a/n: Enjoy! This is the second installment:) Take this to heart.

Washing out the Worst

I'm standing frozen, looking down in sadness at the orange shirt at the bottom of the hamper. What am I supposed to do with it?

"Er...mum told me to help you?"

He says it more like a question than a statement as he fidgets uncomfortably in the doorway, and his unexpected voice startles me. I jump away from the basket with a hand over my heart and I glare at him, forgetting for a moment that things are worse than ever between us. His blue eyes widen and he looks down at his shoes.

"I tried to tell her that you probably wouldn't need help...but she--I guess I'll go and tell her again..."

He turns to leave and I quickly call out to him, stopping him in his tracks as I say, "No, don't go!" I cough loudly, cursing my unruly and outspoken emotions before turning back towards the hamper to hide my embarrassment as Ron slowly walks towards me. All too soon he's at my shoulder, peering down into the depths at the small orange lump.

"Is that Fred's?" he asks quietly.

I nod slowly and he sighs, leaning against the edge of the washer. "Wash it," he mumbles. "George has laid claim to all of his things, he'll want that."

I nod again, still averting my eyes from his as I throw the last shirt inside the machine and wave my wand over it.

"I'm done," I murmur, turning away from him to leave the room.

"Hermione," he says, quieter than I was. "Can't you just stay here? Mum is going crazy, she's going to make me re-gnome the garden just to de-gnome it again! She's gone mental. Can't we just relax for a minute...or ten...or even a hundred?"

I agree with a, "Yeah, okay," because why wouldn't Hermione Granger want to spend one hundred minutes with Ron Weasley? In that amount of time we could easily hash things out and get in a good snog. I scratch my hair uncomfortably and drag the toe of my sock along the wood floor, tracing small little patterns as he gratefully collapses and closes his eyes.

"Thanks Hermione, you're the best."

I open my mouth and confess softly, "I thought you wouldn't want to be around me..."

"What?" His eyes shoot open and he looks at me strangely. "Why?"

"Well...what we talked about before lunch, just seemed kind of--"

"But I thought it was all hypothetical..." he mumbles.

My heart is going to explode. "Of course it was all hypothetical...I mean, why wouldn't it be?"

He shrugs. "Maybe you didn't think it was hypothetical...?"

"No, of course I do."

"Oh."

Words are flooding out of my mouth and I can't stand the fact that we can't ever seem to be straight with eachother.

"Unless you were just saying that you thought it was hypothetical because you thought that I thought it was hypothetical, in which case I should inform you that I didn't think of it as hypothetical at all..."

He looks at me silently for a few moments. "What?"

"Oh, nevermind," I snap.

Suddenly I'm fed up with him and I'm ready to sod it all and give up on his daftness and his awkwardness and the awful truth that he's never going to make the first move because he's Ron and he doesn't make much of anything unless you hand it to him half-finished. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm finished with the laundry," I call out, still sour at him.

"No!" Ron hisses angrily, springing up from his spot on the floor. "What are you doing? Hermione, you said you would wai--"

His sentence is cut off by his mother's entrance. She wipes her hands a few times on her apron and she smiles at me. "Good, good. Ron, you go out and de-gnome the--"

"Mum!" he groans, letting his head fall back exhaustedly to glare at the ceiling. "I already did that!"

Her eyes flash with offence as her mouth forms a thin line. "Ronald Weasley! Things have to be done in this house! If you've already de-gnomed the garden, then go out and make sure there's none left! Then you can trim the hedge! And after that, you can go BACK and double-check the garden because we BOTH know that they always come back!"

He lets out a heavy sigh and shrugs helplessly. "Fine."

"Hermione, you can help Ginny with dinner."

"Of course," I say, avoiding Ron's sullen gaze in my direction. She's already gone out of the room by the time I've finished my sentence, shouting over her shoulder, "Ron, NOW!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" he grumbles.

As soon as she's turned the corner, he rounds on me. "What was that for?"

"What was what for?" I ask innocently, tilting my head to one side.

He scowls at me. "Why did you call her in? You said we could relax!"

I roll my eyes. "Maybe things do need to get done in this house," I spit. "Maybe things that don't involve your personal comfort! Maybe I want to help with those things!" My shrill voice and his scrunched eyebrows remind me of the time I almost gave him a snout because he called me batty. If I had my wand, he'd already be turned into a full pig by now. "Maybe you should just forget about the hypothetical conversation that wasn't hypothetical in the least!"

"What?" he exclaims. "You are such a girl!"

"Congratulations, ickle Ronniekins! It only took you about eight years to notice that!"

He clenches his hands into fists. "I did notice! And make up your mind, Hermione!" he says, growing red in the face. "First you don't want to kiss me, then you do, then you only want to kiss me if I want to kiss you--"

"The kiss has nothing to do with this!" I say loudly, staring at him in rage. "And for the record," I growl, "I stand by what I said the first time."

"Which first time?" he sneers.

"The very first time! I would never want to snog a bloody pig such as yourself!"

He shrugs, brushing past me. "Fine by me. I don't enjoy snogging cows anyways."

The screen door slams shut behind his retreating figure and I feel the sting of tears burning my eyes.

Yes, this was definitely worse than before.