This is a very short, almost fluffy drabble of Ron and Hermione. I tried to be not super fluffy. I might rewrite it eventually. Again apologies if anything is off canon.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The credit belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling.

Confessions of Amortentia

"No, no. I didn't smell him. He was just standing too close to me."

Hermione was hardly ever in her dormitory alone. She never spent time in there during the day, unless the common room had gotten too loud for reading. It was an odd feeling, but today, she was glad to be alone. She needed to think, and she didn't need Lavender or Parvati going on about reading tea leaves to understand what was bothering her. (She still held her distaste for anything concerned with Divination class.) She sat on her bed, staring out the window. She didn't know what to do. There was no book to tell her what to do. But there had to be something about it….

Hermione furiously flipped the pages of Advanced Potion-Making until she came across the chapter concerning Amortentia.

Recognizable by its mother-of-pearl sheen and the rising of its steam specifically in spirals, Amortentia is known as the most powerful love potion in the world. The potion has no distinct smell as it varies with what attracts the drinker or those exposed to the potion. It can cause obsessive infatuation for a number of hours (in proportion to the amount and strength of the potion administered).

That was no help. The book only told her what she already knew. She wished she would have never leaned over the cauldron then she would have never smelled… She just didn't figure… Freshly mown grass, she knew. She would sit by the open windows of her house reading right after her father finished mowing the grass. New parchment, of course, new parchment meant more writing. She spent so much time writing on parchment it only made sense, but why…why would she smell him? She was sick at the fact that she was so consumed with giving the right answer to Professor Slughorn that she almost blurted it out. She imagined the horror, "And I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and Ron Weasley." Well it wasn't just plain out Ron, it was more his hair. Everyone's hair always seemed to have a distinct smell. It didn't take her long to recognize it. But why him?

"He can be so thick," she said. She then found that she was arguing with a small voice in her head.

But, he is smart, just as smart as Harry anyway.

"And he can be so jealous."

Can you blame him? And he's always there for you and Harry, he's never left you.

"He is probably the most stubborn person."

Besides you.

"And he's….," she was running out of negative things to say. "So…tall, so lanky—and red-haired."

But you love his hair, and his eyes.

And it was true. She loved Ron's eyes—a beautiful blue shade, which she rarely took that much notice to except recently.

Why him? Why not Harry? He was so much more level-headed and not as stubborn. She didn't fight with him constantly. At 14, she had a professional Quidditch player asking for her to come visit during the summer, and she turned him down because of him. She grabbed a picture of Harry, Ron, and herself from her bedside table as if staring at it would help to clear her head. It didn't do much except make things worse. There he was staring right back at her—with his smile, which she always did like. He must have said something funny because she and Harry were laughing. He was always so funny. He always made her laugh, even after he'd made her furious. Oh he could make her angry. He was so stubborn. He was just so frustrating. Why…it was then that Hermione stopped arguing with herself. She couldn't keep arguing that she should like Harry or she should have liked Victor. The fact was that she didn't. They were both missing something—they weren't Ron.