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Chapter Eleven: Ron's Diary
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After the spectacle in the Common Room, Ron fled noiselessly back to his bed. He ripped a small book out of his trunk. Stamped across the leather cover were the words, 'RONALD'S JOURNAL'. It was empty. Groping for a quill and ink, Ron began to write:
'Dear Diary,
What am I supposed to do? I've fancied Hermione for ages - since third year. I never told either of them. Just caught them snogging in the Common Room. I can't hate them for it. I can't tell them now, anyway. I can't tell them ever, actually. I can't make her my girlfriend ever, either. What kind of friend would I be if I started going out with Harry's ex-girlfriend? She was off-limits as our friend. It was a kind of unspoken rule: don't fall for Hermione. I suppose we both broke it.
She kissed me once. Last year. Didn't wash it off till McGonagall had a private word about personal hygiene. No, really. Harry doesn't know about that. I can't be annoyed with him. No wonder she picked him over me. He's quite good-looking, loads of money, brave, famous, funny, nice guy - any girl would be glad to have him. Me? Red hair, freckles, poor, useless at lessons; she's gone off me since I made jokes about Eloise Midgen's acne. Her nose IS pretty funny looking, though.'
BONG. Ron stopped writing. BONG. He dropped the quill. BONG. Ron put it back into the pot on his bedside table. BONG. He reached for a glass. BONG. Poured some water into it. BONG. Took a drink. BONG. Still drinking. BONG. Put the glass down. BONG. Stuffed the book into a drawer. BONG. Knocked over the ink, cursing. BONG. "Scourgify." BONG. Put down the wand and rolled over.
Soon, Ron heard slow footsteps on the staircase. He changed his breathing pattern, trying to sound asleep. Ron listened as Harry undressed and got into bed. Then Harry was sleeping, muttering names: "Cedric, Sirius," with pain in his voice. "Hermione," he mumbled, but his voice had softened. Ron closed his eyes and submitted to slumber.
Chapter Eleven: Ron's Diary
::::::--------------
After the spectacle in the Common Room, Ron fled noiselessly back to his bed. He ripped a small book out of his trunk. Stamped across the leather cover were the words, 'RONALD'S JOURNAL'. It was empty. Groping for a quill and ink, Ron began to write:
'Dear Diary,
What am I supposed to do? I've fancied Hermione for ages - since third year. I never told either of them. Just caught them snogging in the Common Room. I can't hate them for it. I can't tell them now, anyway. I can't tell them ever, actually. I can't make her my girlfriend ever, either. What kind of friend would I be if I started going out with Harry's ex-girlfriend? She was off-limits as our friend. It was a kind of unspoken rule: don't fall for Hermione. I suppose we both broke it.
She kissed me once. Last year. Didn't wash it off till McGonagall had a private word about personal hygiene. No, really. Harry doesn't know about that. I can't be annoyed with him. No wonder she picked him over me. He's quite good-looking, loads of money, brave, famous, funny, nice guy - any girl would be glad to have him. Me? Red hair, freckles, poor, useless at lessons; she's gone off me since I made jokes about Eloise Midgen's acne. Her nose IS pretty funny looking, though.'
BONG. Ron stopped writing. BONG. He dropped the quill. BONG. Ron put it back into the pot on his bedside table. BONG. He reached for a glass. BONG. Poured some water into it. BONG. Took a drink. BONG. Still drinking. BONG. Put the glass down. BONG. Stuffed the book into a drawer. BONG. Knocked over the ink, cursing. BONG. "Scourgify." BONG. Put down the wand and rolled over.
Soon, Ron heard slow footsteps on the staircase. He changed his breathing pattern, trying to sound asleep. Ron listened as Harry undressed and got into bed. Then Harry was sleeping, muttering names: "Cedric, Sirius," with pain in his voice. "Hermione," he mumbled, but his voice had softened. Ron closed his eyes and submitted to slumber.