Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter.
Not many understood Hermione, she wasn't a typical girl, and many would claim she was worlds away from all the other girls.
For instance; she didn't do her hair.
She didn't fuss over cloths.
She very decisively did not 'gossip'.
Her two best friends were boys.
And she showed absolutely no 'interest' with the entire male population of Hogwarts. Or anywhere else for that matter.
But…
Then again…
As Hermione secretly eyed a certain carrot top over the edge of her book, perhaps not, all of them.
Or so to speak.
The exception himself was, at the time, thoroughly engaging in being both completely oblivious, and a game of wizard's chess. He was winning marvelously—per usual—against some faceless stranger that Hermione was far too occupied to recognize at the moment. Ron held himself like a smug git, leering over his opponent with shifting, maniacal eyes. Even from Hermione's vantage point, she could tell that he was patronizing and belittling every move the poor bloke across from him made. It showed; the unknown Gryffindor cursed and ripped at his hair as yet another one of Ron's pieces absolutely clobbered a player of his own, which looked like it belonged to a—ahem—very expensive chess set.
Hermione herself, on the other hand, was supposed to be reading what was, in her opinion, a very interesting book (but then again, it was Hermione's opinion, and not everyone is Hermione). And yes, she was supposed to be reading, but that wasn't what she was doing, seeing as her eyes and—consequentially—her thoughts, were betraying her and straying elsewhere.
Elsewhere, as in, one of her best friends.
One could only watch as her durable and reliable mind was regressed to useless squishy matter.
It wasn't unusual; this had been happening quite frequently lately, up the point where whenever she was alone, or simply just relaxing, or around the guy in general, her thoughts would turn treacherous and it was his eyes, and his freckles, and his unmistakable red hair that would fill up her consciousness(unless Harry was in trouble, or something sinister was about, then it was back to strategy, strategy, strategy, and worry, worry, worry).
Hermione was a smart witch, so naturally a few nagging thoughts in the back of her mind gave her insight as to what might be happening to her.
Might.
She was still trying to right it off as a newly acquired disease that she had obtained from the pumpkin juice (maybe she should inform someone . . .?).
So yes, Hermione was being stubborn with admitting things to herself, mostly because this was so unlike her.
And it was this familiar thought never ceased to make Hermione suddenly, and fantastically, angry; she should have been able to lose herself within her book with ease! Because—as stated above—she was not like other girls and this was what spiked her interest! And that freckled prick kept wheedling himself into her thoughts, distracting her from her studies, flushing her cheeks red, and interrupting her me-time! But it wasn't just him; it was all those things about him too.
Things like; his smile.
Or, how his ears turned adorably red when he was embarrassed.
…And how his eyes sparked mischievously whenever he thought of a new way to hurt Malfoy.
… Or when…
And just like that, mind completely having gone in a circle, Hermione would find herself at square one.
This process having been repeated far too many times to count.
It was all a quite troubling experience for her, with everything going on. Usually she did her best to suppress these thoughts, but at the time she was relaxing in her common room and she didn't have the energy to fight with her own mind.
So she sat there, secretly smiling to herself, watching him over the top of her book.
Or, if she were being honest, she would agree to say that she was more admiring than watching. But she wasn't, so she was watching him, and that's that.
Then suddenly the game was over, Ron having absolutely murdered the other boy's entire chess set and happily gloating about it to everyone within earshot. Including Hermione. Looking up, his triumphant grin grew as he caught her gaze.
"Oi! Hermione, you didn't see that did you!?"
The poor girl in question squeaked in surprise, flushing darkly and looking guilty, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. Catching herself, she cooled, and ignored her red-hot face, long enough roll her eyes at him, ducking under the sacred sanctity of her book soon after.
Safely hidden, she breathed a sigh of relief, putting a sweating hand to her chest, only to realize it was beating harder than it had in days.
She managed to become even redder.
Maybe, Hermione wasn't all that different from the other girls.
Silly & sweet interpretation of Hermione, a bit short, but hey, if you didn't like it then you wouldn't have wasted all the much time reading it.