If You Love Her (Ron Weasley)

Twenty.

"Aoife!" I was eating my breakfast on Valentine's Day morning when Hermione approached, a look of excitement on her face as though she had just had a wonderful idea. I made eye contact with Neville, who frowned in confusion, and I shrugged.

"Morning," I greeted, and she sat down beside me, a grin on her face. 

"I've had a thought," She stated, and I heard Ron scoff from down the table. 

"Always dangerous," He commented, and Hermione ignored him, pretending as though she didn't hear him at all. 

"I thought, since Harry had his date with Cho," Harry blushed at this, in fact, he went so red I could almost feel the warmth emanating from his cheeks. "And Ron has his Quidditch practice, I thought we could maybe spend the day together. The rest of us who aren't busy, I mean,"

"Aoife can't," Everyone looked to Ron, and I felt my pulse quicken when I saw he was looking at me.

"I didn't realise you spoke for her now," Hermione countered, furrowing her brows. "Why can't she come with me?" 

"I have Quidditch practice, you just said," Ron stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, but Hermione clearly didn't understand the point he was trying to make, as she just appeared more exasperated. 

"I know you do! I don't see what this has to do with Aoife," She looked between the two of us, and I fought the urge to smile. 

"I promised Ron that I would go to his practices," I said, my eyes remaining firmly on my plate before me, though I hadn't touched any of my food yet. 

"Well, you can miss one, can't you?" Hermione enquired, and whilst I knew I didn't need the permission of anybody to go anywhere, I still found myself looking up at him. Whipped? Yes. Ashamed? Only a little. 

"You don't need my permission, Aoife," Ron laughed, and I nodded, feeling the blush rise on my cheeks and quickly looking back down at my breakfast, finally feeling able to eat something.

"So what do you say?" Hermione pressed, an eager look in her eyes. 

"I don't see any reason why not," I smiled at her, and she grinned. 

A few hours later, I found myself sat in the Three Broomsticks with Hermione, Neville, Dean, Ginny and Luna, and having a surprisingly wonderful time. I didn't feel too anxious, I found myself feeling quite at home with the little group. Perhaps because Neville was beside me, and I knew that he was there to hold my hand if I needed him. As ever. 

We had been discussing our favourite season of the year, when the door to the pub burst open, and a sodden and angry looking Harry stormed towards the table, rain dropping from his messy hair, his glasses steaming up in the sudden heat. It was evident that his date had gone terribly. 

"Oh dear," Hermione muttered, as Neville quickly jumped up and dashed towards the bar, buying Harry the butterbeer he quite obviously needed, to warm both his body and his spirits.

"Not good?" Hermione questioned, and Harry shook his head, not speaking. 

Neville handed him the butterbeer, and Harry guzzled almost half the mug, before wiping his mouth and looking at Hermione. 

"It was fucking terrible," He huffed, and I got the impression he was about to explain why, but his face fell as he looked behind Hermione.

"What is she doing here?" He asked, pointing to the woman approaching the table, a sheepishly smug look on her face. Rita Skeeter. She was a reporter for the Daily Prophet, or at least, she used to be. She had gone quite quiet this past school year.