Dear Viktor

Hermione threw away yet another parchment, with half opened sentences that yearned for completion. She was attempting to write to Viktor, but found the task immensely difficult since Ron had plunked down beside her, grumbling incessantly over his homework. She scolded him quietly as she dipped her quill in ink. After another bought of scratching, sighing and crumbling, Ron's voice broke into her thoughts.

"I wish you'd finished that bloody letter," he hissed, "so I don't have to listen to you fret over what to say to your precious Viktor."

"I wish you'd finish your homework," she hissed back, "so I don't have to listen to you nibble on that bloody quill all night."

"It's a nervous habit!" Ron said, his mouth set in strong defiance.

"Since when does homework make you nervous, Ron?" Hermoine laughed.

He returned to his book without another word, furiously writing out a sentence.

She grabbed a new piece of parchment and began to write.

Dear Viktor,

I was so pleased to receive your letter and hear that everything is well. I only wish you were a bit closer as there are times I would like nothing more than to share some time with you.

I am well as is everyone else you asked of, even Ron, who as I write this is fretting furiously over his homework. I have told him time and time again that procrastination will only lead to frustration and poor marks. I wish he would listen to me for once, as it is only my wish to see him do his best. Ron is very funny in this regard; he pays absolutely no second mind to those things that may affect his future, such as studies, but pursues immediate obstacles with a great deal of energy and intensity. It really is a pity. I see something inside of him that I doubt he even recognizes.

I see his stubbornness as his source of strength, (however poorly misused) and his brusque actions covering a sensitive, tender nature. He would do anything for his friends, and I know quite well he would move mountains (or at least give it his best go). I admire him greatly for that although I don't think I've ever told him. Isn't that funny? I guess it's not, really, since more often than not he admonishes me for being too bossy, a know-it-all, a nagger, etc, which causes me to admonish him for being lazy, careless, insensitive, thick-headed etc., etc., etc. Oh, honestly! From the way I talk it sounds like we don't get on well at all, but we do. True more often than not we bicker, but Ron is usually the instigator and what choice do I have but to defend myself? If left to Harry, he would neither be reminded of his shortcomings, nor given any instruction on how to improve them. Oh, not that Harry's a bad friend, quite the contrary. They both laugh more in each other's company and share something that is so wonderful and intangible it is almost mesmerizing. It's really quite lovely to witness this side of their friendship. I only wish Ron and I could share something just as wonderful, because I like it best when we are silent and words don't complicate things. Mostly, I find those attributes that infuriate me the most are also my source of affection for Ron. I believe deep down we have an understanding of one another that is so unique and rare that it would be impossible to share such a bond with anyone else.

Hermione stopped suddenly, indeed almost jumped. Ron sighed loudly, emphasizing his irritation. She suddenly realized no more needed to be said. She looked at Ron, bent over his book, writing out incoherent words in a sloppy scrawl. She felt as if she were seeing him for the first time, noticing nuances in his behavior that had been invisible before; the way he bit the end of his quill as he read, the way he scrunched his nose as he marked over a mistake, the way his tie was always disheveled because he never took the time to fix it properly. She'd seen these things before in the past, was aware of them, but had never really seen them. She had never seen anything past his shortcomings.

"What's wrong?" he said sharply. "Out of ink to add more to that novel of yours?"

She found she couldn't speak.

"What is it?" he asked, his face softening when he saw her expression.

"I'm not going to finish it," she finally said and began tearing her letter, the letter she'd spent so long trying to perfect.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flicker of triumph cross Ron's face. She almost called him on it, but refrained.

"Why not?" he said casually, watching as she shred the parchment

"Because I realize that I don't have anything to say to him," she said pulling out her Transfiguration text, "and that it's silly to keep his hopes up, really. He lives so far away and we never see one another."

Ron continued to peruse his Divination text, decidedly in better spirits and unable to hide the broad smile that had sprung across his lips.

"Oh, don't look so triumphant!" Hermione huffed. "I know you hate him, but there's no need to rub it in."

"I'm not rubbing anything in!" He snapped, although still smiling. "But you're right, I never liked him."

"Did too," she haughtily replied.

"I only liked his talent," he said to close the matter once and for all.

Hermione smiled as she flipped through the massive text, unable to remember why she'd pulled it out in the first place.

"What were you saying to him anyway?" Ron finally asked after a few moments of silence.

"Oh, this and that really, nothing monumental," Hermione said as she pulled out more parchment, this time to take notes on the text.

Yet she did feel something monumental growing out that insignificant action, something that had already altered her view of Ron. Where it would lead she couldn't predict, but she did know that sitting alone with him in the library was the only place in the world she wanted to be.