Author's Notes: Not mine. Just playing around here.
Beautiful
Ron Weasley fiddled nervously with his quill. He was, surprisingly, about two-thirds of the way through his History of Magic essay on the short-live Goblin-Troll Alliance of 1487. For once, his own class-notes were voluminous and detailed. Forcing himself to pay attention to Professor Binns had kept him from thinking about what had happened right before class and made it easier to ignore the quizzical glances Harry was throwing him.
"It's all Malfoy's fault," Ron thought. "And Harry's. Great, bloody prat, going to bed early, thinks he's fooling me with his 'I'm tired' nonsense. Ha!"
He must have said that last bit aloud, because Hermione looked over at him curiously before quickly turning back to her books, cheeks slightly pink.
Ron almost groaned. It wasn't his imagination; things were terribly uncomfortable between them. And try as he might, he had only himself to blame.
He had told her she was beautiful.
They were leaving potions class, when a smarmy, unpleasant voice had called out "Hey, Granger". Hermione turned instinctively in response and got hit right in the face by a jet of yellow light. Ron and Harry had started immediately down the corridor after Draco Malfoy, but he was scared of them by now and darted into the safety of the Potions classroom.
Hermione had covered her face with her hands, clearly remembering the gigantic teeth Malfoy had inflicted on her during Fourth Year and wanting to disguise whatever humiliation he had just caused her.
"You okay, Hermione?" Harry asked, as he and Ron returned to her side. She turned away and bumped right into Ron.
"Come on, Hermione, let's see if we need to get to you to Pomfrey," he had said, taking her hands down from her face.
"Must have been a trick curse. You're fine." Hermione looked anxious and he realized he was still searching her face.
"Sure, I'm sure. Beautiful as ever."
Hermione's mouth had dropped open and he felt the familiar, hated redness sweep over his face. He wanted desperately to make a joke, but nothing came out.
Harry cleared his throat just then and Ron realized he was still holding Hermione's hands in his. As soon as he dropped them, she started speaking briskly, telling them not to get back at Malfoy, because that's what he wanted them to do, so he could get them in trouble. They finally promised to let it go and Hermione pretended not to hear him mutter "For now" under his breath.
He had called Hermione beautiful and it was the truest moment of his life, if not the purest, because, truth be told, it's not just her face he thinks is beautiful. If only he had the slightest idea of what to do about it.
"Were you joking?" Hermione voice interrupted his thoughts, although she wasn't looking up from her notes.
"What, when I asked Harry if thought Malfoy would rather be locked in a broom closet with Crabbe or Goyle? He does seem awfully fond of them, you know."
Hermione laughed, but only a little, before returning to her scribblings, her shoulders slightly slumped.
"Well, one thing is certain," he thought, "I'm officially an idiot."
"Because that's the only thing I remember saying that was funny. Sort of surprising, that, given that I'm such a comedian."
This time Hermione looked up at him while she laughed. "Well, then, thank you," she said, blushing, but not glancing away. Her smile was sweet and full of promise.
"Beautiful as ever."
