That Someone

THAT SOMEONE

Ron Weasley whistled while he walked. Before long, the Gryffindor version of Weasley is Our King could be heard down the hall. "Weasley can save anything. He never leaves a single ring. That's why all Gryffindors sing: Weasley is our Kingggggggggggggggg."

Man, he loved that song. A bit too much, but there was hardly a lot for which he could be given credit. It seemed that everyone in the family has accomplished something before he did. A prefect? Heck, his brothers had done that. A Gryffindor? His parents had that taken care of long before he had been born. Chess? His grandfather had that covered. A Quidditch player? Three of his older brothers had done that before him. Hey, the twins had left school and people were still singing their praises! The one thing he had was this song. "Weasley is our Kinggggggggg!"

Wincing at the sound, Hermione Granger almost persuaded herself to run rather than listen to the noise. Why, oh, why did Ron have to sing? And it wasn't like he was good in any way either. He was the worst singer she had ever heard and she could admit that, she was his best friend. Someone ought to stop him. She covered her ears when Ron came into view. Walking his way, she gave him a glare that could only mean one thing. "RONALD!" she called. "Must you really?"

Ron's voice was caught in his throat at the sound of the chiding. Hermione! Where had she come from? Probably the library. He rolled his eyes at that. It didn't matter that she read all the books in the world and was still rereading them. Or that her bushy hair was still bushy and that she could enchant a man with that smile. One person in particular, actually. Someone ought to tell Hermione that Ron would do ANYTHING for her. How could she not know?

Because someone has to tell her! And you're not that someone. He winced at the sound of that berating. Can a man not enter his own mind without feeling sorry for himself? Honestly. Something had to be done about this. He smiled, remembering that his attention should be focused on Hermione. "Singing is my forte, Hermione," he said, winking. "You're just jealous of my groovy tunes."

"Forte?" Hermione laughed. Ron could always make her laugh. "I find that very funny. Have you been reading the dictionary lately, Ron? Also, you happen to be tune deaf, so there are no groovy tunes. You sound like someone banging on the piano." She shook her head and patted his arm. "I'm sorry, Ron, that I have to be the one to tell you, but the only difference between your singing and mine is that I do my best not to sing at all."

Ron flinched. It had been this way ever since he could remember. Every small remark hurt him more than the last. Didn't she know anything? And girls were supposed to be observant. No, no, no touching, Hermione! You're being unfair! his mind cried out in pain when she patted his arm. Almost softly. Rather romantically. He glanced down at it and wondered. But no, she didn't--couldn't--think of him that way. "Well," he uttered, with a frown on his face. "I take that as a compliment personally." He folded his arms as he defied all reasoning. "I think you have the most beautiful voice in the entire world."

Hermione blanched. Why would he say something like that? It would have been so much easier had he just caught her tongue out, because she was speechless. "Um . . . " She couldn't think of what to say. She glanced down at her feet and shifted her weight, biting her lip. "That's not fair!" she cried. "You're supposed to snap back." A compliment was the last thing she expected. "You're so devious, Ron. I never know what tricks you're contriving in that head of yours!" She let out an exasperated sigh and softly punched his arm. "Sly. Sneaky." She rolled her eyes.

Did he just say 'no touching'? No, he thought it. There was a difference. STOP it, Hermione, Ron protested silently. Do NOT touch me. Someone make her stop, please! The punch might have been a romantic action had it not come from Hermione. He was delusional, that was it. Hermione didn't fancy him. How could she?

Ron nodded. "Yes, I spend my entire day thinking of how to upset you, Hermione," he said and then, placing a hand over his heart, he added, "It is my greatest joy!" He sighed. "So, um, Hermione, what are you doing this weekend?" He smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Anything interesting enough that I could tease you about it?"

"Actually, I'm glad you asked," Hermione said with an eyeroll. "I'm going home this weekend. It's Mum's birthday. Daddy and I are planning a surprise for her. I told you, remember?" Actually, she didn't remember telling Ron, but then he hardly listened to her. Now wouldn't be the first time he was clueless. "Right now, I'm actually . . . " She glanced down at her feet. ". . . not busy." Letting out a nervous chuckle, she realized, "I'm always busy, it seems. Um, you?" Obviously not, if he was wandering the halls singing Weasley is our King. For goodness' sakes! Why did the Slytherins have to come up with that bloody song?

Ron's head shook furiously. "Um . . . no," he answered, not sure he was admitting that she didn't tell him or that he didn't remember. Surely, he'd remember if HERMIONE was going away. "Wish her a happy birthday for me, will ya?" He smiled as he couldn't figure out what else to say. Or he wished Harry was here. It was less . . . hectic. "Um . . ." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess that makes two of us. Busy beavers. My schedule's pretty much full." Yup. Full schedule. Busy weekday. "Walk with me?" Okay. He hadn't MEANT to ask her that. It just . . . happened. Besides, walking was better than standing in the middle of the hall doing nothing.

"Isn't it ironic that we who consider ourselves busy have nothing to do at the moment?" Hermione observed, chuckling. The self-declared busy bees had nothing else to do but stand around the middle of a hall. "Puts shame to our position as eager beavers, doesn't it?" She smiled with a wink, tapping his arm. "Of course I'll walk with you! Did you really have to ask, Ron?" But, as she turned to fall in line with him, she came up with one ultimatum. "As long as you don't sing!"

Ron shrugged. "I can't promise anything," he said. "Well, what do you have planned for your mother this weekend?" He smiled. "Buying her a book or something? That'll be a nice birthday present, now wouldn't it?"

For that smart comment, Ron got an angry scowl and a sock to the head. Why did he have to be so . . . RON? Folding her arms, Hermione voiced indignantly, "if you must know, I plan to cook up something delicious and Daddy has picked out something nice for her to wear. We're going to have a nice family supper. Then we're going to give her gifts. I'm not sure what else Daddy has planned, but I knitted her something. Not that you would care much, but it's a scarf. It's quite lovely. Says M. Granger on the bottom. Fit for a queen." She frowned and narrowed her eyes. "In fact, it's fit for THE queen herself. She'd be jealous if she saw it on Mum. It's perfect. Brilliant piece. Too good to be true. Marvelous." She eyed Ron cagily. "And definitely not a book."

Ron nodded, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay!" he said. "I didn't say anything. I believe you. When you think about it, you're not a bad knitter yourself." That sounded too much like a compliment. And then he couldn't find anything to talk about. How was it that he could be around his best friend and be speechless? His best mate. They should have tons to talk about. "Um . . ." This was infuriating. He sort of wished Harry was here.

"Thank you, Ron," was all she could manage. Seriously, he needed to stop with the compliments. "I've been doing a lot of practice with knitting. It's becoming sort of a hobby now. I, um, made something for you." At that, she blushed. She shouldn't have told him! "And something for Harry." Nice save, Hermione. They were her friends. She had the right to make stuff for them, right? "I was going to give them to you two soon enough."

And Ron wasn't sure what to say to that. He shifted his weight and thought of all the things he could say. "Well, thanks, I guess," he mumbled. "Even if your knitting is absolutely terrible, I do believe I've received worse. Besides, it can't be that bad, if you . . . worked on it hard enough." He swallowed and then let out a sigh. "I'm pretty sure the queen would chuck it out, though."

Did he LIKED being socked in the arm? Because it had to be the twentieth time today that Hermione hit him. "My knitting is impressive, you git," she mumbled. "You should see it." She chuckled when she realized something. "You are going to see it. You'll love it, I promise. And if you don't, you can't chuck it out, Ron." She placed on a serious face. "It would really hurt my feelings if you do. Promise me you won't chuck it out. Bury it in your trunk of something, but if I find it in the trash, I'm going to kill you. Honestly. I know where you live! I'm not the best knitter, but I worked really hard on them. It took a lot of time and effort . . . and . . . would it KILL you to appreciate me? Even a little?"

Ron stopped walking. Someone really ought to tell her how much he did value her. "I . . . appreciate . . . you," he choked out.

"Oh," was Hermione's response when she slowed to a halt. She turned and faced Ron. "I mean, I knew that. Not really I was just . . . taking the mickey--" She was forced to pay more attention to her feet. They both stood in awkward silence for a moment before Hermione launched herself into Ron's arms. "Thank you," she whispered.

Someone should really tell Hermione that one does NOT touch the guy who fancies you. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. It hurts too much when you let go. Well, it even hurts as you touch him because he knows that sooner or later you're going to let go. And then he's going to pout and whine because he's not sure you're ever going to touch him again. Touching is a sign of intimacy. And he's not sure you'd ever want to be "intimate" with him. Because somehow he feels he's not good enough for you. Why, you ask? There's a lot of things he's, well, lacking. He's been in school for six years and he's never learned a thing. He's not a Quidditch star and he doesn't have a Knut in his pocket. He can't sing and he hates your cat. Basically, he's everything you're not. And you're perfect, so that makes him relatively un-perfect. The farthest from perfect as one could possibly be.

Ron closed his eyes as he returned the hug. He liked that he was taller than she. He could poke her hair with his nose and she'd never know the difference. He could smell whatever it is she put in there and she'd never suspect anything. He could sigh and wish and she'd never, ever know.

Yeah, someone should really tell Hermione, but Ron was too engrossed in her hair to be that someone.