Ron did not enjoy feeling like he was at odds with himself. He was someone who was lead by his guts, by his heart. So why were they both saying he had made a horrible mistake?
He was sitting on the sofa in the common room, pretending to be working on homework. He couldn't concentrate; his attention kept going back to the ache in his heart. Every time he let himself pay attention to it he regretted it, because there was an immediate answer he was not ready to face.
Hermione.
He lifted his eyes, surreptitiously stealing a glance at her. He picked at a few of the remaining scabs he still had on his arms. The cuts left by her birds should have healed by now but, by a mixture of magic and his incessant scratching, a few were still very raw. He only stopped when he felt his skin slick with blood, and he swore he'd get a salve or potion or something to deal with it like any good wizard would. Then again, he had been promising that for days and he hadn't done it, yet.
Hermione looked up at him, contempt in her eyes. He quickly looked away, pretending to go back to his books.
"Shit," he whispered to himself. He did not want her to catch him looking at her and yet he couldn't help himself... he looked at her again. She didn't look back. He forced himself to go back to his books once more.
He had thought he'd gotten what he wanted. He thought that kissing someone was all he needed to prove to himself and to the world that he was desirable, too, and could be casual about it; that he could also kiss someone else than the girl he was pining for and... and...
"Shit," he repeated.
He looked at Hermione again, unaware that the sudden sorrow he felt was clear on his face. This time she looked back, rage and hurt contorting her face. He didn't look away and she held his gaze for a moment. After a few seconds, her face softened and, even at this distance, he saw the tears well on her eyes. The light shone perfectly on her, that way.
She was the one to finally break the contact. She grabbed her things in a hurry, her face again that mix of anger and pain. She left in a flutter of robes.
"Fuck," Ron said this time, letting his head drop to the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes.
I cocked up.