Quote:
Originally Posted by
siriusblackliveson 
i wove it still.... i can't wait to read the next part yet again. so it's really fun i like it and want more... gah.
-sarah
Here's more!
~*~*~
Ron was playing wizard’s chess by himself when I entered the Gryffindor common room.
“Did you find Luna?” Ron asked, looking up momentarily.
“I did,” I answered, dropping my book bag by my feet and sitting down on one of the worn couches by him. “Where’s Harry?” I asked when I realized he was nowhere to be seen.
“Went up to the dorms to concentrate on homework,” Ron explained, packing up his chessboard. Though he said this causally, there was a strain in his voice, worry creasing on his brow. He sat down on the couch beside me.
Pursing my lips and letting my tone drop quieter so no one could hear us, I inquired, “You don’t think he’s going to do anything…rash, do you?” Harry was getting more and more weary these days. I could see the bags under his eyes and the frequent rubbing of his forehead where his scar was.
Ron shrugged.
“Don’t let him run away without us, all right?” I told Ron. “He can’t go off hunting V-Voldemort alone.”
Wincing at the sound of Voldemort’s name, Ron didn’t reply and rose to stoke the already blazing fire.
“Ron?”
Sighing, he finally murmured, “I’ll do what I can.”
I raised an eyebrow, uncertain of the truthfulness behind his promise.
Turning towards me, he placed both hands lightly on my waist. “Don’t worry about it, Hermione,” he assured me huskily. Smiling, he kissed me on the cheek.
“We have prefect duties tonight; I should finish my homework or I won’t get it done for tomorrow,” I reminded him. He sighed. “That goes for you too, Ronald,” I said sternly, picking up my schoolbag.
“What about we work on homework at those tables then?” he asked, placing a hand on the small of my back and directing us towards a secluded corner.
“As long as we work,” I compromised.
Ron pulled a chair out for me, grinning. “Ladies first.”
“Thank you, Ronald.” Smiling back, I sat down and spread my work out while Ron was scooting close enough so our bodies were brushing.
Of course, I started working right away. My mind could work that way: switch gears from one activity to another. Ron’s brain evidently could not.
As I composed a lengthy essay for Potions, Ron mainly stared at the draperies in the common room, the ceiling, glanced at me from time to time, and scribbled a few words down occasionally.
After an hour of silent working, I was nearly finished my essay. Ron, however, had only completed three paragraphs.
“’Mione,” he whined into my ear, propping his elbow on the back of my stiff wooden chair, “I’m sick of working.”
“Well, I’m not,” I huffed, though it was hard to concentrate with him breathing into my ear.
Ron groaned. “Oh, come off it,” he muttered, prying the quill from my hand. “Just a little break won’t hurt.” He grinned and I couldn’t help noticing how it lit up his eyes. When I turned to face him, he caught my chin and kissed me in mid breath, just as I was about to reprimand him. And for a moment I forgot what I was going to say, because everything else was drowning my words into nothingness.