I wipe the salty water from my puffy, red eyes. I peek out from behind the curtains to make sure all the other girls really did leave. The coast is clear, so I pull the hangings all the way back, breaking the silencing charm. I dip my fingers in the water pitcher by my bed and sprinkle its contents into my eyes. Blinking, I reach into my trunk and pull out a small, hand-held mirror. I examine my face and watch the red blotches fade back to cream. My robes are wrinkled so I smooth them with my hands. I dig my Transfiguration book out of my trunk, grab a quill and parchment, and head downstairs to the common room. I seat myself at a table near a window and staart writing. The crimson-and-gold room is crowded with about have of the Gryffindors because it is gloomy outside now that the snow has turned to slush and there's a strong wind bending the trees.
Soon, I am completely absorbed in my Transfiguration essay. Words form on my paper, ink glistening, until I'm startled out of my intense concentration by someone's shout. "Hermione! We didn't see you there! How's your essay coming?" Harry calls across the room from an armchair where he is playing exploding snap with Ron. His torso is bent at an odd angle so he can see me around the many tables, chairs, and people scattered about the common room. I lay my quill on top of my essay and walk towards the pair.
"It's fine. I'm nearly finished I think," I yawn. "Don't you two have homework, as well?" I raise my eyebrows, knowing full well that they are procrastinating again.
"Yeah," Harry yawns back at me. Not a moment after Harry's mouth closes, Ron's opens in a yawn.
"We'll do it later, 'Mione," Ron says widely through the tail end of his yawn. Lavender glances our way – no doubt searching for Parvati – and catches the highly contagious yawn. I glare at my mates. "Tell you what, Hermione, let's make a deal. I'll start my homework after a round of exploding snap with you."
I consider this idea then extend my arm. "Deal," I say, shaking Ron's hand vigorously. "Budge up, Harry, I'm gonna beat this bloke," I say mock-fiercely. Harry laughs and vacates his chair. I sit down, primly adjusting my robes and royally declare, "Sir Harry, I shall need your assistance in defeating this rogue."
"Even with the aide of such a valiant knight as he, I shall have you, Lady," Ron retorts, having caught on quickly for once.
"Oh, but M'Lady," Harry interjects glancing at his watch, "I must unwillingly decline your request!"
"Good Sir Harry! Wherefore must you leave me in such peril?" I explain, acting distressed.
Harry leans down and whispers for only Ron and me to hear, "Fair Lady, my heart belongs to another." Harry gives us an exaggerated wink and walks (a little faster than usual) out of the room. I laugh along with Ron, but I know that mirth doesn't show in my eyes. Ron, of course, doesn't notice this.
As the two of us play, I feel so keenly my continued charade that I have to constantly search Ron's eyes to prove to myself that he doesn't know what I'm hiding. It was really not Ron who made me cry so hard, but rather my own self-hate.