"Just wonderful," thought Hermione as she stared at the canopy of her four-poster bed. "The man I love thinks that somebody else loves me." Hermione realized that she was not going to get any sleep where she was, so she got up and put on her robes and went down to the Common Room.
She sat in the fluffy chair opposite the fire and opened her journal. She knew it was dangerous writing out in the open, but she figured that no one would be awake so she could have some privacy.
"I have to find Malfoy," she wrote. "I have to find out what he was talking about yesterday. I can't go on having Ron thinking that I'm in love with Malfoy or Malfoy in love with me. That would ruin everything. Besides, surely Ron knows by now that I don't love Malfoy. . .that I don't love anyone besides him. And he and Harry are, like, connected at the hip. If Ron doesn't know by now, Harry is going to let him know. Harry knows how I feel. . .Harry can help me with my problem."
At that moment, somebody cleared his throat loudly from the top of the boy's staircase. She looked up and standing there was the person that she needed to see at that moment.
"Harry. . .I need some help."
"I can tell. Sitting here, all by yourself, in the middle of the night, writing in a Muggle journal. . .oh yes, I can sense a need for help in this case."
"Harry, don't tease me! It's Ron."
"How did I know that that's what you were writing about? Call it my psychic intuition."
"How about not? Call it the fact that I've told you everything."
"Okay. Now let me tell you something. Ron will come around on his own. No one can tell him what he should feel. He has to feel it on his own. Yesterday, he was quite flustered, and that very well may have put him over the edge. Seeing Malfoy talking to you and looking at you like that. . .it got to him, that's for sure. He's been moaning stuff in his sleep all night."
"Like what?"
"Such as. . .'Gonna get Malfoy for this'. . .and 'She has to know'. . .Stuff like that." Someone at the top of the staircase grumbled as he started down the stairs.
"What is this, a pajama party?" And there, in the firelight, stood Ron in his maroon pajamas, looking very rumpled indeed. His hair was mussed, his pajamas were wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot. "And why was I not invited? I haven't slept all night anyway."
"Join the club. Neither have I." said Hermione.
"I think I'll go back to bed. . .you two need to talk." And with that, Harry went upstairs to bed and left Hermione and Ron all alone in the common room.