I was up late that night, tossing and turning in my four-poster bed. I buried my head in my pillow, trying to clear my head. I was thinking of so many things, I could barely concentrate on one thought.
First of all, I was thinking about Jordan. I still wanted to know why a so-seemed perfect boy like Jordan ended up in Slytherin. Then I was thinking about Malfoy. I don't know why, but all these memories had been flooding my mind. They hurt to think about, so I tried to push them away. And then I was thinking about school, my friends, my family, the summer, the next summer, Voldemort, the battle in the Ministry of Magic last year . . . I was just pretty much thinking too much. So with a final sigh, I decided I needed to clear my mind like I had in years past.
I jumped up from my bed, careful not to wake Hermione up. I tip-toed down the stairs, and walked down to the common room. I had expected to be alone, but it seemed my spot had already been reserved.
"Ron?" I asked curiously.
He turned his head, and it was him. He was sitting on the couch.
"Oh, hey Bianca," he said quietly.
I walked over to the couch and sat next to him. "What's up?" I asked. He looked like he was really thinking about something.
He shrugged, and looked back to the fire. "Stuff."
"Like what?"
"I dunno," he mumbled. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"Oh, c'mon, Ron. I won't laugh at you, or criticize you . . . or whatever you won't tell me for."
"You probably wouldn't understand," Ron said, letting out a sigh. "I mean, this summer, I was fine. But now . . . now that school's started all over again . . . I just feel . . . sick. I dunno how to explain it."
"Well, try to explain what you're talking about first."
He was silent for a second, and he looked like he was trying to find the right words. "I think I've . . . taken . . ." He paused. "Oh, you know what it is. I'm falling in love with Hermione."
My mouth formed an "o."
"Yeah," he said quietly.
" . . . and she doesn't know," I said plainly, referring to it as a statement, not a question.
"Nope," he said, leaning back on the couch.
"I mean, Ron, I always knew you fancied her. I have a good feeling she fancies you, too. But . . . wow. I could tell her for you, if you want?"
He shook his head. "I think I need to tell her myself," Ron said. "Or I'll feel like I'm not accomplishing anything."
"Oh, okay," I said. "Well, um, I guess I'll just . . . head up to bed. Good night, Ron." I gave him a short, curt, half-wave.
"Wait, Bianca," Ron said. "Why'd you come down here?"
"Just to clear my head," I said. I shrugged.
"Didn't we used to like . . . sleep on the armchairs when we were little when we couldn't sleep?"
I laughed. "Yeah."
"That kinda seems like what you were trying to do."
"It was . . . kind of. But it's okay. I need to sleep in my own bed, anyways. People have purverted minds, y'know."
Ron rolled his eyes. "These days it seems like you're full of excuses."
"I'm just trying to avoid trouble!" I defended. "You know very well what people would think."
"That doesn't change the fact you're not going to get any sleep upstairs, and the only place you'll be able to sleep is down here."
I sighed. "Then I'll go without sleep . . . or I'll just drug myself. I dunno."
"Here, wait," Ron said quickly. He pulled together two arm chairs, and sat on one of them, his legs hanging onto the other. "Look. I'll sleep here, you sleep there," he said, gesturing to the couch.
I looked at his awkward position. "That can't be comfortable."
"Oh, it's not. I haven't finished setting it up yet," he said, grinning.
I just shook my head, grinning slightly, and watched him pull loads of furniture together. Then finally he sat down.
"Nice and comfy?" I asked, my lips playing up a smile.
"Nice and comfy," he replied.
"Good. Because now I'm going to sleep," I said, laying down on the couch. I closed my eyes, and within a second, it was like all of my thoughts and worries had just melted away.