I don't own Harry Potter.
Ron hated the fact that he was a coward. He wondered what exactly had been going on with the Sorting Hat when it had decided to make him a Gryffindor. Maybe it wanted his hair to match his house color? Maybe it was high, as he had once heard Hermione say to Harry regarding Dumbledore's mental state? He didn't exactly know how exactly someone could be high without being on a broom, but if it could be used to describe Dumbledore's sanity, it probably meant loopy in the head.
Ron slapped his forehead. "Stupid thoughts," He muttered to himself. "Not the time for thoughts like that. We have bigger things to worry about."
"Such as?" A voice said from the doorway, sounding amused. Ron looked up. The subject of his thoughts (not Dumbledore or the Sorting Hat; that would've been weird) was leaning up against the doorframe, a large bag of books slung over her shoulder. Hermione crossed the room and sat down on his bed.
Ron stroked a nonexistent beard in mock-thought. "Such as whether or not the Sorting Hat makes its choices based on hair color."
Hermione burst out laughing, leaning up against him in the process. "Ron, where do you get these ideas?"
"Hey," He defended himself, slightly glad that she hadn't decided to press to topic. "It's a valid idea. My siblings and I, we all have red hair, and we're all in Gryffindor. Look at Malfoy. He's got hair that's so blonde it's almost silver, and he's a Slytherin."
Hermione giggled again. "Ron," Hermione's face was bright red, "I didn't know you spent so much time looking at Malfoy's hair."
Ron spluttered with indignation. When did he learn words like indignation again? He decided it was side effect of time spent with Hermione. "I- I don't,"
This sent Hermione into even wilder giggles. He thought she looked positively lovely. "Well, ignoring the fact that you may or may not be obsessed with Malfoy's hair,"
"I'm not!" Ron interjected.
"Continuing," Hermione said to ward off anymore of Ron's defenses, "If we went by your logic Ron, I and everyone else with brown hair, would be a Ravenclaw."
"Nope," Ron declared, "You would still be a Gryffindor."
"But Ron," She protested, "I have brown hair." She said the brown part nice and long, like Ron was a child that just didn't get it.
"I know you have brown hair," He replied. "That's kind of obvious."
"Then," She said, frustration starting to show, "Going by your logic, I should be a Ravenclaw."
"No, you would still be a Gryffindor," Ron answered.
"Why, Ron?" She exclaimed. "Why would I be a Gryffindor when my hair is quiet obviously brown, and in this scenario, Houses are based on hair color?"
"Because it is impossible for you to be in any other house," Ron answered. "I just can't imagine you in any other house."
"Well," Hermione said slowly, going over his logic in her mind. She bit her lip. "I guess it is your imagination."
"Ah ha, I have finally beaten you, Miss Granger." He jokingly replied.
"I can still take that back, you know," Hermione hit him lightly on the arm. It was stronger than her thought it would be. He wondered where she got the muscles. That bag full of books that she was always hauling around? That was it, he decided.
There was a silence. Ron was aware of just exactly how close Hermione was to him. "So," Hermione said after the silence was almost to the point of being uncomfortable. "What was it that you really were thinking about earlier?"
"I told you," Ron answered, "I was thinking about the influence of hair color on the Sorting Hat's decision."
"Ron," She said sternly.
He held up his hands. "I was!"
Hermione stared at him, unconvinced. Ron tried to think innocent thoughts. Hermione had this weird way of knowing when you were lying, and even though he technically had been thinking about that when she had asked, he still didn't want her to question him further. "Of course you were, Ron."
"I really was, Hermione." He defended.
"Then what were you thinking about before the Sorting Hat?" She said frankly.
"I was thinking about chess." Ron answered immediately. He realized that answer was a bit too fast, and a bit too forthcoming.
"You were thinking about chess?" She questioned suspiciously.
"Yeah," He said trailing off, "chess."
She looked up at him, still suspicious. He didn't blame her. He wouldn't have believed himself either. Her lips were separated just slightly, like she had opened them without realizing it. Do it now, you dolt! his inner voice screamed. His inner voice was very abusive sometimes.
Still he moved closer to her. "Hermione?" He asked.
"Yes, Ron?" She asked in reply.
"I've been meaning to tell you something." He admitted.
"And that would be?" She questioned.
The door to dormitory burst open. Ron jumped, but didn't move away. He hadn't even realized the door was closed, something he was now extremely thankful for. Harry was standing there, soaked to the bone from Quidditch practice. There was mud splattered all over his robes, and his hair was a wet mop. "Hello there, Harry." Hermione greeted, completely unperturbed by Harry's untimely interruption.
"What're you doing in here, Hermione?" Harry said as he flopped down on the bed across from theirs.
"Ron and I were discussing things, Harry." Hermione replied. Ron hoped Harry could read minds, because he was sending out a very strong don't-ask message.
It appeared Harry could not read minds. "Things like?"
"I think that's my cue to leave." Hermione said as she stood up and brushed some nonexistent dust from her skirt. "I'll let Ron explain it to you." She strode out of the dorm, the door swinging closed behind her.
"So," Harry asked, turning his attention to Ron, "What was it you were talking about?"
Ron threw a pillow at him. "Shut up, Harry" He mumbled into his pillow.