Keeping it in

Author's note: This is just a short pointless little thing I decided on writing. I haven't worked on it a lot, so forgive any faults. I just felt, when I read this particular sequence (where Harry comes back after having been "cornered" by Cho) in OotP, I felt that Hermione was being pretty hard on Ron. And I figured there had to be something more to tell… Anyway, this first part is Ron's POV, then I'll be doing a second part where Hermione gets to tell her side of things. And I'll actually try to finish this fic before starting on any others, which I have a tendency on doing. If anyone is still patiently waiting for the continuations of my other stories, they're coming, I'm working on them, it's just taking a veeeery loooong time… But hopefully, this story will be an exception, as it only took me a couple of hours to write this first part. Let's keep our fingers crossed :)

Disclaimer: Besides ruling the universe, JK Rowling owns everything connected to Harry Potter. And, yes, 99% of the dialogue in this fic is her words, not mine. Which you've probably already noticed. The song lyrics belong to the wonderful Brendan Benson, they're from his song "What". I thought they were quite fitting. :)

~*~

"What are you trying to do to me?
I close my eyes, I don't want to see
I don't want to hear about you and him
I don't want to know if it's love that you're in
'Cause you can't possibly be serious about him, girl
And he's got to be delirious if he thinks he can win
With a not-so-pretty face
He's come to take my place
She's easily amused
And I know 'cause she fell for the same tricks
I once used"

~*~

Ron stared at his parchment, his mind completely blank. He'd only managed five inches so far, and McGonnagall had demanded at least a foot and a half on the procedure of turning insects into kitchen appliances. He was never going to be able to complete it in time, at least not at the pace he was currently keeping. If only it wasn't so bloody boring…

He looked around, desperate for someone to help him out. But the only fifth-years in the Common Room at the moment were Lavender and Parvati, and he'd be damned if he'd approach them while they were giggling like maniacs over some magazine. He frowned. Where had Hermione gone? She'd disappeared up the staircase to the girls' dormitories a while ago, but she'd said she'd be right back, and it had been at least ten minutes since he'd last seen her.

And where was Harry? He hadn't come back from the DA meeting yet, and Ron couldn't imagine what he was off doing. He'd seemed ready to go when they'd left the room. But then again… Hadn't Cho stayed behind as well? Ron snickered to himself. Even if Harry was his best mate, it was rather entertaining to see him act like a complete nutter sometimes. And that was what he tended to do whenever Cho was around.

"Aren't you done yet?"

Ron looked up at Hermione's frowning face. She was carrying a roll of fresh parchment and a fancy-looking quill. "Sure I am, I'm just redoing it 'cause it's such a bloody laugh," Ron replied.

"Hmph." Hermione placed herself in the armchair, dipped the nib of her quill in her inkpot and started writing.

"What are you writing?" Ron asked, propping himself up on one elbow and studying her.

"A letter," she answered, without taking her eyes off the parchment.

Ron narrowed his eyes, before returning his gaze to the unfinished Transfiguration-essay in front of him. A letter. He could only guess whom to. But he wouldn't make a big deal out of it, wouldn't pretend he cared. 'Cause he didn't care. Not at all. He just hated the idea of her writing letters to him, and even more the idea of him writing her back. He could only imagine what they were like: "Dear Herm-own-ninny, I miss you and I wish you will visit me in Bulgaria next summer, I want very much to see you again and show you my home…" Ron shuddered at the mere thought of it. There would be no visits to Bulgaria, not unless he could help it. But then again, it was hardly as if he could do anything about it, if she really wanted to go. She'd proved her will power to him more than once.

He glanced over at her. She was writing fiercely and her hair was falling into her face. Didn't that bother her? She should brush it away, tuck it behind her ear or something. But before he could get too pre-occupied with where Hermione's hair should go, he remembered the essay waiting to be finished. He sighed, returning his attention to it. It was hopeless. He was drained of words and it felt like he was incapable of forming another written sentence tonight. But he had to. Forcing himself to think, he pressed his fingers to his temples and shut his eyes. And he was just about to get somewhere with his train of thought when Hermione spoke to him.

"Is it difficult?"

Ron dropped his hands, sighing again, this time not as much at the homework itself as at having been interrupted when he was actually getting somewhere. 'Cause he couldn't keep on thinking of Transfiguration when Hermione was talking to him and studying him, which he could feel her doing.

"A bit," he said. "And I know I should have begun earlier, I know I have no one to blame but myself, it's just…" He rubbed at his sore eyes. "It's just that it's so unbelievably, horribly, incredibly boring." He stared at the blur of words in front of him, almost amazed at their inability to awaken his interest.

"Hm."

He looked over at her, and to his surprise she seemed to be suppressing a smile.

"Yes, well… we can't be excited by everything, can we?" she said, and Ron's stomach did a strange flip-flop as her eyes glittered with badly hid amusement. "That, if anything, would be strenuous."

She dipped the nib of her quill in the inkpot. "And considering your extreme fascination with Quidditch," she continued as she carried on writing, "I'm not surprised that you, and Harry for that matter, tend to find the academic aspects of school rather dull."

"That's the understatement of the year," Ron muttered, picking up his quill for the tenth time. "I wouldn't be surprised if one of these ruddy essays will end up boring me to death."

Hermione snorted, then went quiet. He could hear the frantic rasping of her quill. She wasn't having any trouble getting the words out. Apparently there were a lot of things Krum needed to know. Annoyed, he poked at the parchment with his quill, making several holes in it. For some reason this gave him some satisfaction, and he could carry on with his essay.

A few minutes passed where the two of them sat in silence. Then Ron heard someone stumble through the portrait-hole and looked up. Harry had entered the common room, looking dazed. He wandered over to them and slumped down in the armchair next to Hermione's, but didn't say anything.

"What kept you?" Ron asked, confused by the strange look on Harry's face.

Harry gave no answer; he just stared ahead of him. Ron glanced at Hermione, who was eyeing Harry with raised eyebrows.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked.

Harry shrugged, still not saying anything. By now, Ron was intrigued. What could have happened to have made Harry completely speechless? He propped himself up on his elbow to study his friend. "What's up?" he said, hoping he didn't sound too curious. "What's happened?"

Harry opened his mouth, as if preparing to speak, then closed it again. He kept his eyes firmly on the fire.

Hermione looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before speaking. "Is it Cho?" she demanded. "Did she corner you after the meeting?"

Ron raised his eyebrows, studying Harry even more intently for a reaction. He'd forgotten about Cho staying behind…

Harry looked at Hermione, then away again, before nodding. Ron couldn't help himself – he gave a little snigger, but went silent when Hermione glared at him. He looked over at Harry, struggling to act casual. "So, er, what did she want?"

"She –" Harry's voice was rather hoarse, so he cleared his throat. "She, er –"

"Did you kiss?"

Hermione's question caused Ron to sit bolt upright, spilling out the entire contents of his inkbottle in the process. "Well?" he said, urging Harry to answer.

Harry glanced at him, then at Hermione, and then he gave the tiniest of nods.

"Ha!" Ron couldn't stop himself – he punched at the air with his fist before bursting out laughing. This was just too much. He had suspected something like this would happen sooner or later, but hadn't been ready for the hilarity of it when it finally came. Hermione was looking at him like he was something utterly vile, but he didn't care. It was just too, too much.

By now Harry was grinning as well, and Ron felt it was safe to squeeze some information out of him. "Well?" he asked. "How was it?"

Harry thought for a moment. "It was… wet."

Ron raised his eyebrows, stunned, and snorted with suppressed laughter. Wet? Well, that was just charming.

"Because she was crying," Harry clarified, and Ron stopped grinning.

"Oh," he said. "Are you that bad at kissing?"

Harry suddenly looked rather concerned. "Dunno," he said, as if considering the possibility for the first time. "Maybe I am."

"Of course you're not."

Ron's head snapped towards Hermione, who was still writing. Something dark and unsettling landed in his stomach. "How do you know?" he demanded, worried about what answer he was going to get. There were a lot of terrible things that could happen, and finding out that his two best friends had snogged behind his back would certainly be one of them.

"Because Cho spends half her time crying these days," Hermione replied, and Ron breathed a silent sigh of relief that her answer wasn't the least bit shocking. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place."

Ron found himself grinning again. "You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," he said.

Hermione snorted, not taking her eyes off the parchment. "Ron, you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

Ron looked at her, feeling stung. Did she really think so? "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, struggling to sound offended as opposed to hurt. "What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?"

He looked at Harry for support, and was glad when he got it. "Yeah," Harry said, looking pained. "Who does?"

Hermione looked at the two of them as if they were five years old. "Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?"

"No," Harry and Ron replied in unison.

Hermione sighed, putting down her quill for the first time. "Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused, because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings towards Harry are, anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly."

When Hermione was finished, Ron couldn't help but stare at her, amazed. How did she know all that? Could she really read people's thoughts and feelings that well? Ron's stomach tied itself into a tight knot as he considered this. If Hermione could deduce so well what Cho was feeling, then what wouldn't she be able to figure out about other people's feelings? People who were much closer to her…

He willed himself not to think about this alarming possibility. Instead he said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode." He really thought they would. He knew all about having mixed up feelings flying about inside of him, and sometimes it really felt as if he would explode from the sheer pressure of it.

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," Hermione replied and picked up her quill again.

There it was again. What was with her? What had he done? If anybody knew about emotional turmoil, it was him, and if she had any idea… He swallowed, looking down at his parchment. He wouldn't think about that. Not right now.

"She was the one who started it," Harry said, and for a moment Ron was confused. Who? Who started it? Then he remembered Cho. "I wouldn't've…" Harry continued, "She just sort of came at me, and next thing she's crying all over me – I didn't know what to do…"

Ron looked at him sympathetically. "Don't blame you, mate." Crying girls hardly tickled his fancy, either.

"You just had to be nice to her," Hermione said, looking concerned. "You were, weren't you?"

Harry blushed. "Well, I sort of… patted her on the back a bit."

This seemed, to Ron, like the perfect way to handle it. It was what he would have done in the same situation, and he was about to say as much, but one look at Hermione told him that she didn't agree, and he kept quiet. "Well, I suppose it could've been worse," she said, her tone implying that she hardly thought so. "Are you going to see her again?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll have to, won't I? We've got DA meetings, haven't we?"

"You know what I mean," Hermione said, sounding frustrated.

Harry didn't answer. He just stared at the fire, his expression one of pure terror. Ron could imagine how he was feeling. Asking someone out was a pretty big deal. He himself had never done it (well, unless he counted that time he'd made a complete arse out of himself in front of Fleur Delacour, and he most certainly didn't count that), but the mere thought of it made his stomach churn. He glanced at Hermione. How could she sit here and talk about these things like it was no big deal? It sounded like she'd been through things like this countless times before. Ron felt an involuntary pang of jealousy. Was that it? Was that how she knew? Could Vicky have taught her?

"Oh well," Hermione said, once again returning to her letter. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her."

Ron studied her for another moment. What was it with Hermione and asking things? Something that had taken place here, in this room, almost exactly a year earlier flashed through his mind. "…ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort." He still hadn't really figured out what she'd meant by that. And he still hadn't asked her. Not that there was a Yule Ball to ask anyone to this year, but there were other things to ask, other questions. Such as, what the hell did she want him to do? Nothing he did seemed to be right. And what if he wasn't even… What if he didn't even… Then there was nothing to ask about, really.

Ron turned to look at Harry. "What if he doesn't want to ask her?" he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

The rasping quill-against-parchment sound stopped for a moment before continuing. "Don't be silly," Hermione replied rather quietly. "Harry's liked her for ages, haven't you, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer, and neither did Ron. But he knew she was right. There was no point in denying it, really. He'd liked her for ages, and was only now beginning to realise exactly how much. Not that he would be caught dead saying it out loud, though. Not to anyone. It was scary enough admitting it to himself. And besides, what was the point? It was clear that he stood no chance. He had no idea what all her insinuations and implications meant, but it was all too clear that they weren't any form of invitation. So he would just stay silent. Keep it in. Anything else would be completely stupid.

He peered at her parchment, trying to make out what was written. "Who're you writing the novel to, anyway?" he asked, although he knew the answer all too well. For some ridiculous reason he wanted to hear her say it, confirm his worst fears.

And she did. "Viktor," she replied, sounding almost defiant.

He couldn't help himself. "Krum?" he asked, sounding as if uttering the name made him physically ill. And it did, in a way.

"How many other Viktors do we know?"

Oh, funny. Really funny. Of course they only knew one. And in Ron's opinion that was one too many. He didn't reply, just returned to his essay and continued to work on it. He grunted and sighed and impatiently snorted his way through it, until it was finally finished. By that time the fire had almost gone out and the common room was empty, except for the three of them. Hermione was finished with her letter, and rolled it up neatly before rising out of her chair.

"Well, night," she said with a formidable yawn. Ron could've sworn she stole a furtive glance at him before making her way up the girls' staircase. He gave an inaudible little sigh. What was she doing? Was she trying to make him completely crazy? 'Cause that was where he was heading. All these cryptic remarks and accusations of insensitivity and inability to nurture complex emotions; the letters to Krum; the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking indignant when he annoyed her; her eyes when she yelled at him or laughed at his jokes; the way her mouth would pout when…

He shook his head and felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. Damn. Where did all these thoughts come from? What was she doing to him? She was Hermione, he really shouldn't…

And still, he did.

He sighed. It was hopeless. Irritating. She was irritating. And her bloody letters to bloody Krum were extremely bloody irritating.

He got up from his position on the rug and started making his way towards the boys' staircase. Harry followed right behind him. As they climbed the stairs, Ron's frustration was so vast and ready to burst inside him that he couldn't help but let a little bit of it out.

"What does she see in Krum?" he asked the steps and sounded a lot angrier than he'd intended. He was surprised to hear Harry answer; he hadn't meant it as a question to him, but Harry seemed to think through his reply.

"Well," he said, "I s'pose he's older, isn't he… and he's an international Quidditch player…"

Ron didn't want to hear any pro-Krum arguments. "Yeah, but apart from that," he said. "I mean, he's a grouchy git, isn't he?"

"Bit grouchy, yeah," Harry replied distantly, his mind obviously elsewhere.

Mildly satisfied with this vague acknowledgement of Krum's downsides, Ron changed into pyjamas and climbed into bed. But it took a long time before he managed to fall asleep.