Chapter 2
Ron kicked a couple of trunks stacked next to the door as he entered his bedroom.
“Prats!” he muttered, thinking of his brothers. Why did they have to interfere and make him look ridiculous in front of Hermione?
Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting noisily and annoying Ron further. “Quiet!” he snapped, smacking the wire cage with his hand. The tiny owl stopped his chatter immediately, clearly surprised.
Ron went to the single miniscule window on the far wall and looked out to see his best mate, Harry, standing next to his sister, Ginny. They look cozy, he thought to himself. If my bloody brothers hadn’t opened their traps, it could have been Hermione and I out there.
He had been quite surprised at Hermione’s spontaneous forwardness. Hermione prided herself on rules and certain things being a specific way; it had been shocking to see her display any sort of tenderness in public--and in front of his family no less!
Of course, only Fred and George had seen anything; the twins never allowed anything to escape their notice, but why weren’t they standing by the back door with an Extendable Ear, listening to Harry and Ginny?
Because he’s Harry Potter, Ron thought miserably. He’s ‘The Boy Who Lived’--and he’s the bloke who gave them the thousand galleons to get their joke shop off the ground.
Immediately Ron admonished himself for such thoughts. Harry had always been good to him and didn’t deserve such shabby treatment. However, something nagged at him; it seemed Ron was destined to be in someone’s shadow his whole life. It was no secret that Ron loved Harry like a brother, but Ron secretly dubbed himself ‘The Boy Who Plays Second Fiddle’.
He wanted to ask Harry how to ‘get the girl’, but realized that sounded ridiculous. Ron had had a girlfriend a few months ago--Lavender Brown--but one could hardly call it a relationship; Lavender gone so far as to treat him like a baby--and wanted to do nothing but snog.
Ron chuckled a bit at this; who would complain about snogging? It wasn’t that that had bothered him--it was the constant baby-talk and lack of intelligent conversation Lavender offered.
Slowly he realized how much he’d missed Hermione, though he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, for he was embroiled in a strange relationship with Lavender--and Hermione had made it clear she was angry with him.
It was during Albus Dumbledore’s funeral that Ron realized Hermione had been waiting on him to make the first move, and Ron, being thick--as dear Hermione would say--didn’t do so. Thinking back on it, Ron wished he’d not been such a stupid prat; he could have saved himself the trouble of getting involved with Lavender. He could have talked with Hermione, instead of growing jealous and making a fool of himself.
However, what was done was done; it was of no use to think about what could have been. Ron knew that if he were to erase the past, he’d have to show some effort--but not in front of his brothers!
Again, Ron glanced out the window; this time, Harry was lying on the ground, his head covered in large, flapping bats. Ron guffawed loudly, causing Pig to hoot gaily. What had his friend done to Ginny to receive the Bat-Bogey Hex?
The redhead wondered if Harry’s midnight mutterings of murder, which had kept Ron awake for the last six nights, had something to do with Harry’s odd behavior. Ron tried to ask Harry about it, but when faced with questions, Harry had refused to answer, changing the subject every time.
This evening’s outburst was only the tip of the iceberg, Ron thought wearily, striding over to his bedroom door, thoughts of helping Harry rid himself of Ginny’s hex at the back of his mind. Harry is determined to find Snape--regardless of the consequences. Ron wondered what more had happed in the Astronomy Tower that fateful night--if there was something Harry had not told him.
He yanked open the door and cried out in alarm; Hermione was standing inches away, her hand held aloft as though ready to knock on his door.
“Hello, Ron.” Hermione smiled tentatively at the lanky redhead.
“Er, hi, Hermione.” Ron suddenly felt warm; he crooked a finger into his collar and tugged.
There was an unmistakable look of concern in Hermione’s brown eyes. “Is everything... all right?” Ron noticed she was wringing her hands together.
She’s nervous too, he thought. Instead, Ron nodded. “Sure. Just going out to help Harry, is all.” When Hermione’s brows nit together questioningly, he continued, “Ginny hexed him.”
“Ginny hexed--? Ah.” Hermione bit back a chuckle. “No doubt Harry’s stubbornness and determination got the better of them.”
Ron nodded, smiling slightly. Everyone knew Harry could be quite mulish, however, Ginny could never hold her temper well. “Why aren’t you out there with Harry now?” he asked. “He could use a hand, from the look of him.”
“I--I came to see how you were.” When Ron didn’t reply, she rushed on; “Your brothers love you, you know; teasing you is their way of showing it.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “That’s not teasing; they're bloody annoying,” he replied bitterly. The story of my life, he added silently.
Hermione frowned a bit, but responded in a more serious tone, “Well, sometimes people are clods when it involves the ones they love.”
For a moment neither said anything as their gazes locked together. Was Hermione referring to more than just Fred and George? Suddenly embarrassed, for he didn’t know how to respond, Ron merely nodded and mumbled an excuse for a hasty exit, moving around Hermione to make his way back down the narrow stairs.
Hermione stood stock-still, mortified to the roots of her hair. Once again she tried to approach him--and once more Ron ran away. Was Ron not interested in her? Had Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, read the youngest male Weasley wrong and was only annoying him with her fanciful notions of love?
Impossible Hermione said to herself. If I’m wrong then may I turn into a frog right now. As she thought this, she held her breath and looked about as though waiting for something to strike her down. When nothing outlandish occurred, she sighed, straightened her shirt, then turned on her heel and strode purposefully down the creaky stairs. It was time to talk to Ginny.