Realizations

Snaaarkk!

. . .

Sn--

AAaarkk!!

. . .

Sn--

Ron grit his teeth and wondered: when you turned snorers on their backs, they shut up. If you caught them swiftly across the face with a pillow, would they shut up as well?

SNAR--RA--ARRKK!!

. . .

SnaAR--

He wasn't going to get a lot of sleep tonight, if this kept up, now was he?

SNARrrrrrrrk.

The worst part was hoping that the noise would stop, and then it never did.

SNARK!

He lost it.

The pillow whizzed happily through the air and struck Neville a good one on the side of the head.

umoph.

The springs creaked as Neville turned slightly, settled in the nest of comforters gathered around him, and resumed snoring.

SNAR--

Ron flipped angrily over onto his left side, glared at Seamus Finnegan's inoffensive form, dimly visible through the darkness, flipped back over onto his back, sat up suddenly and yanked all his bed curtains shut in a very pointed way.

He didn't lie back down, but sat there on the bed, cross-legged and fuming silently.

SNAARK!

That was ruddy annoying.

Snarrr. . .

Come to think of it, Neville was ruddy annoying.

SNA--

A lot of things were ruddy annoying.

Snnn. . . SnA!

Girls, for instance.

SNnnn n n . . .

What had gotten into her, anyway? Going to the Ball with ruddy Krum. No one except Hermione ever would have gone with him in the first place--anyone else would have seen that Krum was no good. He was from Durmstrang, and he was plainly just trying to use her; hanging about like that, skulking around in the library, spying on her. . .

Snnn n n n . . .

Ron scowled.

It was properly disgusting, was what it was.

Krum was a lot older than he was too.

Ron felt slightly startled, and remembered that what he meant was that Krum was a lot older than she was too.

After all, why would he care if Krum was older than him? This had nothing to do with him. It had to do with Hermione, acting so strangely, so annoyingly, going to the Ball with a much-older-than-hi--than-her, internationally-famous--

He didn't care if Krum was an internationally famous Quidditch player either, though.

Or if all the girls seemed to be hanging around him.

It wasn't like he, Ron, was. . .

. . . was. . .

. . . was what, anyway?

Why would it bother him if Hermione had gone to the Ball with someone that was older, or more famous, or more popular than he was? He didn't care about who she went to the Ball with, not really--he just cared that she was betraying Hogwarts, and betraying Harry.

He wouldn't have cared if she'd gone with, say, Cedric Diggory.

Or, no, wait, yes he would have. Cedric was a Triwizard champion as well, a competitor as well.

Well, but he wouldn't have minded if she'd gone with Harry.

With a sudden sort of thud, Ron realized that he would have minded if she'd gone with Harry.

Minded a lot.

Weird.

That didn't make any sense.

No, it didn't.

Did not.

Well.

It would though if he was. . . well.

Jealous of Harry again.

Or something.

But why would he be jealous of Harry for taking Hermione to the Ball? He'd been kind of jealous of Harry from time to time in the past--guiltily, and briefly--but that was over things like money, or Harry's always getting so much attention. And he, Ron, wanted to have more money, and he'd like to get a bit more attention sometimes too, so it made sense to be jealous about those things.

Why would he be jealous of Harry for taking Hermione to the Ball?

He wanted more money.

It wasn't like he wanted to. . . to take Hermione to the ball.

He suddenly, hopelessly understood that he had wanted to take Hermione to the Ball.

Ron sat very still for a minute, there in the oddly quiet dark.

He thought. Hard.

He really had wanted to.

Well, maybe not, well, before the Ball--but once he'd gotten there, and seen her there with ruddy Krum, and seen how she'd looked. . .

She'd looked really pretty.

She really had.

It surprised him that he'd think that Hermione looked really pretty.

It was a strange thing to think.

He wasn't at all sure that he wanted to think about what it meant.

He couldn't. . . that was. . . well. . . couldn't. . .

Could he?

But, well, why not? She was, after all, a girl. She was a very nice girl, and dead brilliant, and. . . really pretty. So what if he knew her? He went to school with her, of course he knew her. There wasn't anything unnatural in that. Really, why not a girl you knew? There wasn't any reason it couldn't be. Easier, really. A lot easier than a girl you didn't know--like Fleur.

He had just started to think that if anyone was ever really pretty, then Fleur was certainly that someone, when another thought occurred to him, and not at all a good one, either.

He did go to school with Hermione.

Actually, he was going to go to school tomorrow with Hermione.

He sort of wished, now, that he'd not said quite so much to her about Krum.

She'd seemed pretty mad about it.

And she'd been right. He should have asked her to go with him first.

Did she mean, he wondered, when she'd said that, that she'd go with him if he asked; or did she simply mean that if he wanted her to, then he should have the sense to ask in the first place? She'd said "the solution;" but did she just mean his asking her would be his part towards a solution? Or did she mean something more?

Tonight was rather a night of sudden realizations; he'd just had another one.

Whatever she had meant by it, it had meant that she knew.

Oh.

It was going to be really embarrassing, seeing her tomorrow. Maybe he wouldn't have--but how wouldn't he have to? He wasn't about to. . . what, fake a broken leg or something? Just to avoid Hermione? That would be pretty silly. And he was going to have to see her sometime, wasn't he? And talk to her sometime, wasn't he?

Come to think of it, he was even going to have to. . . talk her about it sometime. Wasn't he.

But not just yet.

He'd have to think about it first; and, well. . . it would be nice if maybe she could start talking about it to him. It would make things easier. It would be nice to know what she thought about it, before he talked about it to her.

Before he talked to her about it.

He'd really have to think about it first. He'd have to think about a lot of things.

He lay down again. It was probably really late. His back hurt, after sitting cross-legged like that for so long.

Yeah.

He'd have to think about a lot of things.

He realized--another sudden realization--that Neville had stopped snoring. And he realized that he didn't really care.

And he realized that, no.

He wasn't going to get a lot of sleep tonight.