It Doesn't Go Unnoticed
by Alanna
A/N: Total R/H fluff. If you don't support R/H, and wish to remain in a good/undisturbed/calm mood, you had best leave now. If you wish to stay out of sordid curiosity, it's your fault – not mine. I warned you. Do I deserve a flame for happening to wish these two upon each other?
She stood, slowly stirring the bubbling cauldron, watching Harry chop up slugs' appendixes with an almost violent furor, trying to stop her eyes from darting over to Ron as he bent over Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble. She knew that it was a losing battle from the start; no matter how strongly she forbade them, her eyes seemed to stray away from the frothing blue mixture and over towards a certain redhead who was now dissecting toad eyelashes.
Finally, she gave in to the magnetic pull that forced her pupils to wander towards Ron's and sat quietly, watching him. How long had she been in love with Ron? (for, in her fifteen-year-old mentality, she considered her undying affection far more than a simple "crush") She didn't know. Perhaps she always had, ever since they first met on the Hogwarts Express. All she knew was that she got a kind of soft joy from watching him, his red hair cut close to his head, as he worked. The watching went unnoticed; she liked it that way.
He picked up his quill and carefully wrote something in his clear, bold handwriting. He held his quill perfectly, she noted. It was Hermione Granger's job to notice these things, wasn't it? She saw that he had long, slender fingers like a pianist; they looked graceful even as he gripped his quill tightly. Why hadn't she ever realized how wonderful his fingers were?
Hermione laughed, remembering back to the day that she had tried to play a game of connect-the-dots with Ron's freckles. Perhaps she had taken advantage of his wizarding heritage (imagine not knowing what connect-the-dots was!), but she felt no shame. He embarrassed her by her Muggle past often enough.
Why Ron? Why Ron, and not Harry? she often asked herself. Harry left little to be desired: handsome, intelligent, a gentleman. He was never rude or mean – and yet something was missing. The hard life had taken a toll on Harry; he seemed limpid, almost languid, at times. Ron could be infuriating, but he was always brilliantly alive. Maybe she simply preferred red hair – red hair that, today, was framing Ron's forehead in an adorable way that nearly made her heart stop. His green-brown eyes seemed brighter today; his freckles more prominent. Was he worried by the upcoming Quidditch game?
She watched him quietly as he cupped his chin in his hand and frowned down at the Potions book, wrinkling his forehead. He glanced over at her, obviously expecting help. She shook her head as a warning, then lowered her eyes, away from the breathtaking sight, back to the far less attractive cauldron.
When he was off his guard again, she would look back.
And sit quietly.
And watch.
A/N: For anyone who says, "You don't just fall in love with your best friend," sometimes you do. My parents did.
And, just as an afterthought, this came to me during Geometry class when I was watching a certain redhead I know, and observed several of these things….
Hope I got Ron's eye color right. The aforementioned redhead has eyes of greenish-brown (so do I, for that matter, so I happen to be fond of the color – I feel like Lockhart now – ignore me) and I copied horribly.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is not exactly coincidental.
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