And, I Love You.
"IT WAS A SWISH AND FLICK." Ron bellowed, shaking the windows of the Gryffindor common room. "I AM ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT SURE IT WAS A SWISH AND FLICK. I SAW IT WITH MY OWN EYES!"
"Oh, geez I wonder how you managed that with Lavender plastered to your face?" Hermione spat sarcastically back at him. "There's no way your eyes could make it past that ridiculously big head!"
"Oh for god's sake, can we not start with this."
"Yes, we are going to start with this. How did you ever see Professor Flitwick swish and flick on the Camerfloral Charm if –"
"As much as you might think so Hermione, I don't actually spend every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day, of every we-"
"I get it, Ron," She rolled her eyes. They'd been at it for hours. No, weeks. It's all they ever did anymore. "So you don't spend all your time snogging that pathetic excuse of a girlfriend. But you obviously were in charms yesterday. It was a SWING AND POINT.."
"WAS NOT!" he roared.
"Alright then, how come you still can't turn that cup green? You've been swishing and flicking for god knows how long, and nothing. Why can't you just admit that I'm right?" She demanded angrily. Her face was crinkled in a frown.
"Ugh, because you ALWAYS have to be bloody right!" he complained, and she rolled her eyes again. He hated it when she rolled her eyes at him.
"I hate it when you roll your eyes at me."
"I wouldn't have to if you weren't so stubborn."
"I wouldn't be so stubborn if you weren't such an insufferable know-it-all."
That struck a nerve.
Ever since that day in their first year when he raged about her criticism of his pronunciation of "Levi oh-saaar" it had been a soft spot for her. It was a very low blow, and he rarely ever used it. She composed herself quickly, but not quickly enough. For so long he had watched Hermione as if she were in slow motion, so he could instinctively pick up on the tiniest of details – for example, the split-second of pain that flashed across her eyes. He felt a short, sharp stab of guilt.
"Honestly Ron, it's my insufferable know-it-all-ness that passes you in almost every class. Do you really think you'd still be here if you didn't have me to copy off?"
The thing was, she knew his weak spots too.
"Oh do shut your ever-moving trap, Hermione. I'm sick of listening to your whiny voice. 'How can you see Professor Flitwick behind Lavender's big head! Do you really think you could pass without me! You have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon! You have dirt on your nose! It's Levi OOOOHHHHHH sar…'"
"Oh, like you're any better? Every day there's something new to complain about with you! Homework, teachers, Quidditch, letters from Viktor…"
Ron let out an exasperated growl, throwing his hands angrily into the air and turning on his heel to face the fire.
"Letters from Krum. Why is he still writing to you Hermione? Because to be honest, I don't know what he sees in you." He muttered darkly. He was fuming. And he wasn't stopping there – he'd got the ball rolling, why not let it gain a little speed?
"It's not possible to spend ten minutes with you without receiving a lengthy lecture about some form of rule-breaking, rudeness or ignorance that I've committed. It's not possible to spend FIVE minutes with you without listening to you nag about doing assignments or homework or some other form of boring torture you love so dearly. Our fights go on forever and ever because you are the most stubborn person I have ever met in my life – and I wouldn't doubt for a second you are the most stubborn person anyone has ever met in their life either."
He was on a roll. He felt good about it, too.
"I hate all of it, did you know?" He asked, still glaring furiously into the roaring fire, its flames thrashing and hissing like the anger inside him. "Bloody hell, I hate it. I hate the way you lecture me, like you're my mother! I hate the way you nag and nag and nag non-stop like a bloody broken record machine – "Do your homework! That essay's due tomorrow! You can't expect to pass charms if you don't practice, idiot!" I hate that you're so bloody stubborn and you ALWAYS have to be right. ALWAYS! Not once have you ever admitted that maybe I was correct for a change. And you don't bloody listen! It's always the way you say it is, never taking advice from others, never listening to others' ideas, it's the bloody Hermione Show every day of the week,"he spat. "I hate the way your whiny bossy voice rings out at me every bloody moment of the day with no way to escape it. And I hate the way that the only time it's silenced is when you're trying to remember something, or you're worried, or you're nervous, or you're scared – you're too busy chewing on your bloody bottom lip. And I hate the way you dictate my life, criticize my choices – girls for example – and for some odd bloody reason you have to approve of everything." He yelled everything he said, but slowly, just to make sure she caught every word of it. He was still boiling with anger and decided that he needed to sum up his general feeling towards her at the present moment.
"And I hate you." He snarled through his teeth into the flickering fire.
Finally, he was finished. Their fights had never really taken such a steep road before, and he began to deeply inhale – to regain all the breath he had lost in his raging monologue of pure hatred. Every muscle in his body was tense, partly left over from his angry little speech and partly bracing itself for the verbal bashing Hermione was about to retaliate with. When he felt he had sufficient oxygen, he held his breath, waiting for it to hit him.
And he waited.
And he waited.
And nothing came.
For a second, he thought she'd left. It was completely silent in the common room since nobody else was there to witness their duel. He was convinced she had simply walked out of the room in the middle of his rant and for a tiny moment, he was a little annoyed at the thought of her missing any of what he said. However, that was not the case. When he turned around to face her though, he wished it was.
She stood completely rigid, almost as if she were a statue. But again honing in on his Hermione-watching skills, he saw her chest lightly trembling. Anybody else wouldn't have seen the body movement – but her face was a dead giveaway.
It was twisted into a mangled expression of intense pain. There was a slight hint of shock, a trace of disbelief, but mostly pain. There was no anger or fury, just pain. Her eyes were brimming with giant tears, dangerously close to spilling down her cheeks and flooding the common room. Ron's heart ripped in two.
He mentally took back every single thing he'd said to her in that last five minutes. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to turn back time and simply walk out of the room having never said it. He imagined every word he'd muttered shooting at her and piercing the very depths of her soul. He thought back over the entire conversation – everything he spat at her was disgusting. At the time, it was genius. Now, just disgusting. And he had no idea what to do, because most of the things he'd mentioned weren't things he hated at all. Her tears had swelled over her glassy eyes and rolled down her cheeks and were dropping at a rapid rate onto the carpet. She slowly turned and started towards the stairs that led to the girl's dormitory. He wanted to apologize but he didn't know how. She reached the bottom step and began a slow ascend. He couldn't let her leave when the last thing she'd heard was "And I hate you." He had to stop her.
"But –" he began, praying she would stop. She came to a slow halt on the third step. He silently thanked god.
"But-" he continued, "I love it all, too."
She didn't budge. She remained on the step, her back still facing him. He quickly thanked the lord again.
"I love the way you try to keep me in line, watch out for me, and keep me out of trouble. Stop me from being bloody expelled. I love the way you always push me to do my best, finish my homework, help me with my assignments. Help me achieve because you know I can. I love that you stand up for what you believe in, and I love how strong you are, how unwilling you are to give up a fight. I love the way you appreciate a good idea – I suppose they just don't show up a lot. That's why we always stick with yours, 'Mione. You've always got good ideas. I love the way I hear your voice everywhere, it's kind of comforting, knowing that you're there. Ready to nag me into shape," he chuckled. Watching her back slightly tremble, he could have sworn she giggled too.
"I love that you try to approve of everything because I know you only want what's best for me and you're trying to look out for me." His thought's drifted to Lavender, her high pitched giggle and atrocious nickname she'd coo at him. Ugh, Hermione was spot on with that one.
"And I love the way you bite your lip when you're trying to remember something, or when you're worried, or nervous, or scared – sometimes even when you're happy, I've noticed."
He couldn't see, but she bit her lip.
Ron hoped and prayed it would be enough. He had no way of knowing what her reactions had been through his new, kinder, monologue – her back was still facing him.
After what felt to Ron like a few years, but was more like a few moments, Hermione turned back around to face him. Her face was still stained with tears from their epic word battle, but no fresh ones touched her eyes. She wiped away the remains with her sleeve, and then slowly trotted back down the few steps she'd travelled up. Ron still had no idea what she was thinking and when she made her way across the room to stand in front of him, he braced himself for a slap.
Instead, she reached up on her tippy-toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
This was a bigger slap than the one he was preparing for.
She turned around again and moved back to the stairs, this time climbing up five or six before stopping and turning.
"You were right, it's swish and flick. You're just saying it wrong. It's "Camer-FLOOOOR-al," not "Camer-flor-AAL."
She gave him a little grin, then continued up the stairs. He watched her until she'd rounded the corner and was completely out of sight. He thought over the entire conversation, smiling as he tenderly felt the spot where her lips had lightly brushed his skin. He was bursting with joy, and decided that he needed to sum up his general feeling towards her at the present moment. He heard her dormitory door click shut.
"And, I love you."