~~~~
I've always been "one of the guys." I've tried to be friends with girls before, but it never works out the way it's supposed to. Girls are just too emotional for me. They wear their hearts out on their sleeve like they don't expect to get hurt. They show their pain to the whole world like it's nothing. I could never do that.
My pain is a private pain. I keep my suffering to myself. It's my own burden to bear. I would never push my problems onto someone else. I hold my friends dear to me, and I would never want to cause them any anxiety because I have burdened them.
Even if I did share my sorrows, I'm not quite sure they'd understand anyway. While I love Ron and Harry, the fact remains that sometimes, I just need a good shoulder to cry on. But no, I would never ask that of them. Lord knows that they have their own lives to deal with. I can't weigh them down with my silly, girly anguish. But the truth is, they can't handle my grievances. I've seen them avoid me when I've been particularly touchy. I've seen them sigh and roll their eyes when I cry. They never take me seriously. They never have, and they probably never will.
And that makes everything that much harder. For, as easily as I make friends with boys. For as eager as I am to hide my true emotions. For all of my seriousness. For all of the contempt I seem to hold. Despite all of these things, I do still feel. And that hurts me more then the emotion itself. I try so hard to hold it back, reign it in. But it's so difficult, when I see the way they treat me.
They've never seen me as a girl. They've never thought of me as having emotions. They try to convince themselves that I'm "just one of the guys." And that's just it. I'm always the best friend, never the girlfriend.
~~~~
Ron closed the journal with a shocked, but thoughtful face. Enlightenment came hard. Without thinking, he dashed out of his room, despite the late hour, despite the risk of detention, and ran down to the common room, before continuing his dash up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Panting slightly from his sprint, he slowly treaded down the hall, before standing in front of Hermione's room. He took a deep breath, then knocked softly.
A pause.
Then, "Come in." Soft.
He slowly turned the doorknob, as if waiting to be pulled back by some invisible force. But the invisible force was imaginary as well, and he stepped slowly into the room. There, on her four-poster, was Hermione.
Crying.
For a moment, Ron froze at the sight, wondering why he had ever come up here. Then he remembered the words Hermione had written in her journal. He had never intended to read it, honestly. But when her bag busted in the hall (yet again), and he helped her gather her books (once again), a book was left behind (as sometimes happens). So he snatched it up and planned to return it to her later. That was before he saw that it was her journal.
But he reminded himself that he was here or a reason, and strode forward. As Ron came close to her, Hermione turned her head, crystalline tears melting down her cheeks. Ron faltered, for just a moment.
"Ron? Wha-"
He reached down and hugged her. It was all he could do. It was all that he had to offer.
"Ron? … Ron…"
No answer.
"What are you doing here?"
He only hugged her tighter.
After another moment or so, she loosened in his arms, and hugged him back. He sat on the bed next to her, not breaking the embrace.
Hermione calculated her words carefully.
"Ron, I'm not sure why you're here or what you're doing. …But, thank you."
"Hermione," he said. (Finally, a response.) "I just want you to know," he kissed her forehead, then looked down into her eyes, "that you will always be more than just a best friend to me."
She smiled, both with sadness and with joy, and kissed him.
~THE END~
