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Part 1-Hermione on Ron
People aren't supposed to fall in love with their best friends. It's
just- wrong somehow. I don't do things wrong, and yet I've somehow managed
to fall for Ron. Ron, of all people. Him, with his irresponsibility, and
cockiness, and his drooling over veelas. There's not a thing I can do
about it, and it is perhaps the most painful thing in my life. It's not
fair! It shouldn't hurt be to be around him. He shouldn't make me so conscience
of my hands, my hair, my posture. I keep telling myself that it's only
Ron, but who am I fooling? Certainly not myself. Harry doesn't send bolts
of electricity up my spine when our hands brush.
If people knew, I know the first thing they would say is, "Why not
Harry?" When you're the best friend of The Boy-Who-Lived, the best
friend of the hero of the wizarding world, it's expected that you fall
for him. I know Harry would scorn this idea as much as I do- we're like
brother and sister. Why isn't Ron like my brother? I suppose it's because
never allowed him to be. Because when I saw him on the train that very
first day, with that stupid smudge on his nose, I think I knew even then
that he was something special. Not that Harry isn't; Harry's braver than
anyone I know, and more selfless. But Ron has a fire in him that I love-
I never have to ask what Ron's thinking because he'll come right out and
say it. Not that this is always a good quality "They don't make 'em
like that at Hogwarts." Honestly. But Ron, well, it's hard to explain.
He's- he's Ron, wonderful, darling, stupid Ron. Ron, with that stupid
red hair that's always a bit out of place, tempting me to brush it back,
with those stupid, sparkling eyes, and that stupid, cheeky grin that sends
stomach into flip-flops.
"Sends my stomach into flip-flops" Honestly, Hermione, get
a grip on yourself. I sound like such a girl. That one smarted the most
"Hermione- Neville's right- you are a girl." Of course I am,
you great prat. Just because I don't go parading about like a veela, tossing
my beautiful long hair over my shoulder, well, that doesn't mean that
I'm not a girl. I wanted him to ask me to the ball, I'll admit it. The
whole school already knows, and if he doesn't, he's got to be the thickest
person at Hogwarts. Viktor was more than nice, and he was the epitome
of a gentleman. But he wasn't Ron, and that mattered more than anything.
I was in the middle of the floor, dancing with a CHAMPION, and all I could
think was how much I longed to be sitting with Ron where he was pouting
at his table. Isn't that silly?
It's worst, most painful on nights like this, when Harry's off at Quidditch
practice, and it's just Ron and me sitting down in the common room. I'll
read, and he'll struggle through Potions homework that should have been
done a week ago. I know I should leave him to his own devices, make him
learn, but when he calls my name, asks me to check something
over for him, I put down my book and sigh (this usually elicits a cheeky
remark from him) and pull my chair closer to his to help. I can feel where
our sleeves brush together, and I can feel his eyes on me. I don't dare
look at him at moments like these, because I know my eyes might give me
away. If our eyes lock at moment like this, I'm afraid that I'll never
be able to tear mine away from his, afraid that I'll fall in.
He may never know. He may never know that when we tease each other it
fills me with pleasure- because it means we're friends. And he may never
know that when I point out his mistakes, it's my way of saying, "Ron,
I care about you. I want you to do well." That after we talk about
Harry, about how worried we are about him, I'm impressed again by how
much Ron would sacrifice for Harry. Ron would give his life- he proved
that in the Shrieking Shack when he stood on a broken leg, and told a
convicted murder that if he wanted Harry, well, he'd have to go through
all of us. That sometimes, in the middle of a late night study session,
when we're all near sleep, I look at him and wonder what it would be like
to kiss him. Well, I can't exactly out and tell him, can I? No, because
we're friends, and people don't go around confessing their love to their
friends all the time. People aren't supposed to fall in love with their
Part 2 Ron on Hermione
People aren't supposed to fall in love with their best friend. It just
isn't done. Yet me, being the great bloody prat I am, have gone and done
it. Me! In love! Obviously, this is not Harry we're talking about. No,
it's Hermione. Bossy, know-it-all, too-smart-for-her-own good Hermione.
It's so...weird. Like, one minute, she was just my other best friend,
somebody to keep me and Harry in line, and the next she was this...girl.
When I saw her at the Yule Ball with bloody Viktor Krum, I didn't even
know it was her! She looked so different. And it made me crazy to think
that she made herself look like THAT for Krum. Yea, she's definetly a
girl. A great girl, at that. The things that made me hate her are all
the things I like so much now. She's smart, that Hermione. I never knew
anyone as smart as she is, not even Percy, or Bill. Anytime I need to
know something, I can ask her. Yeah, she's too smart for her own good.
That thing with Rita Skeeter- how'd Hermione figure that out, huh? And
the Basilisk, back in second year. She's the one who knew what it was.
Yeah, she spends a lot of time in the library, and reads too much. But
she's a ruddy genius!
She had me scared with the Basilisk. Hermione's usually so...strong. When
Harry and I are fighting, she's the link, and when we're stuck, she knows
the answer. But when she was Petrified, she looked so small, and so alone.
I wasn't ready for that one, 'cause life just wasn't the same without
Hermione's got a lot of guts too. Man. She can even put Malfoy in his
place. That time she slapped him...whoa! That was great. "Twitchy
little ferret, aren't you Malfoy?" That was even better. And marching
out on Trelawney? Even more impressive. But Malfoy...every time her calls
her "Mud"- no, I won't even think it. I want to knock his brains
out. That bastard.
I know the guys would think I'm nuts. They'd ask why I don't like a "pretty"
girl, like Parvati, or Lavendar, or Cho. But Hermione, she's pretty too.
She's the prettiest when she's mad, when her cheeks are flushed and her
eyes are sparkling, and her hair is coming loose out of that knot she
wears it in all the time. And that smile. The real one, the one that pops
across her face when Harry's caught the Snitch, or she's gotten ANOTHER
hundred and thirty six percent on an exam. Or when she's read something
that's apparently really interesting. Or sometimes, when I grin at her
at in Professor Binn's class when I catch even her, Hogwarts' resident
genius, not taking notes, and she smiles back. That smile. It
lights up her whole face and suddenly...well.
What am I supposed to do about it, huh? Nothing. Not a damn thing. I
can't TELL her. She'd probably just run away, and then I'd lose even her
friendship. I wouldn't know how to say it, either.
But sometimes...like now. She's over there in that armchair, all curled
up with her book, looking...like Hermione. Beautiful. And I know if I
ask, she'll come over and help me with this homework for Snape that I
should have finished last week. And if she comes over, she'll pull her
chair up right by mine, and our arms will brush, and my ears'll go red.
Then she'll get right down to business, checking my answers, and our sleeves
will be brushing up against each other. She's very serious about the work,
never once looking up my way, which is for the best. If she did...well.
I'd have to turn away. Because if I looked into her eyes...right. I'm
getting all girly now. But...well... I think I'd kiss her. 'Cause she's
Hermione. But I can't kiss her, just because she's Hermione. 'Cause she's
my best friend, and people don't do
that with their best friends.