There was nothing to be done about it, absolutely nothing. She simply couldn't get it out of her head. She couldn't get it out of her head, not in class, not while studying in the library, not even when she was bickering with him over the fate of his terrifyingly old rat.
She particularly couldn't get it out of her head when they were bickering and he got a bit more in her face then normal, and their words settled while their breathing continued heavy and thick, and the air vibrated with a certain tension.
It had been only a few weeks since she and her very good friend (this was how she thought of him, earnestly, insistently and with a blush spreading across her) had accidentally fallen asleep together while reading. She corrected herself. She had been doing the reading, and he had been nitpicking through the book. Questions like "what's a calculator?" and "what's the Olympics?" ringing out only to be answered with a quick and sharp eyebrow telling him to pipe down and enjoy the story.
Hermione felt bad for that. While a story might be best uninterrupted, the context of the book was important. The story was incomplete without it. Just like he had patiently explained to her Wizarding games and old lore and pop-culture and inventions, it was now her turn to introduce her very good friend to her world.
She planned it out, meticulously, as only a young teenager could. She spent hours planning how to invite him to read again, acutely aware that it might be something taboo that he hadn't mentioned because he was embarrassed by it. Worried about this, she had kept her distance from the subject, and from him. Harry, often set between them as a physical buffer to their bickering and possible hijinx, seemed not to notice that she stiffened every time she saw Ron now.
She set out that Sunday morning confident after weeks of contemplation. She had even gone through a montage-like makeover early that morning, courtesy of the other girls in her dorm. It had been a little claustrophobic, she thought, but well worth it.
Lavender told her to blink and smack and smile in just a certain way as she put on mascara, and lip gloss, and little highlights of something shiny. Soft lotions and spritzes of perfumes left her a feeling fresh and lovely.
Hermione was a far cry from the pale skin tone of Lavender, and had no foundation or concealer of her own (much to the approval of her dowdy parents), she settled with the simple makeup but made a note to look into buying some if she went home again over Easter.
Parvati, meanwhile, braided her hair in two plaits, then pinned them along her head, in a neat but simple updo. Ginny searched through all their clothing, holding it up to her short form and the whisking away again breezily saying something about colors clashing.
There was an unspoken agreement not to ask why now from the girls, only to enjoy that Hermione had asked them for help getting ready. It was an anomaly, but a fun one at that. A quick game of dress-up that would certainly be appreciated by the bookish girl, even if it were just for a day.
After what felt like an eternity, despite only being an hour or so, Hermione emerged in a lovely (albeit very short) sweater borrowed from Pavarti and her own comfortable jeans that tucked neatly into high rising boots, courtesy of a muggleborn in Ginny's year. She had a long robe on, one of her own she had bought over the summer and that she wore into Hogsmeade in a meager attempt to blend in with the wizards and witches in the village.
Finally ready for breakfast, she thanked the girls again, assuring them that she would tell them about her day when it was over, so long as it went well. Tittering from the two in her year, and a slight smirk from Ginny told her that the three knew precisely what she was doing, but were letting her go about it at her own pace. She silently thanked Merlin for their silence, and trotted down to breakfast feeling confident, and humming a muggle tune as she strode down the halls.
Sliding into a seat next to Ron, she picked up the paper and began reading. Sirius Black was nowhere to be found, there was a break in to the Shrieking Shack and some theft in Hogsmeade, there were dark artefacts found at a muggle estate sale, a human interest piece on Perenelle Flamel. She looked up and there was food on her plate that she hadn't even thought to begin serving herself, but smiled brightly as she saw Ron placing a spoon back into the tray of eggs before them.
His only response was a bright red flush and to delve back into his own breakfast.
Harry was nowhere to be found, likely off sulking or flying or working out imagined conspiracies against him that must involve Malfoy. Hermione's mind wandered to one Saturday when the boy (almost pitifully, but not quite) had tried to find a secret tunnel somewhere and ended up instead talking to resident creatures in the dusty catacomb-like hallways just under the dungeons. He compared them quite certainly to the Dursleys.
Turning to the still red boy on her left she carefully, carefully enunciated in the most elegant manner she could muster, "Would you like to hear the rest of my book today?"
As soon as she spoke she was answered with a resounding "Yes", followed a few minutes later by a sheepish "Can I borrow your Charms essay?"
While she was fully aware that he would copy the important bits and change around the wording, and she technically disapproved of his constant habit of copying, she figured that it was a fair trade- she could pretend he was interested in her and in her world, and he would happily sit next to her in the library.
She was one of the few students to admit that she found the library to be one of the more comfortable places in Hogwarts. Secretly from other students but after a long and tedious process of convincing Madam Pince, she had even turned one of the desk and chair sets hidden off in the stacks into a nice bean bag and blanket set. The harsh librarian had received her utmost assurance that the bean bag was to be used for comfort while enjoying such treasures as Hogwarts, a History, and not for any shenanigans.
Aside from a very oversized pillow fight, Hermione had yet to come up with any ideas of what shenanigans a bean bag could be used for. She would later be in for quite a treat.
Finishing their breakfast, the two silently walked out, agreeing that now was time for a nice story, and later would be the time for homework finishing. She silently thanked Harry for his as-of-yet-unmentioned absence as they walked to the Astronomy tower. It was a little cliched, maybe, but there were charms in the open-aired tower to keep it warm, and blankets at the ready for students to lie on their backs in order to watch the stars. Further, on a Sunday morning, not even the seventh years well known for finding themselves in precarious situations in the dark would be up here, and that was a well useful thing for Hermione and Ron.
In an effort not to disturb the stores of Professor Sinistra, the two grabbed one large blanket, each secretly content to share. Ron lay down on his back, looking up at the clouds and trying to find shapes in them (he insisted that like tea leaves, they could be read to tell the future). Hermione set herself up a precise distance away from him (which is to say, as far as she could be without being off the blanket, so as not to raise any suspicion), and lay on her belly flipping through to find the page they had left off.
As she began reading, she paused to explain the little muggle things that she knew Ron might have only come in contact with tangentially- stereos, policemen, adoption- all things that could be found in the wizarding world, technically, but were much less common or at the very least somewhat distorted from their muggle counterparts. By the end, he had received a veritable crash course in muggle studies, and while he very well knew what things like swings and iron maidens and binoculars were, he had asked for a detailed explanation of each.
He had even rolled over, and at one point insisted she scooch much closer in order to see how some unfamiliar words (which he likely would never use again, but he thought it an excuse Hermione would believe) were spelt.
Hermione's outfit and hairstyle and makeup were not completely lost on Ron. While he hadn't the faintest why she had dressed up for a Sunday morning, he appreciated it. And the smell of her lotion, which was like the chocolate fudge his mother made sometimes for Easter.
With the book completed, the two silently realized that being shoulder to shoulder wasn't exactly right, and Ron turned over to look again at the clouds, followed quickly by Hermione who had some opinions on the merit of cloud reading, as she had opinions on all other forms of Divination.
Raising an arm to point at clouds somehow devolved to Ron's arm splayed awkwardly to the side, butting into her, and she decided to be bold. Silent, it seemed, but bold. With a not-quite-shaking hand, she lifted his arm and put it under her head, a surprisingly firm pillow for a fourteen year old who played quidditch on the weekends, if at all.
Almost reeling from shock, Ron slowly used the new position to pull Hermione into him as he explained that a cloud shaped like a goose meant imminent death, while a cloud shaped like a duck was for good luck. Rolling her eyes, she asked "where did you learn all this about clouds?"
Ron looked down, this was the first time she'd spoken since her lecture on all things muggle (which he had enjoyed, but was astonished at how academically she'd approached her life before Hogwarts), and found himself staring into eyes through her lashes, with a small smile on her lips. "Was it from Fred and George, by any chance?"
Setting his head back down he nodded and closed his eyes. "I must sound like a fool. There's no way weather actually predicts the future, does it?"
"Did you think that particularly cloudy or stormy days were just harbingers of chaos? What about clear skies, did that mean that nothing would happen? Maybe a void would emerge?" She teased, laughing a little. He wasn't sure whether he was ready to laugh yet, embarrassed by his own gullibility, but it certainly was a comfort to his ego to feel her torso move next to his as she chuckled along. "Honestly, Ronald, how long did you believe them? I'm barely even a witch and I know common sense things like this. Did you think to check in your divination textbook?"
With a tinge of whinging in his voice, he responded, "I mean, I just figured we hadn't gotten there yet in Divination, and not all of us read ahead for fun. And this one is a long-game one, I swear, they've been on it since I was old enough to point out shapes in the clouds!" Rolling his eyes, he slid his hand down her back a little, testing the waters and pulling her closer until her head rested on his chest. "Anyway, that one over there is a rose, and that one is a pipe."
Hermione was comfortable, dangerously comfortable, as she nestled her head closer. Her hand was now cautiously lying in the middle of his chest, moving up and down notably with his breaths, but he hardly seemed to notice.. There were small veins running along the arm held up, pointing across the sky with the continued lesson.
She felt her breathing rising and falling with his, and wondered if he could feel her blood pumping as strongly and acutely as she could. Softly, gently, whispering a secret (or something very like it), she heard his voice "a rose means love, according to the ancient texts that were probably written by my brothers." He paused, holding his breath as he realized yet again that cloud-reading probably wasn't a magical subject, "Still, it's nice to look at."
"What's the pipe mean?" She asked, not daring to move.
Very quickly, she could feel a little heat rising across him, and as she looked up she saw a bright red blush across his neck and face, all the way to his ears. Concerned, but amused, she heard him begin to stammer, his eyes suddenly anywhere but hers. "I'll tell you when you're old enough."
"Ronald Weasley I am older than you. You tell me right now." She scolded, half-jokingly, but Ron knew more than to get in the way of Hermione in a pursuit of knowledge. However, he had well overstepped the bounds of propriety as he knew were dictated by any sort of magical custom. Being alone and so close to her could cause a scandal, but he knew her well and assumed correctly that she had somehow made it less-than-likely for any peers to barge in on this.
'What was this', he wanted to scream, 'what are we doing here alone and can we do it again, please?', but no words came out. There would be no explanation today, or probably ever. The girl next to him who so dearly loved explanations had no reason to give him one, and he was certainly too timid to ask.
Maybe once he was older.
He was brought out of his slight sidetrack by a hand waving in front of his face. He almost mourned the loss of its weight on his chest by her head, but quickly realized why it was there. "Come on, what is it?" Hermione looked at him expectantly and he responded smart as a whip, "I'll tell you when I'm old enough, then."
Rolling her eyes, she let out a little huff and settled by on his chest. He realized after a few odd minutes of silence that she was breathing much more slowly than before, and that her eyes were closed. Well, it's only fair, he supposed- might as well trade this sort of thing off, right?
Closing his eyes to the bright sunlight, he drifted off into an easy sleep, one where girls (or more specifically, one girl who was in rather close proximity to him now) said simply what they meant and thought. Surely, Hermione was a great communicator, but he knew she was holding back some sort of dam within herself, the sort that neither he nor Harry quite understood, but that other girls might understand more.
He resolved to ask Ginny about it sometime over a vacation, if he ever remembered properly, and could frame his question in just the right way so as not to arouse suspicion.
Ron woke up to a grumbling stomach, and to his disappointment, the sound woke the finally peaceful Hermione, too.
Her voice sounded so small, so sweet, but altogether much too fast for the moment one wakes up. "Hey, want to get some food from the House Elves? And we can go up to the library after that, to work on that Charms essay, if you'd like?"
A short but grunting "Uh-huh" escaped him, and Hermione noticed his voice went down, if not an octave, then certainly quite a few notes, as he said "That sounds right as rain, in about five minutes."
Without any warning, she suddenly found herself enveloped in his arms, and her nose pressed into his neck. He had sleepily repositioned them to be lying together almost face to face, and she was sure that this sort of thing might never happen again.
Gently, and after many, many final decisions to get herself up (all of which she had chickened out on because one of his hands was now splayed perfectly on her lower back, or because he had practically been humming, or because he smelled really nice, which was odd but delightful), she said "Ron, I think it's time to get up."
She extracted herself clumsily, but technically without any real argument from Ron, who was now rubbing his eyes and saying something about how he didn't realize he had fallen asleep.
The two folded up the blanket and tossed it in the laundry chute (certainly a novelty in a castle, but it must've been added to help the house elves with the blankets for Astronomy), and walked quietly to the library, finding Harry somewhere by the kitchens when they made a stop to pick up sandwiches and coffee, which Hermione insisted would somehow help them for the afternoon.
