Dazed Dreams

“Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world.”

–Ron, Chamber of Secrets

---

"Ron is never going to ask me to the Yule Ball, is he?"

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who had finally put her books away to think about the upcoming ball, rather than the nearing O.W.L.s. She must have been really upset or anxious to do a thing like that. Hermione Granger had been thinking about the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s since 1st year. She had only started thinking about Ron lately, but a lot more frequently. She had never talked to Harry about it, though, which was why he was caught off-guard.

"Sure he will," he answered, and he knew it. "Not that I should be telling you, but he talks about you all the time."

"Well, he doesn't talk to me. The ball is a week away. How do I know he'll ask me? Maybe I should just find someone else…” she said thoughtfully.

"Hermione, don't," he protested. "Ron really wants to go with you..."

"Terry Boot asked me," she went on to herself, plainly not listening to a word Harry was saying. "So did Justin Finch-Fletchley, but I think he's going with Susan Bones nowÂ… I couldn't go with either of them anyway. It's unnerving going with someone you don't know too well. You're constantly worrying about what to say, or if you're saying the right thing, and it's just too hard to have the most possible fun that way. I mean, I liked Viktor a lot after the ball, but I'd much ratherÂ…" She trailed away.

Harry, unsure what to say, picked up Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland and started to read.

"Who are you going with, Harry?"

He looked up, startled. "Huh?"

"Have you got a date yet?" she asked, looking at him right in his emerald green eyes.

His face felt hot, and he carefully avoided her gaze. "Er – no… Haven't asked anyone yet."

"Procrastinating again? Thought you didn't want to end up with a 'troll.'" She shook her head. "Well, who do you want to ask? I'm pretty sure Cho is just going with a group of friends, ever since—"

"Not Cho," he said.

"Parvati is going with Dean; she and Lavender have only stayed up to chatter about their dates and giggle until the sun rises, so naturally I've heard all this."

He shook his head. "I never really wanted to go with Parvati."

Hermione seemed to be running out of guesses. "Well, I don't think Ginny has a date yetÂ…"

"I don't want to ask Ginny either," he said, exasperated. "And Ron said she was going with Colin Creevy."

"Then who do you want to ask, Harry?" she repeated.

"I – well – it doesn't matter anyway. She wants to go with – with someone else." He stared determinedly at the floor.

"But she's not."

"Not yet," he replied.

"So ask her!" Hermione urged.

He shook his head again. "I couldn't."

"It's not like she'd say no," she pointed out, "as you're Harry PotterÂ…"

"I don't want to use that reason. I want a girl to go with me, not my fame and all that. And while the girl I want doesn't care if I'm famous, I just – I just..." Harry sighed.

"What?" she asked, intrigued.

"Nothing," he said dully. "Don't worry about it. Why don't we talk about something other than the Yule Ball? It's just depressing."

"Why don't we go together?"

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Us?" he choked out. "Together?"

"Sure, why not?" she said casually. "We can go as friends. It's always much easier that way."

"You're friends with Ron too," he reminded her.

"Ron," she said slowly and clearly, "hasn't asked me. So either he's trying his luck by trying my patience, or he doesn't want to go with me. Either way, all I know for a fact is that he hasn't asked me yet. And I'm sick of waiting around like this. What do you say, Harry? It could be fun."

"I don't think balls are much fun. Especially not this one in particular, if I have to spend the whole night running from Ron. Because he will kill me."

"Forget Ron." She giggled. "Wow, never thought I would say that. But honestly, Harry. You keep bringing up Ron. Would you rather go with him?"

He snorted. "Okay then."

Her brown eyes widened hugely. "You'll go with Ron?!"

Harry snickered and grinned. "Not Ron. You. I want to go with you."

"Because the girl you want to ask is quote unquote 'taken,' you mean."

"Yeah," he said, his smile fading slightly. "That's what I meant."

---

July 4, 1995

(Some day Americans call ‘Independence Day’…but as our characters are British, there will be no mention of it. And just to let you know right when this takes place in the ‘Summer Daze’ timeline, it’s two days after Ron gets the letter from Harry, and one day before the twins convince him to write to Hermione.)

That could happen, you know. The aggravating voice in the back of his head had returned.

Not bloody likely, Ron responded, leaning back against his chair. He had been just trying to clear his mind and think about something he wanted to think about, like sweets and Quidditch, when that vision had popped into his head. It couldnÂ’t exactly be called a vision, because there was no chance that could be the future. You know why? Because Hermione would never want to go with me in the first place. The only part that seems just about right is Harry going with her.

Where did you get this idea of Harry and Hermione together? the voice asked.

Just by knowing them. They make a far better couple than Hermione and I ever could.

But I thought we were dealing with Hermione and Krum here.

We are.

So how did Harry come into this?

Ron threw his arms into the air with impatience. “I don’t know! I don’t know, okay? And I don’t care. But it seems to be pretty damn probable that they’ll realize their hidden love for each other.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Ron Weasley?”

He whipped around in surprise. What the hell? But no one was at his door; in fact, it was still closed. There was no way she could be here anyhow. Because the voice Ron had heard in his head that time wasnÂ’t the same one he had grown accustomed to hating. It was a different one, one that he couldnÂ’t hate at all.

It had been HermioneÂ’s voice.

“You’re being perfectly ridiculous, you know,” she went on in that reprimanding voice she always used, mostly for him. “Don’t be so stupid, Ron.”

Ah, it had to be her. She really did say that a lot.

“How did you get in my head?” he demanded.

“Maybe that little voice you hate so much invited me here,” she said in a taunting, challenging sort of voice. “Something you can’t seem to do.”

“Oh, shut up.” This was about right. Even though he was most likely in love with Hermione, it still felt right to quarrel and squabble with her. He just knew no other way to converse with her.

“I’m not in Bulgaria, Ron. But it might not stay that way for much longer…”

And then the voice faded away and vanished.

Ron dragged himself over to his bed and collapsed, clutching at his head. He was having strange, entirely impracticable visualizations and hearing multiple voices in his head. He really needed to see a psychiatrist.

---

---

---

Ron put his hands over his eyes, trying to block out the mental image. Not only was it horrifying to think about, it was horrifying to think about because it seemed so real.

Figures, he thought dismally. Even in my own dream the prospect of Harry and Hermione together is far more likely. It was even a more clichéd, romantic one, though managing to stay realistic at the same time. What did he know; they might have been going out behind his back the whole time, and Rita Skeeter’s article about the Harry-Hermione-Krum triangle had been true…

“Get real, Weasley.”

And it was HarryÂ’s voice this time.

“What are you doing up there, having a blasted party or something?” he asked, irritated.

Harry ignored that comment. “’We’ve just got to grit our teeth and do it.’ Who’s words were those, Ron?”

He yawned. “Sorry, the troublesome voice used that technique already. Didn’t work that time, won’t work now.”

“I don’t care if it failed the first time. I’m trying anyway. Why don’t you even try for a first time? Where’s that confidence, that determination?”

“That was stupidity. And you’re shaping up to be a great motivational speaker, you know that? That was even better than one of Oliver Wood’s famous pep talks.” (Haha, his pep talk before the Quidditch match in the movie… I won’t spoil it in case you’re one of the two people in the world who haven’t seen it.)

Harry continued like Ron hadn’t said those last two remarks. “It was not stupidity, it was great advice…considering it didn’t exactly work.”

“Ooh, that was convincing,” he said, his voice dripping with acid. “Thanks to that, now I really want to tell Hermione.”

“Fine, I’ll go—”

“Thank god, one of you voices finally gives up…” he cut in.

“—but I just don’t want you to regret the words left unsaid… She knows, Ron. But she has to hear it from you.”

With that, Harry was gone. But the impression he left behind was a solid one.

Regret? She knows? Harry had opened his eyes to a lot of aspects he hadnÂ’t even bothered to consider. That he could regret not telling her; regret that could haunt him for the rest of his life. What if he didnÂ’t tell her, and because of that, she did go to visit Krum? Or she did go to a ball with Harry? And she ended up marrying one of them?

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself.” Hermione said acrid one sentence before she left again.

Still, he didn’t want to live with that kind of burden on him. But Harry said she already knew… It was a figment of my imagination. I don’t know that for sure. If Hermione knew how he felt, why didn’t she try to do anything? There were only two answers to that: she didn’t feel the same way he felt…or she was going through this exact same case of denial and refusal. And he was back to Square One – where his only way to figure anything out was to ask Hermione herself.

---

“Good, I thought you wouldn’t come.”

He was at the Astronomy Tower again. Except he hadn’t been lying on the floor. He had entered through the heavy oak doors. It seemed different this time, somehow. Her voice didn’t sound pleased like it had been before. And he didn’t have that feeling of his heart as a bass drum mallet booming against his ribs. He felt oddly…blank…with a trace of sourness he couldn’t place. “Why did we have to meet here, Hermione? You know – you know what people come up here to do…”

“I know,” she said shortly. She took a few long strides to meet him. She wasn’t wearing her powder blue dress robes. And she was wearing a heavy cloak, which eliminated the possibility of her being cold.

“Have – have we come up here to do that?” His voice was unsteady, but endearingly hopeful.

She rolled her pretty brown eyes, but there was no smile on her face. “No,” she said, “we came up here to talk.”

“To talk about what?” he asked impatiently. He gestured his arms at the tower surrounding them. Besides stone and sky, there was nothing. “The stars, Hermione?” His voice was crisp. “It’s always about schoolwork to you, isn’t it?”

“And it’s always about anything unserious to you. Jokes…chess…Quidditch…sweets… Any time I try to have a conversation with you, with any sort of gravity at all, like our future—”

“What future?” he burst out. “You hate thinking about the future! You’re terrible at Divination.”

She snapped. “Not that rubbish! And you’re one to talk about that. I do think about the future, you know. I have ambition; I have goals… You have nothing.”

He opened his mouth, but he had no words to reply to her statement.

“We’re too different, Ron. We can’t agree on a single thing. What I like, you hate. What you like, I can’t stand. We’re constantly disagreeing, we do nothing but fight—”

“So why do we bother?” he burst out. “Why do we call ourselves a couple when we aren’t one? Why do you tell me to meet you places, like the Astronomy Tower at midnight, if you have absolutely no intention of doing what teenagers our age really do at the Astronomy Tower?!”

“Because if I had told you anything else, you wouldn’t have shown up! You can always slip away when I try to tell you something at mealtimes, in the common room, the library. No matter how hard I try, you refuse to try and work to solve our problems. You’d just let them pile up, like a stack of outdated Daily Prophets. We need to clean up all this mess between us.”

He smiled wryly. “I hate doing chores. When we get married, you can be the housewife, and I’ll—”

Hermione completely exploded at that comment. “See? You see what I mean, Ron? Here I am, trying to fix our relationship, and you talk about chores!”

“Have a sense of humor, why don’t you.”

“Grow up!”

“Yes, Mum,” he said witheringly.

“Is that it?” she asked. The volume of her voice had dropped spectacularly. Instead of shouting at the top of her lungs like she was early, now she was almost whispering. Her face, contorted with fury, was inches away from his freckled one. “I’m you mother now? Well, I suppose that means I can’t be your girlfriend then.” She made to turn away, but Ron grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and made her face him.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“Think, ‘Ronniekins,’” she spat. “Something you don’t seem to do very often.”

“I think all the time,” he told her angrily.

“Then think about this:” –she paused for dramatic effect—“we’re through.” Ron stared at her for a minute, unblinking – and then she kissed him, hard. There were no fireworks. The world didn’t dissolve and leave them in their own perfect little universe. There were no feelings, no love. It was just an empty, meaningless kiss.

But not to Ron. When Hermione drew back, breathless, his lips curled upward into a grin. “See, look? We always argue pointlessly, but then we kiss and it’s all made up—”

Hermione stared into his innocent brown eyes. It hurt her to say this, but she had to. “We haven’t made up,” she clarified for him. “We’ve broken up. That kiss meant ‘goodbye.’”

“When you say ‘goodbye,’” Ron said slowly, the grin not in the least faded, “you meant ‘hello,’ right?”

She made a fed up, strangled noise and stalked away to the heavy, oak double doors, letting them slam behind her. Ron Weasley was oblivious to the world, all right. He stared blankly at the doors she had disappeared behind. Did I say something wrong?

---

“Come on,” Ron protested. “I’m not that thick.”

Hey, it was your dream.

More like a nightmare. “So you’re back, are you?” he said. “No more Hermione, Harry? I was wondering who you were going to have next, Krum?”

Nah, internationally famous Quidditch stars are hard to come by. And do stop talking out loud. Ginny happens to be eavesdropping on you right now, outside your door.

Oh, thanks, he said appreciatively, and then – Wait, a minute. He got to his feet and walked over to his door, flinging it open.

Ginny, who had been leaning against it, gave a little squeal as she toppled over.

Ron moved out of the way, and she hit the not-so-soft carpet. “What are you doing here, Ginny?” he said heatedly.

She looked up at him, not abashed in the least. “It’s fun listening to you talk to yourself. And the things you talk about! It’s like watching a mental patient on a soap opera, but in those, that insane person turns out to be the leading man’s secret evil twin who has plans of world domination and seducing the lead woman—“

“Get out.”

“You don’t really think Harry is in love with Hermione, do you?” And her brown eyes were very wide. “I mean—“

“Yeah, he is,” Ron answered bitingly. “They’ve been dating for ages.” He was a fairly convincing liar; thanks to his mother and the messes he always got into, especially at school, it was well practiced. And yet… Why did he find it so easy for that lie to slip out? Why did he get a weird tug at his heart, like he actually believed what he was saying?

Ginny’s lower lip trembled, and she glared at him. “I hate you, Ron.”

“So get the hell away from my room!” he bellowed and slammed the door. Why does this seem to happen so often?

You set yourself up for these things, talking to yourself and being a damn idiot not telling Hermione. Of course your nosy siblings are bound to interfere.

If youÂ’re part of me, why do you converse in the second person? Or is it third? What the hell, this is confusing.

Very confusing, the voice agreed. But IÂ’m the oh-so-mystical and mysterious wise voice in your head. ItÂ’s supposed to be confusing.

Ron sighed. Tell me, oh wise one – am I overreacting towards them?

Who?

Ginny, he answered. George. Fred. Percy. Bill, even. Just throw in Charlie and IÂ’m mad at all my brothers and sisters.

You had to clean the dragon manure on CharlieÂ’s clothes. You can be mad at him too.

He groaned. I was trying to be serious for once.

Wow, the voice said, impressed. Anyway, they understand. All your brothers have gone through it before. GinnyÂ’s going to go through it too. ItÂ’s just teenage angst. You feel the need for excitement in your life so you blow everything out of proportion. ItÂ’s the way of the world, young grasshopper.

That doesnÂ’t change it. I still hate Ginny for eavesdropping.

Ginny always eavesdrops; she has ever since she’s sprouted ears. Plus, you don’t seem to mind so much if it’s about Percy’s secret girlfriends or the twin’s newly conceived plans to make life hell for everyone—

ThatÂ’s different.

Because itÂ’s about you this time?

Exactly.

* * *

That evening after dinner, all the Weasleys retreated upstairs, to go straight to bed for a big day at the office tomorrow (Mr. Weasley and Percy) or just to lounge in their bedrooms. The tasks of cleaning up the kitchen were left to Ginny and Ron, as it was their chore day. Between the two of them, there was pure silence. There was only the sound of a clatter of dishes as Ron cleared the table, and running water and scrubbing from GinnyÂ’s position at the sink.

“I wonder…why does Mum bother making us do chores if she can just use magic?” Ginny said timidly, hoping to break the ice and knock down the wall that had built between them, effectively blocking communication.

Normally, Ron would be the one whining and complaining, especially since his immense workload a few days ago. HeÂ’d say their mother made them do chores just for the pure pleasure at reveling in their torment. But he didnÂ’t say it, or anything at all.

“I’m sorry, Ron. About reading your letter from Harry, eavesdropping on you this morning… I shouldn’t be so nosy, especially with your love life.” She stared down at the plates she was washing.

He finally responded. “Seems to be the thing to do nowadays, isn’t it? Let’s go into the pathetic love life of ickle, fickle Ronniekins. Must be fun.”

“You’d always tease my about my crush on Harry!” she said hotly. “Messing with love lives is much more appealing then. I suppose it’s funnier because he knows how I feel; I do things to no avail; I try, and I get nowhere, as opposed to being nowhere from not even trying.” Ginny breathed heavily through her nostrils, as if that rant had been yearning to escape for a long time.

Ron clenched his fists tightly around the silverware he was gathering. “I try.”

She laughed hollowly. “Like hell you do. I don’t see why you’re so afraid anyway. Why don’t you open your eyes, Ron?”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” he asked, glaring at her darkly.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Her eyes twinkled. “She’s my friend, you know. She tells me…things.”

“What things?” he demanded, the handles of the spoons cutting into his palm because of his vice-like grip.

Ginny just smiled sweetly. “Bring those forks here so I can wash them.”

“How about I stab you with them?” he asked, raising one fist high into the air, poised to come swishing through the air at her.

“Too messy. And imagine what Mum and Dad would say if you murdered their only girl?”

Ron shook his head. “Ginny, you really—“

“Don’t finish that statement,” she interrupted. “I’m cleaning the knives now; they’d be a worthy adversary to those forks, and I just may be liable to use them.”

“So much for apologies.” He dropped the handful of utensils beside the sink.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I really am,” Ginny said sincerely, dropping her head. “Our situations may be entirely different: I’m hero-struck, you’ve fallen for a friend; I know he doesn’t feel the same, you’re worried she won’t – but what I’m trying to say here is…we’re both in love. I know how it feels, for someone to constantly be on your mind… You think, and dream, and wish, and want. But you can’t seem to act. If you sit still long enough and let yourself drift away from the world, you sort of daze out. And then you can’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality. It’s not the same in any sense…but it helps.”

“What are you getting at?” he asked, taken aback by Ginny’s sudden knowledge and mystery.

“I know you dream. And you wish it could be more, but you’re afraid. If you leave all your fears behind and just think of it all as one big dream we’re all living in…it can be.” Ginny rinsed the suds of the final spoon, and then tossed the sponge back in the basin. “Goodnight, Ron.” She walked past him out of the kitchen, and he could only stare back incredulously.

He hadnÂ’t realized it, for the change had been subtle and gradual, but his youngest sibling was no longer a little girl. She knew a lot more than he gave her credit for. Possibly more than even he knew. More than he even understood.

---

I had that dream about you again

Where I wait outside

Until you let me in

And now IÂ’m breathing deeply

Walking backwards

Finding strength to owl and ask herÂ…

--“Roller Coaster,” Blink-182

(I changed it to 'owl' from 'call,' since we can use PoA as proof that Ron doesn't know how to use a 'fellytone.')

---

July 14, 1995

(In the dream and the real world)

Somehow, he knew it was her window. Even though there wasnÂ’t even a clue (the curtains were drawn partially shut, and even they gave no implication that a teenaged girl lived in the room behind them) and he had never been to her house before, he just knew.

There was no ladder, but what did he really expect? That would just be inviting robbers and criminals to climb up and break into her bedroom in the middle of the night. However, there was, to his luck, a trellis. The wood it was built from didnÂ’t look very sturdy, but he wouldnÂ’t be climbing it for a long time. Her window wasnÂ’t too high up from the ground. So he tested his luck and put the tip of his sneaker on one of the little squares. It supported his weight, so he continued his ascent.

One squareÂ…the next footÂ…up anotherÂ…just a few more leftÂ… There. He reached her bedroom window and tapped lightly on it. She slept on.

He tapped a little harder now. Still, she didnÂ’t wake up. She only rolled onto her other side, now facing him, but her eyelids were closed.

So he knocked more urgently. This got her attention. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and she glanced in the direction of her window, blinking in curiosity. She looked through the gap in the curtains, her eyes widening –

And she screamed.

This surprised him so greatly that he drew back, causing the trellis to fall along with him. Or on top of him, rather. It was painful to have wood splintering him and vine tendrils starting to wind around him, but he could only notice her and her horrified expression.

Hermione hurried to her window and flung it open, but she showed no signs of concern for him. “Ron Weasley!” she whispered fiercely. “Are you insane? What are you doing at three o’clock in the morning, trying to get into my bedroom?” That sentence already sounded too odd to say.

“I – I – I didn’t think it was such a good idea to use the front door,” he said lamely, shoving the lattice off him. Luckily, it was lightweight, and he wasn’t injured too badly.

She was glowering. “What in the world is so important that you had to come halfway across the country to tell me in the dead of the night?”

“I – I love you.”

She could do nothing but stare, her jaw slack. For a long time, she couldn’t speak. “You – you prat!” she cried. “What kind of joke are you trying to pull? If you thought you could come along uninvited to crash at my house because your parents kicked you out, think again. I’m leaving tomorrow – or later today, rather – for – for Bulgaria.”

‘For – for Bulgaria.’ His heart felt like lead, and it was stuck in his throat. He had never felt more foolish. “I – I knew that. I just came to…to wish you bon voyage.”

“Thank you,” she said crisply. “I’ll see you on September 1^st at King’s Cross. Maybe I’ll send a postcard once I’m with Viktor. But now I’m going back to get my rest for my trip. So, goodnight.” And she slammed her window down.

---

“My dreams just keep portraying me like more of an idiot each time, don’t they?”

YouÂ’ve got to stop talking to yourself, Ronnie. ItÂ’s not healthy. So IÂ’m telling youÂ…that IÂ’m leaving.

Ron rolled over onto his back with a bemused smile. His eyes were still closed, but he could see the golden tint of sunshine against the back of his eyelids. Where, Bulgaria? He said this with some laughter. He had gotten to used to the voice in his head by now, and found that he could joke around instead of snapping at it every time.

No. For good.

He sat up. What are you talking about?

You need to stop talking to me. This is just getting ridiculous. YouÂ’re shutting everyone out and talking to some disembodied voice in your head. You need human interaction, human advice.

But youÂ’re the all-mighty wise one.

YouÂ’ve discovered that your siblings understand more than you figured. They can help you. I canÂ’t.

This is insane. The dramatic point of this story is the voice in my head leaving me?

I do wonder whom youÂ’re talking to when you say those things. Anyhow, you realized it yourself. You overreact to your brothers and sisters and keep them away with a ten-foot wall. Go to themÂ…they can help, trust me. After allÂ…IÂ’m the Sage-ly voice in your head, right? If it had been a real person, Ron could just imagine him winking and then vanishing into a puff of smoke. Whatever it was, he was gone.

IÂ’ll miss the little bugger, he said thoughtfully. Just when I was starting to warm up to him.

---

Knock, knock.

(Writing is bold, by the way, just because I couldnÂ’t make it Normal or in Italics, since you would perceive it to mean somethingÂ… YouÂ’ll see what I mean.)

Ron stood up and opened his door. Ginny was standing there, a cheerful smile on her face. “Good morning, Sunshine,” she chirped. “You’ve got someone here to see you, so get yourself cleaned up. You look like you’ve been trampled by a herd of rampaging hippogriffs. And I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course.”

He snickered. “Thanks, Gin. But…” He paused. “When you say I have a visitor, do you mean…?”

She just shrugged, still smiling, and flounced away.

~

Let me sleep

For when I sleep I dream that you are here

YouÂ’re mine

And all my fears are left behind

--From the movie ‘Get Over It,’ Helena’s song

Sitting in the summer grass

You told me not to talk so fast as I told you how I feel

You made me feel right at home

You told me I was not alone, and you knew just how I feel

--“Seasons,” Good Charlotte

~

Ron slid the back door open and stepped into the backyard, unable to shake the misgivings in the back of his mind. If only the voice was still there to reassure him. And then, those thoughts were wiped awayÂ…because he saw her.

She was standing there, right in front of him, wearing a pair of shorts and a blouse, which was the exact color of her dress robes that he was so fond of. Her hair was still bushy, of course – besides three times the recommended amount of Sleakeazy’s, nothing could change that. But she was beautiful. She giggled as she watched Fred and George flinging garden gnomes over the fence, not finding anything particularly animal abusive or barbaric about it. Crookshanks was not with her, not even in the bushes helping the twins eliminate the pesky beasts. Then, suddenly, she turned and spotted him. A smile lit up her face, and she came over to him. “Hello, Ron.”

He grinned back, feeling his knees go weak, so he rested his hand on the picnic table beside him to keep himself standing. “Hi.”

“It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?” she said, gesturing around them and looking up at the cloudless, perfect blue sky.

He couldn’t stop staring at her. “Yeah…beautiful.”

“Much better than Bulgaria,” she added.

Ron nearly fell over, so he gripped the table more tightly. “Oh, Bulgaria…how was it?”

“What do you mean, how was it?” She looked purely puzzled. “Viktor never owled me about an invitation. I just got a letter from him last week. He said he was sorry, but he’d be touring over Europe for Quidditch All-Star games and had no time for me to visit. And I had gotten your invitation just the day before…so why pass up the offer? I’d much rather be here at the Burrow anyhow.” She looked over at him. “The weather’s nice.”

She’d rather be here than in Bulgaria… “A little hot, don’t you think?” he said conversationally.

She agreed. “Terribly. Maybe we can catch some shade over there, by that tree—”

He looked where she was pointing. It was the tree he went to relax under frequently. “Okay.”

They walked over to it and sat down underneath. Ron leaned his back against the trunk, and Hermione sat down on the greenest patch of grass she could find. The branches efficiently blocked out the sunÂ’s harsh rays, but just enough light filtered through the leaves for them to see clearly.

“So, how has your vacation been?” Hermione asked.

“Boring.” Until now…

“Me too. I’ve just been staying at home, reading. Not much fun. I’m glad you invited me over.”

He was so overjoyed he could barely speak. “M—me too.”

Then they were quiet and reflective, loafing around in their spot, just enjoying the day and each otherÂ’s company. Words were unnecessary. It was just a wonderful moment.

Well, Hermione was the wistful one, anyway. Ron had his mind focused on one thing – gathering up his courage. “Hermione?” he asked finally.

Lying on her back, she looked up at him. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she said kindly.

“If Viktor had sent you that invitation…” Ron gulped. “Would you have gone to Bulgaria?”

She looked slightly surprised (Boys and their questions! she was thinking), but answered anyway. “I think so…” Then she smiled at him again. “But I got yours first. So I would have to politely decline due to other engagements.”

It was reassuring, but there was still something nagging at his mind. “And Harry?”

“What about Harry?” she said curiously.

He knew it would be stupid to ask if she would visit him, as Harry lived with the Dursleys, and chances of visitors was very slim. Unless they stayed in the cupboard under the stairs… “Did you kiss him at King’s Cross?” he said suddenly, short of breath.

She looked surprised and somewhat embarrassed. “On the cheek…” she mumbled. “As colorful as it would make my love life seem, I must report that I do not have feelings for Harry. Which will be some comfort to those women who want to send me envelopes filled with bubotuber pus because I supposedly broke his heart.”

He had never felt happier and more relieved. “And…” he said slowly. “Can I tell you something?”

She giggled. “Yes, Ron, I’m glad you haven’t forgotten you must get my permission every time before you speak.”

It felt good to grin again. “I kind of…well, I…the reason I invited you here was because – um…”

“Tell her, idiot!” hissed a voice from the bushes.

Ron and Hermione turned around to see a rustle of leaves and the tops of two identical, fiery red-haired heads.

“Thanks, Fred,” Ron said amiably, finding that not even the twins would be able to ruin his good mood. “Now can you two go away?”

“Awww…” George groaned, but the two of them left nonetheless.

But Ron still didnÂ’t feel that he and Hermione were alone.

“You too, Ginny!” he called instinctively.

Ginny’s head popped up from behind a rosebush close to Hermione. Her brown eyes were sparkling. “But I wanted to hear this…”

Ron thrust a finger in the direction where the twins had gone off. “Go.”

She nodded and scampered off.

“Can’t get any privacy around here, can you?” Hermione mused.

“Nope.” You have no idea how true that is. “Anyway, Hermione…I just wanted to tell you that –” He squeezed his eyes shut. Say it…just say it…he willed himself. “I – uhh…I really like you.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “You do?”

He nodded, feeling his heart rate going straight through the roof. Blood was pounding in his ears, he was completely short of breath; this was the moment of truthÂ…

Hermione moved to sit next to him. She titled her head up to meet his eyes, which he opened immediately. Ron saw himself reflected in her dark pupils, looking tense and fearful. To his surprise, Hermione looked the same. But she hid it by beaming. “I really like you too, Ron.”

Then the world really did begin to dissolve around them. For all Ron knew, nothing existed but this paradise, this area under the tree and the two of them together. And it wasnÂ’t a dreamÂ…

~

Was it?

Ron blinked a few times. He was still underneath the tree, in the exact same spot. Had he just dozed off and had another dream? At once, Ginny’s voice filled his head. Not another of ‘those’ voices, but an echo, a memory.

“If you sit still long enough and let yourself drift away from the world, you sort of daze out. And you can’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality.”

ThatÂ’s what he had done. So how would he really know if it had been real, or if it had all just been one more of his fantasies that would never happen?

Turn to your left, advised that voice, back just this once.

So he turned, wondering what sight would greet his eyes.