Darn Mistletoe

Twenty-two.

Twenty-bloody-two.

That was, twenty-two times that day Ron had met Hermione's eyes and Ron had turned a lovely shade of pumpkin while Hermione had cleared her throat and determinedly looked away. Ron would know. He had counted.

". . . so McGonagall stepped in and the next thing I knew, Draco Malfoy was cleaning Hippogriff dung from the Care of Magical Creatures classroom every night for a week." Ginny laughed as she sidestepped a shoddily-made snowman as they made their way towards the Three Broomsticks.

Harry caught her eye as they shared a private joke and joined her in her laughter.

Ron and Hermione, who could certainly see the overall pleasantness but not the humour of the situation merely smiled and glanced at each other. And the whole cycle begun again; Ron coloured as Hermione gave a little cough and stared pointedly in the shop window at a particularly fascinating pair of brown overalls.

Well, this was certainly going marvelously, wasn't it?

Ron sighed as they caught sight of the Three Broomsticks and began tramping towards it. This had been going on long enough. It had been approximately three months since he had realised his feelings for his bushy-haired best friend ("About bloody time," Harry had said, rolling his eyes) and for approximately three months he had dithered about them, not wanting to say anything to Hermione for fear she'd a) Slap him; b) Cry; c) Never speak to him again; or d) All of the above.

". . . very gentlemanly of you," Ron heard Ginny say as Harry held open the door for her. He couldn't help rolling his eyes; Ginny had read forty-seven too many romance novels--and then he caught sight of the ugly, hideous, revolting, vile plant/flower/decoration/thing that was hanging from the top of the doorway. His stomach churned as he realised a split-second later, as he heard a small squeak from Hermione, that she had spotted it as well.

Oh, dandy.

"Darn Mistletoe," Ron muttered softly. He wondered vaguely about his next course of action. If he kissed her (as he had wanted to do for the longest time imaginable--three months) it would be probably be fine but, knowing Hermione, that would be the end of him. On the other hand, the other, more hopeful and optimistic half of him argued that Hermione might get all offended the way only girls could get if he refused to kiss her and, all the same, it would be the end of him.

Which brought him right back to square one.

And then Ron noticed Hermione, who was staring at him, her brown eyes wide with hurt.

Wha--? Oh. He had made it sound like he really didn't want to kiss her. Which wasn't true at all. Which meant that he should--

Oh, kiss her already, you dolt! The Sir-Cadogenesque voice in his head shouted.

All right, all right. He bent down and brushed his lips against Hermione's cheek (or the side of her chin, really), letting them rest there for a moment before a sharp intake of breath from Hermione brought him crashing down to reality. Ron hastily straightened up, shocked at what he had done, and stared resolutely at a point above Hermione's head. Hermione blinked twice as if she couldn't believe what had happened.

Ron himself couldn't believe what had happened. Questions flitted through his mind like tiny golden snitches. Did Hermione mind? Had she wanted it? If she hadn't wanted it why did she look so hurt? Did she find him repulsive now?

"Close the door, won't you, Ron? We don't want a draft blowing in, not when it's so cosy inside," Ginny said as she began maneuvering across the room to an empty table.

"Uh. . . right." Ron mechanically shut the door and followed Ginny. He could feel Hermione's eyes on his back even though he couldn't see them.

There was a nearly tangible silence pervading the table after they'd gotten their drinks. They'd all seen what Ron had done and were looking at him as if for an explanation or a declaration of some sort. He wanted to die of shame. "R-rather cold outside, isn't it?" he stammered, rubbing his hands together for effect.

Ginny snorted into her Butterbeer.

Hermione nodded feverishly. "Yes, we've never experienced such weather at Hogsmeade before, have we?" she asked breathlessly, looking to Harry and Ginny for support.

Harry merely shot her a rather amused grin.

Fifteen minutes later they got up to leave.

As Ron approached the door - the mistletoe dangling tauntingly from where it hung - he wondered why Harry and Ginny never faced the same issue; they simply stepped across the threshold, ignoring the mistletoe completely. Funny how his feet seemed to have a problem with doing just that.

Ron and Hermione paused together under the mistletoe and, very slowly, turned to face one another, both nearly trembling from the cold and from emotion. Ron swallowed and tentatively leaned in towards her.

Hermione must have read his uncertainty because she suddenly blurted out, "It was nice. I- I liked it."

"Huh?" Ron's eyes widened as he realised what she was talking about. Or what he thought she was talking about. Did she mean. . .? "I kind of liked it too."

"Oh. Right."

"So, d'you reckon--?"

"Yes."

With Hermione's consent, Ron closed the rest of the distance. Their lips bumped once, twice, met softly a third time.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"Happy Christmas, Ron."

*