Perfect. Just bloody perfect.
Having the realization that I'm meant to be with my best friend hitting me with the force of the Hogwarts Express was rather unsettling.
Even more unsettling are the dreams. Realizing that I love Hermione seems to have opened a portal through which dreams of us together appear to be traveling through at an alarmingly quick pace.
Alarming.
That pretty much sums up this whole ordeal for me. It's not that I find being with Hermione alarming, it's that fact that now I have to tell her.
But she already knows.
"But that's not fair. How can she know before me?"
3:00am isn't the best time for anyone—including myself—to talk to me. But tonight my inner voices are being merciless.
Unlike most people who have one inner voice to tell them what to do, I have three. One that tells me what my mother would think, one that tells me what Hermione would think, and one that is as paranoid as Mad Eye Moody.
Now one would think this would help with decisions, but being me, I usually don't listen to them and make my own—usually wrong—choices.
I once told Hermione about these voices, but all she did was feel my forehead and mumble something about St. Mungos, at which I quickly announced that I had been joking. No one is going to lock me up in a ward with Gilderoy Lockhart.
But at the moment, my sleep-deprived mind is having a hard time fighting them off.
"OK," I heard myself say, "so I love Hermione and she knows that I love her."
Yeah, that's pretty much it.
"But how does she know?"
How could she not know? She's not an idiot.
"I didn't know."
Yeah, well…you are an idiot.
"Well if she knows, why hasn't she said anything?" I asked loudly, starting to feel annoyed.
Maybe she thinks it will go away if she ignores it.
"Shut up!"
"Ron?"
"Bloody hell—"
The sound of Hermione's voice shocked me so much that I fell out of my bed and knocked over the bedside table. I found myself on the floor, where I stayed for a few moments and then stood up, smiling at her.
"What's up?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Are you all right?" she asked, looking worried.
"Yep. I'm great."
"I thought I heard shouting," she said, still looking concerned.
"That's because I was shouting."
"Are you going to tell me what you were shouting about?"
"Nope."
"It sounded like you were arguing with someone."
"All right, Detective Granger, enough with the questions."
"Who were you arguing with?"
"It was a dream, okay. That's all."
"Okay," she said softly. Then she laughed and said, "Ron stop flinching, you big baby. You fell all of two feet onto carpet, it can't be that bad."
"I'm not flinch—"
"Yes, you are."
"Fine. I have a low tolerance for pain. Happy?"
"Oh, yes, extremely." She said, rolling her eyes, "my mission in life is to cause you pain and embarrassment."
"You deserve a medal."
She shook her head and then said, "Well, if you're finished yelling, then I suppose I'll go back to bed."
"Wait!"
She turned back and looked at me expectantly.
"You can't just come in my room, wake me up, and then leave."
"I woke you up?" she asked indignantly.
"I mean," I continued, ignoring her, "you didn't even knock."
"Knock?" she said, disbelievingly. "I thought someone was attacking you or something."
"And now I won't be able to go back to sleep," I said, raising the volume of my voice a little more.
"Ronald Weasley! Will you please shut up!"
"So I reckon that you should at least sit up with me until I feel tired again."
"Oh, you do, do you?"
"Oh, yeah. I reckon it would help immensely if you were to do that."
The corners of her mouth twitched slightly and she said, "Well, if you think it will help…I don't have work tomorrow."
"Excellent." I said, smiling, "Let's look at Quidditch Weekly."
"Well that should put me to sleep."
"Hermione—"
"I know. I know…Quidditch is the best thing in the world."
"Well, maybe not the best thing, but it's definitely in the top four."
"Oh, I see," she said with the tone of someone gaining powerful insight to very important things.
"Don't mock me." I demanded as I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the couch in our living room.
"I wasn't mocking."
"Yes you were."
"Maybe a little," she admitted and then seeing the magazine in my hand, she said, "Ron, you're my best friend, and I would do almost anything for you but I'm not going to read a Quidditch magazine to you."
"Oh, all right," I said disappointedly. "Let's just talk about Quidditch then."
I sat down on the couch and guided her to sit beside me.
"So…how's work been going for you, Ron?" she asked. "Playing for the Cannons must be a dream come true."
"I'm only a reserve." This was not the direction I wanted to be heading.
"Probably not for much longer," she said, smirking.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Kellerman may not be Keeper for much longer."
"Why?" I asked, suddenly very interested.
"Well," she said slowly, "I'm really not supposed to talk about it."
"Oh, come on Hermione, you talk about the secret things you do for work all the time."
Hermione had become an investigative reporter for the Daily Prophet after we left Hogwarts, and she was usually responsible for all the important articles for the paper. She would be editor if she didn't like exposing evil doers so much.
"Well…I suppose if you don't tell anyone…"
"I won't tell a soul."
"Well, my secret source from the Cannons locker room," here she broke off, pointed at me, and smiled, "tells me that Kellerman and his wife have been arguing for quite some time."
"Yeah and…?"
"And Kellerman seems to be having a little problem with alcoholism."
"But—"
"Wait for it, I'm not finished yet."
"Okay."
"So when I went for an interview with Kellerman, I saw him talking with the coach, who told him that if he showed up drunk for one more game that he wouldn't be playing for the Cannons any longer."
"What!"
"Still not finished, Ron."
"Sorry."
"Well, Kellerman wasn't at all happy with the coach, and just between you and me, he was a little tipsy, so he left the team and said he would find one that appreciates him."
"He left the team? Just like that?"
"Yep."
"But I'm the reserve keeper." I said disbelievingly.
"Yes, you are."
"And if he really left…"
"He did."
"Then I'll be bumped up to the starting position."
"Good use of those deductive reasoning skills, Ron."
"When did you hear about this?"
"After the game on Friday."
"Why didn't you say something before now?"
"I don't know," she said, smiling. "I figured you would want your coach to tell you the good news."
"I don't believe this. I can't believe you waited so long to tell me." I said hysterically.
By now, the excitement was starting to kick in.
Hermione laughed and then said, "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Now you'll never go back to sleep."
"How can you even think of sleep? This is the best thing that's ever happened to me!"
"Oh, a man becoming an alcoholic, losing his wife, and quitting his job is the best thing that's ever happened to you?"
"Yes, it looks that way."
Hermione laughed and said, "Well, I think you deserve this Ron. You're a great Keeper."
"Thank you." I said quietly, suddenly aware of the alluring night gown Hermione was wearing, and the way her skin was slightly flushed from the heat of the room.
"You're welcome," she said softly, resting her head on my shoulder.
This is the Hermione I love. The one that doesn't seem rushed. The one that makes me feel important; like I'm all that matters. The one that makes jokes and laughs, and has a good time. The one that has all the answers to my problems and always takes time to help me.
Not everyone sees this Hermione. Most people see the business Hermione, who works like there is no tomorrow, and tells off anyone who interrupts her concentration.
No one else, except maybe Harry, sees my Hermione.
But that's the way I like things.
I want her to be mine.
Maybe you should tell her that, you great prat.
"Hermione, I think I need to tell you something."
No answer.
"Hermione?"
I looked down and saw that she was asleep.
"Perfect. I'm ready to confess my undying love to you, and you're asleep."
There's always tomorrow.