A/N: First attempt at Ron/Hermione, so go easy folks! x
It is a delightfully warm morning when the fates decided that you would go outside. The grass was long now and it tickled gently at your ankles as a warm afternoon breeze whistled through it. Sun beaming down on your head through clear blue skies, you can't help but smile and inhale; attempting to diffuse the happy weather into your being.
You haven't been happy for a while now, that much is impossible. One may think, if they were thinking rationally, that you would place the threat of Voldemort and his murders at the top of the list of reasons why you are not happy. But funnily enough, the top spot is taken by your ginger haired and oblivious best friend.
And why the unhappiness? Because you like him, that's why. You've known for a while that the feelings were brewing inside of you at a spontaneous rate. He made you ever so angry and ever so irate yet he was able to make you feel so little, so blushingly beautiful all at the same time. You liked him. It should have been a momentous occasion; banners should have been thrown from windows, there should be clapping and cheering and congratulations.
But you're unhappy. As you walk across the Hogwarts Grounds, harbouring emotions of extreme depth, the object of your poignant frustrations, Ronald Weasly, was no doubt frolicking with his girlfriend. Yes, the applause of your realisation is stunted by her. She blossomed into his life just as your feelings blossomed within you. It was unfair deception. It left you in the worst of positions; a position of silent suffering.
Even now, as you sit by the sun glistened lake, your frown finds its way to a mop of red hair. The mop of red hair is connected to its body, tall and slightly gangly; its hand is in turn connected to a shorter, female body. And their mouths are otherwise engaged in illicit businesses.
An emotion similar to jealousy, yet much less trivial, roars inside of you. You feel it rushing through your body like blood moving fast and rough. It boils in your ears and simmers in your stomach. The results stain your cheeks with a red glow, your eyes a startling dark shade as you turn your gaze to the horizon.
It takes all of your power to bite your tongue and not go over there and pry them apart yourself. You're not jealous of Lavender. Oh no, they were an unsuited couple. But be that as it may, your jealousy targeted their touch, their connection, the fact that she can snog Ron, your Ron, in public, for all to see.
And you? All you can do is watch in silent suffering.
A/N: Reviews appreciated immensely :)