| Part Three |
"Ron!"
Oh, what did she want this time?
Everywhere he'd turned, all weekend, there she'd been. Yet, for all her persistence, a hint of annoyance lingered below the surface of her manner.
Ron was ready to kill Harry. Why wouldn't he tell him what was going on?
Groups of second- and third-year students eddied around Ron and Hermione on their way to and from the library, their common rooms, and wherever else they had been studying. Ron didn't ever remember revising anything this early in the term before Fifth Year. Perhaps they'd all spent the weekend outdoors, as he'd longed to do, enjoying the crisp autumn weather. Sunday night was their last chance to catch up before the week's lessons began.
"Ron," gasped Hermione, all rosy and breathless from running to catch up with him. Her eyes had that sparkle again.
Before he'd had time to admire it properly, however, it was gone, faded to impatient confusion. Ron realised he'd been gazing at his friend so raptly that he hadn't heard her question. "Say again?"
Hermione's head tilted to one side, causing her curls to tumble off one shoulder as she observed him sceptically. "Are you feeling alright?"
I'm feeling exactly the same as I always do around you.
"Yeah, fine."
Yeah, right.
Hermione looked at him for a long moment before speaking again.
"I said, or asked rather, would you like to revise for Potions with me tonight?"
Those beautiful brown eyes blinked at Ron in a way that he couldn't imagine ever refusing. It was as though she really wanted to spend the evening with him as much as he wanted to spend it with her. Only it had to be studying, didn't it?
"Ugh. Potions." Ron made a face. "As if it's not bad enough to have to think about Snape when we're in that greasy-haired git's lessons."
"Ron!" Hermione's tone took on that sharp edge that reminded him unappealingly of his mum. "Now that you're Head Boy, you really shouldn't be talking like that about a teacher. It's up to us to set an example -"
When his mum talked to him that way, Ron usually felt scared. When Hermione did it, Ron could only feel fed up. She wasn't better than him, after all, no matter what everyone else seemed to think.
"Well here's what I think of your example, Hermione," snapped Ron, volume rising regardless of the stares from a group of third-year Ravenclaws passing through the corridor just then.
Before Ron could storm off, Hermione caught hold of his elbow.
"Wait, Ron," she said, and he did, fixed to the spot by the electric impulse her touch had sent through his body.
"I heard Morag and Millicent talking in the library just now," she told him quickly, sensing his immobility. "Snape has a surprise essay planned for tomorrow's class. Apparently he's going to take and award a lot of House points based on the outcome. Typical he told his own House all about it."
Her expression darkened at the impunity the Potions Master enjoyed in his obvious favouritism.
Her words reached his ears as though from a distance. Her fingers had sent a shock through his entire system, and Ron was riveted by the experience, unable to think about anything else for several seconds. All he could see was Hermione, standing in front of him. Ron's heart tripped several beats to watch her teeth worry at her lower lip as her brow furrowed.
It would take so little effort to lean forward and catch that plump lip between his own teeth.
A stirring in his robes alerted Ron that his escape had become quite urgent.
"Look, um, Harry doesn't know about the quiz either," he grasped at the first excuse he could find. "I'd better go and tell him, and then... we'll probably just revise in the dorm."
Ron desperately needed Harry's advice on what to do about Hermione. He missed the days when he and she had been nothing more than good pals, and at the same time, he ached to be closer to her in a very specific and often graphic manner. At the moment, the upshot was that he needed to get away from her, fast.
Turning away before he had to watch the glimmer fade again, Ron shouted "Thanks!" over his shoulder and dashed away.
Ron was going to have to get hold of himself if he expected to keep working with Hermione! Oh, why did he have to be made Head Boy? Life would be so much simpler if he could ignore her. Or at least escape her a little more often.
He had to think.
It was impossible to think around Hermione. What was he to do?
Plagued by his insecurities, Ron fled back to Gryffindor Tower as though he had seen Aragog himself.