It's tragic suppose. After 5 years in Hogwarts, Ron's family was finally
running out of the money. Yeah, money, that's why he had bags under his
eyes anymore. He worked late as Hagrid's TA. Now don't blame it on Hagrid,
the kindly giant would have given Ron double the money for less hours of
work; grading papers and feeding deadly animals. But, my Ron insisted the
amount be fair.
He's really not mine, but I wish it. Me in my belligerance told him time and time again last year that I was not interested in his advances. So, he didn't call over the summer this time.
Abscence makes the heart grow fonder.
When me and him talk anymore, it's just an argument. His shaggy red hair hangs around a face with accusing darkening eyes in it, and his mouth turns to a sneer. He doesn't want to talk to me. Can't I see he has "homework" to do? It's more important than the 10 minutes of communication I want. It hurts to hear him mock what I told him last spring, but it hurts more not to hear his voice at all.
He's grown 4 inchs, and he's gryffindor's dueling champion ever since they developed the dueling club last fall. His muscles ripple through his robes to the extent where I want to dive into those robes and feel the clouding firmness around me. His skin is tanned from working muggle labor jobs the whole summer. It's cheaper than taking a muggle studies class. He squints into his book. Ron needs glasses, his parents can't afford it, and it's a stretch for him to even be awake to read.
"Hermione, stop bloody staring at me! I'm trying to study and when you lean across the table your hair casts a shadow that blocks the book!" he chokes this out, enraged.
"Well maybe if you'd put the damned thing down and talk to me once in a while, I wouldn't be reduced to staring!" I screech back at him. Everyone in the common room stares. I hear a sharp intake of breath from Harry, and mutters of annoyance and dismay from the rest of the room.
"Go back to your homework," he says coldly," It's more amusing than I'll ever be."
And then I pick up a book and stalk away. Harry will be annoyed with me again, but thanks to his training to one day be a professional quidditch player, he's not around too much in the afternoons.
Footsteps
Someone runs behind me down the stairs and into the garden. "Hermoine, you took my potions book, I need it back," he snarls. I know I did, but I argue nonetheless, I crave his company. "It's my book," I say, picking it up and walking deliberatly towards a wet patch on the stone slabs surrounding the muggle tulips that are planted. He follows me, and violently whirls my around to yell at me, mercilessly grabbing me by the shoulder. I fall forward into him, and he catches me. The book gets dropped in the dirt. I turn my head towards his passively hard face, and I can't hold it anymore. I cry, quietly the tears dribble from my eyes. He opens his mouth to yell but swallows it seeing my tears. All of the sudden a strange look comes over his face and he begins to weep too. Somewhere in our tears we stumble to a bench and sit, huddled together. He wipes his face and stands reluctantly, grabbing his book and dusting himself off.
A horrible noise erupts from my throat, but it sounds much like "wait". He turns and looks at me. "Whenever we fight, all I want to do is dive into your arms and... and kiss you." I whisper. I wish for him to come back and hold me, but with a strange look in his eyes he just stares.
My eyes are more hopeful than they have ever been.
He pushes a strand of hair behind his eyes and his face betrays every feeling. Lust, longing, love, adoration, and trust. Trust I have broken. At that moment I know he will walk away and leave me in my tears. And he does.
He's really not mine, but I wish it. Me in my belligerance told him time and time again last year that I was not interested in his advances. So, he didn't call over the summer this time.
Abscence makes the heart grow fonder.
When me and him talk anymore, it's just an argument. His shaggy red hair hangs around a face with accusing darkening eyes in it, and his mouth turns to a sneer. He doesn't want to talk to me. Can't I see he has "homework" to do? It's more important than the 10 minutes of communication I want. It hurts to hear him mock what I told him last spring, but it hurts more not to hear his voice at all.
He's grown 4 inchs, and he's gryffindor's dueling champion ever since they developed the dueling club last fall. His muscles ripple through his robes to the extent where I want to dive into those robes and feel the clouding firmness around me. His skin is tanned from working muggle labor jobs the whole summer. It's cheaper than taking a muggle studies class. He squints into his book. Ron needs glasses, his parents can't afford it, and it's a stretch for him to even be awake to read.
"Hermione, stop bloody staring at me! I'm trying to study and when you lean across the table your hair casts a shadow that blocks the book!" he chokes this out, enraged.
"Well maybe if you'd put the damned thing down and talk to me once in a while, I wouldn't be reduced to staring!" I screech back at him. Everyone in the common room stares. I hear a sharp intake of breath from Harry, and mutters of annoyance and dismay from the rest of the room.
"Go back to your homework," he says coldly," It's more amusing than I'll ever be."
And then I pick up a book and stalk away. Harry will be annoyed with me again, but thanks to his training to one day be a professional quidditch player, he's not around too much in the afternoons.
Footsteps
Someone runs behind me down the stairs and into the garden. "Hermoine, you took my potions book, I need it back," he snarls. I know I did, but I argue nonetheless, I crave his company. "It's my book," I say, picking it up and walking deliberatly towards a wet patch on the stone slabs surrounding the muggle tulips that are planted. He follows me, and violently whirls my around to yell at me, mercilessly grabbing me by the shoulder. I fall forward into him, and he catches me. The book gets dropped in the dirt. I turn my head towards his passively hard face, and I can't hold it anymore. I cry, quietly the tears dribble from my eyes. He opens his mouth to yell but swallows it seeing my tears. All of the sudden a strange look comes over his face and he begins to weep too. Somewhere in our tears we stumble to a bench and sit, huddled together. He wipes his face and stands reluctantly, grabbing his book and dusting himself off.
A horrible noise erupts from my throat, but it sounds much like "wait". He turns and looks at me. "Whenever we fight, all I want to do is dive into your arms and... and kiss you." I whisper. I wish for him to come back and hold me, but with a strange look in his eyes he just stares.
My eyes are more hopeful than they have ever been.
He pushes a strand of hair behind his eyes and his face betrays every feeling. Lust, longing, love, adoration, and trust. Trust I have broken. At that moment I know he will walk away and leave me in my tears. And he does.