An Assault on the Senses

Ron was irritated.

No, scratch that. Ron was supremely irritated. They were doing it again. The coy glances. The sighing. It was enough to drive a man to drink. Or at least plunge a fork into his eyes and ears.

Oh, to be sure, Harry and Hermione were completely unconscious of their behavior. Their respective levels of denial were so high so as to boggle the mind. No, of course I don't like Hermione like that. She's one of my best friends. She's like a sister. No, I'm not in love with Harry. Honestly, why would you think that? It's never even come up in my mind.

Liable to drive a man to drink, it was.

And so it would continue. Harry would have little "talks" with every guy who showed the slightest amount of interest in Hermione. He would twirl his wand and talk about his battles with Voldemort's minions and oh yes, you remember how I defeated Voldemort before I was two? Oh, you've become very busy, of course. I'll tell Hermione you can't make it.

She was like a sister after all.

Hermione was no better. Harry had no shortage of admirers, but the most persistent would get a personal meeting with Hermione. A very calm, very rational meeting wherein Hermione would very calmly and very rationally lay out every threat that Harry had faced (only those that they were allowed to talk about, of course), and could you please explain, logically, point by point, how you would have dealt with said situation? What's that? Oh, you're not feeling well. Perhaps you should see Madame Pomfrey then. Yes, of course I'll tell Harry you're not available.

He was her best friend after all.

But Ron was having none of it. There comes a time in every man's life where he must stand up for himself, for his principles, for his sanity. This was that moment.

It would take time. It would take finesse. It would take teamwork. It would take an insane amount of luck. But it would be done. Ron would make sure of that.

A sigh.

A glance.

A considering look at a fork.

Where could a man get a drink around here?

Chapter One

Harry and Hermione were in love. Everyone knew this.

But Harry and Hermione didn't know, and by Merlin, Ron was going to make them know. And he had the perfect plan to do it.

Love affected the senses. Made a person all wonky. Everyone knew this. Nothing looked as beautiful as the object of affection, no one sounded as sweet or smelled as good, etcetera, etcetera. But Harry and Hermione were somehow immune to all that. So Ron was going to help them out before he was forced to inflict bodily harm on himself.

Well, Ron, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati...pretty much all of Gryffindor was in on this. Self-inflicted harm seemed to be the order of the day.

Who knew true love could be so bloody tiring?

So Harry couldn't be bothered with admitting the truth to himself because of the whole Voldemort thing and Hermione was far too logical to fall in love with one of her best friends.

Right.

Ron decided that a little subtlety was in order. No need to frighten the poor lambs. Through a little research (how proud Hermione would have been!), Ron and his cohorts had found a spell that heightened a person's hearing and could even be keyed to a certain voice. The spell was useful in the days of chaotic battlefields where a commander needed to make himself heard over the din of warfare and the soldiers needed to be able to hear orders. Ron wondered what the creators of the spell would say if they could see how he was planning to use the spell now. He paused for moment, thinking of the ghosts floating about Hogwarts. Who's to say they couldn't see?

He shrugged, unconcerned with possible retributions from beyond the grave, waved his wand and muttered the incantation over Harry's sleeping body. Lavender and Parvati were doing the same thing in Hermione's room right now. Tomorrow the unknowing lovebirds would wake up and hear the sweet, sweet sounds of each other's voices. They would be surprised, they would wonder, they would speculate. But they would figure out that they were meant for each other. After all, if you could hear one voice above the rest, no matter where you were, all the time, wouldn't you think you had a connection with that person? And wouldn't you ruminate on said connection? And perhaps come to the conclusion that the connection was there the entire time and you would see how much you needed the other person in your life?

Of course you would. Harry and Hermione would be together by the end of the day, and Lavender and Parvati would be planning the wedding.

Ron decided he was a genius.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry was going to go mad. Hermione was already there. All day, they could hear nothing but each other's voices. No, they could hear other people talk, but their voices were somewhat muted. If one of them spoke, however, it blasted through their eardrums like a rocket.

No matter where they were, no matter how softly they spoke, they could hear the other as if they were standing right next to each other, speaking directly into their ears. It started in the morning when Harry had heard Hermione cooing to Crookshanks about what a very good cat he was and Hermione had heard Harry having a rather curious one way conversation about Quidditch. From there, it had only gotten worse.

Harry heard Hermione yell at Lavender and Parvati to hurry up in the bathroom. Hermione heard Harry talk about Quidditch. He heard her mutter to herself about various homework assignments and possible questions on the upcoming Herbology exam. She heard him talk about Quidditch (this really wasn't so odd as there was a Quidditch match coming up on the weekend).

Now, one may ask themselves at this point, why didn't either party realize something was wrong? After all, as Ron so wisely once said, hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world. Well, for one, both parties could recognize the voices. Surely that had to count for something. Secondly, well, the author could go into a long explanation involving buried feelings, denial and the subconscious throwing out every signal it could to clue the rest of the brain in, but she trusts that the reader can discern such things for themselves. Suffice it to say, the silly gits didn't want to figure it out.

Oddly enough, it was Harry who finally accepted that something was up. Of course, he was the one with experience hearing voices, so it was to be expected in a way. Ginny and Hermione had attempted to have a good old fashioned girl talk conversation during breakfast, but Harry had turned so red at Hermione's whispered comments that she thought it best to stop the conversation and see what was wrong with him. He refused to look her in the eye and beat a path to the door so quickly Hermione suspected Voldemort had made an appearance outside the Great Hall.

She finally cornered him in the hall, but he refused to speak to her. Not just refused to tell her what was wrong, but actually refused to speak. He just shook his head, held up a hand, ran to the end of the hall and whispered "Hello."

Hermione gasped when she heard Harry's voice as if he was standing right next to her and then heard him again as the sound waves actually reached her ears. It was as if there was some sort of bizarre echo going on in her ears. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh no," she moaned.

"Oh yes," Harry replied grimly.

They had tried to remain silent after that, but as anyone who has had to deny themselves something knows, forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest. As soon as they decided that they shouldn't talk, they both found oh so many opportunities to talk. Professors called on them in class, friends called them over for private discussions, Harry had a team meeting with the Quidditch team, Hermione need to consult with Madame Pince.

It was madness.

By the end of the day, Harry and Hermione were thoroughly sick of one another's voices. They weren't talking to anyone else and certainly not to each other. They made it quite clear, through signs and written notes, that if they found out that this was some sort of prank, whoever planned it would have a very painful time of it indeed. Then they both tromped up the stairs (in tandem, Lavender and Parvati noted with dreamy sighs) and stormed into their rooms, neither noticing one thing.

Sitting there in the common room, Ron looked inexplicably put out and depressed.