I heard her voice, and banged my head on the wall. That was quite stupid,
for one: it hurt like hell and two: dust now covered the section of ground,
not to mention my hair.
It wasn't that I didn't want to see Hermione, but I think I see her enough during the school year. Now that she'd be here I'd be constantly badgered to do my homework, and told off for making fun of Kreacher the Dreadful. I'd have to wash my face and make sure my jeans didn't have stains. I couldn't sleep in anymore, nor stay up late. She'd thwart my any plans on eavesdropping on the Order meetings and she'd keep me from helping Fred and George.
And then I'd have to not talk about her as much as I typically do, and I'd have to try not to blush when she's within 15 feet of me. I couldn't talk to Ginny about feelings anymore, and Fred and George's teasing would be increased about my gawky actions around her.
This was going to be hell, but I couldn't let her control me, I decided, rubbing my head where I had hit the wall. So I took a deep, commanding and manly breath and stepped out the kitchen to see her.
She stood in the doorway; her long, curly hair swept up in a ponytail. She wore some sort of shirt with a collar that was red with a teeny yellow man where the breast pocket seam should've been and faded blue jeans. She gripped a leather suitcase and Crookshanks stood faithfully beside her.
I approached her and greeted her warmly as a large smile lit up her face. She greeted me back and set her suitcase down for a hug. After, I turned to help her with her suitcase and her voice echoed behind me on the staircase landing.
"Oh, Ron, look at this dust in your hair," she said, and moved closer to me, her breath tickling the little hairs on the back of my neck and her fingers dusted my hair and put it back in place. Her warm hands tucked the tag into my tee shirt.
"There," she sighed, the warmth of her breath hitting my neck again. She walked in front of me up the stairs with Crookshanks and I watched her walk.
Maybe I could go without being mean to Kreacher for a few weeks, control wasn't that big of a deal to me after all.
It wasn't that I didn't want to see Hermione, but I think I see her enough during the school year. Now that she'd be here I'd be constantly badgered to do my homework, and told off for making fun of Kreacher the Dreadful. I'd have to wash my face and make sure my jeans didn't have stains. I couldn't sleep in anymore, nor stay up late. She'd thwart my any plans on eavesdropping on the Order meetings and she'd keep me from helping Fred and George.
And then I'd have to not talk about her as much as I typically do, and I'd have to try not to blush when she's within 15 feet of me. I couldn't talk to Ginny about feelings anymore, and Fred and George's teasing would be increased about my gawky actions around her.
This was going to be hell, but I couldn't let her control me, I decided, rubbing my head where I had hit the wall. So I took a deep, commanding and manly breath and stepped out the kitchen to see her.
She stood in the doorway; her long, curly hair swept up in a ponytail. She wore some sort of shirt with a collar that was red with a teeny yellow man where the breast pocket seam should've been and faded blue jeans. She gripped a leather suitcase and Crookshanks stood faithfully beside her.
I approached her and greeted her warmly as a large smile lit up her face. She greeted me back and set her suitcase down for a hug. After, I turned to help her with her suitcase and her voice echoed behind me on the staircase landing.
"Oh, Ron, look at this dust in your hair," she said, and moved closer to me, her breath tickling the little hairs on the back of my neck and her fingers dusted my hair and put it back in place. Her warm hands tucked the tag into my tee shirt.
"There," she sighed, the warmth of her breath hitting my neck again. She walked in front of me up the stairs with Crookshanks and I watched her walk.
Maybe I could go without being mean to Kreacher for a few weeks, control wasn't that big of a deal to me after all.
