I Can't Fight This Feeling

I Can't Fight This Feeling

Chapter 1

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Ronald Arthur Weasley walked alone in the night, the Hogwart's Grounds spread out before him in the light of the moon, and the lake somewhere off to his right. He could hear the gentle sound of waves lapping the shore. It was a quiet night; the only sound the gentle whisper of the wind through the trees, and the occasional echo of laughter that drifted down from an open window somewhere above.

It was almost silent out here, and Ron was unusually thankful for it. He needed to be alone, to think. And he couldn't do that inside, up in the Gryffindor common room, because there was too much laughter and chatter going on. And he couldn't do it in the dorms, because someone was constantly bustling in and out of there, interrupting him. He couldn't even go to the library to think, because that's where the very object of his thoughts resided at the moment.

He had seen her earlier when he had first sought out a seat in the back of the library, away from the few students who were actually trying to study on a Saturday night. She was sitting by herself at a table, hunched over a book and seeming completely absorbed in what she was doing. He thought about walking over, sitting down and talking to her, but decided against it. Her face was all scrunched up, her eyebrows knitted together in a look that he instantly recognized, the one that bespoke intense concentration as she tried to grasp concepts that were almost out of reach. Not quite, but almost... Nothing was out of reach for Hermione Granger. God he loved that look.

He had stood there in the doorway, staring for what seemed like hours, but could really have been no more than a few minutes. He would probably have continued standing there too, just taking in every little change of expression, every twist or quirk of the mouth, every cute little frown, if something hadn't made her look up.

Their eyes met across the room, and when she smiled at him, Ron felt his heart stop. In fact, he felt it so acutely, he was still wondering why he wasn't dead yet when she waved him over to the table a few seconds later.

He went reluctantly, hoping against hope that she wouldn't see the way his face was burning. He'd been goggling at her like some kid who thought they'd just seen Santa Claus. It was embarrassing. At least he had the small comfort that she couldn't possibly know what he'd been thinking while he was looking at her. Ron thought he might die from terror if she knew that.

But if she saw the red stain that crept up over his neck to his cheeks, if she even noticed it at all, she said nothing, and Ron was extremely grateful when she started telling him all about her most recent idea. It turned out she had been hunting down wizarding law books for the past few hours, searching for anything that might help her with S.P.E.W. If she couldn't help houselves by gaining the support of other wizards, then she was determined to find a legal loophole somewhere.

Ron just shook his head, unable to suppress the teasing grin that burst into life at the mention of S.P.E.W. "Honestly, Hermione, are you still onto that? I thought you'd forgotten about it by now."

She gave him a you've-got-to-be-joking look and glanced back down at her book. "How can I forget about it, Ron, when every time I get up in the morning and see that the fire has been stroked, and that the floors have

been cleaned? Every time I sit down to a meal I know that it was prepared and cooked by a whole staff of house-elves. And every time I see Draco Malfoy I'm reminded that while the house-elves here at Hogwarts are treated fairly, there are still a lot out in the world that aren't."

She laid her hand on his arm in a familiar, unconscious, natural gesture that sent little shivers racing up the back of his spine, and caused a wave of warmth to rush through him. Ron studied her face intently as she looked up at him, dark eyes wide with a silent appeal.

Don't you understand, Ron? How can I make you see that this is important to the entire wizarding community, that it's important to me?

And Ron did see. If it was important to Hermione, it was important to him. But he couldn't just tell her that. "You've got a point there," he agreed. He felt himself staring at her again, mesmerized by the slightly triumphant smile that lit her face.

You think you've got me now? he asked her silently. Little did you know that you already had me.

Their eyes met across the table, and Ron saw a slightly puzzled look pass across her face, even though she continued to smile at him. That was when he suddenly realized that he'd been staring at her a bit too long. Ron felt his face flame again, and quickly pretended to cough, hoping to cover it.

"I've got to go," he'd lied without looking at her. He was already pulling himself to his feet. "I'll see you later." He didn't even try to come up with an explanation for his abrupt departure; he didn't think he'd be able to think of anything reasonable with this indefinable mist of emotion clouding his head as it was.

Hermione frowned, obviously concerned, and opened her mouth as if to say something, to stop him. Ron had almost decided that if she asked him to stay he would, just to please her, but as if she'd thought better of it her mouth closed again without having uttered any words, and he walked on.

He'd wondered through the halls, looking without seeing, hearing without listening, as though oblivious to the world around him. And in his own way, he was. All his energy and attention was turned inwards, battling the haze that had settled over his mind and trying to get to the heart of it, to discover the cause of the strange feelings he'd been experiencing lately whenever he was around Hermione. Well, maybe they weren't entirely "recent". In fact, he'd been having varying degrees of the same emotion since the beginning of his 4th year, over two years ago. But it was only since the beginning of this year, his sixth, that the feelings had really progressed, seeming to grow stronger daily. He would never forget the way his head would spin and his heart would start to race if Hermione only looked at him. Not to mention the way his vision blurred and his mind clouded when they touched, which seemed to happen a lot more often now that he felt every little movement with an intensity that shocked him.

I can't fight this feeling any longer

And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow

What started out as friendship has grown stronger

I only wish I had the strength to let it show

He couldn't remember ever having felt this way before about anyone, and even though he didn't like to admit it, not even to himself, especially not to himself, it frightened him. There was a part of him that cringed and shied away at the very idea of feeling so much for one person, of placing so much power in the hands of one mere mortal. But Hermione is not just one mere anybody, he reminded himself. She's...she's...He couldn't finish the thought. Exactly what Hermione was escaped him for the moment.

And so he had wandered, through the corridors, down the stairs, and out the door. Out into the clear, cool night. And here he was.

His thoughts hadn't changed, not really. He seemed to be simply repeating the same ones over and over. What is this feeling? Why do I only feel it when I'm around her? Does she feel it too?

It was that last question that his mind turned to now, studying it, twisting it, turning it over time after time and flipping it from side to side in the vortex of his mind. Searching...searching...for an answer that would never come. It was a hopeless endeavor, but that didn't stop it from happening. Does she feel the same way I do? Does her heart stop and do her knees start shaking when I enter the room? Does her blood warm and do her hands tremble when they brush mine?

And if they do, then why doesn't she say anything? Could she be just as scared and confused as I am?

Somehow, the possibility seemed impossible. How could he, with his too-bright red hair, his abundance of freckles, his over-long legs, and his average (if that) intellectual abilities ever hope to be the one to make beautiful, smart, kind Hermione Granger feel those kinds of things? It just couldn't happen. More than likely, it was Harry who evoked those kinds of responses in her. The very thought sent a wash of jealousy racing through him, at all the things Harry was that he could never be: popular, famous, brave, talented...rich. Rich enough to buy Hermione expensive gifts that he, a Weasley, could never afford. Rich enough to take her to fancy restaurants and on vacations. Rich enough to- Enough! He forced himself to push the feeling down, to shove it aside. Harry was his best friend, always had been. And he hadn't asked for those things, hadn't wanted them...If Ron asked him, he knew for a fact that Harry would trade all the money in the world to have his parents back again. No, it wasn't Harry's fault if Hermione felt things for him, or he for her. It was just...life, he supposed.

Still, the mind will wonder, and as he followed the path around the castle, once, twice, three times, he thought of what it would be like if Hermione did return his feelings. Would he be excited or nervous? Afraid or fearless? Would he be happy?

At least that was an easy one. Ron knew that if Hermione ever did confess her feelings for him, he wouldn't just be happy, he'd be positively ecstatic. In fact, he'd probably be so enthused that he'd sweep her into his arms and kiss her, full on the lips.

This thought brought a rush of images with it: the two of them, sitting together at the edge of the lake, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, hands clasped firmly together as they stared out over the water, both lost in thought. Her head would be resting on his shoulder, and his arm would be around her waist; a dark, but starlit night on top of the Astronomy Tower, her hands encircling his neck, his fastened firmly to her waist as he pulled her closer, their lips touching...

Ron shook his head, driving the pictures away, fighting for control of his roiling emotions. Why torture himself? Why dream of something that would never be?

He realized then, for the first time, that he had reached the doorway leading into the castle, and the shadows on the ground marked how late it had grown. It was time to go back, or people would start to miss him. With one last shake to clear his head, Ron pulled the castle doors open and walked inside.

And from far above, sitting on a window seat in the girl's dormitory of Gryffindor Tower, Hermione pulled her head away from the open window where she'd been watching him and sighed. Oh, Ron. You're not the only one who's confused about something around here. If only you knew...

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