36It pains me to say this, but THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER :'( I have had a wonderful time writing this story, but there will be no epilogue. Thank you very much to all who reviewed, your comments filled me with so much happiness that I had to run upstairs and annoy my sister by barging into her room, dancing in circles, screaming very loudly and bouncing on her (very nice) bed while she tried to shoo me out.
Viel Dank to these reviewers for taking the time for reviewing the last chapter: ballerinadoll9, Harry-Ginny Ron-Hermione, rheartsu and rhinopants...
NB: the 'add ruler' thing isn't working today so I am using 00000000000' s as dividers.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling equals genius, Die Libelle equals lowly student, therefore the statement 'Die Libelle equals JK Rowling' is mathematically and realistically untrue, and will be forever.
Ron stood glumly in the corridor like a man awaiting his execution. Why, oh, why, had he let Harry talk him into this? He gulped as he heard her footsteps coming down the corridor – even after all these years of being around Hermione, the thought of actually seeing her (and in a darkened corridor, no less) made him feel as though there was a slippery little creature writhing up the walls of his stomach – it was more pleasant than it sounded, as he had explained to Harry on more than one occasion.
The footsteps were getting closer, so Ron took his place just inside the Room of Requirement's door as Harry had instructed him to do. His heart was thumping so hard that he almost couldn't distinguish between Hermione's footsteps and his own pulse.
Hermione was in a bit of a hurry. She'd been making her way towards the Common Room when Dean had stopped her and told her that Mrs. Norris had been sick all the way down the corridor – and that the quickest alternative route was to take a detour past the Room of Requirement. Hermione tried all manner of pleading, but Dean remained firm, citing that if she wanted to break her neck and become closely acquainted with cat vomit, then in that case he wouldn't try to stop her.
Eventually Hermione has given up, turned back on her tracks and made her way upstairs, along the empty corridor. The door to the Room of Requirement was slightly ajar, which Hermione found a little strange. She stopped, curious, and was about to peer round, when a hand darted out, grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside.
"RON! What on earth…?"
"Sorry 'Mione, would you…uh…sit down for a minute?"
Hermione perched herself on a wooden crate and continued to look round at her surroundings.
Ron watched her take in the crammed book shelves, the pile of mops and buckets, the precarious-looking towers of boxes and the countless cleaning products that were stacked in crates much like the one Hermione was sitting on. He sighed. He hadn't known what to expect when Harry told him that Neville would be the one requesting a place for Ron to ask Hermione out, but he had certainly not been expecting –
" – a broom cupboard," said Hermione, echoing his thoughts.
"Err…yeah…sorry 'bout the mess…"
"It's OK," she replied, fidgeting.
"Are you alright?"
"Oh…yeah, absolutely fine, it's just, could you possibly hurry up a bit? I'm…heh…dying for the loo…"
"Oh, sorry," he said, blushing a little. "Well you seeeee…."
Sea? Arghhhh! thought Hermione.
She turned to Ron, "Yes?"
"Well, since Dumbledore made that announcement about the Ball this morning, I've been having this constant stream of thoughts…"
Argh! A stream!
Hermione cursed her bladder, and began to rock from side to side.
"…that perhaps, you'd, well, come with me…"
Ron faltered a little as he noticed that Hermione seemed to be a tad preoccupied.
"You probably have, um, a date already right? I'm sorry, I just couldn't hold it in, you know?"
'Oh, nooo…,' screamed Hermione silently.
"…it was like, all these feelings have been accumulating in me ever since I first saw you and I felt like the dam was about to burst…"
ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
"I'm really sorry Ron, I've got to dash…"
Hermione ran to the door, and began sprinting down the corridor in the direction of the Gryffindor toilets
"…talk to you later, k?" she called over her shoulder, before disappearing round the corner.
"Yeah, fine…" whispered Ron dejectedly, "…see you…"
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It was seven o'clock in the evening, and Hermione was sitting outside waiting for Ron.
The sun was bleeding across the evening sky and into the clouds. Where some of the sun's rays met the edge of a cloud, Hermione noticed that it took on a reddish-bronze tinge, glowing and fiery – like his hair.
She heaved a sigh, and thought back to the words he'd said to her that afternoon. Ron: sweet, kind and fiercely who was sometimes so daft and tactless and possessive that he drove Hermione (and Harry) to despair. He knew how to wind her up; knew which little things made her fly off the handle, knew which Bertie Bott's Every-flavour beans were her favourites. He was predictable – and yet unpredictable. Like that time he had lost his favourite pair of socks, and she'd found him sitting teary-eyed with his head in his hands in the Common Room, at three in the morning. He'd glanced up at her, red-eyed and sniffing, and she'd thought something truly awful had happened.
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"Ron? Ron?"
"Mmf."
"What's the matter? Why're you crying? Are you OK?"
"I'M NOT CRYING. And I'm fine."
"Then why the tears?"
"I just told you – I'm not crying…"
"Right."
"I'm not!"
"OK, OK! So then why're you down here?"
"Ohhhhh, Hermione…"
"Hm?"
"I lost my socks – hic – and I c-can't f-find them anywhere…"
"Don't cry, Ron, we'll find them."
"…(sniff) Why do I need to keep (sniff) telling you? For the last time 'Mione – I'm not bloody crying!"
"Sure, fine, whatever – let's go find these socks then, yeah?"
"Okay."
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The sound of a door being opened behind her brought Hermione out of her reverie. Soon she could hear Ron walking in her direction.
"Hey Hermione."
"Hi," she replied, patting the space next to her.
Ron sat, folding his long legs up so that he could hug his knees.
"Harry said you were waiting out here for me."
"Mmhmm," she nodded her head slowly. "I wanted to apologise for running off like that when you'd probably spent a long time waiting for me to arrive, and were no doubt nervous…"
Ron stared straight ahead over the tops of his knees.
"…and also, I wanted to apologise for not coming and finding you sooner. I feel like now I know how hard it is, having waited here for ages and ages and rehearsing this over in my head, worrying about your reaction and how you would take it…"
"'Mione…"
"Yeh?"
"You worry too much."
"I do?"
"Hell yeah. When you worry you bite your lip – and you've bitten your lip seven times so far."
"You counted!"
In reply, he merely looked at her sideways and grinned.
"You freak…" she muttered, but she was smiling.
"Oh. it takes one to know one, as they say."
Hermione looked a little affronted. "What's so freakish about – "
"– reading fourteen books a day, writing essays in order to relax, reciting chunks of text at random, and falling asleep clinging to hefty leather-bound volumes so tightly that last time it took me and Harry twenty minutes to prise them from your fingers?"
"It's not freakishness…"
"…it's passion."
"What!"
"Eeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeheeeee…" began Ron, dissolving into giggles.
"Ron!" said Hermione, retaliating by poking him hard in the ribs.
"Heeheeee…OUCH!" he yelped. "C'mere you!"
He lunged at Hermione, trapping her left arm and exposing her side. He then proceeded to tickle the aforementioned side mercilessly.
"Eeeeesshhh! Ron, stop! Argh! That was cruel! You know my sides are my wee-hee-eak points!"
"Your what?" asked Ron innocently, still tickling away.
"You heard me!"
"That your sides are your wee-hee-eak points? Yes I know. Marvellous things your sides. See, if I prod this rib right here…"
He poked her lowest rib, eliciting a squeal from Hermione.
"…we can hear the cry of a newborn piglet. And if I perhaps poke this one…"
He poked a rib further up, causing Hermione to shriek loud and shrill.
"…we can hear the sound of Ginny screeching in delight at a Pygmy Puff…"
"Ron…stop pleeease…" pleaded Hermione breathlessly.
"Hm. Let me think…how 'bout no?" he replied, red hair falling into his eyes.
Suddenly, inspiration came to Hermione.
"Ron! You've got a spider on your shoulder! Spider! Spider!"
Ron froze mid-tickle, panic in his eyes.
"What?" he squawked, his voice several octaves higher than usual. All at once, he sprang to his feet and began running around in frantic circles.
"Gedditoffmeeee! 'Mione! Gedditoff!"
He turned to look at the girl who was meant to be saving him, only to see her hunched over, tears streaming down her face, laughing so much she could hardly breathe. Ron stalked over to her and sat down with a thump.
"I guess we're even now, huh?"
"Yup…until next time…"
There was a pause, in which Ron attempted to pull his t-shirt down over his knees.
"Err…I'm cold…can we go back inside now?"
"Don't you want to see the stars come out?"
"But 'Mioneeeee, I'm freeeeeezing."
"I would've thought all that running around would have warmed you up."
"Oh, shut up."
Hermione stood up and pulled off her jumper.
"Here," she said, offering it to Ron.
"You sure? Won't you get cold?"
"Nah, I'll be fine."
"But…"
Hermione shoved the neck of the jumper over his head. "Wear it."
Ron sighed. The sleeves were too tight and he felt a bit constricted, but otherwise it did the job.
"You know," he said, "I am so glad you're jumpers are baggy. If they weren't then this would be like a flippin' corset."
"Really? I always thought we were more or less the same size…"
Ron snorted.
"…well, obviously not height-wise, Ronald, but width-wise…"
Ron grabbed her wrist.
"Nuh-uh, look – my index finger and thumb go around your wrist easily, but I can't do that with my wrist."
He held out his arm beside hers. "And my arms are longer and thicker – "
He touched her shoulders, trying to estimate their width. "– and your shoulders are tiny compared to mine."
"Hmmm. I s'pose."
"Hermione!" gasped Ron, "You are cold! You've got goose-bumps all down your arms…"
"Oh," said Hermione, "They're not from the cold."
"Then why've you got them?"
But Hermione was looking up at the sky.
"Ron – look…"
She pointed, and Ron followed her finger to see the first of many twinkling stars appearing in the sky above them. He lay back on his elbows and a comfortable silence descended over the pair. Hermione was the first to break it.
"Ron?"
"Yah?"
"Will you come with me to the Ball tomorrow?"
"Are you asking me to be your date?" he asked, smirking slightly.
"Well…kinda…"
"…"
"So, will you?"
He looked at her, amusement in his eyes, the tips of his ears visibly red even in the semi-darkness. "Bloody hell, Hermione – of course I will."
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The Gryffindor Common Room could generally be described as noisy. Even on the so-called 'quiet days', comparisons with Bedlam were not far off the mark. But tonight was exceptionally noisy – bordering on so-loud-you-can't-even-hear-yourself-think – and all thanks to one Ginny Weasley, who was currently screaming "Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" at the top of her lungs and running round the Common Room doing a victory dance, which bore a striking resemblance to how a chicken might look while simultaneously laying an egg and being chased by a rabid dog.
"What did you tell her?" Harry asked a sheepish-looking Hermione.
"Err...nothing..."
"Then what's with all the screaming?"
Hermione looked uncomfortable.
"I don't know."
"Oh, I see. This wouldn't have anything to do with Ron, would it?"
"NO!" answered Hermione – a little too quickly.
Harry looked rather amused.
"So. Nothing to do with Ron…"
Hermione fixed Harry with a glare that suggested he might want to drop the subject pretty sharpish, before she was forced to unleash her wrath on him.
By this time, Ginny had finished her victory parade and had flomped down in one of the armchairs.
"Phew – bit hot in here, isn't it?"
"Ginny," began Hermione, "Would you care to explain to Harry why exactly you were doing all that?"
"Um, no reason…" she looked at Hermione, who shook her head vigorously, and mouthed something at her.
"Oh! Erm…because of…uh…P…B…no P…M…X…no…I mean P..M..S…PMS. Yes, that's why!"
She punched the air with her fist. "Gimme a P!" she yelled, and was met with blank faces and a stony silence. "Never mind! I can do this alone! P….M….S…what does it spell? PMS! Wooooooooooooo!"
A smattering of applause broke out, and Ginny blew kisses to the clapping students before settling back down in the armchair.
"So Hermy –" began Ginny.
"My name is not Hermy!" shrieked Hermione.
"Neither is 'Mione, but for some reason, you don't seem to mind," interrupted Harry.
Ginny grinned at him.
"So, Hermy, you wanna sort out your dress and stuff now?"
"But Ginny, there's a whole twenty-four hours before the Ball even begins…"
"And? Look, if you've got lessons all day tomorrow, then it really can't hurt to have everything ready."
"Oh, alright."
The two girls stood up.
"You're leaving me here?" wailed Harry.
"Yes."
"Oh, but Roonil is in the library…"
"Well unless a miracle has happened and you've finished your homework, then perhaps you should join him," suggested Hermione.
"But…"
"She's right you know."
"Ginny, aren't you meant to be on my side?"
The red-head stuck out her tongue. "I am. But she's still right."
The two girls began to climb the stairs to their dormitories.
"Oi Hermione!" called Harry.
"Yeah?"
"I take it you've got a date coming with you to the Ball then?"
"Yeh."
"Who?"
"You'll just have to wait and see…"
"She's going with Ron!" shouted Ginny happily, unable to suppress her joy any longer, as an exasperated Hermione began to drag her up the steps.
"Yayyyyyyyyy!" screamed Harry at the top of his lungs, running round and round the Common Room. "Weasley is our King!"
Several students rolled their eyes.
"Here we go again," muttered Seamus.
"Two of a kind," commented Neville sagely.
"Yup," agreed Dean, "Both absolutely bonkers."
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The boxes that Ginny had packed only a few days previously were now scattered around the dormitory. Marguerite was sitting cross-legged on the floor and examining the hem of the dress she was going to be wearing. Ginny was unwrapping the tissue paper that was surrounding Hermione's dress and Hermione was stacking other boxes neatly under Ginny's bed.
Marguerite looked up from the material in her hands.
"So, are you telling me that the reason you guys disappeared that day was because you'd discovered a secret passage that leads to a Scottish Diagon Alley, and that Ginny was the one who persuaded Dumbledore to throw a Midsummer's Ball and that because you obviously knew it was going to happen in advance, you went shopping for dresses?"
"Yes. Exactly," replied Hermione with a smile.
"Oh, OK then."
Hermione emerged from under the bed and grabbed the dress that Ginny had been unwrapping.
"Gin – is this mine?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I'm just going to try it on, all right?"
"Yeh – need a hand?"
"Nah, I'll be fine, don't worry."
Hermione walked out and climbed a few more stairs to her own dorm. No-one was there when she came in, but she still drew the curtains around her bed before lifting the dress out of its wrappings and laying it out on her bed.
The material was a soft darkish green, the cut simple, with long 'off-the-shoulder' sleeves. Along the arms, long threads of leaves in various shades of green had been stitched – sage, apple, lime, emerald and moss. The hem would just brush the tops of her feet when she stood up straight.
She wrapped it back inside its tissue paper and laid it on the bedside table, casting a spell to prevent anyone touching it besides herself, and opened the curtains around her bed.
I wonder what Ron's doing…
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"Ron…Ron…would you wake up please?" said Harry desperately, looking around at the deserted library for anyone who could possibly help him in achieving this seemingly impossible task.
"Ron, please, I beg you, wake up now – we need to get you sorted out with some sort of dress robes. I said WAKE UP!"
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" hissed Madam Pince irritably from behind a bookcase.
Ron began to snore.
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Luna Lovegood was not known for her powers of observation, but on the morning of the day of the Midsummer's Ball, she seemed to be the only person to notice that something had changed between Harry Potter's two best friends. Nothing momentous – just a look held for a fraction of a second longer than usual or the brushing of fingertips when passing the marmalade or the orange juice or a spoon.
She wondered how much longer it would be before one of them would break – and admit to what had been so obvious to so many people for so long. She looked again at the pair of them – Ron playing absentmindedly with Hermione's hair, as she tried in vain to study.
Not long now, thought Luna happily, as she began to spread her toast with watermelon jam…not long now.
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It was mid-afternoon, and the students were lounging around on the grass outside the school. The staff had caved in to the students' requests for the afternoon off, and several professors could be seen amongst the crowds – sunbathing, chatting and sipping a suspicious drink that had the pungent aroma of firewhiskey ('It's lemonade!' snapped a rather pink-looking Professor Snape, when asked by a curious second year as to what he was drinking).
Cedric Diggory and George were sitting together with Fred, Lee, Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna. A group of students from several houses sat nearby playing Exploding Snap. Hermione wandered out of the school buildings, screwing up her eyes against the sun, and trying to spot her friends. As she was scanning the grass, deep in concentration, she did not realise that someone was creeping up behind her until…
"YAAAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Hermione.
"Hi!" beamed Ron, trying to maintain a veneer of innocence, when inside he was suppressing the urge to laugh. "Did I scare you?"
"Hmph," grunted Hermione, noticing that people had begun to gather around the two Gryffindors in response to Hermione's scream.
"Well, anyway," continued Ron, "I just realised that I had to tell you something important…"
"You did?"
"Yes, but now," he looked round at the growing number of students surrounding them, who had suddenly taken a keen interest in the conversation, "uh…now, I'm wondering if perhaps this isn't exactly the best time…"
"You might as well just say it."
"Errr…ok…" Ron swallowed. "Well, how to put this…if I was Harry or – I dunno – Krum or somebody, I might be able to say this all poetically. But to put it bluntly, 'Mione – I love you."
"Ron, I've told you enough times, I don't care about Krum any- what did you just say?"
"I love you."
Hermione looked up at him. "I love you too," she mumbled.
"Really?"
She held his gaze with raised eyebrows. "Always."
They looked at each other, both blushing a brilliant shade of red and grinning like idiots.
"Oi, Ron!" shouted someone from the crowd; someone with a voice that sounded suspiciously like Draco Malfoy's, "Hurry up and kiss her you fool!"
And he did.
Silver midsummer moon
Floating against the mountains
Filling up the sky
Take me with you, hold me tight
I want to hold the sunbeams in your eyes
Kiss you good, kiss you right
Kiss you forever
My golden summer…
fin.
(after Liza Minelli in Cabaret) OH REVIEWS MAKE THE WORLD GO AROUND, THE WORLD GO AROUND, THE WORLD GO AROUND, REVIEWS MAKE THE WORLD GO AROUND...ER...LALALALALAAAAAAAA...