All That We Require

As the boys entered the Gryffindor common room, fresh and sweaty from Quidditch practice, Ron noticed Hermione stash a roll of parchment in her bag and bury her nose in her Arithmancy text. It was the third time he'd caught her hiding parchment that day. Not that he kept track. He wasn't noticing or anything. Who cared about a blasted bit of parchment? But it bothered him. That is, it didn't bother him or anything, but--

"Good practice?" Hermione asked, without looking up.

"Rough," Harry said. "I smell like Uncle Vernon's socks. I'm going to have a wash, and then I'm going find Ginny and hex the daylights out of her." He trudged up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, dragging his Firebolt behind.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked Ron, one curious eyebrow raised.

"Spent the whole practice hurling dungbombs at him," Ron explained. "Said she wouldn't stop until he let her play in the Hufflepuff match."

"He didn't cave, did he?"

"Course not. 'Spect that was half the fun for her." He dropped heavily into the chair beside her and peered casually at her textbook. "So. Been studying?"

"Mm-hm."

"Learn anything?"

"Mm."

"Right," Ron nodded. "Anything else going on?"

"Hm?"

"That's all you're doing? Studying? Not reading anything else then?"

Hermione dropped her quill into the open book and glared at him, pursing her lips.

"What?" he asked innocently.

She continued to glare.

"I'm just making conversation. Can't a fellow ask his friend a friendly quest--"

"It's a letter from Viktor, all right?"

"HA!"

"He's quite well, thank you for asking," she sniffed.

"I knew it!" Ron cried. "I knew it! All day you've been skulking about, hiding things in your bag--"

"And wasn't that silly of me!" she snapped, and turned back to her studying.

"Well, what does he have to say for himself?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"What business? What business? He was at Durmstrang! He could be a spy! Using you to get to Harry!"

"Don't be stupid."

"Let me see it."

"What?"

"I want to see what he says. I want to know what he's asking you." Ron dove beneath the table and stuck a hand into Hermione's bag. Hermione snatched the bag away from him.

"Ronald Weasley, don't you dare--"

At that moment, the portrait hole swung open, and Ginny climbed into the room.

"Ron," she began, one leg still in the hallway. "Is Harry--"

"Upstairs," Ron and Hermione snapped in concert.

Ginny stopped, made a quick assessment of the pair, who had not so much as turned to look at her but continued to glare fireballs at one another, and then glanced quickly around the room. A trio of First Years were staring open-mouthed at the scene by the fire, their game of Exploding Snap completely forgotten. Ginny whistled sharply. All three heads whipped around to look at her. She pointed at them, then at the stairs, her scowl daring them to defy her. They didn't dare. Scooping up their cards, they stumbled off to their rooms, and Ginny followed, glancing over her shoulder at what she hoped would be the last fight on this particular topic.

"Why are you being so secretive?" Ron growled.

"Why are you being so nosy?" Hermione replied. "It's a private letter, Ron."

"Private as in...?"

Hermione looked away, blushing.

"Bloody hell!" Ron sputtered. "You're seeing him!"

"No, I'm not," she said quietly. "Viktor's very sweet, but...."

"But what?"

"He's not my type," she shrugged.

"Oh, right!" Ron snorted.

"He isn't!"

"What's wrong with him, then?"

"There's nothing wrong with him," she sighed. "I just...I just...I guess I'm looking for someone more...." She trailed off and looked at Ron out of the corner of her eye. She fiddled nervously with her quill for a while, and then, as though the words were being pulled from her like a bandage from a scab, she blurted, "...red-haired."

Ron stared at her, his jaw dropping. Hermione cringed and tried a weak smile.

"You've got to be kidding," Ron said flatly. "Which one?"

Hermione blinked. "Pardon?"

"Is it Fred? Or is it George? Don't tell me it's bloody George!"

"George?"

"It is?!"

"No!"

"Fred, then!"

"No!"

"Don't," Ron warned, "don't even tell me it's Ginny."

"Ron!" Hermione cried in exasperation. "You stupid, bloody...ooooooh!" Forgetting her books, she hurdled up the stairs to the girls' dormitory and out of sight, just as Harry came down the opposite staircase.

"What was all that?" he asked.

"Bugger if I know, mate," Ron sighed, shaking his head. "She's gone barmy."

Just then, Ginny came storming down the stairs into the common room. She marched straight up to Ron and smacked him across the top of his head.

"Hey!" he protested.

"You're an idiot," she said.

Harry sighed and settled himself in the chair Hermione had left. "What did he do?"

"Viktor," Ginny snorted.

"That again?"

"Yes!"

Harry shook his head sadly.

"And so she told him."

"She didn't!"

"In so many words."

"Told me what?" Ron squeaked.

"Obviously not enough words," Harry grumbled.

"Obviously not enough thumps to the head," Ginny opined, and cuffed her brother again.

"Quit that!" Ron shouted, grabbing Ginny's wrist. "What are you two on about?"

Ginny looked at Harry. "You want to explain?"

"No," Harry said. "You have to explain the girl bits."

"Explain what?"

Ginny sighed. "She meant you, you prat."

Ron opened his mouth to complain again, then stopped, the sound lodged somewhere in his chest.

"Hermione fancies you."

Ron's mouth snapped shut with a pop. He looked from Ginny to Harry, who nodded.

"Always has," Harry agreed.

"She--"

"And for the record," Ginny added, "You fancy her."

"Always have," Harry confirmed.

"I--" Ron began, then stopped. Hermione. It was as though something inside his head had finally settled into place with a resounding thunk. Hermione! "Bloody hell, what have I done?"

"Not to panic," Ginny said, raising her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Operation 'Ron Is A Brainless Prat' commences now. You two have to come up with a way to apologize to her. I'm going to go upstairs and talk her into letting you." Ginny turned and headed for the stairs.

"Wait!" Harry called. "You're not going to help us?"

"No," she smirked. "You've got to handle the boy bits."

Ron turned to Harry frantically. "Harry, mate, I'm in trouble. I mean--Hermione."

"They say admitting it is the first step," Harry smiled.

"But what do I do? How do you tell someone that you... you... that you fancy her?"

"I wish I knew," Harry sighed, eyes darting toward the stairs up which Ginny had just disappeared. Then he turned to Ron. "All right," he said, "how bad was it?"

"Bad," Ron admitted, and explained to Harry about the family members he had accused Hermione of wanting to snog. Harry let out a low whistle.

"There's no good way out of that," he said.

"There must be," Ron said. "Someone must know how to deal with girls. Maybe there's a crib sheet. Or maybe a book somewhere. Hermione would know where--oh, bugger all."

Ron dropped his head to the table with a thud.

"Well, you could try apologizing the Muggle way."

"How?" Ron asked hopelessly.

"Flowers," Harry said sagely.

"Flowers?"

"And chocolate, in emergencies. I think this qualifies."

"Flowers," Ron repeated. "And chocolate. And where am I supposed to get those?"

"Maybe Neville--"

"Harry, all of Neville's plants ooze things. Even I'm not that stupid."

Harry gazed thoughtfully into the fire, while Ron continued to stare at the tabletop from a nose-length away. Ron really had bolloxed it up, Harry thought. To fix it, Ron would need to do something extraordinary. He would need to apologize and sweep Hermione off her feet at the very same time. This operation required the perfect gifts, and the perfect setting. It required....

"Say," Harry said.

Ron looked up.

"I've an idea."

***

"He's an idiot!" Hermione cried.

"Yes he is," Ginny nodded, patting her hand and passing her another kleenex. They sat, Hermione red-eyed and Ginny wearing her most sympathetic expression, on Hermione's bed in the midst of a pile of crumbled tissue. Hermione had been alternately crying and raving for quite some time. Ginny was prepared to sit it out and wait for the perfect moment.

"He's a stupid, thoughtless, mean-spirited, horrible...horrible...."

"Idiot," Ginny supplied.

"Yes!" Hermione cried, and blew her nose loudly into the new tissue.

"Of course he's an idiot," Ginny said. "All of the Weasley men are idiots. It runs in the family, like freckles."

Hermione giggled despite herself.

"But--" Ginny continued.

"No." Hermione shook her head emphatically. "No 'buts.' That's it. I am through with Ronald Weasley."

"Hermione--"

"In fact, I am never, ever going to speak to him again. Eee!" This last was a squeal of shock as a bundle of gray feathers hurtled through the open window and missed Hermione's head by millimeters. The girls looked up to see Pigwidgeon fluttering above them, hooting happily. He made three laps of the bedposts, then dropped his letter in Hermione's lap and settled on Ginny's head with a proud rustle of feathers.

"What's it say?" Ginny asked, carefully extricating the owl from her hair and nestling him in her lap. Hermione was scowling at the letter.

"It's from your brother," Hermione growled. "'Dear Hermione, I am an idiot.' Well, he got that bit right at least. 'Please meet me in the Room of Requirement so I can make it up to you.' Make it up to me. Make it up to me? Huh! 'I'll be there at half seven. I hope you come. I'm sorry. Ron.' Huh!" She tossed the letter aside and immediately sprang from the bed. She crossed to the mirror and surveyed her tear-ravaged face with a scowl. She picked up her wand and pointed it at her face. "Scourgify!" she commanded, and the tearstains began to dissolve. "Make it up. Ha! I'll show you how to make it up, Ron Weasley!"

"You're going?" Ginny asked.

"Of course I am!"

Ginny tried to hide her smile. "But I thought you were never going to speak to him again."

"I'm not," Hermione sniffed. "And I'm going to tell him so, to his face."

***

At twenty-five past seven, Hermione half-stomped, half-snuck down the hallway toward the Room of Requirement. She had spent the past two hours rehearsing what she would say to him. There were notecards in her pocket. Ron was going to get an earful.

When she reached the room she flung the door open without ceremony and stormed inside, making sure to give the door a good slam behind her. Then she whirled on Ron, prepared to unleash hell on him. Then she stopped.

Ron was standing in the center of the room, looking around in utter bewilderment. It was then that Hermione noticed what he was looking at. Nothing. There was nothing there. Not even the stones of the walls and floor, the beams of the ceiling, the sconces on the walls. The room was blank. The walls, floor, and ceiling were white and featureless. Even in the midst of her fury, this gave Hermione pause.

"What on earth...?" she muttered.

"I...I dunno," Ron said. He looked at her. Their eyes met. Suddenly, she remembered that she had been angry.

"Well, what did you do to it?" she asked. "Did you try to cast some stupid spell?"

"I didn't!" Ron cried. "It was like this when I got here!"

"Well, perhaps that serves you right," she snapped. "Honestly! Trying to get the Room to apologize for you? You couldn't even come up with something yourself?"

"How was I supposed to know what to do?" he shouted back. "I admitted I'm an idiot. I didn't know what I'd need to make it up to you. I thought the Room would give me something, or show me something, or something. But there's nothing here! There's nothing but you and me!"

Hermione was about to shout back at him when his last words sank in.

"Oh...oh...," she whispered.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Nothing but each other," she said.

"That's what I...," Ron began. Then he stopped and looked at Hermione, eyes wide with comprehension. "Oh," he agreed.

Ron shuffled his feet. Hermione bit her lip.

"Um...well...," Ron said suddenly unable to meet Hermione's eyes. He was blushing so hard his freckles disappeared. "I reckon the room would know, wouldn't it?"