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Rather Sweet

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"Hermione…"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you so hell-bent on ruining my life?"

The 16-year-old brainiac frowned as she tore her eyes away from her Charms essay. "I hadn't been aware—not until this day—that I'd been ruining your life, Ron. Care to tell me how I was doing it?"

"I can't tell you. There's so many things that you do that I can no longer determine the good ones from the bad ones."

"Oh. So at least I've done something positive, right?"

"Not much. In fact, you've done very, very few good things in the past that they've started to blend in with the bad stuff, so I can't really make them out very well."

"Right."

"Ron…"

"Hmm?"

"What was the point of that?"

"I hadn't heard you talk in an hour."

"I'm sure there had been moments before when you hadn't heard me talk for a straight hour or more."

"Yes, but lately you've been nagging so much that I've gotten used to it. In fact, I've gotten so used to it that I can't bear to sit in the library and be forced to do homework without you snapping and hissing at me. I think it's become some sort of background music while I'm working."

"You think my voice is musical?"

"No."

"But you just said so."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I meant background noise, not background music. That was a mistake on my part."

"Ron…"

"Hmm?"

"Why is it so hard for you to do or say something so simple that can possibly make me feel good about myself, regardless of the honesty, or lack of honesty, behind it?"

Ron looked at her strangely. It was one of his tailored "you're odd" looks that were reserved solely for her. "What?"

Hermione sighed. "Never mind."

Ron watched her for a long time. She ignored him and kept working.

"I think you're brilliant," was the offhanded statement that came from nowhere.

"Are you saying that because you think that its something I'd want to hear?"

"Partly that, yes, but also partly because it's true."

"You think I'm brilliant?"

"Very."

"Brilliant in an intellectual sense, or brilliant in a general sense?"

"Both."

"Which weighs more?"

"Brilliant in a general sense."

"You really think so?"

"Yes."

"What else am I?"

"I think you're unbearable, domineering, and a classic interventionist, but I also think that that is what makes you different from anyone I know. You're a lot like Percy, actually, but you're much, much different. You can be extremely bossy, but at the same time, you can be sweet, smart, and striking without losing your authoritative air."

"I think you're awful, too. But there's a certain something about you that's very kind and comforting that it makes me capable of bearing with your awfulness so I can be with the certain something."

"D'you understand what I'm saying?"

"I think I do."

"Look at it this way, Hermione. You're like a broomstick—an old, old broomstick. No offense, it's just an analogy. So anyway, you're old and shoddy, you go right when I want to go left, you twitch while I'm gliding, sometimes you become very stubborn, and you get immobilized in mid-air. You're so awful and you make me want to get off and just chuck you in the middle of the pitch and leave you there to rot."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but he wasn't looking.

"…So I want—really want to get off you, but I don't. I don't because I love flying, and you're basically the only means I have for staying airborne, and if I lose you, I'm done. So it all comes down to this: I want to hate you, but I really can't. That makes me want to hate you more, but I really, really can't."

"That's… rather sweet, Ron."

"Yeah? Well, don't let it get to your head."

Hermione smiled. "From where did you learn the words 'domineering' and 'interventionist'?"

"When it comes to things I hate about you, I have an endless vocabulary. Don't insult my intelligence."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort. I was just curious."

"So you have a whole list of negative words for me?"

"Yes."

"What about positive?"

"I do, but it's not a very long list."

"Pity. So what's in the positive?"

"Well… number one's brilliant; number two: extraordinary; number three: sublime; number four: someone who I'd rather not, but will be able to live with for a very long time."

"You know, Ron, you're like a book written in invisible ink. I often have to struggle to understand what you're trying to say, and you frustrate me. But then there are moments when I get your ink to show, and I realize that everything inside is absolutely wonderful that I decide to stick with you for a while longer. After that, the ink disappears and I'm frustrated again, but then the ink shows up for a second time and you become so interesting and insightful that I decide to stick with you for another while longer. The cycle goes on over and over again."

"I barely understood that."

Hermione sighed and looked appraisingly at Ron. "I'll just… wait for the ink to come back… some other time."

Ron gave her a strange look, and shrugged. "Whatever you say, 'Mione."