"Ronald! Ronald! Are you even listening to me?" Hermione bellowed mid-conversation.
Nothing.
She waved her wand and a shoe flew at his head.
"Wow, what was that for?" he cried across the room. This was the first time in a while that had he looked up from what he was doing.
"What was I just talking about?" she asked.
"Dunno, NEWTs probably. You won't shut up about 'em," he snapped.
"Probably?! Probably NEWTs? Is that the best you could come up with?" she spat bitterly.
"Well was I wrong?" he smirked.
"You clearly don't care about me, that's pretty clear," she said trying to change the conversation.
"Of course I care about you, I love you." Though his eyes were not on her, but the piece of paper he was holding.
"I," she smiled and looked sweetly up at him, "love-" she paused, noticing the parchment, breathing heavily in through her nostrils. "Ronald, what are you reading?"
"Oh, just some work," he replied unnervingly quickly.
"You haven't done a day's work in your life. I should know, I'm usually the one who does it for you," she grimaced.
He folded the note quickly and tucked it in his pocket. "NEWTs, eh?" was his attempt at lightening the mood, but Hermione was no fool.
"Can I see it, please?" Ron couldn't tell if her tight lips were due to politeness or rage.
Stuttering, while not removing his hand from the pocket he had ferociously stuffed it in, he grew more and more uncomfortable.
"Accio!"
"Hey, give that back!"
But it was too late; Hermione was the other side of the room, note in hand, and tears welling in eyes.
" 'Thanks for a wonderful evening, and a fab night. Maybe my place next time? I know I'm a pointless romantic but maybe the Leaky Cauldron doesn't set the right mood. My love, 3 kisses' what is the meaning of this?"
"It's not what it looks like," Ron jumped in. He knew that look; it meant someone was going to be hexed in their sleep.
"I most certainly hope not, because to me it looks like you've been playing me like a fool for a while now, Ronald, and I don't want to be a fool." Poison spat from her mouth with every word. "Who?" She was suddenly speaking quietly, but there was no reply. "Answer me, Weasley, give me a name, that's all I ask, who is it?"
Still not replying or daring to look in her eye, Ron turned to leave.
"Have it that way then, but believe me, I will find out who she is." Hermione's words in no way resembled her emotions. She sounded to the boy like a vicious, aggravated attacker, but if he had only looked up, he would have seen a tear roll down her left cheek. If he had only listened a little harder, he would have noticed how her voice cracked at the realisation of everything they ever had being a lie; being over in minutes.
POP! Disapparated and not planning on coming back, Hermione was gone.