Just A Regular Night:
"Hermione? 'Mione? Heeermioneeee... OI! HERMIONE!"
"Gosh! No need to shout, Harry, I can her perfectly well."
"Daydreaming?"
"What?"
"Were you daydreaming?"
"No, why would I be daydreaming?"
"Well, for one, you're sitting there with a vacant expression on your face, and staring at the ceiling."
"Oh."
"And you're mumbling, 'Ron! Oh, Ron!' "
"WHAT?"
"Kidding. But you were thinking about him, right?"
"That is so ridiculous."
"Right?"
"No."
"Right?"
"I'm going to ignore you."
"Right?"
"Harry, I'm trying to work."
"Right?"
"Shouldn't you be working on your Charms essay?"
"RIGHT?"
"Harry James Potter, If you don't shut up right now, I will shove a sock down your-"
"Hermione! I didn't know you spoke so crudely!"
"I was going to say throat."
"..."
"..."
"... Right?"
"If I tell you, will you let me work?"
"Yup."
"Yes, I was, now-"
"You were what, 'Mione? Hey Harry."
"Hey Ron."
"Nothing, Ronald. I'm done with my work, so I'm going now. 'Night."
"'Night."
"Night."
"Ah, 'sno use doing it without Hermione. 'Night Ron."
"Night. I'll be up in a bit."
"Ron?"
"Hermione? What are you doing up?"
"I- I couldn't sleep."
"Oh."
"Why are you still awake?"
"Trelawney's homework."
"Oh."
"Hmmm..."
"You should have dropped it like I did."
"Oh, well."
"Hmm. What do you have to do?"
"Predict my own future using tealeaves, my dreams, and, apparently, birthmarks."
"Sounds complicated."
"It is... I've finished the tealeaves – I got a house-shaped- thingy, and last night, I dreamed of red otters playing Quidditch... I need to count my birthmarks. I've found four, but I think I have more on my back; I can't see 'em."
"Oh."
"Yeah... Can you help?"
*ahem* "Sure. Take off your shirt."
"Ah... ok."
"Turn around. Honestly, Ronald! Ah... you have two on your back."
"Oh. Thanks, 'Mione."
"Welcome."
"Now I have to look up the birthmarks in the textbook, and add... subtract..."
"Are you done?"
"Almost. So... If I un-scramble the letters... Oh."
"What, oh?"
"Well..."
"Yes?"
"I'm going to have two children and live next-doors to my best friend... Hey, cool!"
"Yeah, either me or Harry!"
"It also says that I'm going to become a... a piolett?"
"Pilot, Ronald. They fly airplanes."
"Air what?"
"Muggle things. Honestly, the very idea of you handling anything muggle... Does it say anything else?"
"Yeah."
"What?"
"It says that... I'm going to get married to-"
"To?"
"T-to the best friend I don't live next-doors to."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Ah... Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"If it came down to it- I mean, this is obviously all trash- the idea of you becoming a pilot!- would you rather marry me or Harry?"
"P-p-p-pardon? Harry? Gosh, 'Mione! Are you out of your mind?"
"Just checking."
"Well, I'm straight, thank you. And I'm not in love with that best friend. I- I mean... Uh... Why did you want to know anyway? D'you fancy Harry?"
"No... That would just be like incest. I'm not in love with that best friend either. I- uh..."
"Well, I'm tired."
"Oh, me too. Exhausted."
"Yep."
"So."
"So..."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
"..."
"Oh, Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"You... um... you can put your shirt back on now."
"Ah, ok."
"It's backwards."
"Oh."
"And now you're doing the buttons wrong."
"Oh."
"Just... let me do it."
"Yeah, ok! I- I mean... Whatever."
"There."
"Umm... thanks."
"I- uh..."
"Yeah."
"Well, goodnight again."
"Goodnight."
"See you tomorrow."
"Um... you too. 'Night, 'Mione."
"'Night, Ron."
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