Author's note: Written for the lovely Amanda on the occasion of her birthday. Thanks to Mel who read the first part and offered a few small suggestions, and Aimee who assured me that Harry is definitely a strawberry jam kind of boy.

~*~

It was a dark and stormy night in April when Ron Weasley suddenly had a revelation.

He was in the Gryffindor Common Room, sprawled out on one of the lounges near the fire, which roared and crackled heartily, the occasional flame making a run for it by jumping out past the grate. He was pretending to read one of his textbooks for the upcoming NEWTs exams (because if he didn't at least pretend to be making an effort to study, he'd have Hermione constantly nagging him and he'd rather do anything that put up with that), but the hour was getting late and he was exhausted, having been put through his paces during a particularly brutal Quidditch practice in which rain had poured down upon the Gryffindor team and had left them soaking, muddy messes.

Finally, he snapped the book shut and threw it on the floor, closing his eyes for a few blissful moments. He didn't attempt to suppress the yawn that followed, and as Ron sat up and opened his eyes, ready to declare it was bedtime, something hit him. Something that had been so plainly obvious for so long, but something he'd never really paid any attention to.

His best friends were in love.

He could see it now, realised he'd been seeing it for quite some time without knowing it. Hermione was asleep; she was laying next to Harry on the couch opposite, one arm across his chest and one leg over his. Her head was on his shoulder and he was softly stroking the mass of bushy brown hair that had to be invading his line of sight. But Harry didn't seem in the slightest bit annoyed; his nose was currently buried in a similar tome to Ron's, and Ron wondered if Harry even realised what he was doing.

Everything fell into place for Ron, finally, as though he'd just discovered the final piece to a jigsaw puzzle he'd been doing for some time. It all made sense: they spent every spare minute of their time together; Hermione would go and watch Quidditch practice faithfully (unless the weather was abominable); Harry had allowed Hermione to draw him up a colour-coded study timetable, and had actually followed it, more or less; they sat side-by-side at mealtime and dished up their meals together; when given the option, they partnered up for every class they could.

Ron sat there, staring at the two of them, and wondered why he hadn't seen it before. He also wondered why it didn't really bother him all that much; quite possibly because he was involved in a relationship of his own, and quite possibly, he mused, because deep down, he'd known it all along.

However, no good theory has ever been proven without being tested, so he made a vow to watch them carefully over the next week or so and see if he was right.

With that decided, Ron stood up and yawned loudly. “Bedtime for me,” he announced. “You coming?”

Harry looked down at Hermione. “I'm going to stay here for a bit so Hermione can sleep; she's been right knackered lately and I don't want to move her while she's comfortable. I'll keep reading.”

Ron nodded. “Rightio. See you in the morning, then.”

“Good night, mate.”

He gathered up all his books, quills and bits of parchment, and headed up to the seventh years' dorm, pausing at the top of the stairs to look down into the Common Room, which was now occupied by precisely two people. He stood silently and watched as Harry continued to stroke Hermione's hair, shifting over on the lounge to make her a little more comfortable, and then turned and went to bed, wondering why he felt as though he'd intruded on a very private moment.

~*~

Ron was already in the Great Hall, shovelling down pieces of bacon and sausage, when Harry and Hermione joined him for breakfast, sitting down next to each other opposite him.

“Good morning, Ron,” Hermione said pleasantly as she began serving up breakfast for herself and Harry (Ron noted this with a slight nod).

“Why didn't you wait for us in the Common Room as normal?” Harry asked in lieu of greeting. He was currently spooning porridge into two bowls, one of which he placed in front of Hermione, and poured them both a glass of orange juice as Hermione placed a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato and toast down in front of him.

“'S'hungry,” Ron mumbled with a mouth full of food.

“Well, there's a surprise,” Hermione said with a rather large grin. “Ron Weasley, hungry? I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.”

Hermione was rewarded for her teasing by a sausage to the head, which made her squeal in surprise. Harry flung a sausage wrapped in bacon back at Ron, and it looked as though a full-fledged food fight might have broken out if Ginny, who was sitting next to her brother and watching the trio with a great deal of amusement, hadn't kicked his leg rather hard and nodded her head towards the front of the Hall, where Ron saw Professor Snape making beady eyes at them.

“Snape,” Ron hissed, echoing his sister by nodding towards the teachers' tables. Harry and Hermione immediately stopped and went back to eating, as if nothing had happened. Ginny snorted into her bowl of cereal while Ron tried very hard not to make it obvious he was watching his two best friends. He needn't have worried, though, because they didn't seem to notice anything much apart from each other. Harry lightly salted his eggs, then did the same to Hermione's; they talked between mouthfuls, their heads bent together; and they drained their juice simultaneously and stood up.

“You coming?” Harry asked.

Ron waved a sausage in front of them. “Still eating,” he said lazily. “I'll meet you in Transfiguration.”

“Don't be late, Ron,” Hermione reminded him. “You'll lose points.”

“Yes, Mum,” Ron answered obediently. Harry stifled a laugh behind his hand as Hermione smacked his arm, and together they walked hand-in-hand back to Gryffindor Tower to collect their things.

~*~

After observing his best friends carefully for a week, Ron cornered his sister one night in the Common Room. She was sitting alone in an armchair, Crookshanks in her lap, purring contentedly, while she read a novel whose title had Ron raising his eyebrows.

“What on earth are you reading? No, wait. I don't think I want to know.”

Ginny grinned and lowered the book, turning her attention to Crookshanks, who purred louder as she patted him. “No, I don't think you do.”

Ron said on the large scarlet footstool near her feet. “I want to ask you your opinion on something, Gin.”

“Sure, what's up?”

Ron shifted in his seat, wondering best how to broach the subject. But Ginny, who could never be accused of being slow on the uptake, broached it for him. “This is about Harry and Hermione, right?”

“Right.”

“Have you finally realised they're in love, then?”

“What?” Ron made no attempt to hide his surprise. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew, Ron. It's hardly a big secret. Anyone with eyes and half a brain can figure it out when they look at them.”

“But… but…” He stopped, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “I must be the thickest git in the school.”

“Oh, Ron,” his sister said, sympathy in her voice. “Of course you're not. I don't think many people have really sat down and figured anything out, you know. It's not as if they've put an advertisement in the Prophet. But you only have to watch them for a while to know. It's who they are. It's just there.” She leaned over and gave his hand a squeeze. “Are you okay with it?”

Ron mulled this question over for a few moments, then squeezed Ginny's hand back. “You know what? I really am. I mean, I love Hermione, but only as a friend, and I love Harry like a brother, so if they make each other happy, then who am I to stand in their way?”

Ginny beamed at him. “I'm proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” Ron could feel the tips of his ears going red. “Why's that?”

“I'm quite sure the Ron Weasley of three years ago would have been ready to chuck something into the fire in a fit of anger.”

“Yeah, well, that Ron Weasley was only fourteen. I'm not a kid anymore.”

“No, you're not,” Ginny continued to pat Crookshanks, who was now purring so loudly he reminded Ron of one of the Muggle engines his Dad would play with in the garage when he was younger. “So are you doing to tell them you know?”

“Probably best that way,” Ron said with a nod. He covered his mouth as an involuntary yawn escaped. “I'm off to bed.” He stood up and went to leave, but stopped and leaned over his sister, pressing a kiss to her cheek and giving Crookshanks a quick pat. “Thanks.”

~*~

It took Ron another three days to figure out how exactly to bring up the subject. He'd pretty much decided straight away to talk to Harry about it, because as much as he adored Hermione, he simply didn't feel as comfortable discussing such matters as love, whereas he and Harry had spent many a night with their dorm mates talking about girls and love and sex.

The opportunity presented itself one evening after Quidditch practice; the rest of the team had already headed back to the castle, leaving Ron and Harry behind to put away the equipment. So it was in the Quidditch storage shed, of all places, that Ron found himself asking the one question he'd been pondering for quite some time as they each took an end of the trunk containing the various Quidditch balls and carried it to the back of the shed.

“Harry, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Harry grunted as he shifted broomsticks out of his way while carefully treading backwards.

“How long have you and Hermione been in love?”

Harry promptly dropped the side of the trunk he'd been carrying and it hit the cement, along with, Ron guess by the word that came out of his best friend's mouth, a few of Harry's toes.

“What did you say?” Harry asked breathlessly.

“I know you're not going deaf, Harry.”

Harry was silent as he stared blankly at Ron, the lantern above their heads that illuminated the shed swaying imperiously from side to side as the cold wind swirled in from under the door. “What makes you think we're in love?”

Ron tried unsuccessfully not to snort, instead turning it into a weak-sounding cough. “Come on, mate. It's pretty obvious.”

“Is it?” It wasn't until Ron looked properly at the perplexed expression on Harry's face that he got it - Harry really didn't know what he was talking about.

Ron put down his end of the trunk and laughed. He let out a long, deep laugh that came from all the way down in his belly. “My God, and I thought I was clueless!” Somehow, the knowledge that Harry hadn't figured it out either made Ron feel as though a weight had suddenly been lifted.

“Ron,” Harry's voice was now a bit shaky. “What are you on about?”

“Harry, mate,” Ron said, coming around to put an arm around him and jovially slapping his back. “You're head over heels in love with our bossy yet bewitching best friend. I offer you all the good luck in the world, because she's certainly a handful,” he observed with a loud chuckle. “Luckily for you, though, she's equally as smitten, so I'm sure you'll live a long and happy life together.”

Harry simply stared at Ron, his mind blank, wondering if somehow he'd been suddenly thrown into an alternate universe. He tried to speak; his mouth opened and his jaw moved, but no words came out.

“Yeah, I know,” Ron said sympathetically. “I felt the same way a bit when I figured it out. But it's all good, mate. Come on, let's get this stuff put away and go back up to the castle before the witch in question sends out a search party.”

~*~

Harry could think of nothing else for the next two days; his thoughts continually drifted back to what Ron had told him. Was he really in love with Hermione? Shouldn't he have realised that without being told? Being in love was a big thing, after all. But it wasn't as though he'd ever sat down and exactly analysed his feelings for his best friend; it was just how things were between them.

It was as Harry was pondering whether he should say anything to Hermione (did she know, already?) that he found himself scoring a detention in Potions before he even realised what was happening. Snape had been asking him for an answer, and Harry had completely ignored him, lost in his thoughts, despite a kick from Hermione. He grumbled loudly all the way to dinner, and the unfairness of the situation continued to be the topic of conversation for the night.

“Well, that will teach you to pay attention in Potions, Harry! Of all the classes to not listen--”

“Don't start, Hermione,” Harry said shortly. He was already in a bad mood about the detention and the fact that Snape had, once again, been an enormously unfair prat. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and the former stood, bidding them both a good night.

Hermione continued to study for the next hour or so as the crowd in the Common Room began to dwindle, the sleepy Gryffindors heading off to bed in twos and threes. Eventually, the only ones who remained awake were Harry and Hermione, who sat apart from each other, Harry in an armchair and Hermione on the lounge opposite.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry!” Hermione finally said, slamming her book shut and throwing her quill dramatically onto the table. “What has gotten into you? You have done nothing but brood and not pay attention for two days! Are you going to tell me what has you so distracted?”

Harry blinked rapidly and sighed; he knew she was right. He had been distracted and hadn't been paying attention. Perhaps it was time to get it out in the open.

“Okay, fine,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I'll tell you what's been distracting me.”

There was a pause, and Hermione, who was now sitting on the edge of her seat, waited with baited breath. “Well?”

“You.”

She stared at him as what he'd said began to sink in. “Me?”

Harry nodded. “You.” He got up out of the armchair and moved towards her, and Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

“Me,” she whispered as he sat down next to her. She looked into his eyes and they appeared to be a green she'd never really noticed before; Harry's irises always seemed to be a different shade depending on his mood, but this green, this vivid, emerald green, was one she'd never seen before.

He didn't say a word as he took her hands in his, tugging until she was facing him, and then dipped his head and kissed her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to get lost in the moment, marvelling at how soft and warm his lips are. When he pulled away, she sucked in a deep breath and opened her eyes again.

“You,” he confirmed. They settled back onto the lounge, Hermione resting her head on Harry's shoulder and her hand on his thigh, while Harry put his arm around her.

“Well,” Hermione started, struggling to find the right words for once in her life. “That was a bit unexpected.”

“Was it?” Harry responded. “Ron wouldn't think so.”

“Ron?” Hermione lifted her head so she could see Harry's face. “What's he got to do with it?”

“Everything. He's the one who told me we're in love.” Harry studied her face and saw she was clearly deep in thought, but when she didn't respond after what felt like ten minutes (but was probably a lot shorter), he prodded her gently. “We are, aren't we?”

“Yes, of course we are,” Hermione confirmed without hesitation. “I'm just… well, I never really gave it any thought, to be honest with you. It's just how we are, isn't it?”

“It is,” Harry sighed happily, thankful that Hermione understood. Then again, she always had. “He said it's really obvious. I guess it must be, to others.”

“You do know that I take two sugars I take in my tea,” Hermione mused.

“You know I hate marmalade and always find strawberry jam to put on my toast instead.”

“You always wait for me before going to breakfast.”

“You always come and watch Quidditch practice.”

“I let you brush my hair before bed.”

“I let you draw me up a colour-coded study timetable.”

Hermione smiled, a contented smile that made Harry feel warm all over, and closed her eyes as she put her head back on his shoulder. He kissed her nose as he watched her, her skin illuminated by the firelight. She wasn't the most stunning woman he'd ever seen, but she was beautiful in her own way. He'd always thought her beautiful, and as Harry Potter looked at Hermione Granger, he was so thankful that the young, bossy witch she'd once been had come knocking on his compartment door on the Hogwarts Express, asking if he'd seen a toad.

“It was a bit embarrassing, though,” he said, breaking the silence. “Ron having to tell me something I should have known!”

“Well, you can be a bit thick sometimes, after all,” Hermione offered. This tongue-in-cheek remark had Harry pinning her underneath him on the lounge as he cast a tickling charm on her, which made her laugh until she couldn't breathe. It was only when she begged him to stop that he did, and he only gave her enough time to get her breath back before he stole it again with a tender kiss that melted Hermione's heart.

They spent the next fifteen minutes completely and happily wrapped up in each other, and reluctantly parted when the lion clock on the mantelpiece roared at them to tell them it was one in the morning. Harry gathered Hermione's things and walked her to the girls' staircase, not for the first time rueing the fact he couldn't climb them, and then handed everything to her with one last kiss.

“Sleep well,” he said in farewell.

“Sweet dreams, Harry James.” She beamed at him and tucked her belongings under her arm before drifting up the stairs to her dormitory. Harry waited until she was gone, then packed up his own stuff and followed suit, happy in the knowledge that everything was just as it should be.