Hullo all. This fic.. well.. ficlet{I don't believe it deserves the title of a fic. There is really no plot, and it is very short.. in my eyes, anyway. ::shrug::} was simply a result of my boredom and intense desire to delve into Ron's mind.. to dig up those feelings I believe he most definitely DOES have for Hermione...
Hint: If you are not a Ron/Hermione shipper, this story will be immensly boring.
Eh.. I am like half dead right now..
I apoligize for the lack of colourful introduction.
Oh yeah, disclaimer. All characters, settings, and quotes from the Harry Potter series are J.K. Rowling's, but the plot is mine. Take it, and I get my friend to hunt you down. It's simple enough.
.
.
.
.
I know, Hermione.
[just try to understand]
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.
.
.
Ronald Weasley rested an arm on the railing of the staircase descending from the Boy's Dormitory, observing classmates, who were rushing around in the common room, making last minute plans, and chatting happily with their dates. He smiled half-heartedly, focusing his attention on his best friend and his sister, who were laughing, immersed in conversation. He averted his eyes from the the two of them as he felt his mood turn sour; people watching was definitely something he'd be avoiding tonight; it could only aid in making him feel worse.
He sighed, turning away from the bustle of the common room and sitting down on a carpeted stair. Wrapping his arm around a post of the staircase's railing, he frowned, allowing his eyes to drop to his feet. There was a ball scheduled to take place that evening, and though he refused to admit it to anyone, he wanted to attend it. It would have been simple enough of a task to achieve, if Dumbledore hadn't enforced a policy for this particular ball. Dumbledore had felt that since this was a Valentine's Day-themed event, that only couples should be permitted to attend. Ron had no problem with this policy, except for the fact he couldn't gather the courage to ask anyone; especially the girl he was truly hoping to go with. He reminded himself sourly of how she had agreed to attend a ball with someone the previous year; he had had no knowledge of it. It was possible that this year it could happen again. He feared the embarrassment of approaching her and showing how he felt through asking her, only to be told she had already excepted an invitation from another.
He also knew that there was the possibility of her turning him down. He feared that more than anything else. Her accepting an invitation from another could simply be a misunderstanding; how would she have known he was going to ask her? But the moment she politely tells him she would rather not attend the ball with him, that all changes. But somehow, the chances of her declining his invitation seemed optimistically slim.
"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"
Ron winced internally as the words passed through his mind, remembering how angry she had been with him that evening, and how he so unfairly had accused her of "fraternizing with the enemy." Honestly, her getting to know her date better was nothing for someone to be angry about; ..unless that someone happened to be jealous. He felt terrible for making her evening at the ball a nightmare. She didn't know how he had felt, and still feels. How could she? Nevertheless, there was a bright side to her words. Even though she had spit the sentence out at him bitterly, she had still implied that she wouldn't mind him inviting her to the next ball Hogwarts scheduled. He had known her a long time, and knew she would never imply something she didn't mean. His stomach fluttered nervously at the thought. She was always so composed, it was hard to believe that she had feelings buried deep inside of her, because she always had done such a great job at hiding them from view. He supposed, that this time, she had slipped up.
Momentarily lost within his own thoughts, he blinked, lifting his head. He took a sharp intake of breath as his stomach did a half-hearted sort of flop; she was sitting on the staircase opposite of the Boy's Dormitory, a thick book laying open in her lap. She was obviously absorbed in its text; strands of her soft chocolate coloured hair had fallen into her face, and she hadn't pulled them back behind her ears like she usually did whenever the radiant curls got in her way. He stared at her, slowly taking in her presence. He hadn't noticed her sitting there earlier, and her sudden appearance had taken him by surprise. He felt his heart swell happily as he realized she was still dressed in the school apparel; she wasn't planning to attend the ball, which meant she didn't have a date. He smiled as her words floated pleasantly through his mind again.
"Ask me before someone else does.."
And nobody else had.
Nobody she had accepted an invitation from, anyway.
Now that this worry had been set aside, he self-consciously wondered if she had been watching him from his staircase. He knew his emotions easily showed through his facial expressions, and he was worried that she had seen the pain, confusion, and more so, the dreamy expression that he was sure he was wearing while thinking of what she had said.. and what it had meant to him. He dropped his eyes to the floor as he imagined a disgusted look she'd give him, knowing how he felt. Sighing, forcing his eyes shut and willing the mental picture to go away, he slumped against the rail post of the staircase once more.
He glanced restlessly in between two rail posts at the clock mounted above the fireplace. It was eight forty; the ball was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes. He knew he was going to have to ask her in order for her to accept his invitation; but he couldn't get himself to move. He willed his legs to stand, but they refused to budge. He groaned inwardly, wondering if it was really worth all this aggravation. Yes, he told himself, it was; she was worth anything he had to go through to get to her. If only he could will himself to actually do something.
With ten minutes until the start of the ball, he decided that it was now or never. Closing his eyes in concentration, he forced himself to stand, opening them cautiously only when he was sure he had succeeded in getting to his feet. He looked down at her apprehensively, grabbing the railing of the staircase swiftly as he felt his knees go weak. He was so nervous at the prospect of asking her; he had lost all confidence in his ability to speak. He wondered how he had allowed himself to become so unstable; did Harry feel like this around girls he fancied?
Ron took a deep breath, trying to compose himself into something other then a burning red mass of nerves. He glanced momentarily upwards, as if praying to god to help him through this, before descending the staircase slowly. He walked silently to the opposite staircase and paused, gazing nervously at the brunette seated on the bottom stair. Taking another deep breath and willing his ears to return to their natural colour, he swiftly turned and sat down beside her. If his action had surprised her, she didn't show it. She merely continued to read the hefty volume, pressing her fingertip to her tongue, then to the paper, and flipping the page. Ron wasn't sure if she even had realized that he was there.
At least a minute had past, and she still was showing no sign of knowing that he was sitting beside her. The silence was leaving his head empty to be filled with a muffled sort of hum. The faint noise was fogging his brain, making it difficult to think properly. He finally lifted a hand and placed it tentatively on her shoulder, deciding this was a better alternative than interrupting her with the insensitive tapping and poking his twin brothers tended to use. He felt his fingertips grow warm at contact, the sensation slowly spreading throughout his arm. His ears flushed as she turned to looked at him in surprise, her offended expression relaxing into a smile as she realized who it was.
Her smile caused his stomach to flip in a way he was sure it wasn't made to move in. He suddenly had the urge to run away, not understanding how he ever thought he could possibly ask her in the first place. He swallowed hard, realizing that as pleasant as it was, he couldn't sit there and stare at her forever; it was time to speak.
"Hermione,.. Do you.. Do you have a date for the Valentine's Ball?"
Ron winced at the stupidity of his words; of course she didn't have a date. She had been sitting by herself for the past fifteen minutes, and she wasn't dressed for the occasion.
Hermione stared at him blankly, looking faintly surprised, as if wondering if she had heard him correctly, before responding quietly, "What..?"
Ron swallowed with some difficulty, feeling his ears heat up. He absentmindedly ran his fingertips over the heated cartilage as he stared at her nervously. His ears felt like they were on fire. "I.. I asked if you had a date for the Valentine's Ball.."
Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment, before breaking into a soft smile. "No, actually, I don't."
Ron broke into a nervous laugh, before replying without thinking, "Well, okay then."
Hermione blinked as if confused, but continued to smile at him. "What do you mean?"
Ron was confident that if he could transfer the heat from his ears to a skillet, he could fry an egg. Eyes averted from the brunette sitting beside him, he hastily searched for something to say, blurting out the first thing that came to mind; some of which he was never intending to say.
"I.. I just wanted you to know I'm not asking you as a last resort.. But.. Considering you don't have a date.. And I don't have a date.. I was wondering… Could you help me with my Charms homework?"
He swore inwardly; everything he had meant to say had came out wrong. He stared at Hermione, expecting her expression to fall at the mention of wanting assistance with homework, but she merely continued to smile. He felt dizzy under her intense stare; she was looking directly into his eyes, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"Hermione.. You don't have to help me with the homework if you don't want to.."
"Oh no.." said Hermione, looking down at her shoes, "I'd be glad to.." She looked up at him, smiling. "It's just that.. We don't have any Charms homework."
Ron's eyes widened in surprise as he felt her fingertips touch his. The smile was still on her face, though now she had averted her eyes from him. He felt the warm sensation he had gotten earlier travel up his arm once again, tingling and numbing it. He gently put his hand over hers and squeezed it lightly, smiling in embarrassment as she looked up at him. He was relieved to see there was a content smile on her face.
"I know, Hermione."
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.
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[yes, this is the end.]
Well.. I hope you liked my ficlet. {That sounds so third grade essay-ish.. --; I told you I was half dead..}
But, really, I hope you enjoyed it, and that it wasn't merely a waste of your time. I didn't write it to bore everyone to death, though that is probably what I succeeded in doing..
Please, review. It is what keeps me going. Writing a story and having no evidence that anyone has even read it is incredibly depressing for a writer.. so, please, have sympathy for me, and review. Constructive critism is gladly excepted.. anything to help me improve. If you hate my story, at least tell me why, so I won't make the same mistakes next time and annoy you all over again. Positive comments are also appreciated.. if you can find the kindness in your heart to post one. ^___^
Ciao.
[just try to understand]
Hint: If you are not a Ron/Hermione shipper, this story will be immensly boring.
Eh.. I am like half dead right now..
I apoligize for the lack of colourful introduction.
Oh yeah, disclaimer. All characters, settings, and quotes from the Harry Potter series are J.K. Rowling's, but the plot is mine. Take it, and I get my friend to hunt you down. It's simple enough.
.
.
.
.
I know, Hermione.
[just try to understand]
.
.
.
.
Ronald Weasley rested an arm on the railing of the staircase descending from the Boy's Dormitory, observing classmates, who were rushing around in the common room, making last minute plans, and chatting happily with their dates. He smiled half-heartedly, focusing his attention on his best friend and his sister, who were laughing, immersed in conversation. He averted his eyes from the the two of them as he felt his mood turn sour; people watching was definitely something he'd be avoiding tonight; it could only aid in making him feel worse.
He sighed, turning away from the bustle of the common room and sitting down on a carpeted stair. Wrapping his arm around a post of the staircase's railing, he frowned, allowing his eyes to drop to his feet. There was a ball scheduled to take place that evening, and though he refused to admit it to anyone, he wanted to attend it. It would have been simple enough of a task to achieve, if Dumbledore hadn't enforced a policy for this particular ball. Dumbledore had felt that since this was a Valentine's Day-themed event, that only couples should be permitted to attend. Ron had no problem with this policy, except for the fact he couldn't gather the courage to ask anyone; especially the girl he was truly hoping to go with. He reminded himself sourly of how she had agreed to attend a ball with someone the previous year; he had had no knowledge of it. It was possible that this year it could happen again. He feared the embarrassment of approaching her and showing how he felt through asking her, only to be told she had already excepted an invitation from another.
He also knew that there was the possibility of her turning him down. He feared that more than anything else. Her accepting an invitation from another could simply be a misunderstanding; how would she have known he was going to ask her? But the moment she politely tells him she would rather not attend the ball with him, that all changes. But somehow, the chances of her declining his invitation seemed optimistically slim.
"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"
Ron winced internally as the words passed through his mind, remembering how angry she had been with him that evening, and how he so unfairly had accused her of "fraternizing with the enemy." Honestly, her getting to know her date better was nothing for someone to be angry about; ..unless that someone happened to be jealous. He felt terrible for making her evening at the ball a nightmare. She didn't know how he had felt, and still feels. How could she? Nevertheless, there was a bright side to her words. Even though she had spit the sentence out at him bitterly, she had still implied that she wouldn't mind him inviting her to the next ball Hogwarts scheduled. He had known her a long time, and knew she would never imply something she didn't mean. His stomach fluttered nervously at the thought. She was always so composed, it was hard to believe that she had feelings buried deep inside of her, because she always had done such a great job at hiding them from view. He supposed, that this time, she had slipped up.
Momentarily lost within his own thoughts, he blinked, lifting his head. He took a sharp intake of breath as his stomach did a half-hearted sort of flop; she was sitting on the staircase opposite of the Boy's Dormitory, a thick book laying open in her lap. She was obviously absorbed in its text; strands of her soft chocolate coloured hair had fallen into her face, and she hadn't pulled them back behind her ears like she usually did whenever the radiant curls got in her way. He stared at her, slowly taking in her presence. He hadn't noticed her sitting there earlier, and her sudden appearance had taken him by surprise. He felt his heart swell happily as he realized she was still dressed in the school apparel; she wasn't planning to attend the ball, which meant she didn't have a date. He smiled as her words floated pleasantly through his mind again.
"Ask me before someone else does.."
And nobody else had.
Nobody she had accepted an invitation from, anyway.
Now that this worry had been set aside, he self-consciously wondered if she had been watching him from his staircase. He knew his emotions easily showed through his facial expressions, and he was worried that she had seen the pain, confusion, and more so, the dreamy expression that he was sure he was wearing while thinking of what she had said.. and what it had meant to him. He dropped his eyes to the floor as he imagined a disgusted look she'd give him, knowing how he felt. Sighing, forcing his eyes shut and willing the mental picture to go away, he slumped against the rail post of the staircase once more.
He glanced restlessly in between two rail posts at the clock mounted above the fireplace. It was eight forty; the ball was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes. He knew he was going to have to ask her in order for her to accept his invitation; but he couldn't get himself to move. He willed his legs to stand, but they refused to budge. He groaned inwardly, wondering if it was really worth all this aggravation. Yes, he told himself, it was; she was worth anything he had to go through to get to her. If only he could will himself to actually do something.
With ten minutes until the start of the ball, he decided that it was now or never. Closing his eyes in concentration, he forced himself to stand, opening them cautiously only when he was sure he had succeeded in getting to his feet. He looked down at her apprehensively, grabbing the railing of the staircase swiftly as he felt his knees go weak. He was so nervous at the prospect of asking her; he had lost all confidence in his ability to speak. He wondered how he had allowed himself to become so unstable; did Harry feel like this around girls he fancied?
Ron took a deep breath, trying to compose himself into something other then a burning red mass of nerves. He glanced momentarily upwards, as if praying to god to help him through this, before descending the staircase slowly. He walked silently to the opposite staircase and paused, gazing nervously at the brunette seated on the bottom stair. Taking another deep breath and willing his ears to return to their natural colour, he swiftly turned and sat down beside her. If his action had surprised her, she didn't show it. She merely continued to read the hefty volume, pressing her fingertip to her tongue, then to the paper, and flipping the page. Ron wasn't sure if she even had realized that he was there.
At least a minute had past, and she still was showing no sign of knowing that he was sitting beside her. The silence was leaving his head empty to be filled with a muffled sort of hum. The faint noise was fogging his brain, making it difficult to think properly. He finally lifted a hand and placed it tentatively on her shoulder, deciding this was a better alternative than interrupting her with the insensitive tapping and poking his twin brothers tended to use. He felt his fingertips grow warm at contact, the sensation slowly spreading throughout his arm. His ears flushed as she turned to looked at him in surprise, her offended expression relaxing into a smile as she realized who it was.
Her smile caused his stomach to flip in a way he was sure it wasn't made to move in. He suddenly had the urge to run away, not understanding how he ever thought he could possibly ask her in the first place. He swallowed hard, realizing that as pleasant as it was, he couldn't sit there and stare at her forever; it was time to speak.
"Hermione,.. Do you.. Do you have a date for the Valentine's Ball?"
Ron winced at the stupidity of his words; of course she didn't have a date. She had been sitting by herself for the past fifteen minutes, and she wasn't dressed for the occasion.
Hermione stared at him blankly, looking faintly surprised, as if wondering if she had heard him correctly, before responding quietly, "What..?"
Ron swallowed with some difficulty, feeling his ears heat up. He absentmindedly ran his fingertips over the heated cartilage as he stared at her nervously. His ears felt like they were on fire. "I.. I asked if you had a date for the Valentine's Ball.."
Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment, before breaking into a soft smile. "No, actually, I don't."
Ron broke into a nervous laugh, before replying without thinking, "Well, okay then."
Hermione blinked as if confused, but continued to smile at him. "What do you mean?"
Ron was confident that if he could transfer the heat from his ears to a skillet, he could fry an egg. Eyes averted from the brunette sitting beside him, he hastily searched for something to say, blurting out the first thing that came to mind; some of which he was never intending to say.
"I.. I just wanted you to know I'm not asking you as a last resort.. But.. Considering you don't have a date.. And I don't have a date.. I was wondering… Could you help me with my Charms homework?"
He swore inwardly; everything he had meant to say had came out wrong. He stared at Hermione, expecting her expression to fall at the mention of wanting assistance with homework, but she merely continued to smile. He felt dizzy under her intense stare; she was looking directly into his eyes, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"Hermione.. You don't have to help me with the homework if you don't want to.."
"Oh no.." said Hermione, looking down at her shoes, "I'd be glad to.." She looked up at him, smiling. "It's just that.. We don't have any Charms homework."
Ron's eyes widened in surprise as he felt her fingertips touch his. The smile was still on her face, though now she had averted her eyes from him. He felt the warm sensation he had gotten earlier travel up his arm once again, tingling and numbing it. He gently put his hand over hers and squeezed it lightly, smiling in embarrassment as she looked up at him. He was relieved to see there was a content smile on her face.
"I know, Hermione."
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
[yes, this is the end.]
Well.. I hope you liked my ficlet. {That sounds so third grade essay-ish.. --; I told you I was half dead..}
But, really, I hope you enjoyed it, and that it wasn't merely a waste of your time. I didn't write it to bore everyone to death, though that is probably what I succeeded in doing..
Please, review. It is what keeps me going. Writing a story and having no evidence that anyone has even read it is incredibly depressing for a writer.. so, please, have sympathy for me, and review. Constructive critism is gladly excepted.. anything to help me improve. If you hate my story, at least tell me why, so I won't make the same mistakes next time and annoy you all over again. Positive comments are also appreciated.. if you can find the kindness in your heart to post one. ^___^
Ciao.
[just try to understand]