Romance / Chapter One of Two / Ron & Hermione

A/N: Inspired by "This Ruined Puzzle" by Dashboard Confessional, though is different from the song is every way but one.

Marked To Find Your Way Back

Chapter The First: Ron

The wind is roaring outside, but the common room is mostly quiet, except for the crackling of the gentle, warming fire and the quiet murmurs of private conversations and discussions about homework. Once every few minutes a strange squeaking sound emerges from a somewhat suspicious group of third years sitting in the corner, but I ignore this, though, as a prefect, I should probably investigate. Hermione would want me to investigate.

My mind is far too occupied. There is an endless stream of thoughts swirling around in here.

Thoughts of her.

There she sits – she isn't paying attention to the students in the corner, either; unlike me, however, it's not from lack of desire to do find out what exactly they're up to; she is much too emerged in her book to even have noticed it.

I wonder what she's reading – not something for school, I know. The book is much too small. Now that I think about it, she did mention something about Pride and Prejudice. I remember her telling me it's a Muggle book, about a girl named Elizabeth and a man whom she detests named Mr. Darcy, who despite his original dislike for Elizabeth, just happens to have fallen in love with her, though she isn't aware of it. I remembered because it reminded me of myself and Hermione.

Hermione detests me, I know she does. And just like Mr. Darcy, despite my original dislike for Hermione, I've fallen in love with her.

I asked Hermione if Elizabeth ever returns Mr. Darcy's feelings, if he ever gets the girl. It would be good news for me if he did. Then I might stand a chance.

"I'm only half-way through the book, Ronald," she told me. "So I don't know…"

"Well – do you think he'll get the girl?"

"I think so," Hermione had said stiffly. "Though, I'm not sure Elizabeth should be so forgiving to Mr. Darcy, he's been quite rude to her since they're first meeting, and he hasn't done much to make up for it."

I wasn't too pleased with this answer. I figure that it's probably how Hermione feels about me.

So here I am, sitting trying to watch at her without anyone noticing. I think we're the reason the room is so quiet – we've just had another one of our infamous arguments. My own bloody fault, really…

"Hermione – would you help me with my Transfiguration essay?" I had asked, quite innocently I might add.

She looked up from her book.

"When you say 'help'…"

"I wasn't paying any attention in class yesterday," I told her.

"So not only do you have know idea what you're supposed to be doing due to your own incompetence, but you've waited until the last moment to do it, and on top of everything else you've decided to ask for my help while I'm busy doing something else…"

"It's not the last minute, it's not even eight yet – and I could even be doing it tomorrow at breakfast, but I've decided to take a bit of initiative," I protested. "Besides, you don't look busy to me."

"I'm reading!"

"Well, I'm sure that can be put off…" I had said, stupidly.

"No, Ron – it can't. And you know why – because I would rather read this book than help you with an essay that I've already done myself, simply because you're lazy!"

"But you love doing schoolwork!"

"Is that what you think? You've known me for more than five years, and you think I enjoy schoolwork…"

"Yes! You read all your schoolbooks from front to back before we even get to school, you get upset when we get excused from exams, and in third year you took every class that was offered – despite having to request Ministry assistance in order to attend all of them!"

Hermione simply glared at me.

"I might want to do my best Ron – but don't think I enjoy getting a cramp in my hand from taking down comprehensive notes which I then not only hand over to you, but explain to you when you don't understand, and then tell you how to write them into an essay which I then EDIT FOR YOU!"

She seemed to have lost her patience with me by the end of her rant, and her angry shout that she finished with brought the common room to a stunned silence.

"So, you don't want to help me then?" I had said, flashing her an adorable grin. Or what I had thought was adorable grin.

Let's just say she didn't react well to that.

So now, I'm sitting here, scribbling on a piece of parchment that is supposed to be my Transfiguration essay, and she's returned to reading her book. I might ask Harry for help – but he's gone to Dumbledore's office, and he's never in what I'd call a 'good mood' when he comes back from Dumbledore's office. Not since Sirius's death, at least.

Poor Harry, he's in a right state, nowadays. I think there's something he's hiding from Hermione and me, and I can't imagine what it could be. He's always told us everything. Must be pretty bad.

I feel that Harry's the only thing keeping Hermione and me friends. I mean, the girl must hate me – but she's decided to be civil to me for Harry's sake. She's been much more impatient with me this year than ever before. It all comes to down to her absolute loathing of me, I'd say.

Though there are times when I think that can't possibly be true. Only two weeks ago she came to me in tears. She was terrified – terrified for her mum and dad, for Ginny, for Harry…

"…and for you, Ron," she had cried. "I'm just so scared."

I put my arms around her and held her head of adorably bushy hair to my chest, frightened only that she might hear how fast and hard my heart was thumping.

"Why are you so frightened?" I had asked her softly.

"It's not going to be over with Sirius, Ron. More people are going to be killed, and they'll probably be close to us. We're right at the center of it all…we've been lucky so many times. It can't always be like that…"

She stopped talking for a minute or two, crying.

"And Harry – what Harry must be going through…" she said quietly. "It's him Voldemort's after, Ron…"

That was probably it. She had come to me because she couldn't have possible gone to Harry. But I couldn't help but think that she wouldn't have come to me, wouldn't have let me hold her like that, if she hates me as much as I think she does.

I watch her reading, and I still can't help but wonder if Mr. Darcy ever gets the girl. I wish I knew. Maybe then I'd know if I have a chance.

Then, Hermione stands up, looking to the group of suspicious third years. She must have finally noticed. She walks over, with her hands on her waist, and asks them what's going on. They look at her guiltily, and point to something in the center of the circle they've formed. Hermione clasps her hands to her mouth.

Must be bad…

She bends down and scoops something up, and orders one of the students to follow her – and then she walks to the portrait hole, furiously I might add, and sets off with the frightened looking kid. Bless him – I wouldn't want to be in his shoes.

I can't help but smile as I run the replay of what just happened – they way she marched over with her hands on her waist. She's irresistible when she's mad, I just want to take her and kiss her when she's like that. It's probably not a great idea, though.

I look over to where she had been sitting; her book is still sitting on the arm of the chair. An idea crosses my mind, though, like most of my ideas, it's probably a very unwise one.

Couldn't hurt.

Yes – it could hurt very much, Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Not if she already hates you…

I wish I were a bit more decisive.

Maybe I should do it – I could always lie and say it wasn't me.

She'd know, you idiot.

I scribble my thougts down on my parchment, and tear it from the sheet. I fiddle with it for a moment.

There's no harm in it. I can't see how this could possibly upset her.

Alright – I've decided. I take a glance at the portrait hole, and then rush over to where she was sitting. I pick up the book. It is, as it turns out, Pride and Prejudice.

I open it, and find a page marked – near the very end – its corner is turned. I slip the piece of parchment in with the marked page, and set the book back down, before returning to my place on the far side of the common room.

I look down at my parchment – it's scribbled upon, complete with doodles and a few scratched out retracings of Hermione's name surrounded by hearts, and now it's torn, as well. I shake my head at my own idiocy, before throwing my things into my book bag I glance back at Hermione's book, then I pick up my book bag and leave the common room, setting off for the library, still wondering if he ever gets the girl.