It was 6:00am on a bright, early December morning.
The snow on the ground looked as white as ever as Ron Weasley, a seventh year Gryffindor, stared out the icy window. He sighed and turned around to find his best friend, Harry Potter, also a seventh year, plopping down in one of the squashy armchairs by the fire.
"Up a bit early aren't you, mate?" Ron asked him.
"Couldn't sleep. You're up a bit early yourself. What's all that?" asked Harry, glancing at the table at which Ron had just sat, which was littered with balled up pieces of parchment.
"Oh... nothing really. I was... er... writing a letter," answered Ron, hesitantly. "It's nothing," Ron said again.
Harry gave him a quizzical look. He could tell Ron was trying to hide something from him. He knew Ron too well. Since when did Ron wake up early to write letters? This had to be something really important. But, Harry decided, if Ron didn't want to tell him what was going on, he wouldn't ask.
"Listen, Harry. I really need to talk to you about something... important." Ron said, his face turning slightly red.
"Sure. Anything. What's up?" asked Harry. "Well... promise you won't laugh or anything? This is just bloody hard to say... That's why I'm writing her a letter..." Ron looked very confused and distraught.
"Her?" Harry asked, "You mean... "
"Well, you know... I've been thinking about it for a long time and I feel like it's just the right time. You know, since it's our seventh year. It's time to finally do something... But somehow I know I'll screw it up, and she'll hate me... I don't want that to happen..."
Ron's face was now very red, and he pulled a piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes, and handed it to Harry.
Harry read it.
He couldn't believe it. This was crazy, but yet, it seemed to just... fit.
Ron and Hermione... together.
The snow on the ground looked as white as ever as Ron Weasley, a seventh year Gryffindor, stared out the icy window. He sighed and turned around to find his best friend, Harry Potter, also a seventh year, plopping down in one of the squashy armchairs by the fire.
"Up a bit early aren't you, mate?" Ron asked him.
"Couldn't sleep. You're up a bit early yourself. What's all that?" asked Harry, glancing at the table at which Ron had just sat, which was littered with balled up pieces of parchment.
"Oh... nothing really. I was... er... writing a letter," answered Ron, hesitantly. "It's nothing," Ron said again.
Harry gave him a quizzical look. He could tell Ron was trying to hide something from him. He knew Ron too well. Since when did Ron wake up early to write letters? This had to be something really important. But, Harry decided, if Ron didn't want to tell him what was going on, he wouldn't ask.
"Listen, Harry. I really need to talk to you about something... important." Ron said, his face turning slightly red.
"Sure. Anything. What's up?" asked Harry. "Well... promise you won't laugh or anything? This is just bloody hard to say... That's why I'm writing her a letter..." Ron looked very confused and distraught.
"Her?" Harry asked, "You mean... "
"Well, you know... I've been thinking about it for a long time and I feel like it's just the right time. You know, since it's our seventh year. It's time to finally do something... But somehow I know I'll screw it up, and she'll hate me... I don't want that to happen..."
Ron's face was now very red, and he pulled a piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes, and handed it to Harry.
Harry read it.
He couldn't believe it. This was crazy, but yet, it seemed to just... fit.
Ron and Hermione... together.