A/N: So, a very long chapter from me!
I think this is what you've been asking for… this one is a bit different. Still no dialogue... Sorry! Hopefully I will put some in the next chapter. I feel bad updating 2 chapters at once and then not any for ages! I am sorry that I can't update the next one sooner, but life has challenges! Please review- the only way to get the next one quicker! Oh, and I forgot – haven't done a disclaimer on any of these stories :o here goes:
Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter? Yeah right – gonna need some Sirius* magic to make that one come true
*GET MY JOKE? HAHAH
So there he was. At the door of the room Ginny and Hermione shared. Ron had no idea what he was looking for, just something, some sort of sign to tell him how Hermione felt about him. He needed something to tell him to stop going for her, and to leave her and let her be happy, but at the same time he wished and hoped for something small, to tell him she loved him too.
Ron entered the room. He felt bad about doing this, sneaking around behind his girlfriend's (and sister's) back. He knew it was bad, but he had too. He had to do it. Now he was at her desk, riffling through pieces of parchment, letters, quills, ink jars and books. Lots and lots of books. Some were text books (he noticed Hogwarts, a History and A standard book of spells grade 7 along with others he didn't recognize), some historical, some fiction, he noticed a few muggle books too, others were note books, filled with illegible scrawls, he looked through some but the only word he noticed were 'BASILISK' in a very young Hermione's writing. Ron laughed, he loved some of the old things she kept there, but still none of them were what he was looking for.
He carried on searching, it was unlike Hermione to have such a messy desk, he thought. He really did look, he opened books and notepads, read letters and sheets of parchment, and he even scanned over essays she had written in Hogwarts for some kind of clue! His job was made even more difficult by the fact that he had no idea what he was looking for.
He found nothing. 'One more search' he said as he began to feel very disappointed. He picked up a large copy of 'Magical beasts and where to find them' when a thin leather note book, tied up with a worn out piece of string, neatly tied with a bow on the front, fell out from behind the dust jacket. Ron picked it up and unraveled it carefully, he had a feeling from where this was hiding Hermione wouldn't want anybody looking at this. He opened it and a huge grin spread over his face as he read the first page: This book is (extremely secretly) dedicated to the arrogant prat (oh, and the love of my life) Ronald Weasly.
And I hope to Godric Gryphidor he never sees this, because I know that smug look would be impossible to wipe of his, charming, face.
Ron couldn't stop smiling now. He found it! He found it! It was exactly what he was looking for. But yet, he felt like he had to go on. He had to read more. Something was pulling Ron to the pages of this book. And now that he started, he just couldn't stop reading. And it wasn't until he reached the next page, that he realized he had found what he needed, and the one thing that made Ron know Hermione loved him as much as he loved her.
A song for Ronald:
For when I'm with you, standing here
All feels right, and good, and clear
And I know everything is perfect
For when I'm with you I have no fear
And I would spend every day
Working all my life away
Knowing that you are by my side
And that you love me enough to say
I love you Hermione I really do,
I want to spend my life with you
You're my everything, you really are
And to you I will always be true
And we will bicker and we will fight
And always try as we might
It won't last, our loves to strong
Because Ronald, you're my wing, you're my flight.
And on reading that last verse, a tear shed from Ron's eye, landed on the paper and the ink ran down the page. He didn't care. He didn't care in the slightest, because that's all he could have ever wanted to hear, from the person he most wanted to hear it from.