If only he had told Hermione earlier how he felt, now he had lost her forever. The sad part is that she was never his to lose in the first place. Seeing Hermione with Harry, it slowly eroded him. It bit him and chewed him into pieces with the mixed emotions of jealousy, love, and hate. Every time he saw Harry’s hands slip under the table, he imagined him touching Hermione’s leg, wrapping his arms around her waist. Every time Harry turned his head, he imagined him whispering into her ear. He had to bite his toungue hard to suppress his emotions until he tasted blood in his mouth. The raw bitter taste represented the hate, the anger. It soothed him, but fueled the beast in him more than ever. Harry and Hermione acted the same, maybe they sat a little closer than usual. Maybe he turned his head towards her a little more than he used to. Maybe she tried to catch his eye more than before. Maybe this was all his imagination… maybe he could hope for a miracle. If only life was as simple as that.
If only he didn’t have all his classes with Hermione. If only his sub-conscious would stop noticing Hermione when it was clear his brain was trying hard to close all thoughts of her out. It seems as if not being able to have Hermione as a potential girlfriend made his mind want to satisfy itself in different ways. When Hermione was listening to the professor speak, Ron could see her brown eyes staring intently. Her little feet tapping gently on the floor. Her quill moving in a rhythm, like a beat to an exotic island dance. The rhythm of her chest rising and falling, in sync with her quill. It made him want to grab her and kiss her right on the spot. Then he tasted the blood in his mouth and remembered: she was not his. He was fighting an internal battle. His mind told him to look away from Hermione. If she noticed him looking, she might suspect of his feelings for her, risking their friendship, which was all he had of her. His sub-conscious told him to capture as much of Hermione with his eyes as possible. To drink in her beauty so he could revisit the thoughts in his mind at night. When he was pretending to be asleep. At the moment, he was wishing he could be Dean Thomas, who sat behind Hermione and could stare at her as much as he wanted, without her noticing.
Beside Ron, Hermione sat in class. She stared at the professor. She heard his words, she wrote them down on her parchment. But her mind wasn’t concentrating on these things. It was as if she was split into two parts. The robotic part of her was taking notes, while the real her was thinking of her relationship. With Harry, it always seemed natural that they would hang out, do their homework--as best friends. Now with their relationship to the next level, the occasional quietness, his hands accidentally brushing against hers when he reached for his quill seemed so much more noticeable. So much more awkward. Whenever they made eye contact, she would feel itchy and uncomfortable. Especially when Ron was around.
When Ron was around, she felt like she shouldn’t be seen with Harry at all. She felt like she was betraying him in some unthinkable way. She noticed that he looked sad. When he smiled, his face was stretched and his eyes were hollow. When he laughed, it was too loud to be genuine. When he talked, his voice seemed rusted. Not like the Ron she knew all along that was usually happy. Her intuition seemed to be linking the awkward behavior with…her. Maybe Ron was feeling left out. Maybe he felt that he would be the third wheel. When did life get this complicated anyways? One kiss and now she can no longer comfortably talk with her two best friends. Now she desperately wished she had an entire stock of time turners so she could go back in time and not leave her dormitory that night, not talk to Harry, and not kiss Harry. For now, she can only wish that things would get better as the day went on.
That night, Harry sat on his bed. He asked his dorm mates for help on how to act around Hermione, now that their relationship was clearly going to be on the next level. This, turned out to be a terrible mistake, because soon, the boys were talking about tonguing and other kissing tips that would definitely not help him at all. He tried to think of a picture of Hermione in his head. Was her height around his? Was she fat, skinny? Funny how he could be her best friend for so long and not notice anything about her. Wait, he did remember one thing. She had long legs, yes…long and skinny, with shiny red hair. Brown eyes. Harry opened his mouth in horror. The picture in his mind was clearly not Hermione. “She rejected you, you’ve moved on now. You like Hermione. NO, You Love Hermione. Stop thinking of her, stop it.”
“STOP IT!” He screamed. The whole room was suddenly looking at him now. Maybe the last thought came out loud by accident.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” Neville asked timidly.
“Oh…err…nothing. I was just going to tell you guys to keep it down, ’cause I was going to sleep that’s all.” Harry stuttered.
“Think of Hermione. Dream of her, not the other girl. Not the one that broke your heart. Think of Hermione…” Harry thought in his head as he tossed and turned.
In the bed next to his, Ron was thinking of the exact opposite of what Harry was thinking.