The Sugar Quill
Author: Aldawg Kunzizzle  Story: Twists of Hair, Twists of Fate  Chapter: Default
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Twists of Hair, Twists of Fate

Twists of Hair, Twists of Fate 

Ginny Weasley gripped her hair with both of her hands and brought her head to the table in front of her.

            “Honestly, Ron! Why does it matter to you? I can twirl my hair while I’m reading if I want!”

            “Hermione, it’s just annoying, okay? I can’t…I can’t hear myself think!”

            “I’m not saying anything! Just don’t look over in this corner, okay? Then my ‘incessant hair-twirling’ won’t bother you.”

            Ginny groaned softly at her brother’s idiocy and proceeded to bang her head on the table. How could he be so blind?

            Ron was muttering noiselessly, looking up from his chess game with Harry every few seconds to scowl at Hermione’s back. Harry’s eyes were furrowed as he concentrated on the board, completely oblivious to the argument that had just occurred.

            I can’t take this anymore! Ginny thought, I know they fancy one another…but how can I make Ron do something about it? She gazed around the finally clean drawing room at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and her eyes fell upon messy jet-black hair, and gorgeous green eyes protected by round spectacles. A mischievous grin spread across her face. Of course!

*                      *                      *

            “Psst! Harry! In here!”

            Harry stopped in his tracks and looked behind him. A familiar female redhead had poked her head through her slightly ajar bedroom door. Utterly bewildered, Harry joined Ginny in her room.

            “What is it?” he asked when she had closed the door.

            “Well…um…okay, here’s the thing,” Ginny started with some hesitation. “I’m assuming you’ve noticed the way Ron and Hermione feel about each other.”

            Harry stared at her blankly and opened and closed his mouth several times before scratching his head in obvious confusion. Ginny’s eyes widened, but decided not to comment on his lack of awareness.

            “Well that puts a damper in my plan…”

            “Wait…are you saying they…they like each other?” Harry crossed the room to sit on Ginny’s desk. He smirked a little, then said, “I highly doubt that, Ginny. Have you seen them together? I’m surprised they’ve put up with each other for this long.” He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and continued. “I mean, say they did like each other…and I’m not saying they do…because they don’t... how would you have come to that conclusion?”

“Just call it a woman’s intuition. Also known by many as common sense.” Ginny grinned as Harry rolled his eyes. “Just trust me. Listen, go look in the drawing room. Watch them for ten minutes, then come back and tell me what you think. No, don’t you roll your eyes at me! Just do it!”

            Harry heaved a dramatic sigh, then climbed the stairs to the drawing room and peered through the crack in the doorway.

            “Ron, stop being such a prat!”

            “What the hell did I do now?”

            “You’re running your hands through your hair again! I keep telling you…”

            “I can’t help it! I always do it—“

            “—When you’re frustrated, I know. You do it all the time and it’s infuriating!”

            Harry had heard enough. He turned away from Ron and Hermione’s bickering and headed back to Ginny’s room, shaking his head. Ginny was sitting cross-legged on her bed, nodding her head to the Weird Sisters that was playing on the Wireless. When she saw that Harry had returned, she tapped her wrist unnecessarily and said, “Three minutes. I’m impressed.”

            Harry crossed the room and resumed his seat on Ginny’s desk. “When did that happen?”

            “Well, remember that quarrel they had in your fourth year?” Harry nodded. “Four years before that.”

            “Okay, okay, so what’s this plan of yours?”

*                      *                      *

            Hermione was awakened the next morning with the scent of fresh flowers. Her brows furrowed as she rose from her bed and noticed that her sheets were covered in rose petals. Her heart leapt. Ron…was her immediate thought before she scrambled out of bed, dressed quickly, and went downstairs for breakfast. The rose petals must have been an apology for the way he had been acting lately. Perhaps this meant…

            Ron was already in the kitchen when she bounded through the door, nibbling on buttered toast at the table.

            “Ron,” she said breathlessly. “Did you…?”

            “Thought you weren’t speaking to me.” Ron said coldly, running his hands obviously through his hair.

            Hermione felt the anger—and, at the same time, a tiny fluttering sensation—building up in her stomach.

            “What about you, Ron? Or have you forgotten you blew up at me because I twirl my hair?”

            Ron glared, then turned his back on her to continue eating his breakfast. Hermione punched the air behind him so he couldn’t see, then prepared herself some toast and orange juice.

            “Stupid prat,” she muttered incoherently, so Ron couldn’t hear from across the room. “Always running his hand through his hair and exposing those seven freckles on his nose…”

            Harry entered the room and glanced around. “Hey Ron.” He sat down at the table next to Hermione and edged his chair as close to her as possible. “Hey Her-mi-one. You’re looking gorgeous this morning, as usual.”

            “…Um…thanks?” Hermione glanced across the room at Ron, who was mouthing noiselessly.

            Harry, meanwhile, had picked up a fork and knife and was cutting up Hermione’s toast.

            “Harry…I don’t normally cut up my toast…and if I did I’d be perfectly capable—”

            “Don’t worry about it, Hermione. I don’t mind, really.” Harry winked, pulled a single rose from behind his back, and dropped it daintily in her glass of orange juice.

            Hermione stared. “Are you okay, Harry?”

            Harry’s mouth twitched as he propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. He gave a huge sigh and said, “Never better.”

            “Harry!” Ron broke in, having finally rediscovered his voice, looked mortified. “Chess?” Ron crossed the kitchen in three strides, grabbed Harry’s elbow, and dragged him from the room, leaving Hermione to gape after them. Harry poked his head through the door and said, “I shall be counting the moments until we meet again!” before Ron emitted a loud groan. A freckled arm was seen grabbing Harry by his hair and pulling him out of sight once more.

            “Oh, no,” she muttered when they had gone. “Oh no, no, no. Wrong one.” She promptly dropped her head, which hit the table with a loud thud.

*                      *                      *

            Ron dragged Harry to their shared bedroom on the third floor of Grimmauld Place, anger coursing through his veins. Harry was relatively silent, except for a few coughs that suspiciously sounded like they were covering a laugh. Ron slammed the door of their room, let go of Harry’s arm, and demanded, “What the hell was that?”

            Harry stared innocently back at him, rubbing his arm. “What?” he said calmly.

            Ron threw his arms in the air, “‘What?’ Is that all you have to say about this? Since when do you fancy Hermione?”

            Harry’s eyes glazed over. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

            Ron’s expression immediately softened, and his eyes turned rather glossy as well. For a moment, he completely forgot he was angry with Harry at all. He pictured Hermione, with those deep brown eyes and curly brown hair that she twirled when she studied. He let out a sigh. “Ye…NO!”

            “Oh, admit it, Ron. Our best friend has become quite attractive.”

            Ron stared at him, flabbergasted, “Wh—I—You ca—.”

            “And not a bad mind, either. She’s just…brilliant, you know? Hey…do you think she likes me, too? Should I ask her out?”

            “No! Harry, you can’t like Hermione. You just can’t!”

            “Why not, Ron? What is so wrong with me liking Hermione?”

            “BECAUSE SHE’S MINE!”

            The words echoed around the room and a still silence followed. Ron, realizing the impact of his words, took a deep, shuddering breath and looked Harry in the eye. “Um…well, what I meant was—”


            Harry and Ron turned to find Hermione standing in the doorway. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief before clutching his chest as if his heart was tearing in two.

             “Oh, no, Ron…you…can’ can’t like Hermi…oh forget it,” he said, and walked jauntily out of the room, flashing Hermione a thumbs up before closing the door.

            “How much did you hear?” Ron asked with some trepidation.

            “All of it,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “I followed Harry up here to tell him that I…that I didn’t fancy him as more than a friend.”

            “He certainly didn’t seem too upset when he was skipping out the door,” Ron grumbled. He hesitated before he continued. “But…why, Hermione? Why not Harry?”

            “Well…because I like someone el—”

            “What?! Oh, okay, so you like someone else. Who is this bastard? Why don’t I know about him? Hermione, I thought—” But his rampage was stopped by a soft, warm feeling on his lips. Ron stared at her, amazed. His arms were covered with goose bumps; a tingling sensation lingered over his mouth when she pulled away. “Y--you kissed me,” he said stupidly.

            Hermione looked away and whispered, “Yes, I did.”


            Hermione grinned shyly. “Because I’m yours, Ron. I was always yours.”

*                      *                      *

            Harry and Ginny smiled as they peeked through the crack in the doorway of Harry and Ron’s room. Harry shut his eyes tightly when Ron leaned in for another kiss. He diverted his attention back to Ginny once more and grinned.

            “Mission accomplished.”

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