Ron had skimmed the piece of parchment a thousands times, and a thousands times again. Why did Hermione have such a thing in her bag? He’d noticed it fall from her broken bag, but had figured she picked it up. Until it caught his eye, that is.
Had this been what she was doing? And, if it had, whom was she writing it to? The handwriting seemed to be off for Hermione, her neat scroll had always haunted his notes, scratching bits out and putting in the correct information that he never seemed to grasp.
This, however, he fully grasped. Hermione was in love. At least, he assumed so. After all, she was brilliant, more so than anyone else he’d ever known. She would defiantly have disguised her handwriting for something as important as this. But then the question stood, why on earth wouldn’t she want the mysterious man to know?
Despite the thoughts forming in his mind against his own will, he dropped himself upon his bed, dragging the curtains around it so he could think for a moment or two. He had the opportunity to sleep for a few more hours before going about his busy day at Hogwarts, but the letter was constantly engrossing his mind. It refused his body and mind’s battle for the intoxication that was sleep, a place where the note would be all that he wished it could be.
When the day finally came to its beginning for the young witches and wizards and their Professors, Ron was tossing upon his sheets, finally tearing the letter out from the view of the other boys’ eyes. Thankfully not one of them had noticed, he was glad. What if Hermione had been writing to one of them?
The thought was like a plague to his mind. It would ruin his fool’s false hope, but it was hope all the same. There was something to be said for such. He lazily ran a hand through his ever-lengthening red hair, gazing upon his rugged, tired look in the mirror. What was she playing at?
He tossed his shirt over his shoulders, tucking in half of it. It was loose on his lanky, thin body, and he absently realized that she would never have an interest in such a person. He sighed, pulling on his shoes, and grabbing his bag from his bedside. Making absolutely certain that the parchment was carefully tucked in its own pocket, he took off down the stairs, despite Harry stating something to him as he left.
The curls of Hermione’s messy brown hair graced his eyes as he made it to the bottom of the staircase. He noticed the nervousness that clouded her in such an obvious way, an uncharacteristic emotion of hers. She wasn’t nervous, except perhaps around Snape during their beginning years at the school, but that was a long time ago. No, Ron knew what she was nervous about.
Hearing him approaching, Hermione swiftly whirled around, seemingly becoming flushed at his chaotic appearance. Ron took a slight note of the red that was rising in her fair colored cheeks. Maybe his hope wasn’t so foolish after all. She dropped the book she’d lifted from the table, making sure it was back in the position its owner had left it in.
“Looking for something, then?” Ron questioned, eyeing her as she regained herself, her emotions suddenly becoming hidden from the naked eye once again. She nodded, resolutely.
“I am, actually,” she stated, sticking her nose in the air, “Not that you’ve any business knowing.”
“Pardon my lack of knowledge upon the subject of your business,” he mocked her voice lightly, rolling his eyes.
“Well, Ron,” she spat his name, causing him to cringe, “Maybe you should learn that some things are private matters, not meant for certain eyes.” Ron’s throat constricted. Did that mean — no it couldn’t, could it?
“And whose eyes would those be?” He questioned, watching as she pulled her robe over her shoulders.
“Lets think, Ronald,” She muttered, “Anyone besides me?” She was being sarcastic, he knew, but that settled it for him.
“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me, Hermione?” He blurted. He’d waited so long to ask such a simple question. Hermione stopped in mid-motion, her bag becoming lifeless in her hand. It seemed to be an eternity before she even realized what he’d questioned. They stood there for what seemed like years; Ron wouldn’t be surprised if all of Gryffindor tower had gone past the two of them. The deafening silence was beginning to un-nerve him, when she lifted her bag onto her shoulder.
“Sure, Ron,” she murmured, quietly, turning and exiting through the portrait. Ron collapsed onto the couch, wondering why he’d waited so long to ask the question. He’d been in love with her for years. And he’d finally done something about it.
He seemed as if he was in a daze the whole way to the Great Hall. He took his seat across from Hermione, who had her nose buried in a book, as though it was the only thing she had left. Ron engaged in conversation with Harry the moment he entered the large hall, snapping out of his dream state.
Unfortunately, as they were leaving for Divination, Hermione still sitting down the lengthy table under the bright morning sky, Ron and Harry happened to pass Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.
“Anything odd happening to you, Potter?” The blonde Slytherin sneered at them, “Or who you happen to still be upset over losing someone?” He mocked Harry, a wicked smirk playing across his features.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron muttered, pushing past them after Harry, who’d become increasingly distance over the summer. He hadn’t taken noticed of the parchment falling from his pocket, as he’d dug his hand into it to grasp his wand.
Draco, still holding his look of triumph, bent down to pick it up. Something from Weasley’s pocket? Indeed, it could prove to be quite valuable for his own means of mocking Potter’s sidekick.
At last! Ron and Hermione are finally going on a date! :) Ah, but what? Draco has the letter now. Right. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, as I enjoyed writing it.
-Riddle Wood Lupin
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