Jab. Twist.
Part I
By: Miss Whatsit
I can't stop thinking about her. Her bouncing curls, her bright brown eyes, her beautiful smile. It's been days since I've slept properly because we got into a big arguement and she stopped talking to me. Now I sit in my bed, looking up towards the ceiling, repeating the same words over and over in my head as if I was in some sort of Muggle Drug Addict Rehabilitation Center. My name is Ronald Weasley and I am in love with Hermione Granger.
I didn't know I was in love with her, actually, until she stopped talking to me. I always knew I felt something more than friendship for her, sure, but I didn't recognize it as love up until about a week ago. We got into a huge row, Hermione and I. It infuriates me that I can't even remember what it is... I can only remember her words. Usually they are so kind, silky, like the words of an angel... but they came out sharper than swords.
"Oh yes, Ronald?" She'd asked, fuming. "Is that so?"
"Yes, Hermione, it is." I'd replied, face red.
"Well if that is what you think, do me a favor." She had replied.
"Gladly!" I'd yelled.
"Don't ever speak to me again!"
Jab. Twist. I felt her words aim straight to my heart.
I'm such a bloody idiot.
Today is just another sleepless night, I guess. I glance out the window. The sun is up, and is filtering through the cracks it can find in the window. I sit up in bed. Well, sleepless morning. I go to check the time. 5:18 AM. I sigh. Another sleepless night. I get up out of bed, and I find the bed next to mine empty. Harry's. I blink and wonder where he'd gone off to.
Dressing is an dull event. It is the weekend; no classes. I dress in slacks and a sweater Mum sent. I fix my hair on the way out, but to no avail; I feel like a mess and look like one as well.
I descend down the stairs into the common room. I see her. I see the face I have been thinking about all night. The soft features of the angel I pushed away. She is sitting on a couch, legs crossed. She is reading a book. I can tell she's reading something she enjoys because when she reads a book she enjoys, she keeps her finger on the corner of the page, ready to flip the page, not wanting to miss anything. When she reads something she has to, like a textbook, she purses her lips, as if trying to find something interesting within the lines of non-fiction world.
I'm still standing on the steps as I hear footsteps. I don't move at all because they aren't coming from the dormitories... they're coming from the portrait hole. As the portrait flips open, Hermione's head goes up to see who's come in. Mine do the same and the both of us watch as Harry Potter steps into the room, carrying a container of some liquid and two mugs in one hand and a bag of something in the other. Hermione's face changes. She smiles. I frown. I yearn for that smile to be aimed at me.
Harry places the items on the table and takes a seat next to Hermione. My Hermione, as she is so fondly named in my head. He smiles back at her and my eyes widen. He puts his hand on her cheek and brushes his lips softly unto hers. I want to throw myself down the stairs, or jump out the window or something to stop this dreadful feeling beginning to conjure in my stomach. My palms are sweating and my eyes are involuntarily tearing up. I stumbled a bit, but then ran back up the stairs. I couldn't bear to watch the two go at it.
Jab. Twist. I felt their actions aim straight at my heart.
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Wow, it feels good to post again! Please, comment with constructive criticism!
-Miss Whatsit