Hello, this is another Hr/R story from Third year, when they were fighting about Hermione's cat. Oh yah, I'm now a Beta Reader! Woot woot! Check me out if you need Beta-ing!
I was bored. Really bored. Spectacularly bored. I sat in the over-stuffed chair by the fire, watching Harry and Ron do their work with a watchful, albeit, sleepy eye. I was so tired for all my time jumping, and all my work. I absentmindedly touched the Time Turner under my jumper. I nodded my head slightly, then jerked it back up quickly as I heard one of the boys sneeze. My eyes drooped again. I was so happy that Ron and Harry seemed to be slowly forgiving me about the Firebolt. I was just trying to help, really. I wanted Harry to be safe; I loved him like a brother. Sometimes being an only child is lonely, I rambled on in my thoughts.
"It's that Goddamn cat!" Ron pointed an accusatory finger over at my Crookshanks, sitting innocently over by the foot of my chair. I stroked his soft, furry head, and then turned my narrowed gaze onto Ron. "My cat didn't do anything Ronald!" "He made me sneeze!" "Made you sneeze?" I reiterated slowly, like talking to a child. "My cat didn't make you do diddly-squat!" I spat. By now half of the common room had stopped their talking and glanced at us.
Harry, very red-faced, asked "Could you not fight about why you sneezed? Please just drop it." We carried on, unphased by his request. "You've never made it a point that you were allergic to him before!" I shot a Ron. "Yeah, but he's never rolled around on my bloody paper before!" he replied, louder than necessary. Now most of the common room was looking at us, but I didn't care, he accused my poor Crookie, though I did see some black smudges on him… 'Completely coincidental' I thought.
I strode purposefully across the carpet, picked up Crookshanks and sat down with a glare at Ron and huffed. I wasn't even remotely sleepy now. "Well, his fur got up my nose! And now I have cat hair on my parchment!" Ron whined. "I don't care! Maybe my cat's hair will accentuate your poor writing skills!" I shrilled unkindly.
He adopted a hurt look, and I immediately felt bad for what I had said, it was a low blow. "JUST BECAUSE WE'RE NOT ON THE SAME WRITING LEVEL 'MISS PRISS' , DOESN'T MEAN I'M BAD!" He bellowed, the hurt look gone, meanness flashing in his eyes. "I think you're too smart for your own damn good," Look at me!" He said, changing his voice into an unkind imitation of mine. "I'm so good at everything I do, making everybody else look STUPID!" He reverted back to his normal voice, continuing on. "In fact, I wish you and your stupid ugly cat would just go away forever, so nobody would have to hear your nagging!" He yelled, throwing up his hands in a wild display of anger.
My lower lip trembled 'was that how he really felt?' I felt tears prickle in my eyes, my nose burning with the restraint of not crying. I heard several people sniggering. A tear slipped out. I hastily wiped it away.
'I knew that we had been having a bunch of arguments, but'- my thoughts were interrupted when he snidely said "Well, what are you waiting for, an invitation?" I bit my lip until it bled, tasting the metallic flavor. Red and shame-faced, I gather my papers and school bag. Some people were chuckling at Ron's 'witty' retorts. I summoned Crookie to my side. Sometimes he was my only friend. Harry never came after me. He would always stick with Ron. Ron. I harrumphed in my mind. I thought we could be friends again, I was lonely after the broomstick incident, but Ron just has it out for my kitty.
I left as quickly as I could without running, feeling his patronizing stare on my back, trying to burn a hole through me. Crookshanks followed me dutifully, knowing this was partly about him. I pushed open the portrait door, my gaze still down, and made it to an empty classroom, usually where I hung out when I was doing homework. I would've been here tonight, except Harry insisted that Ron wouldn't do anything. He was wrong, I was wrong, he was still a git who couldn't hold his tongue, and I WAS a know-it-all. Still am one. 'Ron always says such hurtful things. Why do I even try to be friends with him, he's just a nasty boy.' Deep down I knew it wasn't true, but what he said still hurt.
I remember how absolutely horrible he was to me in our first year. His making fun of me for not having friends, even though it was true I didn't have any. Even in muggle primary school I didn't have any. I thought Harry and Ron were my friends. I thought these last two years proved it, apparently not. 'Maybe they just use you for homework answers, maybe they only like you because of the help you give them, maybe- STOP, stop thinking like that! Of course they like you! Maybe…' All my insecurities were rising up, threatening to spill over. I had always kind of wondered why they were friends with me. We were all so different.
Of course I liked and cared for them both, maybe even a bit more for Ro- NO! Just friendship. Just friendship. 'But it really is more with him, and you know it' Yes. Yes I did know it. But he couldn't, no, didn't feel the same way. His words proved it. He only saw me as a homework helper device. Nothing more.
I slumped down onto the floor, letting my tears fall. I felt the rough stone behind me scrape my back, tearing my shirt. 'Great, just great!' I wondered what I had done to make God so angry at me. Surely that was why my life sucked so much right now. Crookie rubbed up against my leg, purring. "Thanks," I told him, my voice thick. I stroked his ginger fur, thinking about running my hands through his hair.' How soft would it be?' I forcefully pushed those thoughts down. It would do no good thinking about what I couldn't have. I sniffled, that was never going to happen, he hated me. I sobbed harder.
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