You Breathe In Time To My Heartbeat by FloatingBallofLight
Disclaimer: I do not admit to owning Harry Potter for lack of being able to speak in public.
Chapter One: I Hate That I Love You
A/N: Story fits the song by Rihanna and Ne-Yo. This drabble is about the Yule Ball in Fourth Year/ GoF.
And I hate how much I love you, boy. I can't stand how much I need you. And I hate how much I love you, boy, but I just can't let you go. And I hate that I love you so….And it's not fair that you take advantage of the fact that I love you beyond a reason why, and it just ain't right.
Ron rushed up the stairs, followed closely by Harry.
Everything was spinning out as Hermione Granger fell to her knees on the steps. He betrayed her. It was as though he had seen it all coming and planned it out, so as to make a mockery of her. Ron Weasley, the world's greatest dolt, somehow knew how she felt, and even if he didn't, he was taking a good guess. Although, she supposed she could have been a bit more subtle in the past.
I mean, honestly, think about it. In their second year, she hugged Harry then awkwardly shook Ron's hand. In their third year, oh, to count the numerous times she had hinted would be considered torture as no one could possibly count that high. And here we are in fourth year at the Yule Ball, the night she was supposed to gracefully float down the staircase, turn heads, perhaps even a certain ginger one…..
She digresses. He was taking advantage of her. Ron was taking advantage of the fact that she fancied him. Did she fancy him? I mean, really, truly fancy him? Well, you'd have to barking to not think so.
He was no doubt sitting in the dormitories right now, explaining the plan to Harry and bursting at the seams with joy and laughter. Ronald was quite a good actor. Or was he?
She decided he might not. After all, if he was, he would act brave when there was a wee spider, or be confident when Hermione hugged him, rather than carefully patting her on the back. Yes, she decided he was definitely not acting.
So, maybe he had been confused. Maybe she had scared him off. Maybe he would never speak to her again. Maybe he would talk to her too much.
Maybe he felt the same.
As this thought occurred to Hermione, a certain Bulgarian Quidditch player came jogging through the Great Hall's doors calling her name.
Hermione wiped the tears away, put on her poker face, and walked swiftly towards Viktor.
She intended on enjoying her night with or without Ron Weasley.