I'd like to take this moment to apologize for the change in the summary. I did have a very good idea for a Ron/Moaning Myrtle fic, but I've found that I can't write it right now to save my life, so this story will be Ron/Hermione. (Sorry, Harry/Hermione shippers, but I just can't see that relationship working out. Harry tends to be a little too calm for someone as high-strung as Hermione; if they were boyfriend and girlfriend they would probably both become asphyxiated. Ron complements Hermione's personality much better – assuming that they don't kill each other, of course. Yes, I know. I spend time analyzing fictional characters. Scary, isn't it?) As for Harry, I'm probably going to pair him with Ginny, but I might pair him with Cho – I haven't really decided yet.

Disclaimer: Not only do I own Harry Potter, I'm also the queen of the moon and have seven husbands; it's really much easier, relationship-wise, because I only see each of them once a week. I also own Guam, Cambodia, and Kentucky.

Anyway.

No, none of those things are mine. The Harry Potter universe and its wonderful characters all belong to J.K. Rowling, who deserves it a hell of a lot more than I do. This fanfiction, which I haven't made a cent from (and don't intend to) is written solely for the entertainment value of readers who are as obsessed as I am.

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Chapter 3: I Love You Because The Voices In My Head Tell Me So

Hermione Granger, Hogwarts' star student, hopeful Prefect, and most definitely NOT in love with a certain annoying, immature, and generally vexing redhead –

'Ah, but he is cute, isn't he,' her hormones giggled.

Hermione leapt to her feet, eyes blazing, before she remembered that her hormones were inside of her head and, as such, hadn't spoken out loud. "He is not cute! And you are not my opinions – you're only chemical reactions!"

'Am not.'

"Are too!"

'Am not.'

"Are too!"

'Am not.'

"Honey?" her mother called. "Could you keep it down in there?"

Hermione blushed as she realized that she had been shouting. "Sorry, mum."

Her hormones jumped at the sudden opportunity of silence – the vicious things. 'And if you don't like him, why have you been thinking about him constantly for the past four years?'

"I most certainly have not!" And a few daydreams didn't really count – not really.

'You most certainly have too.'

"Have not!"

'Have too."

"Have not!"

'Have too.'

"Honey?"

"Sorry, mum."

'And why have you written down all those interesting names in your diary? Let me see, now… "Hermione Granger-Weasley, Mrs. Ron Weasley, Mrs. Hermione Weasley…"'

"How dare you read my diary!"

'I am you, you prat. I think what you think, remember?'

"Well – well, I – that doesn't make it right!"

'Yes, it does. I have every right in the world.'

"You do not!"

'Do so.'

"Do not!"

'Do so.'

"Do not!"

'Do so.'

"Honey?"

"Sorry, mum."

"You should go to bed soon, dear. It's getting late."

"It's only eleven."

"I know that, but it's almost the end of the summer holidays. You'll be going off to school soon."

"All right, mum. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, dear."

As Hermione climbed into her nightgown, her hormones clambered mercilessly around her mind. 'You're in love with him, you know. I know that, and you do too.'

"I am not!" she whispered back, turning off the light.

'Are too.'

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Ronald Weasley, the smartest, most handsome boy in Gryffindor – no, in all of Hogwarts – Quidditch player extraordinaire, and most definitely NOT in love with a certain bushy-haired know-it-all who wasn't even pretty –

'But she looked quite good at the Yule Ball, didn't she?' a nasty little voice that Ron had no intention of paying any attention to whispered maliciously.

"Shut up!" he snapped, making Pig hoot excitedly and do a sort of one- winged aerial dance. "And she did not!"

'Then why did you get so upset because Krum took her instead of you?'

"Because – because she was consorting with the enemy!"

'Suuuure.'

"It's true!" Pause. "And why am I arguing with myself anyway?"

'Because I'm right and you know it.'

"About what?"

'That you are in love with a certain bushy-haired know-it-all who isn't even – "

"She is too!"

Pause. 'The prosecution rests.'

Ron felt the blood rush to his ears. "Oh, bloody hell. Did I say that out loud?"

'Yes. You did.'

Ron tilted his face dramatically toward the ceiling and shouted, "WHY?" at the top of his lungs.

Tragically, his answer did not take the form of divine guidance, but the sound of Ginny yelling, "Ron! Shut up in there!" from the other end of the corridor.

"Thanks, God," he muttered sarcastically.

'You're welcome.'

"Agh! Are you still in there?"

'No, I'm off sunbathing on Mercury. Of course I'm still here!'

"Go away."

'Not until you're honest with yourself.'

"I am being honest!" A sudden thought occurred to him. "And while we're on the subject of being honest, why are you behaving as if you're completely outside of me when you're supposed to come from inside my own head?"

There was an embarrassed pause. 'Was I being that obvious?'

That stopped him dead in his tracks. "You mean you really are separate from me?"

Longer pause. 'I won't answer that.'

"Come on, give it up. You really are somebody else, aren't you?"

He thought he felt a faint sense of chagrin, then – was it a shrug? 'Oh, all right. Look, I can't explain too much now, but you'll understand when the school year starts. Can you give our… ah… scar-headed friend a message for me?'

"Can't you just send owls like normal people?"

'Listen, Weasley,' the other voice said in tones of tight impatience, 'I'm on a tight schedule here. Harry's going to be hearing from me later this week, so I don't need you to do this, but it'll go much quicker if you do, and if it goes much quicker there's a better chance that I'll have time to do other things that need doing, and if I do those things that means that there might be a chance that the universe won't be destroyed! Now will you deliver the damn message?'

"Well, if you put it that way…"

'Exactly. Now, I want you to copy this down, word for word. Do you have parchment and ink on hand?'

"Hang on." He rummaged through his desk for writing materials. "Got it."

'Good.' The voice paused. 'Tell Harry that when the Doom Carrots fly, remember this: As I knit it, so mote it be.'

Ron blinked. "Er – are you sure that's the right message?"

'Positive.' The voice was sounding very dry for some reason. 'I've had plenty of time to mull it over. Just send him the message. Believe me, he'll need it.'

"Who are you, anyway?"

'A friend.' Before Ron could protest, the voice continued. 'Oh, and a word of advice before I go: You might want to get closer to Hermione before this next year is over. I wasn't just trying to get you to admit your feelings for my amusement, you know. Now, go to sleep. You'll need it, and I'll explain everything once you get to school. Good night.' And the voice was gone.

Ron sat still for a while, mouth open slightly at what he had just heard. Finally, he shook his head, got up, and put on his pajamas, thinking no more of the strange voice and what it had told him. But as he blew out his candle and lay back in bed, he looked out the window at where the garden gnomes were sneaking back into the garden over the hedge and whispered, "Good night!"

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The golden-eyed woman cursed to herself as she ran away from the Burrow into the surrounding woods. The Granger girl had been easy enough to trick – she was bright, but still did not believe in the supernatural, for all that she was a witch – but this boy had come close to finding her out. Dangerously close.

She shrugged to herself. Mafinki-Phurphenblossom might not approve, but no harm was done, and Mafinki-Phurphenblossom was hardly in a position to approve or disapprove of anything anymore. Once again, she cursed the dead goddess whose avatar she was. Bad enough that her Lady should be the goddess of baking, thus saddling her with this ridiculous task, but the fact that she was also the goddess of pronouns made it impossible to tell any of the assorted "chosen ones" who seemed to grow and spread among the centuries like destiny-infected fungi what they were born to do in the first place. They thus spent a good portion of their formative years floundering around, trying to figure things out, when they could be doing much more constructive things with their time. No, it was just as well that the Weasley boy had found her out; they could then move past the cryptic preliminaries and get on with their lives – and she would, after endless centuries of waiting, be free of her unwanted obligation to a dead goddess.

Elba Mafinki-Phurphenblossom, once Elba Hawkes, tilted back her head and smiled, raising her arms to the sky as though to embrace the stars. A passerby, if there had been anyone walking through the woods in the middle of the night, would have seen a tall blonde woman with her arms raised as if in homage. Her face held no particular beauty, nor was her figure terribly spectacular, but there was something about her – or was it only the strange glamour of the starlight filtering through the trees?

The starlight glittered around her briefly, and then she was gone, the long golden hair that fell to the ground the only sign of her passing.