The Ron Chronicles II: Letters to Hermione

Ron pushed his bedroom door closed with a small, quiet click. He crept along to his desk and grabbed a quill, some ink and the neatest-looking piece of parchment that he could see. He flopped down on the bed, leaning on his Potions textbook as he began to write. He scratched quickly and passionately before he stopped to survey his work.

"ROOOOOOOOOOOON!"

He heard clomping on the stairs and his mother shrieking something about Harry being here. A panic seized him and he threw his Potions book off his lap and flung about searching for a hiding place for his precious parchment. As the door knob jiggled, he shoved the parchment into the space between the foot of his bed and the wall. He sat up innocently as his mother opened the door.

"Yes?" he asked.

Molly surveyed his too-innocent look suspiciously and said slowly, "Er...Harry's here, dear. Downstairs."

Ron smiled and nodded. He flew eagerly down the stairs, glad that his best friend was there to relieve the slight tedium which came with the end of the holidays.

Harry looked up and gave a broad grin as Ron jumped down the last couple of stairs, his mother lagging slightly behind him.

"Alright, Ron?" he said with a smile.

Ron grinned at his much missed friend and said, "All right, you?"

There was a question behind a question here and Harry knew that Ron was asking about the end of last year.

"All right," Harry replied, and meant it. Between Sirius and Dumbledore owling him constantly over the summer Harry felt a lot better about his situation; and a lot more capable of coping with it. Looking at Ron he knew he'd never be alone at least and that was what made the difference.

The pair sat at the kitchen table with the family to eat and chattered animatedly, each swapping details of the summer that had just gone past. Harry could tell that his best friend was keeping something from him, but could not tell what. He frowned slightly as he noticed that Ron could not quite look him in the eye sometimes. He dismissed it from his mind, but something in the back of his brain niggled constantly.

"Ron, is anything the matter?" Harry asked finally, interrupting a fascinating explanation of Mr. Weasley's new plug filing system.

"N-nothing," replied Ron a little too quickly. Harry looked at him suspiciously.

All conversation in the room had stopped and six sets of eyes were focused on Ron in curiosity. Harry felt uncomfortable and looked cautiously about the table. Groaning inwardly and feeling bad for getting Ron into the middle of things, he quickly asked Fred and George about their joke shop. Obviously, this was also a bad idea because, while the twins grinned madly at Harry and began speaking about all the new inventions they had NOT made in the house, Mrs. Weasley glowered at them. However, the attention was off Ron and Harry gave a sigh of relief.

He could see out of the corner of his eye that Ron felt immense relief too. As he joined in the light conversation with the Weasley family, he still wondered what it was that had Ron looking so concerned. He vowed to himself that he would bring it up in a more suitable, more private arena.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Weasley. He could not quite pinpoint when he had lost the thread of conversation, but he did not want to be rude and shook himself out of it.

"So, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile. "What do you think about it?"

'Bugger,' thought Harry. 'What do I think about what?' He racked his brains for an answer, but fell tragically short.

"Er...well...I think...that it's brilliant really," Harry hazarded.

Molly's face fell and she looked stuck between confusion and anger. "What ever for? They have so much talent and they waste it on fun, especially in these times."

'Holy rat trap, Harry.' Exactly the thing he hadn't wanted to get caught up in. He sighed and braced himself. "Well, they are good at it. And everyone always says that you should stick with your strengths. And in times like this we all need a bit of laughter. I think it's good for them to do this. No one ever said that everyone had to be in the Ministry to make an impact on this world."

He took a deep breath and waited for the ranting. Instead Molly's face softened into a smile.

"When you put it like that," she said with a slight tear in her eye, "they sound so noble." With that, she stood up and walked over to the twins. She leaned forwards and gave them a tight hug which they, naturally, complained bitterly about.

"Geroff," said Fred.

"You're so embarrassing, Mum," groused George.

"Harry doesn't mind," Molly replied, still hugging them tightly. "Do you Harry?"

"He might not," muttered Ron, "but it might make the rest of us violently sick."

Molly just smiled good-naturedly at everyone and disappeared into the kitchen. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes.

"I'm going to unpack," he said and vanished up the stairs.

He let himself into Ron's room and began unpacking his things. Suddenly he remembered his promise to write Dumbledore as soon as he arrived at the Weasleys. He snatched a slightly dirty parchment off Ron's desk and searched around for a quill. Spotting one over between Ron's bed and the wall he went over and reached down to grab it. With the quill came a hastily folded letter.

He felt guilt surge through his entire body as he contemplated reading the letter. He bit his lip and crunched the parchment slightly between his fingers. He looked down at it and began to walk to the bin. If it was scrunched up, he reasoned, then it was rubbish.

As he went to throw the ball into the bin, he thought that, if it was rubbish, it shouldn't matter if he read it. After all, it might be clean and he DID need to write another letter to Sirius. As he opened a corner of the parchment one word caught his eye: "Hermione". This piqued his curiosity and he smoothed the paper out on his leg. Raising the paper to his eyes he scanned the parchment quickly and his eyebrow raised almost immediately.

To my dearest Hermione,

How've you been? I just got your owl and France sounds lovely.

Harry snickered at the thought of Ron saying France sounded *lovely*...

We've been friends for quite a while now and we've been through a lot. I have begun to feel certain feelings in that time. The feelings are strange and new to me, but I feel that the feelings make me feel differently about you.

I was just wondering if you feel the same feelings that I am feeling, because feelings are very important in a relationship. Just like being friends, even though what I'm feeling for you right now isn't very friendly...I mean, you're my friend but these are un-friend like feelings that I'm feeling.

'I think he might need a dictionary,' mused Harry as he read. 'Maybe a thesaurus for Christmas.'

Harry thought that he knew what Ron was trying to tell Hermione, but equally, it sounded slightly like he was trying to tell her that he didn't like her any more.

You see, Hermione, what I am trying to say is that I have these strong and rather confusing feelings that I have never felt before. I think I am in love with you.

Please let me know how you feel about me. If you don't love me, then that's fine. If you do, then that would be amazing. It would be great if you could let me know either way because it's driving me mad.

Yours faithfully,

Ron Weasley

Harry sat down on Ron's bed with the letter still clutched in his hand. He couldn't believe that he had totally missed Ron pining for Hermione. How had he been so dense? Suddenly, several things clicked into place in his mind. He realised that Ron had felt these feelings for Hermione for quite some time.

"Felt these feelings," he murmured to himself. "I'll have red hair and a tiny fluffy owl soon too if I'm not careful."

He realised with a jolt that Ron had acted in such an irrational and, frankly, mental way about Krum because he was secretly pining after Hermione. 'Why hasn't Ron ever told me? I could have helped him,' Harry thought. 'More importantly, I could have helped him write a less stupid letter!'

Harry heard the door knob jiggle. How had he missed Ron's ever-heavy footsteps up the stairs?! Startled Harry looked about for a place to stuff the parchment when the door began to open. Frantically Harry tucked the letter down his trousers and grimaced as a red head poked through.

"All right, Harry?"

"Of course, Ron, why wouldn't I be?" he asked a bit nervously.

"No reason, really."

Harry watched as Ron walked to the edge of his bed and surreptitiously ran his hand down into the crevice where Harry had found the letter.

Harry bit his lip trying not to smile at the nervous look on Ron's face as he tried to find the letter without alerting Harry to his true purpose.

Ron strove to look casual as he asked Harry, "Haven't happened to see a quill around here have you? I left it about here."

Harry watched as Ron's eyes went to the quill in Harry's hand.

"Er, yeah, I found this one over there," Harry replied, gesturing vaguely to where Ron was searching.

"Didn't happen to find a piece of parchment with it did you? Nothing important just, you know, random musings."

"Nope, just the quill." Harry felt he was doing a marvelous job of keeping a straight face.

Ron, however, looked like he was constipated. His face was screwed up in concern and his ears were a bit pink.

"Um," said Ron shakily, "are you completely and utterly sure about that?" He looked to Harry as though he could throw up at any moment.

"Was it important?" Harry asked, miraculously managing to keep his laughter in check. "I could help you look if you like." He could feel his stomach spasm from holding the laughter in.

"No!" shouted Ron, who looked like he was in full-blown panic mode. "M-must have put it somewhere else."

"All right then, mate. If I see it I'll let you know, shall I?"

"NO!" Ron practically screamed at Harry. "If you see any parchment about just uh...throw it away. Don't look at it. You know...just...throw it away. Er...well, I'm going downstairs."

With that Ron clunked out of the room and down the stairs. Harry sunk down on the bed and laughed maniacally. How close was that?!

He began to unpack his belongings, chuckling all the while. After he had put his clothes in several piles in the corner of the room, he took his toothbrush to the bathroom.

He popped the toothbrush into the pot next to the sink and turned to leave. He did a quick double take as another piece of parchment caught his eye behind the u-bend of the toilet. He guffawed to himself and retrieved the next piece of Ron's literary genius.

Dear Hermione,

Hi. How are you? Good, I hope. I'm just writing again to tell you something I left out of the last letter. Well...that is, I like you. A lot. Even though I call you a know-it-all and then you yell at me and call me various other names and retreat to your library instead of talking to me...that's all right. I still like you. A lot. So anyway, I wanted to tell you that I don't like fighting with you, you fight back too well, and I don't mean to hurt your feelings it's just that I've been...jealous.

Harry noticed how the quill skipped and scratched uneasily over the word "jealous" and chuckled.

The reason that I have felt this way is because I want you to be my girlfriend. More than anything.

The letter trailed off there, with a faint ink line skipping down the page. Evidently, there had been an interruption. He could clearly imagine Ron agonising over every word for hours, like he did on his Potions homework.

"Hermione would be proud," he murmured with a chuckle.

He put the parchment in his back pocket and went down stairs. Walking through the house he found Ron sitting on the couch staring balefully at a snow globe sitting atop a knick knack shelf in the corner. Glancing closer he noticed that there was sand not snow in it though. Oh well.

He turned to Ron and snapped Ron rudely out of his thoughts when he said casually, "So, been writing a lot lately? Hermione would be happy."

Apparently, writing and Hermione in the same sentence was just the thing because Ron shot Harry a look of pure fear and embarrassment and stammered, "W-w-what?"

Harry smiled at Ron, arranging his features into a look of puzzled curiosity. "Well," he said, "you seem to be using a lot of parchment lately."

Ron opened and closed his mouth several times. To Harry, he looked like a rather talkative goldfish. In the end, he mumbled something about going to the toilet and dashed off quickly, his face flaming.

Harry patted his back pocket and smiled to himself knowing what Ron was looking for. He tossed himself onto the couch. Hearing the distinct sound of crinkling parchment Harry reached behind him into the seat cushions and pulled out yet another piece of Ron's handiwork. He grinned as he began reading.

Dear Hermione,

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. A LOT. I even think about you in my sleep, which is slightly disturbing considering my dreams...I mean, you're my friend right?

I've been thinking of you differently. In a way that I would never think about Harry. Except now I've said I wouldn't think it, I'm thinking it and it's rather disturbing... I mean...I really don't want to suck on Harry's...I mean, right.

So anyhow, these dreams are disturbing because of what I'm thinking about and I don't know WHY you make me think like that about you. Maybe it's because you've grown a bit...and I think you know what I mean. I keep thinking about how you're a girl and I'm a boy. We're getting older and starting to have these needs. And well, I need you. I mean, I want you. I mean...well, I mean to say that I like you and I want to be with you in a boyfriend and girlfriend sort of way. More than just friends.

Then perhaps these dreams wouldn't be so disturbing because then they might be real, right? Not to say that you would do all the things we do in the dream yet...of course not. I want to take you to my bed and do things to you that I have only read about. I want to hear you groan...

Harry stopped and put the parchment facedown on his leg. He did not want to read any more of that. It would most likely scar him for life. He shuddered. Harry's mouth hung open in shock and revulsion. Mental images flooded unbidden into his mind. "I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered.

(To Be Continued...)