"

It was too dark to make a difference, but Hermione shut her eyes anyway.

Maybe that way she wouldn't be able to see the red glow her face must be casting across the curtains.

When she had stormed out of the Common Room, her face had simply been red with anger. But then, about half-way up the stairs, she had suddenly realized something; now, her face was red with something else altogether--and it seemed, if possible, to be getting redder every second.

Now that she'd thought about it, of course, she couldn't quite see why she hadn't realized it before.

Ron liked her.

She felt herself blushing again, and decided that she couldn't possibly be any more mortified than she was already, so she might as well just face the thing.

After all, she was going to have to think about it sooner or later.

Ron liked her.

She'd never had any idea of it before. She. . . well, she had just never thought of Ron like. . . like that. She had been completely shocked when he'd acted like such a git during the Ball. She hadn't had the slightest idea why he was suddenly being so unfriendly to Viktor. His behavior had come as a surprise to her--he'd always been such a fan of Krum's before, and she hadn't been able to fathom why his attitude had so abruptly changed.

Well, she fathomed it now, all right.

Back in the Common Room Ron had started being hateful again: accusing her of throwing a fight, betraying Hogwarts--of betraying Harry. After everything they'd all gone through--how could he say that! It wasn't exactly as if either Ron or Harry had asked her to go, now was it! It wasn't exactly as if she had turned down Harry to go with Krum. That now, that could have been a betrayal.

She would have gone with Harry, if he'd asked her.

She would have gone with Ron, if he'd asked her.

But neither of them had, now, had they?

Harry hadn't thought to ask her at all.

And as for Ron. . . well, Ron had waited until he was desperate, and then asked her (rather reluctantly, and very rudely), and then assumed she wouldn't have anyone else to go with! And then accused her of lying when she told him she did have someone to go with! Honestly, the nerve!

Of course, now that she'd realized about. . . it, Ron's attitude made more sense. She really didn't know why she hadn't realized before, down in the Common Room.

Why she hadn't realized before she'd said it--but at the time all she'd realized was that her friend, her good friend, who she'd known for heaven's sake forever, was insulting her again.

So that, when Ron had said:

"I don't like it, Hermione, you going with Krum! You should have gone with--with one of us!"

she had absolutely just snapped. As if she could have gone with one of them! And she had yelled that if he jolly well wanted her to go with him, well then, he could jolly well try asking next time.

Imagine, what a concept.

And then she had seen his face.

And then she had stormed up off the stairs.

And then, half-way up the stairs, she had realized what she had seen on his face.

And now what was she supposed to do.

Ron liked her.

She opened her eyes again. She could just make out the dark lines of the canopy. Cracks of light still glowed between the curtains--apparently, Parvati and Lavender were still up.

Nope, that didn't really help either.

She closed her eyes again.

It occurred to her suddenly that she would have to see Ron again.

Well, obviously.

How was she supposed to look at him? Knowing that he liked her? And knowing that he probably knew that she knew?

And knowing that. . . well, knowing that she probably didn't like him.

She'd never even thought of him that way. Ron was just. . . well, Ron, obviously.

She'd just never thought of Ron that way.

She didn't think she could think of Ron that way now.

Ron was Ron.

She was glad, at this moment, that she'd never been that close to any of her room-mates. She couldn't even imagine trying to explain this to Lavender. 'Ron's just Ron,' she imagined herself saying, and almost winced, it sounded so silly. It really wasn't an adequate explanation.

But it was an adequate reason. She simply couldn't imagine feeling that way about Ron--maybe if she could, she wouldn't have been so dreadfully slow to realize that he, unfortunately, could imagine feeling that way about her.

She knew, quite suddenly, that she could not tell him any of this.

And not just because her face started to redden again at the sheer thought of such an awkward and embarrassing and painful conversation.

But because he was her friend. She wasn't really angry at him, not now that she knew why he'd been such a prat; she didn't want a fight. She'd almost lost both of her best friends last year, in a fight; and she'd lost half of both her best friends earlier this year, when Ron had had that hideous row with Harry about the Tournament.

She really didn't want to have another fight.

She really didn't want to hurt Ron's feelings.

But she also didn't want to lie to him--that wouldn't do any good at all, not in the long run. And it wouldn't be fair.

So although she lay there for a long time, eyes again open in the dark, behind the thick, hanging curtains, and tried to decide on something to say to Ron in the morning, all she was eventually able to decide on was this: that she did not want to have that conversation.

And that if he did not bring it up--well then. She would not bring it up either.

Her eyes closed again, and she fell finally asleep.