A/N: I don't have much to say about this actually. I think that this is about as romantic as I can write without wincing. Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Wanna check my homework?
It was a ferociously sunny day outside, a welcome reprieve from the drafty halls of Hogwarts. The lake shimmered under the steady sun that burned and burned and burned. All around the lake beach mats were laid out and bodies sprawled upon them, resplendent in varying degrees of clothing in various arrays of colors. The whole of Hogwarts' population milled around (except for the ghosts, who drifted lackadaisically), doing, as hot days tend to inspire, absolutely nothing.
To add an interesting fact to this day of nothingness, if you were, say, standing at the top of Gryffindor Tower looking down at the lake, you would conclude that, according to the lake's statistics, the most popular color favored by the female population of Hogwarts would be yellow. It had almost been a tie with blue, but had triumphed by one vote. That one vote happened to be lying quite far away from the crowds, behind the old oak tree, unseen by anyone except someone who happened to be standing at the top of Gryffindor Tower.
"Bloody hell, is that Draco Malfoy?" Ron gasped, almost losing his balance. The chair underneath him shuddered, causing Ron to wave his arms about wildly before his centre of gravity stabilized.
"Alright, Ron?" Harry stuck his head in the dormitory.
"Yeah," Ron said calmly. As calmly as he could manage having seen his arch enemy of seven years dressed in a yellow bathing suit and not much else. Perhaps clawing his eyes out would erase the disturbing image.
"You sure? Anyway, Hermione's waiting for you downstairs. We're off to the library."
Ron groaned, his mind temporarily distracted from Malfoy's taste in bathing suits to face the--possibly scarier--prospect of Homework. In the Library. With Hermione. Ron felt his ears flush red. He wiped his sweaty palms on his cloak (no easy feat considering he was balancing on a chair with one leg, wobbling occasionally) and took a deep breath. He would not think about Hermione. He would banish her from his mind (and Malfoy too, if possible). He would-
"Ron, why are you balancing on a chair with one leg and wobbling occasionally?"
Ron fell off the chair. Thankfully, he landed on Harry's bed with a soft thump. He jumped off and spun to face the door. Or rather, the person at the door. "Hermione!" he exclaimed. His hand reached up of its own accord to ruffle his hair. "What are you doing here?"
She gave him one of her looks. "Waiting, Ron, for you to get your sluggish ass downstairs!"
Merlin, she looked cute when she was angry.
"Well, uh, you see, I was, uh," Ron hurriedly rearranged his face into one of sheepish remorse. "You see, uh, I left my homework on top of Harry's wardrobe. And, uh, I was trying to get it back."
Hermione stared. "You left your homework on top of Harry's wardrobe." She repeated slowly.
Okay, so it sounded stupid when she said it. Ron didn't care; he found himself drawn powerlessly into her eyes. Chocolate, that's what they were. Twin pools of molten chocolate, depth and feeling and any number of wonderful things found in them. Why hadn't he seen it before?
"You're blind, Ron." Hermione said.
He nearly jumped out of his skin. "What?"
Hermione sighed, rolled her gorgeous eyes. "Look, your homework's right over there. I recognize the untidy scrawl." She pointed at Ron's bed.
"I knew that." Ron said defensively. "Why must you always barge in on my business?"
He hadn't meant it to come out like that, honestly he hadn't. He could have slapped himself.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Five minutes," Hermione said coldly, before stalking briskly out of the room.
Ron sighed and sat heavily on Harry's bed, his face in his hands. He couldn't help it if he was awkward and clumsy. That was just the way he was. But he was done making excuses. He was done having to watch Hermione go on dates with other boys, as she had increasingly since seventh year started. He was done staying up waiting for her only to fall asleep and be awoken by the sound of soft whispers at the portrait hole, her giggles as she waltzed right by him to her dormitory, completely unaware of his existence.
He was tired of being the one who made her cry, not smile. No more, he resolved. No more of being just the best friend.
Most of all, he couldn't erase the ripple of hurt in her eyes, caused by his careless words. Words, he decided, mattered a lot to Hermione.
Words could hurt, but they could also help him.
And with that, he grabbed a spare quill and began scribbling furiously on his homework.
Fin.
A/N: Review! I accept anything.