Jigsaw Puzzle

Ron didn't say so, but he did wonder what was bothering Hermione. She had stopped glaring at him whenever they met. Now she didn't meet his eyes at all. She seemed to be avoiding him on purpose.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked as Ron stared out of the dorm room window on a clear Saturday morning, down at the castle grounds, staring but not really looking at anything, not really looking at anything at all.

"No. Nothing. I'm fine," Ron replied hastily.

"Want to go down for breakfast?"

"...No, that's alright, mate. Go on without me."

Harry knew better than to ask too many questions of a Weasley. He just nodded silently and went down to breakfast alone. Everyone else already had gone to breakfast. It was nearly Christmas, so most of Hogwarts was happily buzzing about holiday vacations and the like.

Ron had been staring at the same spot for so long that he nearly didn't notice it.

There was a bench in his field of vision. They hadn't been there to start with, but now someone was sitting on it...a girl.

A girl with long brown hair, which looked very messy, like it hadn't even been brushed.

Ron had to stop himself from saying it out loud. "Hermione...Is that you?"

The girl just sat there, not moving. She was facing in the opposite direction, so Ron couldn't see her face. It probably wasn't Hermione. He was just being paranoid.

He watched, hoping the girl would turn just enough so that her face was visible. Once he was sure it wasn't Hermione, he could-Could he go down to breakfast, really? He was still, as much as he hated to admit it, completely terrified of Fred and George. How long would he have to live in terror of them? He had grown up in terror of them. He had always been forced to put up with them.

Why live in terror of Fred and George? Ron was angry with himself; angry at his own fear. Why be afraid? Why?

"They'll tell her," Ron thought. "They'll tell Hermione about the drawing, about how I feel, if I don't do what they want."

"Here I am," Hermione thought. "It's Christmas. Everyone's happy. Everyone but me." She sighed, staring down at the ground in front of her, which was covered in snow. Everyone was sure it was going to be a white Christmas. Her parents had sent her a letter, happily detailing all of the holiday plans. Why couldn't she be happy like everyone else? Why?

"You know why. Admit it," whispered a small inward voice.

"...No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Why can't you just admit it to yourself?"

"Admit what?"

"Admit your feelings."

"What feelings?"

"Don't be thick, Hermione. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, this isn't about your intelligence."

"What's it about, then?"

"It's about Ron."

Hermione felt her pulse quicken just thinking that name, and a slight blush crept up her cheeks.

"See? You're blushing like a schoolgirl."

"Er...Technically, I am a schoolgirl, so that's not a good analogy."

"We're not talking about analogies! Goodness! We're talking about Ronald Weasley!"

"What about him?"

"I don't know why I bother. You'll be going in circles forever at this rate."

This was all crazy. Just crazy...

"It's crazy," Ron thought, still watching the girl. "Why...why be afraid? Because they'd tell her..."

The girl put her chin in hand, leaning forward. A large ginger cat approached her, and she lifted it onto her lap.

"Crookshanks," said Ron quietly. "Now I know it is Hermione..."

Hermione wiped her eyes. She was crying.

"They'd tell her..." thought Ron. "But what if I tell her myself?"