They belong to JKR, although it's quite fun to delve into the depths of Hermione's mind…
"We're allowed to bring guests, and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's so stupid then I won't bother!"
Oh dear, I just said that with my outside voice, didn't I?
Great, Granger, juuuuust spectacular. Why don't you just propose to him while you're at it? Give him a real chuckle.
Well, I suppose it serves me right for thinking ahead of myself. I had the whole scenario pictured in my mind, drastically different than the one playing out before my very eyes. These disgusting pods aren't making it any better, either.
Why, oh WHY did I think he would even want to go with me? Honestly? I guess I just had finally come to the conclusion that in order for anything to ever become real between Ron and I, I would have to take that first leap of faith.
Well, you certainly didn't plan on leaping off a cliff and landing in a vat of bubotuber pus, did you, Hermione?
And yet, that's where I am. It was a whim, actually. When Professor Slughorn first told me about his Christmas party, he had cornered me outside the Great Hall after supper. He droned on and on about how unfortunate it was that Harry had managed to evade all of his parties since the beginning of the term, and then he began to talk of the big Christmas soiree he was planning, and something about inviting a vampire. My mind had wandered off to who knows where, because all I was concentrating on was being a best friend to Harry and providing him an excuse to skive the party—and perhaps a viable enough excuse that could get me out of it, as well. Ah, but then I was thwarted, because he specifically asked me when Harry would be available so that he could schedule the party around Harry's "busy schedule." Drat.
One thing I am NOT skilled at is lying. If it's for the protection of someone else, I can most certainly keep my mouth shut. And, if it is a dire circumstance, I can fib…reasonably well. Some would say my fibs can be even halfway convincing sometimes.
But a teacher? My face always turns horrendously scarlet and I can't think of anything fast enough, and I end up sputtering to the point of which anyone would recognize a lie that could come out of my mouth. Hence, I tell the truth. So, much to my dismay (and Harry's, when I told him), I gave Professor Slughorn a day that I knew Harry could make it. Then he patted me forcefully on the back and said something about being able to invite a guest.
A guest? A guest, like a date? The opportunity to ask someone to come with me under the pretense of a Professor's silly party so I wouldn't appear over-anxious?
It seemed that I didn't need that Felix Felicis to tweak my circumstances after all! This was perfect! I could ask Ron, I know he's wanted to come to a party thrown by Slughorn, and I know he's always felt a bit left out that he isn't included in the "Slug Club"—ugh, horrid name, isn't it?
Ah, but at the same time, somewhat endearing. Whenever someone uses the term, my mind wanders back to a sunny day almost 4 years ago…to the day that Ronald Weasley first defended my honor. And in return, he was forced to cough up slugs for the better part of an hour. But he stood up for me. He stood in between Malfoy and I and attempted to hex him into oblivion with that broken wand of his. It was then that I first saw the amazing spark of loyalty that runs deep in his veins. He is amazing, honestly, he is.
Hermione! How is it you manage to turn every little thing into something to do with Ron? You know, the Ron that just bit your head off when you went out on a limb and mentioned that you were planning on asking him on some sort of quasi-date? Yes, THAT Ron, remember?
Where was I? Wait, what is Harry doing? Oh dear, he's just lost his pod. Oh, well.
I finally steal a glance at Ron, and I notice he has a far-off sort of look in his eye that I cannot quite place. He seems a bit shell-shocked, actually. His ears are still pink, of course, but not out of anger—out of…embarrassment? Surprise? He's never been so unreadable to me before.
Then his gaze meets mine, for one heart-stopping moment.
"You were going to ask me?"
Of course I was going to ask you, you dolt! I've only been madly in love with you for years now! Why wouldn't I ask you? You, who makes me feel warmth on the coldest day of the year? You, who can make me go from a loquacious, well-versed girl into a deaf-mute with a simple smile? You, who can look down at me with those enormous blue eyes that hold so much awe for the world around you? You, who can make time stop and yet make the world spin for me all at the same time? And you ask me whether I was going to ask you to spend just a mere few hours in my presence, so that I can finally make you see the fun you could have had with me at the Yule Ball? So that I can perhaps look like someone you could see yourself with, even if Harry wasn't around?
HONESTLY! Can one human being possibly be that thick? It's taking a great amount of self-control to keep myself from flinging my pod at him.
I can't read his face, for the first time in a very long time. That's how I attempt to make sense out of him—I try to read him like a book. Turn Ronald Weasley into text, put him on paper, and read him. The only thing I can read out of his face right now is either a dumbfounded realization of my attraction to him, or the thought of going with me inwardly repulses him, and he's trying to soften the blow for me.
Hang on, there. He couldn't possibly return the attraction. No, no. It must be the repulsion. That has to be it. Well, if there's one thing I can do, it's fan a spark of row into an explosion. Nothing thrills me more than pushing Ron's buttons when need be.
"Yes, but obviously if you'd rather I hook-up with McLaggen…"
Ah, far enough, Hermione. No need to finish that sentence. You've said as much as you need to.
And here it is, the pivotal split second that I always crave during our most heated rows. The moment where Ron either gives up in defeat (which rarely happens) or he comes back with a cut even more malicious than mine. But in this split second, just this mere moment in time, his face goes slack as he thinks about what to say. He may argue later that he says things he didn't mean, that he wasn't thinking, but I know better. Because it's in this moment, I can look into his eyes and see HIM. Unadulterated Ron. Ron with no barriers, no walls, no shields. It's the most vulnerable I've ever seen him. Pity that it's such a beautiful moment, because as soon as it passes, I end up insulted.
It's a small price to pay.
"No, I wouldn't."
Ah, the insult, the cut, there it is, I knew it was com—what? I…uh…what?
Um, Hermione, you know you're in trouble if even I'm rendered speechless. Remember me, your mind? The one that's always working? Yes, well, apparently I've stepped out to lunch for a moment, because I'm not giving you a single clear thought to work with. How unfortunate for you.
I look into his eyes once I have partially registered what he's just said to me. Three words, three simple words have rendered me completely speechless and thoughtless. The world is upside down and yet nothing seems more right-side up.
Since I'm incapable of speaking, I just smile at him. A small, tentative smile is all I can really muster up. But it's enough for him to smile back at me.
And that's enough for now.