"Thinking of you
oh, how it's hard to do"
Alright. Astronomy. Do it.
I scribbled my pen across the parchment, only half aware of what I was writing.
Hermione would be able--
No!
I'm sitting in the common room, and I figure I must look only slightly ridiculous. My mouth his closed, and I'm not muttering curses at myself. These, I believe, are the requirements for sanity.
Hermione is beside me, and she seems engrossed in her own parchment, her long, slender wrist gliding over the page, fluid as though water had replaced the blood in her veins--
Shut it!
She leaned over, realizing I had stopped writing. The smell of her hair assaulted my nostrils like a wave, and I suppressed a sigh. "Do you need help, Ron?"
Yes, I think, I need help. Loads of it. A straight jacket comes to mind...
"No, thank you," I croak, dipping the feather pen into the jar of ink and writing indiscriminate words. She nods, smiles, and continues her own homework. Her brown hair slips from behind her ear, creating a veil over he white face. Her eyes drone up and down, side to side, processing at an abnormal rate the questions put forth. Her brows furrow, only slightly--
You git!
Her pupils twitch, and she looks back up, "What?"
I stare--rather dumbly, if I could see myself--and don't say anything. Blood rushes to my cheeks.
"Ron?" she presses, shaking my shoulder lightly, "Ron, what is it?"
I blink, and shake my head, "No, nothing. Thought I...saw something."
Her lids flutter, and she squints, shaking her head and telling him to finish me assignment, that it's due tomorrow. I oblige, making my letters larger to appease the length requirement.
Bloody hell, I think, I'm in love with her.
A/N God, to romances in two days? What's wrong with me?