A Summer Afternoon

She was going to have to talk to Ron.

She realised that after some thinking. The plan had been to talk to Harry: he seemed to be trying already, he just needed encouragement and support, and to be told what he couldn't see for himself. Yes, she mused, if she'd talked to Harry when the thought had first occurred to her, that might have been enough for him to sort it all out by himself. It probably would have been, judging by his behaviour back then. But then, what with Sirius dying and everything that had happened last year, she'd had to scrap that plan. Harry had changed as the situation had changed. His wants or needs hadn't changed, though, unless they had become stronger and more desperate - the difference was that Harry was no longer actively pursuing them in any degree, and showed no inclination to do so. He was closing himself off from the teachers, the students, her and Ron, everyone. She wasn't the right person to talk to him about it now, though, she thought. Besides, she'd had a hard time just trying to find him, let alone talking with him, those last few days of school... No, she couldn't expect Harry to do anything about the situation now - but something had to be done. Things couldn't stay as they were.

Before, she'd watched them both with mixed amusement, irritation and sadness - couldn't they see that what they wanted was right there in front of them? Couldn't they just say it?

It has to be harder for them, being boys, she thought soberly. Not like for us...

Girls had it easier, she reflected. Girls hugged each other; girls kissed each other hello and goodbye; girls could say I love you, sweetheart and smile and nobody thought anything was wrong about it. Girls could stroke each other's hair, could cry on each other's shoulders, could tell each other Oh, Ginny, you look wonderful in that top, could say I love that perfume, Ginny darling, where did you get it?, could walk down corridors hand in hand, could sneak off together without any scathing comments echoing after them, could tell each other how much I love you.

Girls could - and, unlike boys, they weren't afraid to - hug each other and tell each other how much they cared.

Hermione shook her head - none of this was helping. She already knew what she had to do. Ron was afraid, ashamed and scared, but she knew he cared for - loved - Harry, and she knew that if he was to be persuaded into taking action, it would have to be she who guided him. He would have to be coaxed into accepting the situation, and into confiding in her. And he would have to be made to understand exactly what Harry was doing and why. She remembered Ron's joking suggestion that she write a book explaining the meaning of the things girls do, but she rather thought she'd have to give him a course in the male psyche before stepping back and allowing him to - hopefully - sort out the rest by himself.

She'd simply have to talk to Ron. She was just about to get up from the comfortable chair she'd been sitting in to go and find him when there was a knock on the door, and Ginny slipped inside the room, smiling at her.

"Mum says dinner's ready in twenty minutes," Ginny told her, winding a strand of hair around a delicate finger, still smiling at Hermione. "She asked Ron to come and tell you, but I said I'd do it - I thought we could get ready together."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I should think twenty minutes is more time than we need to get ready for dinner," she said lightly.

Ginny's smile widened, her eyes sparkling. Hermione swallowed.

Oh, hell - she'd talk to Ron later. There were several weeks left of the summer, after all, and right now there were other things to do, like whispering sweet nothings into that beautiful, glossy red hair and - oh, yes, that talk was definitely going to have to wait, Hermione decided as she opened her arms in invitation.