It was an ordinary winter day at Hogwarts' School of Witch Craft and Wizardry, and a certain clever little 17-year old of the name of Hermione Granger was sitting in her dormitory with her best girlfriend, Ginny Weasley. They were doing nothing of extreme significance or importance. Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed outlining a potions essay, while Ginny lay sprawled out on the floor fussing with a loose string at the seam of her jeans, her long legs stretched up to the edge of Hermione's four-poster.
"Hey, Hermione?"
"Hm," Hermione murmured in acknowledgement.
"How long have you liked Ron for?"
Hermione's head flicked up from her work. She turned slightly to face Ginny a little better. Did Ginny just say what I think she said? "Uh, I'm sorry?"
"I was just wondering how long you've liked Ron for?"
Hermione had heard right. She felt puzzled and when she spoke again found that her words came a little slower, as if she still couldn't believe the question she was hearing was actually the one being asked. "Ginny…what are you talking about?"
"Well, you like Ron, don't you?"
"Ron who?" The question came immediately, as if Hermione didn't even consider the obvious person Ginny was referring to.
"My brother, you twit. What other Ron's do you know?" Ginny asked incredulously.
"Ginny, what are you talking about? I don't like your brother."
Ginny looked taken aback by the genuineness in Hermione's words. "Oh, you…don't?" Then she tittered a little. "That's odd."
Now Hermione felt it was her turn to feel incredulous. She dropped her quill and looked right at Ginny. "Honestly Ginny, where would you even get an idea like that? It's preposterous."
"Sorry Hermione, I guess we all just sort of assumed you, I don' know, fancied him. The way you're always fighting and at each other's throats."
"Well, no. I don't." Hermione assured her again. "…We?"
"Well," said Ginny, somewhat abashed, but clearly only because she knew full-well what indulging Hermione's curiousity could cause. "It's been discussed before. Just Harry and me… and Bill's asked before… and the twins…oh, and I suppose Pavarti's always been sort of curious…" She drifted off at the look on Hermione's face, which consisted of a dropped jaw and a furrowed brow.
She waited a moment, but Hermione didn't say a word; she just sat looking down at Ginny's mildly anticipated stare. Then she composed herself and caught on to one point "And… and what would— well, not that I am—but what would 'being at someone's throat' have to do with fancying someone?"
Ginny fought back an eye-roll and a "Don't be dense, Hermione" and instead opted for a more tactful response. "Hermione, think about. When a first year boy likes a first year girl, he picks on her. Pulls her hair, hides her books, puts dungbeetles in her pumpkin juice. Just think about it. Every time you criticize Ron for not doing his work or for eating like a pig you're putting dungbeetles in his pumpkin juice."
"So, you're saying that I'm the first year boy in this scenario? And the sole antagonist?" retorted Hermione.
"Well, no, you're not actually a boy, it's just a metaphor, but I guess you're right. With you and Ron it's more…. mutual," qualified Ginny.
"So basically, what you're trying to say, is that, because I put metaphorical dungbeetles in Ron's pumpkin juice, I like him?"
"Basically." Shrugged Ginny.
"…But, I don't." said Hermione. …Do I?
Hermione was so taken aback by her subconscious for a moment that she actively thought back No, that's ridiculous, I couldn't possibly like him. Then, the more clear thinking, less impulsive voice in her head reminded her that she was thinking to herself and having a conversation in her own head which—especially while another person was in the room—would probably only end in more indecision on her part. Besides, why was she even entertaining this silly little notion that she should like Ron when Ginny had only provided her with the idea a few minutes ago… and with what proof? A metaphor about first-year boys and dungbeetles and pigs? No, the logical side of Hermione wouldn't be swayed with that. She would continue her work.
Hermione gazed down at her scroll. She reread what she had written and pushed her quill to the scroll before realizing she had no clue what she was actually supposed to be writing about anymore. Instead, her head was still musing over what Ginny had said. She asked me how long I've liked him for. What is that supposed to mean? They've all been discussing this for that long? All those times I've spent the summer weeks at their house, and the Christmas breaks? And honestly, I like him because I point out how disgusting he is when he eats and because he's lazy with his school work; why on earth would I like someone because their gluttonous and languid? Honestly…
…Well, he's languid, really. I suppose he just struggles with school a little. He works rather hard at his Quidditch and is probably one of the best Defense Against The Dark Arts students, aside from Harry, of course. So no, not lazy…
…And gluttonous isn't really fair either. No, I just said he does a lot of Quidditch and is always… working out… Hermione's thoughts became intangible again for a moment. If she were to write them down here, they'd probably look something like .
But before Hermione could regain coherent thought on her own, she saw Ginny's snapping fingers in front of her face.
"Oi. Hermione!" Ginny was sitting up on the floor, resting her arm on Hermione's four-poster, looking at her friend with a slightly humored expression.
"Yes, Ginny, what are you doing?"
"I've been trying to get your attention for the past minute; I'm heading down to the Great Hall, said I'd meet Luna. You want to come?"
"No, no, I'm fine. I, uh, have to, er…" Hermione looked down. Oh right, this essay. "Oh right, this essay." Hermione just remembered she actually did have work to do.
"Write this essay?"
"Yeah…" She looked at Ginny then, who stared back at her somewhat puzzled. Hermione threw herself together then. Honestly Hermione, stop being ridiculous. "Yeah, yes. This essay, I really have to finish this. You know how hard a grader Snape is."
"Yes… well, I'll talk to you later then." She slipped her trainers on, which used to belong to Bill, when he was a second year, and walked to the door. She turned before she left and asked, "You're sure you're alright?"
"Yes, Ginny, I'm fine, okay." Hermione gave her best, Hermione-is-absolutely-confident-in-what-she's-saying-and-you-should-listen-because-she-can-be-sligjtly-scary face and Ginny smiled a little and shut the door. Hermione waited a moment, then fell back onto her bed. Ginny was being crazy. She was being crazy. She couldn't possibly like Ron. She would just forget that Ginny had ever brought it up. She had never thought of it before, why would now be any different? And with that, she pulled her scroll to her and focused on finishing her outline.