Remember When
Chapter One: Truth
Hermione.
Just the mere thought of her made him tingle. Anything and everything about her caused him to go weak in the knees and his mind to be swept blank. He couldn't stand to be away from her. Every moment he was by her side, he felt alive.
Ron gazed mindlessly at the History of Magic essay he was attempting to write.
Frugle the Famous led the second wave of the Eastern Goblin Rebellions in 1743. Discuss.
Scrawled out in front of him were two illegible inches of the assigned one foot of his essay that he had managed to write in the past hour. Sighing, he placed his quill to the parchment in hopes of regaining his concentration. However, he knew his attempts were fruitless. He'd lost his focus the moment he'd left Hermione in the common room.
Let's face it. he thought to himself, How could anyone concentrate with her near?
Ron gently screwed the cap to his inkbottle shut tight, rolled up his parchment, and tucked them messily into his school bag.
This is pathetic. I bet she's written a full three and a half feet...
Ron placed his head in his hands. He was exhausted. Almost every evening for a fortnight, Ron had set out alone to the library, bound and determined to clear his mind from all distractions, to be able to accomplish his assignments, and yet, every evening, without question, his mind wandered to one sole topic:
Hermione.
His performance in schoolwork had begun to falter, and was becoming steadily worse. Even though he'd brought up a surprising seven O.W.L.'s (nothing compared to Hermione's twelve), Ron had successfully achieved nothing more than P's at his very best in his recent homework assignments, and merely spiny D's for his latest Potion's essays.
In his classes, Ron was constantly on the verge of falling asleep. Even between Harry's persistent suggestions that Ron have a lie-down, he felt his eyes leaden and often drifted to a state of mind somewhere between slumber and consciousness.
Perhaps it was that these emotions he felt so strongly about had always been there, quiet and unnoticed. Perhaps that was the explanation for their continued bickering. However, he never realized just how much her cared for her until his fourth year.
It was at the Yule Ball that he finally realized it. Captivated by her astounding beauty, Ron sensed a different aura about her, nearly as if she was gliding through silver clouds. It pained him to admit that he didn't recognize her stunning face next to Viktor Krum. However, on Christmas Day, and every day following, he found a new reason to marvel at her beauty and intelligence. Still, it was the jealousy of that Christmas Eve that often plagued him.
Viktor Krum? Who in the magical community would say 'yes' to him? He was only the most internationally famous Quidditch player at the time. Ron knew that given the chance, many, if not all the girls attending the ball would have given a great deal to have been the one to open the ball and join him in a dance, Hermione obviously among them. Ron knew that if anyone was to blame for his grief, it was himself. He regret not even considering Hermione as a partner, and often wondered what would have happened if he had.
It was obvious. He was in love. It wasn't the type of love between the average Hogwarts couple, but something much deeper and complex. After all, no one said falling for your best friend was easy. As much as Ron felt for Hermione (he never knew a single person could feel this much), he knew that his greatest weakness was the feeling that should never reveal this secret.
Not a soul had yet discerned this incredible mystery, not even Harry, Ron's best friend. He would rather have it this way, than any other. Ron was terrified, of course, of revealing his true feelings to Hermione, but not just for fear of rejection. It was terror in knowing that he would change the relationship between his greatest friend, and in turn, lose one of the most magnificent phenomenon he'd ever encountered: their companionship.
Ron raised his head, and looked ahead of him to a giant frost glazed window. Several snowflakes flitted quickly across the glass. He quickly glanced behind him, and watched as Madam Pince began her rounds, extinguishing the candles and forcing other late-night studiers out of the library. Ron quickly scooped his already packed school bag onto his shoulder and deserted his table before Madam Pince could reach him.
It was quite chilly in the stone corridors, as it had passed into late January. Ron wrapped his robes close around his body, feeling his hand slide across his frosty Prefects Badge. He felt his breath condense into tiny clouds in front of him, his only companion being the strange echo of his footsteps in the deserted hallways. Ron took the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The History of Magic essay he had not managed to complete burned idly in the back of his mind, and Ron argued how best to finish it.
It was quite pointless to attempt the last ten inches tonight, Ron decided as he rounded a corner on the sixth floor. The composition was due tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps he would get the chance to have a look at Harry's work before classes tomorrow.
Ron climbed the final stairwell to the Seventh Floor, pondering the predicament he was in. He was fighting a losing battle. He knew it. He hated it. Time and again he felt vulnerable, and it angered him greatly. Very often he wished that everything would return to the way it used to be, when life was simple, and the world peaceful. However, he knew that nothing would return to the routine life at Hogwarts he used to know.
Ron halted abruptly when he reached the end of the Seventh Floor Corridor. The Fat Lady was dozing in her frame, and jerked awake in surprise when Ron cleared his throat loudly to wake her.
"Password?" she mumbled crossly, still half asleep.
"Asphodel root." stated Ron clearly. The portrait concealing the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room swung open wide.
"That's the ticket." He heard the Fat Lady mumble as her portrait closed swiftly behind him.
Ron crossed the threshold into the Common Room rather quickly. The room was alive and bright, with a great fire roaring in the hearth. Ginny and a large group of Fifth years sat studying furiously by the fire, all silent with a deep look of loathing etched in their face. Around them stood several Third years, conversing quietly, warming their hands before turning into bed.
Ron scanned the remainder of Common Room quickly, disappointed when he saw neither Harry nor Hermione. Assuming that the both of them had turned in for an early night, Ron sighed and headed to do the same.
Weaving in and out of his fellow classmates, Ron finally reached the bottom of the stone spiral stair that would lead him to his dormitory. He turned and silently scanned the Common Room one more time. His eyes came to what he had assumed to be a deserted corner and rested on his two best friends. Neither noticed his presence.
Hermione and Harry sat facing each other, both cast in shadow. They were conversing quietly, having already abandoned their studies. Hermione's hair was pulled gently away from her face. A golden light flickered tenderly across her porcelain skin. Beautiful. thought Ron, smiling to himself. He'd nearly reached their parchment-strewn table when Ron realized that something was not quite right.
A single silver tear fell from Hermione's beautiful eyes reflecting brilliantly in the firelight. She brushed it away quickly, embarrassed, and continued speaking in hushed tones. Harry said something Ron couldn't discern in the babble of the crowded room. Hermione smiled, and Harry took her hand.
Instantly Ron understood. He was too late. As Harry began to pull Hermione near, Ron called out.
"What are you doing?!" he cried. Hermione looked up, a look of horror etched upon her face. Harry turned around as the room quieted. Ron felt the rest of the Common Room's eyes upon him. Hermione stood up quickly, letting go of Harry's hands.
"Ron?" she asked timidly. Silence rang in his ears. "Ron, I can explain..."
"I don't need your explanation." Ron spat, trying to ignore the extreme pain that was rising in his throat.
He turned and ran.
This story is also posted on so please trust me, this is my own work.