Over the next couple of days, Ron and Hermione continued to bicker, but Harry couldn't for the life of him follow their aggressive arguments. First it was something about class, then house elves, then something about Ron's active imagination… it was all a jumble, a terribly confusing jumble. Harry began spending a lot of time in his room with his invisibility cloak on and a silencio charm to mask the sound of his furious masterbation. After all, he had nothing else to do besides homework. Actually, he was falling quite a bit behind on his homework because it's much harder to copy off of Hermione's meticulously completed homework when he's not actually around her, but oh well. What could he do.
On the other end of the school, Hermione was about two words away from shoving her fingers in Ron's eyes and permanently blinding him. He had made nonstop comments about her legs ever since she had switched to shorts from jeans due to the sudden change of weather.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Hermione. I've said nothing about your long, silky legs, Hermione. I know you're not a sex object, Hermione. I know you're only thirteen, Hermione. I am not a pig, Hermione. I'm a boy, Hermione. Yes, Hermione. No, Hermione. Stop it, Hermione. Bloody hell, Hermione." Ron ripped.
Ginny had stopped a minute earlier, confused about why Ron and Hermione were staring at each other not saying anything but looking progressively angrier and angrier. I don't understand teenagers, the twelve-year-old thought as she swept her books up higher in her arms and skipped down the hallway.
"Wait! Ginny!" the bushy-haired brunette called out, "Tell your brother to stop objectifying me!"
Ginny stopped in her tracks, a confused deer in wandlights. "Hermione, he didn't say anything at all."
Ron and Hermione both stood, shaken. Why can we read each other's minds? they both pondered in their thoughts that they both could hear.