Disclaimer: Don't own HP… Wish I owned Cedric Diggory though…

(A/N) Takes place sometime in the beginning of year 5, I don't know exactly when though… Probably before Umbridge. Ain't fluff grand? Enjoy!

… 27 … 28 … 29… Hermione's brown eyes darted across the sunburned bridge of his nose. He stayed out too long for Quidditch again, she mused. How can one person have so many freckles in one place?

Ron shifted his position, glancing up for a second from his History of Magic essay. Which is probably horrible. I'll have to proofread it later. She smiled at him, studying his face, opposed to her own essay. He's so cute, just sitting there. His face was flushed from concentration, and his ears were an imperceptible color of crimson. He looked up when he sensed her looking at him.

"What?" he asked. "Do I have something on my nose again?"

She laughed inwardly. Just a myriad of freckles. "No Ronald, the dirt came off first year." He grinned at her. "I was just staring out to space. Infinity." Nodding, he attempted to concentrate on his essay again. Yeah, that's how many freckles you have. Infinite. What if it were a kiss for every freckle? Wouldn't that be nice? She giggled. Ron put down his pencil with a small smack and looked at her. His troubled blue eyes were blood-shot and small lines had formed at the sides from frowning for so long.

"Seriously, Hermione. Will you stop staring at me? Bloody hell…"

She frowned angrily. "Don't curse, Ron! And I wasn't staring at you." He rolled his eyes at her and looked down, leaving her to seethe in oppressing silence.

Why does he always have to be such a git? He's rude, frustratingly immature, grammatically challenged, annoying, illegally freckleful… no that's not a word. She let out a quick angry sigh. Ron's doing things to my head.

Suddenly, her pursed lips pulled into a small smile. Why am I trying to convince myself of Ron's annoyingness? No, wait, that's not a word either. She shifted position and glanced at him again. She shook her head quickly and looked down at her own essay, starting the first body paragraph. Seriously, this shouldn't take me so long.

In 1712, Brutus the Brutal attacked a small village in southern… southern France, nearly… nearly obliterating half its popules… no, population… Oh, come on. With a frustrated sigh, she put her quill and scroll down again and looked at what was truly on her mind. The picture that had seemingly been floating through her vision matched the picture her sight was showing. A picture of a red-haired, freckle-faced boy. Again she sighed, tilting her head to the side. Ron, Ron, Ron… you truly are addicting…

"G'night Hermione," someone called behind her, and Hermione looked around, startled.

"Oh, bye Luna," she replied. Ron's eyes followed the odd girl as Luna passed by and headed out of the library.

"Why do you hang out with her?" Ron asked when Luna had disappeared. There was a scornful sneer on his face.

"Why do you care?" Hermione didn't look up. Yet another typical Ron question.

"She's just so… weird." Ron looked back to the door, slightly apprehensive, as though he thought Luna would come running down and slap him across the face.

"I hang out with you don't I?"

Before he could figure out her retort, Hermione stood up, brushed past him and walked out, books tucked tightly between her arms. Ron stared after her, a befuddled and confused expression on his face.

That damn drug called Ron.

(A/N) Te gusta? Review!