Disclaimer: I own NOTHING other then a strong urge to poke someone that just isn't satisfied poking letters on a keyboard…
AN: I was bored and had the sudden urge to poke someone, but no one's around, so I wrote this instead.
"Ronald, if you do not desist from poking me this instant I will disembowel you."
"I don't even know what that means, so how is it possible for me to get so many bad images?" he said.
As he said this he remained in a state of perpetually poking her person. Inwardly she groaned, if threats didn't work…
"I can't believe it," she said.
"Can't believe what?" he said.
"You're poking me and scratching your chin thoughtfully at the same time," she said.
"So?" he said.
"That shows, like, amazing motor control," she said.
"It does?" he said.
"Oh, yeah!" she said, nodding quickly. "Can you pat your head and rub you stomach at the same time, too?"
"I don't know," he said.
"Try it!" she said.
"Okay," he said.
And that was how ingenious Hermione got Ron to stop poking her…for about four seconds. Then Ron messed up with the pat-your-head-rub-your-stomach thing and went back to his previous activity (which was, in case you need reminding, poking Hermione.)
"Why are you poking me?" she said.
He shrugged, "I'm bored."
"Go poke Harry," she said.
"Harry happens to currently be attached at the mouth to my little sister, I'm going no where near them," he said.
"Go poke Percy," she said.
"He'll think I want him to tell me in excessive detail about what whatever paperwork he's doing is for," he said.
"Ron, I'm telling you one last time, stop poking me!" she said.
"Thank goodness that's the last time you're going to tell me, it was getting a bit annoying," he said.
"Ronald, need I remind you of my skill in hexing?" she said.
"You mean how it's not as good as Ginny's? You should really stop beating yourself up about that," he said.
"Ronald, need I remind you of a certain flock of canaries?" she said.
"You know, I meant to ask you about that," he said. "What made you so upset that you sent those canaries after me, anyway?"
She froze.
"Y-you were being a prat," she said in an unusually high voice.
"I know that, but in what way did it affect you to the extent that you had to sick canaries on me?" he said.
She froze yet again. This was it. She was dead. Nothing entered her mind but that fact. Until one thing did manage to break through.
He was still poking her.
That was it.
"Would you stop? That isn't very romantic!" she said.
"Romantic?" he repeated.
"Yes!" she said arms flailing about wildly. "How am I supposed to confess my love for you if you insist on—!?"
She clamped her hands over her mouth suddenly, horrified, and felt the blood drain from her face.
And what was the worse part?
He was still poking her.
But then…he stopped. He slowly, cautiously withdrew his hand.
"Er…that's you queue," he said.
"Queue?" she squeaked.
"For that confession? I stopped poking you," he said.
"Oh, right, well…" embarrassed and frustrated she made an impatient huff. "Fine, I'm in love with you, you prat."
And then she proceeded to hide her very red and slowly approaching purple face in her book.
And she waited.
And waited.
And tried to read her book but couldn't focus enough to even realize it was upside down.
And waited.
"You know, hiding your face behind a book isn't very romantic," he said. "How am I supposed to confess my love if you insist on—"
And that's when she kissed him.
AN: Review.
Cookies.
Hamburgers.
Disinfectant.
Review.
It's a hot one in Smallsville.
Don't eat the bikes, Jimmy, don't eat the bikes!
Luke, I am your father.
Review.
As you can plainly see "review" is the only one of the above that makes any since, here, so you'll just have to listen won't you?