A/N: I have no idea how I manage to have so many almost completed stories in my Google Drive. But I do. And sometimes I find them and realize I've got literally 200 words to write to finish them. And so then I finish them. And I post them. So here you go!

Confess

"It's a stupid game Angelina told me about, but we're all alive and not particularly busy tonight, so..."

Ginny shuffled a deck of colourful playing cards and glanced around the table. The Leaky Cauldron had turned into a semi-nightly thing over the past week, with funerals, repairs and legal paperwork occupying their days. They'd all come to some sort of silent agreement to relieve the pain and tension by drinking as much as possible.

Ron's hand paused halfway across the table to his fresh glass of butterbeer, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Is that all you're going to tell us? I think I'll watch the first round before-"

"Ron, you're playing," Ginny insisted, lifting her eyes pointedly across at him as she set the cards in the centre of the table.

"Don't trust Angelina?" Harry asked, nudging Ron with his shoulder.

"Wouldn't be smart to trust any close friend of George's, without being at least a little bit sceptical first, would it..."

Hermione returned from using the loo and slid onto the bench next to Ron. Dean smirked as he tilted his head sideways to read the label on the back of the cards.

"Confess," he said.

Hermione raised her brows at him.

"What did I miss?"

"Ginny wants the six of us to play a card game, which I suspect is going to be slightly more... adult themed than snap. I suppose our company's getting rather dull," Harry teased.

"Shut up," Ginny grinned. "It's just a question and answer kind of thing. You take a card, it gives you instructions, and you've got to choose a person at the table to privately tell the answer to..."

"What sorts of questions?" Ron asked, warily.

"Oh, you know. Just your basic, mildly invasive things like what colour knickers have you got on today and what did you dream about last night..."

"Oh, there's a silly Muggle game like that that my older cousins used to play at holidays," Hermione sniffed. "Sort of a childish way to find out embarrassing secrets about your friends..."

"Sounds brilliant," Seamus said enthusiastically, gulping down the last of his second pint.

"Reckon the rest of us aren't pissed enough yet to see his point of view," Ron said, considering his options. Firewhiskey was suddenly sounding quite preferable to the light drink in front of him. "Shots, Harry?"

"Sounds smart."

"I'll just watch the five of you play, and-" Hermione began.

"Come on, Hermione!" Ginny interrupted. "You're not gonna leave me the only girl in this, are you?"

Hermione sighed, resting her clasped hands on top of the table.

"Fine, but I'm backing out if it gets-"

"Great!" Ginny cut in, already reaching for the first card. She cleared her throat. "Alright. This one's... Ah, 'dreams' category! Told you. The card says 'reveal the most bizarre dream you've had.' Okay, so I'm supposed to pick someone and give them the answer, in private. Then, they get to award points out of five based on how amazing they think my answer was. First player to twenty wins."

"Oh, perfect," Ron chuckled. "Dean and Seamus'll just keep picking each other and giving five points for everything."

Seamus shrugged and glanced at Dean.

"Problem there is, how can I win if I give this wanker top marks?"

"Fair enough," Dean smirked, "so you've got to choose between telling your secret to somebody you trust or telling the person you think'll give you the best score..."

"You trust Seamus?" Hermione inquired, sceptically.

Ron and Harry grinned. Dean and Seamus ignored her.

"I think that's the point," Ginny said. "An easy time telling your answer won't help you win."

"Bollocks," Seamus said.

"Alright, Hermione," Ginny said, swinging her legs out from the bench on her side of the table. "Come on. I'll give you this one."

Hermione sighed lightly and stood to follow Ginny away from the group.

"You already know this one, Harry?" Seamus teased.

Harry shrugged.

"Probably not. But this one doesn't seem all that personal, does it? A bizarre dream could be suddenly having an extra arm, or your skin turning purple, or-"

"Mate, have a lot of dreams about odd things happening to your body?" Ron smirked.

"That could be taken a number of inappropriate ways," Dean laughed. "Anyone fancy those shots now?"

Two minutes and a round of shots later, Ginny and Hermione returned to the table, Ginny looking relatively pleased.

"I've given her four out of five," Hermione confirmed.

"Which," Ginny added, "I find to be a very fair score, thank you."

"Who's next?" Harry asked.

"Let's carry on clockwise," Ginny suggested. "Seamus? Seeing as you're so eager anyway..."

"Fantastic," and he reached for a card. "Looks like I've got a 'life' card, whatever the hell that means, and I'm supposed to tell someone - Dean," he clarified, glancing past Ginny toward Dean, "who I would secretly enjoy giving a love potion to."

Dean shook his head and stood to follow Seamus.

"His answer could literally be anyone," Dean muttered, as they disappeared toward the loo.

"There's a lot of downtime in this game, isn't there," Harry remarked.

"Probably meant for us all to sit here wondering if the answer could be about one of us," Ron considered.

"Think Seamus may fancy you, Ron?" Ginny joked, smirking across the table at him.

"Are you funnier drunk?" Ron asked. "I can't remember."

"Speaking of, you and Hermione are a shot down from the rest of us," Harry pointed out.

"You drank without us?" Ginny asked, mock offended.

"We were dead bored waiting for you," Ron explained. "Ginny, get a shot for Hermione, too, while you're up."

She glared at him, still seated.

"Arse," she muttered, as she stood.

"Two of those, and I'll be drunk," Hermione admitted, wrinkling her nose at Ron's empty shot glass.

"S'alright," Ron slurred, "I'll carry you home."

Her cheeks flushed a bit as she shook her head.

"I don't think I'll trust you to do that by the time you're done here."

"Oi," Ron protested, "when have you seen me trashed? I don't recall ever getting to that point-"

"-in her presence," Harry finished, raising his brows in suggestion.

"Wait, when-" Ron stopped short. "Oh."

"Yeah," Harry grinned.

Ron grimaced and shrugged.

"Oh, this is nice," Hermione huffed. "Someone can explain that little secret to me on one of their turns with these cards, I expect."

"Is it a secret, at this point?" Harry asked Ron.

"Dunno..." Ron mumbled, but he was spared having to explain further by the return of Ginny, Seamus and Dean, all at once.

"You were right," Seamus complained, shoving Dean before the two of them took their seats on either side of Ginny. "Would have been better off choosing any one of the rest of you. Dean's given me a bloody one out of five."

"Fair's fair," Dean said. "Your answer was dull, mate."

"Looks like I'm next," Harry said, reaching for a card as Ginny slid a shot across the table for Hermione.

"Thanks, I'll get the next one," Hermione said, clinking her glass with Ginny's before they drank, together.

"Thought you said you had to stop before two?" Ron arched a brow at her.

"No," she rasped, sticking out her tongue as she made a vaguely disgusted face in reaction to the strong alcohol, "I was merely warning you what would happen."

Ron's grin spread.

"God, this'll be great," he said delightedly. "I literally can't imagine what you'll be like drunk, Hermione."

Her cheeks flushed a slightly deeper shade as she lowered her glass to the table.

"Go on! Read your card, Harry!" Ginny urged, rolling her own empty glass back and forth between her palms.

"Well, this isn't really new information..." he said. "It's asking if I've ever fancied another player currently at this table."

"Hm, think hard about the rest of them, then," Ginny smiled, glancing around.

"I can pretty honestly say-"

"No," Ginny interrupted, "you've got to tell someone in private."

"Hermione, then," he said.

Ron shot him a dirty look.

"I'm not your first choice?"

"Not to talk about your sister, no," Harry admitted, standing and motioning for Hermione to follow him.

"Sorry..." she said quietly, to Ron.

He shook his head and shrugged, half-smiling as she followed Harry toward the bar.

"He only picked her so he'd get a high score," Ron said to the rest of the table.

By the time they'd returned, Ron was already holding his card, face down.

"She gave me four of five," Harry said proudly.

"For telling her something she already knows?" Seamus complained.

"He added a bit..." Hermione smiled, before pressing her lips together and glancing across Ron at Harry again.

Ron tapped his card on the table, making a slightly disgusted face before taking a swig of his butterbeer and clearing his throat.

"Ready?" he asked around.

Not waiting for a response, he flipped his card over... and winced.

"Don't get comfortable, Harry. You're coming with me."

"What's it say?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

Harry smooshed against Ron to have a look.

"Well," Harry laughed, "Ron loses. That's the worse yet."

"Ginny, this game is daft."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, scooting ever so slightly closer to Ron.

Cheeks and neck heating up, he flipped the card over again, placing it face down on the table and nudging Harry to slide out.

"It wants to know a place I've imagined shagging..." he coughed, nearly shoving Harry out so he could escape.

"Merlin, that is the worst," Ginny laughed.

Hermione snatched the card off the table, looking slightly scandalised.

"Alright. This is ridiculous."

"Let's have it, then," Harry grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Reckon I need five out of five. How do I make this sound intriguing?" Ron wondered aloud.

"I can give you a few pointers..."

"Jesus. Stop talking..."

Harry laughed and shook his head.

"I only meant... you understand that I'll know who you imagined, when you tell me where."

"Shit."

Ron shifted uncomfortably.

Harry coughed and narrowed his eyes.

"Honestly, you think I don't know?"

"No," Ron sighed, "of course you know. But when I say 'the library,' I'm making it a bit more obvious than it already was, aren't I..."

Harry's jaw dropped slightly, which morphed comically into a delighted grin.

"That's your fantasy?"

"Shut up..."

"She'd love that-"

"Oh my god, Harry."

"-except she'd probably be concerned the whole time about protecting the books and keeping your voices down, out of respect-"

"I'm getting us another round," Ron muttered, shoving Harry as he brushed past him, toward the bar.

"Five out of five," Harry grinned, standing at the side of the table as he waited for Ron to slide in, handing around shots.

Ginny blinked at them.

"Are you scoring him high just to intrigue the rest of us?" Dean asked, downing his drink.

"Nope," Harry said, still grinning.

Ron grumbled and avoided looking left as he took his shot, feeling Hermione's eyes on him.

"Your turn, Hermione," Seamus urged, gesturing toward the stack of cards.

She sighed and took a card, pausing as her eyes flicked over it.

Ron finally chanced the tiniest glance in her direction. She was chewing her lip.

"What is it?" he asked, in a scratchy voice.

"This could be answered in a number of ways, I suppose..." she said, almost to herself.

"What is it?" Ginny echoed.

"Well..." Hermione's forehead creased. "Hang on, what does this 'other players' bit at the top mean?"

"Oh," Ginny grinned, "it means you've got to answer the question in a way that relates to somebody else at the table."

"It wants me to tell a secret I've never said aloud before..."

"Ah!" Ginny nodded. "So you've got to tell one of us a secret thought you have about another person here!"

"Merlin's pants."

She took her shot as Ron laughed, bouncing a bit in his seat.

"Can she just directly tell the person it's about?" Harry asked.

"I could, but I'm not. Come on, Harry," and she stood, not looking back as she headed away from the group.

"I might as well stop sitting down..." Harry mumbled, as he followed her.

"Their side's getting all the juicy stuff," Seamus complained.

Ron studied the grain of the wood tabletop, slightly annoyed. What the hell was this game, anyway?

He had been waiting for a chance to get Hermione alone so he could properly talk to her. He had been telling himself, all day, that tonight would be it. Only now, halfway drunk and a permanent flush of embarrassment and frustration colouring his nose and neck, he didn't think he'd be able to pull it off. Not respectfully anyway. Not in the way he'd wanted it to be.

And she was off telling secrets to Harry...

They returned, barely two minutes later, and Ron had to admit it made him feel slightly better when Harry gave her three out of five. At least her secret hadn't been something life changing.

But he still found it nearly impossible to expend energy on anything aside from furiously wondering what Hermione could have told Harry that seemed to make it difficult now for her to look directly at anybody... And when Dean called Ron back, on his turn, it was merely to move on that he issued a quick three and sat back down between Harry and Hermione.

He fidgeted, as everybody kept playing, tapping his fingers on the table, drinking whatever was handed to him... His thoughts returned to a series of moments he'd played over and over. Her soft voice at Shell Cottage, those days after Malfoy Manor when he'd been so close to telling her. The way she'd kissed him, at Hogwarts...

He didn't care now about getting other things right... He just had to get it right, with her. He wondered if he could find some clever way to ask her to leave with him, so they could talk. But then Harry was returning from his turn, with Ginny, and Ron was reminded of Hermione's distracted presence to his left.

What if she'd changed her mind? No, what if she never actually wanted-

"Three, which is generous," Ginny smirked, and Harry moved to sit back down...

"Hang on, mate," Ron said, practically lunging for the next card. It was perfect. Ron nodded and slid off the bench. "Secret weakness. Let's go."

"Right." Ron cleared his throat, lifting his chin unnecessarily, towering over Harry. "I'd give you twenty Galleons to know what Hermione told you, on her turn."

Harry gawked at him.

"That's your secret weakness?"

"Whatever. Yes or no?"

Harry chuckled, eyebrows raised.

"Won't have to think hard about your score..."

"Harry!" Ron shouted, feeling his face burn intensely now. He probably shouldn't have had that fourth - or was it fifth? - drink...

"Can't do it," Harry said. "That's why they call it a secret, yeah?"

"Bloody game..."

There was a part of Ron that really didn't understand why this was upsetting him so much. But another part of him knew it was his fault. He should have talked to her, right away, instead of thinking it somehow made sense to wait. For everything to stop? No. There was always going to be another thing. He'd realised that. He'd wanted to fix it. He'd wanted-

"I think I'm going home, mate," he sighed. "I've had too much to drink, and I'm probably going to say- no, I'm definitely going to say something stupid if I don't get out of here."

"Listen," Harry said, in a sympathetic tone, "she didn't tell me anything she wouldn't tell you. It's only... she hasn't told you yet, and I'm not going to ruin that for her."

Ron's chest constricted a bit as his pulse sped up.

"I don't think that makes me feel any better..."

"Well, it should..."

They stared at each other for a moment, before Harry tugged Ron's arm.

"Come on, let's get this over with."

"I hope you mean the game..." Ron muttered.

"What else?"

They returned to find the table empty, save Hermione. Apparently, the other three had taken up a darts game across the bar, bored of waiting between turns.

"Brilliant," Ron mumbled, on the point of saying he needed to leave, when Hermione cleared her throat quietly and touched his shoulder.

"You alright?" she asked, in that tiny voice she seemed to only use for him. Why? It couldn't be so embarrassing or nerve-wracking just to talk to him, could it? She'd been doing that for years.

He opened his mouth to lie that he was fine, but he was interrupted by Ginny, Dean and Seamus' return, and he swore under his breath. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him.

"Dean's killing us," Seamus complained, as they settled loudly on their bench.

"Who's turn is it with this?" Dean asked, gesturing toward the messy stack of cards that remained face down on the table.

"Mine," Hermione admitted, taking her card.

He should go, he thought again, before he let this get to him, more than it already had-

"Ginny, I hate this game," Hermione said stiffly. "Ron, will you come with me?"

He blinked and turned to look at her.

"What?"

"Hermione, you didn't read the card to us," Ginny said, snatching it out of her hands.

Hermione's face had coloured a deep rosy shade, but she took Ron's wrist and tugged as she stood, half dragging him with her. She let him go and proceeded to walk - no, stomp was more the word - several paces ahead of him until they had reached the back door. She jerked it open and stepped outside into the dark, crossing her arms over her chest as he joined her, the door swinging loudly shut behind them.

"Bloody stupid game," she huffed.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he sighed through his nose.

"Couldn't agree more."

He felt lightheaded, balancing on his feet, but there was a vaguely cool breeze here that eased the heat that had built up in his blood from the alcohol... and whatever that other thing was. Frustration? Disappointment?Some unfortunate combination that had no business existing?

"You didn't answer me before," she said, softly interrupting his thoughts.

"'Bout what?"

"I can tell something's wrong, and I'm worried it's my fault..."

"What?"

He felt the guilt slide into place, again. A familiar friend, when he was with her. Of course. He'd been unpleasant... hardly listening or joining in conversation for what had to have been well over half an hour, by now. All because of... what?

"I'm sorry," he breathed, shaking his head. "Everybody's trying to be distracted by all this, right? I get it. It helps to feel like things are okay when you act like they are..."

"You don't want to be here, do you..."

He saw the way her forehead creased, her hands shaking ever so slightly.

"No, it's not that," he said quickly, afraid she'd think he didn't want to be here... with her. That was awfully far from the truth. "I'm sorry. I'm pissed right now, honestly. And I'm not- I dunno. I'm being a prat."

"I'm pretty drunk, too..." she admitted, half-smiling.

"Are we still playing the game?" he inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yeah," she admitted, licking her lips and looking away from him. "I didn't call you out here just to check on you. I- I needed to give you my answer."

He felt an odd flutter in his chest, but something still burned too insistently behind it.

"Look," she went on, "we both want to be through with it, yes? Ginny won't leave it til someone wins. And I did well on the last round, with her, so I'm close to winning. Maybe… could we just agree… if you give me a five, it doesn't matter what I tell you, we'll be done with this?"

He considered her, unsure if he should feel slighted by not getting a real answer, to a question he only just now realised he had never actually heard... Or, should he just let himself feel happy that she was here with him now, trusting him to help?

He crossed his arms, mirroring her stance. Something a bit bitter occurred, rolling out before he could stop it.

"Is that what you told Harry?"

"No, of course not," she answered, immediately.

He suddenly stopped altogether with the notion of pausing to consider his words before speaking...

"Of course not?" he shot back at her, unable to swallow. "Oh, sure, because you can tell Harry anything, but you can't tell-"

"Ron!" she cut over him, cheeks an angry red now as she dropped her arms to her sides. "I'm about to tell you the most embarrassing thing imaginable, something I can't believe I'm about to say out loud, and you're rowing with me because you're jealous I told Harry something I didn't tell you?!"

His head was pounding a bit now, and he exhaled heavily.

"Well… Yes," he answered her, not entirely confident he fully understood his own thoughts, at this point. "And, also, I didn't know you were going to tell me a real thing! Thought you were asking me if I would pretend you told me something, to finish the bloody thing."

"Oh…" she half-whispered, as her face fell. "That's a good idea. It didn't even occur to me…"

He closed his eyes quickly, swaying slightly. This had gone too far. He wasn't jealous of Harry. That was wrong. He was over that, Harry had promised him... The locket was an icy, distant memory. He was different. She was alive. That was all that was ever supposed to matter to him.

He felt her fingers wrap around his wrist, and he cracked open his eyes to look blearily down at her.

"We are so, so bad at this," she said, in that same tiny voice from before.

He couldn't argue with that. And he was on the point of trying desperately to think back on everything he'd said to her tonight, to work out which things he could apologise for right now and which ones he'd have to leave until tomorrow, once he'd sobered up. But then, she spoke again...

"Oh, God…" Her eyes creased as she winced. "Alright."

"What?" he barely whispered.

"I…havesexdreamsaboutyou."

He stared at her, unmoving. She was fidgeting nervously, and he was beginning to think his last drink had been meant to make him hallucinate...

"Say that again."

"No way!" she shouted back, almost shrilly.

"No, seriously," he insisted, quite seriously. "I misheard you. Like, badly misheard you..."

An agonised expression formed across her face as she shuffled from foot to foot.

"What do you think I said?" she asked, strained.

"No bloody way I'm saying what I thought I heard you say!" he breathed out heavily. "Because it's not what you said."

She closed her eyes and swayed slightly before opening them again and sighing with frustration.

"Ohh, I can't say it again!"

He watched her for a stretched, silent moment. He really did love her, and he really should get on with telling her about it. Taking in her creased forehead, slightly glassy eyes, flushed cheeks... Sod the game. Somehow he had got it in his head that this bollocks mattered. Of course it didn't. The only thing that did was doing things right, saying what he needed to say. And a deck of cards wasn't going to sort it out.

"Alright," he said, a bit roughly, and he cleared his throat as she blinked up at him.

"What?"

"That's okay," he explained. "You don't need to say it again. I'll give you five and end the game. You'll win with five, yeah? Then we can get the hell out of here."

She stared up at him with parted lips, slightly widened eyes. Anticipating her imminent acceptance of his plan, he almost reached back for the door, to get them moving inside. But just as his hand twitched and he started to turn, he caught her slowly shaking her head.

She reached forward and took his wrist again, staring resolutely up into his eyes.

"I have sex dreams about you, alright?" she nearly whispered, voice cracking. "You can't tell anyone."

"Bloody hell."

Her tongue darted out and swiped across her bottom lip as she looked away again, dropped his wrist, and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

"That's exactly what I thought you said that there was no way you actually fucking said."

Admittedly, he'd often let his fantasies go too far. Unconsciously, he'd begun to see her as a blurry image in sleeping - and waking - which took clearer shape as months passed. By mid-Horcrux hunt, he was toggling between too hungry and confused and locket-induced to give a damn and so fucking turned on simply by the way she lifted her hair off her neck, that he had gotten quite perfect at personal shield and silencing charms, round his bed...

Now, to hear that Hermione - perfect, brilliant, proper, bloody sexy Hermione - had been dreaming-

"Hermione. Are you serious?!" he added, light and slightly giddy from shock and alcohol. "And why would I ever tell anyone? I'm bloody keeping this secret for myself, thanks."

She sighed slowly and closed her eyes.

"I shouldn't have had that last drink..."

When she opened her eyes again, she quite pointedly avoided looking at him. He understood, in a way. This was new, anything they'd say to admit attraction, interest in more-than-friends. But he could have written a small book full of dreams he'd had about her.

"I have them too, you know."

He watched her eyes dart before she swallowed and finally met his gaze, arms still tightly crossed.

"What?"

"Not just sex dreams, actually," he corrected himself. "I think about it plenty when I'm awake... and sober... even during the middle of the day..."

She sucked in a thick breath, eyes wider, and he shrugged, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glanced down, hair falling into his eyes.

But then he heard her softly clear her throat.

"You mean... generally."

His brow furrowed as he tried to piece together her statement. And then, he realised.

"Oh. No," he shivered, glancing up again. "Reckon it's all been you since... Blimey, I'm not sure it's been another specific person, ever."

Her lips parted further and her arms untwisted.

"Look," he said, rubbing the back of his burning neck, "they're gonna wonder where the hell we are. I want to talk more, though. Can we go someplace, after?"

Her stunned expression morphed into a small, tentative smile, and she nodded.

"Right," he smiled back. "Let's go win this game."

"Five, and that's it, we're done. Hermione wins," Ron announced, not even bothering to slide back onto the bench on his side of the table. He reached across and downed the last small swig of his butterbeer as Hermione brushed past him to collect her bag and cloak.

"You were gone a long time," Ginny pointed out, having moved to Harry's side of the table, while Dean and Seamus argued over the results of an apparent drinking game they had been playing amongst themselves, having lost interest in the cards. "I've been trying to guess your sex secret since you left the table-"

"That's what the card said?" Ron interrupted, having just then realised he'd never actually seen it.

Ginny's eyebrows lifted up under her fringe.

"You didn't know that?" she asked, surprised. "Want to change your score?" She gave Hermione a sceptical look, but Ron shook his head.

"Nope. Her answer was amazing."

His racing heart was making him slightly nauseous. Or could it be the way she smelled, standing beside him, warm and slightly spicy - cloves, maybe ginger - and a hint of whisky, laced loosely with the sweet scent of her mildly perfumed skin...?

"Reckon I'm done," Ron added to Harry, voice scratchy as he shook himself from distraction. "I'm heading out. But can I, uh... talk to you for a second?"

Looking slightly surprised by the request, Harry scanned Ron's face for clues before extracting himself from his bench.

"Yeah, sure."

"I'm gonna do it."

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna have a proper talk with Hermione, and I think it'll be in my room, and I wanted to ask if you could maybe-"

"-find another place to spend the night?" Harry filled in, smiling with sudden understanding. "Yeah, 'course. I can use Percy's. No way he's coming to the Burrow tonight, is there?"

"Nah. He's back at his flat."

Harry nodded and scratched the side of his face.

"I'm really glad you're doing this. Finally."

"Yeah," Ron laughed, shaking his head. "If I screw this up, at least I can use the excuse that it was only 'cause I was drunk and didn't know what I was saying..."

"Clever," Harry grinned, "but you won't screw it up. Just say a couple words and then snog her."

Ron blushed but grinned back.

"At least wish me luck."

"You don't need it."

Hermione was standing by herself, a few metres away from their table, when Ron returned. He paused in front of her, too far away, and she licked her lips, already wrapped in her cloak and holding her bag on her arm.

"You still want to talk?" she asked tentatively, and he nodded immediately, not wanting to give her second thoughts about coming with him.

"I was thinking my room? Everyone will be asleep when we get back. And Harry's not going to be sharing with me tonight, so-"

"He's not?" she asked, and he definitely sensed that she completely understood him, that she knew he'd just asked Harry to bugger off.

He shrugged, and she blushed, suppressing a smile.

"Ready?" he asked, surprised to hear his voice so raw. She nodded, taking his arm.

He blinked down at her.

"Wait, are you doing this or am I? I'm honestly afraid I'll splinch us…"

"You're right," Hermione said, stepping forward, arm still linked with his and tugging him with her. "Seamus said the floo in the back's open for people who need, um-"

"-help making it home alive?" Ron suggested, walking a bit faster now that he knew where they were going. She laughed softly through her nose and let go of his arm.

There was a small queue by the floo, and they waited a couple of minutes in silence before they reached the front, Ron gesturing for Hermione to go through first. But when he arrived at the Burrow, a moment later, she was nowhere to be seen. He considered that she might have fled to Ginny's room. But then he knew, at the same time, that she wouldn't do that. She wouldn't abandon him now. Hadn't it always been his job to do that?

So he ascended the stairs to his own bedroom, relieved when he saw her standing on the landing outside. She was fidgeting uncomfortably, twisting her fingers into the hem of her light jumper.

"You could have gone in," he said scratchily.

She might have flushed a bit at that, but he couldn't be sure.

"Didn't seem-" she paused, wrinkling her nose, "-polite."

His lips twitched up into a small grin as he opened the door for her, waiting as she walked in past him. He then followed her inside, shutting the door behind them both.

She stood quite still in the middle of his room, the only light coming in through the window behind her. Moonlight, glowing from a nearly full moon, high in the inky black sky.

"It's so quiet," she said, sniffing as he stared across at her.

"Yeah," he said, considering their need for a silencing charm. Anything they said too loud might be heard, and he didn't want to think about things like that. They needed to be open with each other, more than ever before. So much more…

She beat him to it, silencing the room and swishing her wand toward the door behind him, to seal it.

His skin was tingling, his brain felt a bit foggy… and this was when he'd make up some excuse. Of course it would always hold to logic - why would you choose to tell someone you love them, for the first time, completely drunk? He was finding it slightly sobering, to consider what he needed to say next. But what if she didn't fully believe him, thinking his state of mind was altered by the liquor he'd consumed?

He shook himself. He could do what he always did - he could overthink and reason why it wasn't the right time - or he could finally give up and let her see everything. The truth.

"You're shaking," Hermione pointed out, a note of concern lacing her soft voice.

"You make me nervous," he confessed.

She swallowed, a mixture of interest and awkwardness in her gaze.

"Me too," she said, finally looking away.

He tried to recall the words he'd said, the exact words that had led them from the back of the pub to his bedroom. Where, exactly, had they left off?

"Can I ask you something?" she said tentatively, before he could work it out.

"Of course."

"Do you think about the Room of Requirement a lot?"

His eyebrows shot up, momentarily speechless by her question. He knew exactly what she was asking him…

"Is every minute of every day a lot?" he replied softly, clearing his throat.

Her lips parted, chest heaving with a startled breath. But she wasn't smiling. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted her to feel the reflection he couldn't give her. What must he look like, falling apart?

He loved her to the point of physically aching with the weight of it, of knowing instead of pushing away. He'd played along, ignoring his heart, until his heart was too consumed by her to cast aside anymore.

"I think I have a lot to tell you," she nearly whispered, and he felt torn between wanting to hear every word and needing to be the one to go first. "I don't know how much I should say…"

Her last words confused him, and he once again noted the sadness etched across her forehead, her slightly down-turned lips.

"Why do you look unhappy?" he nervously voiced, watching carefully as her eyes slid back to meet his.

"I'm not. It's just that…" she shivered, pausing to swallow. "We're best friends." But her gaze was burning, questioning and slightly needy. Did she actually question that? Could she? He nodded his agreement, as seriously as he could manage, and it seemed to ease her as she continued speaking. "I think I spent so long worrying and being afraid to talk to you about this that now… now, even knowing that you feel something, I can't…" Her voice cracked, gaze dropping from his eyes, and he noticed, then, how close she was to tears. Was she honestly so worried to speak to him that she was being put through emotional torture just to stand here now?

He wouldn't leave her like this, allowing her to feel such strain over something he knew he could fix.

"Let me go first."

She looked up, meeting his gaze again with something close to hope. But her reservation still showed too clearly. What if- what if she didn't want him to do this at all?

"Ever since you… kissed me," he began, stomach twisting with alcohol and impossibly heightened nerves, "I keep forgetting that most of the thoughts I've had about you are still just inside my own head. I know it sounds daft, but-"

She almost smiled at that, and he lost whatever words he might have said next, staring across at her, still too far away.

"How far do you want me to go?" he heard himself asking. "I'll tell you everything, but I need you to know… I can't lose you."

She shook her head in what appeared to be slow motion.

"If you don't want this," he continued, "or-or you don't know for sure, you should stop me now. But-"

"Please," she whispered.

"I need you in my life. Fuck, I don't know what my life would even look like without you. Just-"

"Me too," she cried, as the tears finally fell to roll down her face. "I'm s-so scared that I'll lose you."

But her honesty broke something inside of him, and he shook his head, smiling.

"This is fucking stupid."

She swallowed and froze, staring up at him.

"You already know…" he trailed off. "Think about it."

She sniffed, the tip of her nose a lovely rosy shade.

"Come here."

Swaying a bit, she moved tentatively closer.

"I really shouldn't have had so much to drink…" she said shakily. "My ears are ringing…"

"I'm in love with you."

Her eyes fluttered halfway shut, and she nearly lost her balance, but he reached out and clutched her elbow, steadying her. She must have been holding it together brilliantly before, but the alcohol was catching up to her. Or was she just too startled by what he had said to remain standing?

"Hermione?"

She stumbled past him to his bed, reaching back and tugging him down with her as she collapsed, rolling to her back with a small groan, tightly shutting her eyes. Sitting awkwardly next to her, his heart raced at the sight of her lying in his bed, and he had to force himself to focus on the fact that she hadn't said anything since he'd-

"Did you really- did you…" she slurred, almost panting to catch her escaping breath. "You just said that."

She opened her eyes and stared rather intensely up at him.

"Yeah."

Disbelief flashed across her face before her bottom lip began to tremble.

"What if you change your mind?"

"I won't."

His answer seemed to startle her. Or, perhaps it was the steady sureness of his voice.

"How do you-"

"Trust me."

He knew that he couldn't explain it to her… prove it to her. But he also knew the truth in what he said - what he felt.

"You okay?" he forced out as she shuddered lightly.

"I've had way too much to drink. And- and you just… I'm not going to believe this happened when I wake up tomorrow."

He was both afraid to look away and afraid to go on looking, lost for what he might see. But then, breathing through parted lips, she began to grin… an eye-creasing, tooth-showing grin. And he felt his body literally sink with relief as he pressed a palm to his mattress by her head, to keep himself upright.

"You're amazing," she whispered, and he laughed shakily.

"You're very, very drunk."

"I love you, Ron."

His own grin split widely across his face as he sighed.

"Brilliant."

"Not like a friend," she clarified, shyly reaching up to touch his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

"No?" he shivered.

She shook her head.

"No. Much more than that."

"Hoped so."

He couldn't stop smiling, and all the words he'd thought he'd needed to say were sort of swirling away from him. She certainly didn't seem to mind.

"I'm not sure I can move," she whispered. "Maybe you will have to carry me."

"Where are you going?" he whispered back, counting this moment as the longest - by far - that they had ever stared at each other like this, eyes glowing.

"Your room's moving pretty fast," she laughed softly. "Don't you want me to sleep downstairs?"

"God, no."

"I-" she breathed, before holding the rest of her breath. She shifted on her back, hand hovering at his collarbone.

Lips parted, he studied every inch of her face, finally breaking her gaze just to fully comprehend this moment. She fucking loved him.

Smile broadening again, she clasped the collar of his jumper in her fist.

"C'mere," she barely whispered, but he got the message as clear as if she had shouted it up at him.

He managed to stretch his body out next to her, on the absolute edge of the bed, until she tugged his shoulders, dragging him closer as she pressed her left side to the wall.

"Promise this isn't a dream," she said timidly, as his shaking right arm linked over her waist, sharing his pillow… so close.

"Well, if it is," he said hoarsely, "I'll straighten it out and tell you again tomorrow."

"Tell me what?" she pressed, and he furrowed his brow at her until he realised she was suppressing a grin, trying to get him to say it again.

"Just that thing I said about loving you. Whatever," he shrugged, acting overly casual as she blinked at him.

She burst into a small fit of giggles as he laughed and scooted inches closer, his nose nearly touching hers as she turned to fully meet his eyes.

But their laughter slowly died, closer now than they had ever been to each other. Glassy-eyed and flushed, she reached up and tentatively laid a hand on the side of his face. His eyes fluttered briefly shut, maintaining a rapid pulse and pushing back against the urge to curse with happiness. Instead, when he opened his eyes again, he mimicked her movements, brushing her hair back from her cheek in the softest of motions, repeating it several times as her own eyes began to slip shut, lips parted as she breathed through her mouth.

He wrapped his hand loosely around the side of her neck, getting lost in tangles of her hair. She slipped a foot between his calves, and he swallowed, thinking how much better this was than anything he'd imagined.

How much better every day would be.

Now that they'd done it - confessed. Now that they were done playing bloody games.