Her World, Condensed to a Few Pages of Neat Script
Ron is about to find out that there's a lot more to Hermione's life than just a books and a few letters to Krum.
Ron arrived in the Common Room a little while after Harry had. Usually they would get back at the same time for Quidditch Practice, but today, Ron had told Harry to go ahead. He had needed time to think. There was a lot more running through his mind these days.
Harry was stripping muddy Quidditch robes off when he spied Ron walking sulkily over to his favorite armchair facing the fire.
"Hey, Ron," Harry said.
"Hey," Ron replied, almost inaudibly. "Where's Hermione?"
"She finished her homework early and decided to go up to bed. Why?" he asked, his interest peaking.
"No reason."
Recognizing that this was not the usual upbeat Ron who was always looking for something to prod Hermione about, Harry asked, "Is everything alright?"
"Hm?" Ron mumbled, looking over lazily to where Harry was crouched over ad taking off his hand guards. "Yeah, 'course. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
He still wasn't convinced. He walked over to the fire and pretended to warm his hands, although he figured it was probably pretty obvious that he was trying to push Ron to tell him what the matter was. "Come on, Ron, I know you're not okay. You haven't been acting yourself lately. You haven't bugged Hermione to help with homework all week."
He seemed to stiffen at Hermione's name, but then sunk back into his chair. "Well, it's just . . . I dunno. I s'pose you're right about the whole thing about not being myself. Or maybe it's just that I'm being more of myself than I've ever been, and it's kinda scaring me."
Now Harry knew for sure that Ron was off his rocker. This statement was way to philosophical for someone who needed help with every single assignment he was given. Harry shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, but Ron just kept staring straight into the fire.
"Whatever," Harry said, yawning. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
"Okay," Ron murmured.
"Promise to go to bed – you haven't gotten a wink of sleep in a couple of weeks."
"Okay."
"Don't forget to finish your Divination homework before you do, though."
"Harry, you're sounding like Hermione."
Harry smiled and said, "I know. I have a feeling that that's what you need right now – a little bit of Hermione."
Ron turned back to look at him. He had apparently taken this completely differently than Harry had intended.
"Harry, if you're implying that I might feel certain things for Hermione –"
"No, that's not what I meant," Harry stuttered. "I meant . . . I dunno. Just don't stay up all night again."
"I won't," Ron lied. As he heard Harry's footsteps fading up the stairs to the Dormitories, he admitted to himself that he had no intention of going to sleep. He had too much to think about.
He thought for awhile, until about one or two o'clock, but then he remembered Harry's warning that he had better finish his Divination homework. It was the last thing to do right now. There were many things he wanted to do – things he had a feeling Harry was beginning to figure out – but his Divination homework was certainly not one of them. He walked over to the desk where his books were still strewn across its surface from when he had stopped early to go to Quidditch Practice and Hermione had taken over custody of the desk. Not like he had gotten much done while he had sat there – he had been thinking again.
For some reason, he had been doing a lot more thinking recently.
Ron plopped himself down in the chair and looked at the towering pile that was beset before him. He thought to himself that although he was supposed to be doing homework, he could still be thinking at the same time. He reached for the first book, then withdrew his arm. Who was he kidding? He would get nowhere if he were to sit there and "do his homework" but think about other things at the same time. Still, he was capable of multi-tasking, as he had proved to Hermione on numerous occasions.
There it was again. Hermione. For some odd reason, that name had been popping up quite a bit in his thinking recently.
"Hermione," he said to himself quietly. "She would be pushing me to finish this stupid essay. And Hermione is always right, even if the thinking I have the desire to do is on her behalf."
Again, he reached for his book, and again, he withdrew. Not because he didn't want to do his homework, however, but because something else had caught his eye.
A small, red book with the name Hermione Jane Granger written in neat script across the top seemed to glisten in the moonlight reflecting from the windows behind him. Read me, it called to him.
"No, I can't read that. It's Hermione's private journal," he muttered. But really, he was only saying this to himself so he could tell Hermione that he had tried to convince himself against reading it. Curiosity took over, and he grabbed for the book and opened it to the first page.
This book belongs to Hermione Jane Granger.
Songs and Poems from the Heart
Confidential
Ron laughed to himself. Hermione may be book smart, but she obviously didn't know that if you were to write confidential on the first page of a book where the line before it was Songs and Poems from the Heart, the person with the book in their hands would be inclined to turn the page even more.
And turning the page is exactly what he did next.