She sat under a tree, her bushy hair clouding her face as she bent over a book. She was always reading those books, Ron reflected. Her genius was just one of the many things that made her beautiful to him.
He'd finally gathered the courage. He was going to tell Hermione exactly how he felt about her. He'd grilled Harry for suggestions, who had risen to the occasion and told him exactly how men in Muggle romance novels woo women.
"Women love it when men are deep and poetic. They particularly love metaphorical language."
The redhead was ready. He'd thought up several approaches he was convinced would cause Hermione to throw herself at him, declaring her love for him. He'd stayed up until four in the morning, trying to get the words together. Yet now, as he stared appraisingly at the bookworm, he lost his nerve.
Harry nudged him. Ron swallowed his fears and tremblingly approached her. "H-Hermione? Can I have a word?"
Hermione frowned at the interruption, but upon looking at the desperate look on Ron's face, she put a bookmark in her book and closed it. "What is it?"
Ron sat in the grass next to her, trying to find the words. "It's just...for a few years, I've had these feelings for you." He paused for effect before adding the poetic language that would make her swoon. "And it's just that...you're the Snitch, and I know I'm not a good Seeker, but I was hoping I could catch you for an extra hundred-fifty points."
Fifteen feet away, Harry smacked his forehead, wishing that Ron had discussed his ideas with him beforehand.
Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "What?" she hissed incredulously.
Ron frowned. She didn't look happy. This was a sign anyone else would have taken to mean "STOP NOW!" Ron took it to mean that he needed to continue, hopefully clearing it up.
"What I mean to say is...every time I look at you, my broomstick goes up."
Hermione was positively horrified by now, as was Harry. The latter closed his eyes as though in pain. Maybe telepathy really worked. Harry concentrated as hard as he could on a message. Shut up, Ron. Shut up, Ron. To prevent certain parts of your anatomy from hurting quite a lot, please shut up.
It hadn't worked. Ron took a deep breath before adding the kicker. "I just want to put my Quaffle through your hoop!"
Hermione glared and slapped him with the same strength she'd had her third year, when she punched Draco Malfoy. Ron had admired her for her hitting skills then; now that it was being used against him, he burned with humiliation and slunk back over to Harry. "Where did I go wrong?" he moaned.
Harry whispered into his ear for about ten seconds before Ron's eyes lit up. He walked purposefully back over to Hermione.
"Hermione, I'd really like to stick my quill into your bottle of ink. Because without you, I am dry and worthless."
Hermione's evil eye faded into a surprised smile. "Oh, Ron!" she said breathlessly, throwing her arms around him. "That's so sweet!"
