Aaaand, up again. It's rather fun to edit my old writing pieces. Its nice to see how much I've grown as a writer thanks to fanfiction.

I really like this scene now, and the climax is improved.

Johnnydicaprio.

x


Hermione suddenly became hell-bent on skipping dinner. Not wishing to bear the wrath of Molly if she just didn't show up, she muttered a lame "Upset stomach" in her general direction and ignored her somewhat disappointed face as she made her way up the stairs and into the bedroom she and Ron had to share. Slamming the door after herself, she kicked aside a few of Ron's belongings for good measure, before flinging herself onto the nearest bed.

Breathing a sweet, familiar scent rising from the pillow and the bed sheets, she realized with a sickening jolt that the bed was Ron's, and found herself inches form tears. Frowning, she furrowed her brow and violently rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, feeling incredibly foolish for even contemplating crying after someone who did not even have enough brain cells to comprehend the situation they were in.

As soon as her head hit his pillow, however, she fell into an uneasy slumber. It didn't last very long. It felt as though as soon as she had closed her eyes, she heard a soft knock on the door.

It was only when she opened her eyes that she realized how much time had passed. Her adjusting eye caught the view through the window, and she was faced with the moon, breathtakingly pale against the sucking black darkness of the sky.

"Hermione?"

She sighed.

"Hermione?" Ron repeated, his voice cutting into the silence of the room. "Are you in there?"

Her brain adjusted to the situation slower than she would have liked. Tumbling out of his bed, she adjusted the covers, her clothing, and her hair – grabbing Ron's wand from his bedside table, waved it at the two candles on the wall, filling the room with dancing light. She crossed the room in a hurry and picked up a magazine from underneath her bed, perching herself 'casually' on top of her own covers.

"Yes I'm in here," she said in the direction of the door. She flicked open the magazine and stared blankly at a page, not really registering much but flashes of words: lipstick – fashion – style – eye liner – body type – "You can come inside if you want, I'm not sleeping or anything."

The door swung open slowly, and he walked in, wearing a concerned expression on his face that would be considered fit for visiting the bedside of a terminally sick friend. He didn't look at her directly, and she was glad of it (so she did not have to exercise more self-control to not be drawn into his eyes) – he walked over to his bed and sat down. The tension was packed so tight into the air that Hermione felt it pressing onto her chest, constricting her breathing.

Just to find something to busy her hands, she flung the magazine aside, and turned around to continue her half-finished unpacking of her trunk.

"Hermione."

He was promptly ignored.

"Hermione, you're angry at me."

"No, what makes you say that?" she answered, her voice jumping around octaves as she attempted to control her tone. She threw A Thousand Magical Herbs and Funghi and Confronting the Faceless onto her bed angrily, and they cascaded off the side of it, landing with loud thuds onto the carpet below.

"Well, perhaps it's because you've been behaving like I've killed your cat for the past three hours when I've been trying to talk out whatever this thing is with you." He glared at the back of her head. "Or maybe it's because you're ignoring me."

She didn't turn around.

"Great," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "More ignoring. Perfect."

She breathed through her nose, and clenched the side of her suitcase, her knuckles going white against her skin. "Ron, just leave me alone, I really don't want to talk to you right now."

"And why not?" Ron demanded, his voice rising slightly.

"Just forget it, there is no problem."

"Oh," he laughed, his voice hollow and echoing through the empty room. "Oh, so you ignoring me, treating me like I don't exist has just been a figment of my imagination? Maybe I'm going paranoid, do you think?"

She still did not reply.

His face grew furious. "Or maybe you're just cold-hearted."

Hermione whirled around, her hair flying around her, splashing wildly across her face. Her face contorted with anger, and for a minute, Ron thought she might throw something at him, and braced himself. Two seconds later, when he realized nothing heavy came into contact with his head, he looked up at her through his fingers, to realize that her anger had melted away just as fast as it had erupted.

"Evidently, you don't even think a problem exists, so I doubt you'd understand."

"You think so?" he sneered sarcastically, fighting the urge to scream. He leaped up from the bed, snarling, "Try me, why don't you."

"See that's exactly the problem." she spat, unable to stop herself.

"What's the problem?" He challenged.

"You always expect me to explain everything to you! I realize you have the emotional capacity of a three year old, but I'm sick of feeling like a teacher!" She shouted, shaking with rage. "If you don't think a problem exists, I'm not going to waste my time trying to explain it to you."

"I don't – " he began.

" – get it?" she laughed, her voice lofty, the tone she used when she intended to wound. Her laugh was cold, high, and impersonal, almost mocking. She folded her arms across her chest stubbornly, and raised her head. "I really did not expect you to."

"Stop that!" he finally bellowed, stepping forward, his tall figure casting a shadow onto hers. "Stop treating me like you think I'm a bloody moron!"

Well, it's not my fault that's exactly what you are.

She bit her lip and fixed her stubborn gaze on his face, barely stopping her mouth from vocalizing her feelings.

Ron scoffed loudly at her silence, his chest heaving up and down. "I bet Vicky understood what you were talking about all the time! I bet he understood what was going on in that crazy brain of yours when he couldn't even pronounce your name!" His mind noted that what he had just said was a low blow, but he had progressed far beyond conscious thought.

Hermione looked outraged. "Don't you dare drag him into this!"

"Why not, Hermy-oowwnnn?" Ron retorted childishly, his voice growing louder with every second. "Do you still have feewings for poor Vicky? Did ickle Ronnie offend you?"

Her features turned cold, her eyes ensnared his, and her whole frame shook with waves on anger traveling up her body, through her clenched fists. "How dare you ask me that?" she snarled, her voice deadly quiet, surges of hot fury flowing off her body.

If he reached out, Ron was almost sure he could feel hot waves of anger rolling off her skin. His hand twitched in his pocket.

"How could you ask me that after all that has happened?!" Her voice was suddenly loud, her pitch difficult to stand. "I don't remember questioning your snog-fest with Lav-Lav when you paraded her around my nose!" She spat viciously, stepping closer to his form. "Why the hell do you care anyway? Why have you ever cared about anything I ever had with Viktor?!"

"I care because I – " He froze mid-sentence and stared at her unabashedly.

She glared right back. "I'm listening. Do go on. Your stuttering is fascinating."

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and bit the inside of his lip. "I care because I'm your friend."

Something froze behind her eyes. "Right," she spat curtly. "Exactly. Friend."

Their eyes locked again just for a second, before she pushed past him to get to her bed and grab her pajamas. He stood there as she walked away towards the bathroom. She was almost at the door before his fists clenched to keep his words inside, and they exploded out of his lips without his consent.

"He's using you."

The silent statement made all the difference in the world. Ron could almost hear the break tracks her feet made across the floor, and suddenly Hermione had whipped around, her face distorted with shock.

"What?"

The hairs on the back of Ron's neck stood on end.

"I – "

"So that's what you think," she whispered, looking at him, her face unreadable.

He nodded.

"You think he's using me," she continued in the same dead tone.

He nodded again.

"Right. So, this is your pathetic excuse for everything you've done to me the past five years? That Victor was using me?" Listening to his reasoning out of her mouth, Ron felt like slapping himself multiple times across the face.

He decided to nod again.

For a minute her figure vanished.

And then suddenly she was so close to him that their noses were touching, their breaths were fuddled, his eyes unfocused on hers.

"I'm only going to say this once," Hermione spoke into his face. Now that Ron could feel her against himself, he felt the tremors going through her body and just how far her rage was taking her. He admired her ability to hide everything under her skin. "You are not my boyfriend. Do you understand? You are not allowed to make these conclusions or these accusations, because I am not yours. And I've never been yours." Her eyes turned a shade darker. "You're my friend." The finality of her statement made Ron feel like he'd been punched in the stomach. Her jaw clenched. "Start acting like it."

She expected no reply. Not that Ron was in the position to give one, anyway. He stood rooted in his spot, long after she'd stepped away from him. She picked up her nightclothes off the floor, and walked silently towards the bathroom.

Her foot over the threshold, she paused, her hand on the doorframe. "Besides," she added coldly, smiling with crude disgust as her head turned around. "He hasn't yet entranced me to murder Harry in his sleep, so I think it's time you invented a new excuse to make my life miserable."

The door clicked shut behind her. Ron felt like she had slammed it in his face. He stood staring at it, attempting to recover for several seconds. Silence rang in his ears. Realizing eventually that several seconds was not enough, he wobbled towards his bed, kicked off his shoes, and pulled the comforter up around his head, blocking every sight at sound from his mind. Had he not immediately fallen into a nightmarish slumber, he might have heard Hermione slump against the door and let herself collapse onto the linoleum, he might have heard her drop her head into her knees, might have heard her let out a gasp and begin crying meters away from him.

Instead, Ron was flying on Harry's broomstick, desperately trying to escape from a dragon that looked strangely like Hermione and insisted that they were friends.


I really wish would let you classify your stories into three categories. This one fits into Romance/Humor/Angst, and sadly this does not exist.

Oh, well.

Review?