Your Hair

My hand skating over the paper, I sit at the table, writing my latest Charms essay on the importance of proper pronunciation of your spellwork. It's quite a dull subject, but like always, I'm able to get a long paper on it. The ink glistens as I finish the last sentence, and I slump back in my chair and close my eyes for a minute. It's been a long week.
First, with Harry's private lessons, apparently Voldemort has these things called Horcruxes. They're absolutely horrible, really, because they have a piece of your soul in it. Imagine killing someone to rip your soul. I shudder at the thought.
Second, Lavender finally split up with Ron⎯ something I've been waiting for for just about forever. If she put those plunger lips on his face one more time, I might've just screamed. I think I had some doing in that, because when we came down from the boy's dormitories together, with Harry invisible of course, she started yelling and screaming at him, asking him what we were doing up there. Not that we were doing anything unacceptable in there, even if we had been alone together…
But anyways, he's finally free with the perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes, (preferably me) but I wish he could finally see that I am right here, standing in front of him, when he's looking at other girls. I am female, I've obviously confirmed that, but Ron sees me as just his best friend, I think. Of course, I can hope, but every time he might notice me as something more, he does something so un-romantically best friend-ish that I know he's just pulling my wand.
"Er. . . Earth to Hermione? Hello?"
I snap out of my thoughts to see Ron kneeling in front of me, and I realize he's been calling me for a couple moments now. His intense blue eyes gaze into mine concernedly, wondering if I'm alright. "Oh, hello, Ron."
"Are you okay? I think you should be getting more sleep, you've been so out of it these past couple days," he wonders out loud. A sensitive Ron Weasley? Will wonders never cease?
"I guess I'm fine," I yawn pointedly, "The homework load is quite a lot this year, and it's difficult to keep up," I say, sitting up straighter and running a hand through my poofy brown hair.
"Well, okay, if you're sure," he says, stands up, and absent-mindedly starts playing with a lock of my hair. What in the name of Merlin's pants is he doing? Is Ron trying to make me go nutters? His hand is so close to my cheek, and I could just kiss him now if I wanted to. If I could get up my courage. "I love your hair, Hermione."
What? He loves my hair? How could he love my hair? My eyebrows furrow with confusion. "What?" I ask, in utter confusion.
"I love your hair, Hermione," he says again, "It's so soft. And lovely."
"Thank you?" Butterflies are doing pirouettes in my stomach and I know that's the first time he'd ever called me anything close to attractive.
"Why are you so surprised?"
"I don't know, my hair's terrible."
Ron's lips fall open in shock. "Terrible? Who the⎯"
"Ron!"
"⎯told you that?"
"Just about everyone from age five to now, in fact," I answer. It was true, I was Bushy-Haired Granger in third grade, and Buck-Toothed Granger in another. They were ridiculous names, of course, but they never failed to bring my self-esteem levels down a bit more.
"They're idiots, you know. You're better AND prettier than all of them," he declares, his ears turning slightly pink.
I'm pretty? When did that happen?
"C'mon. Go to bed, Hermione."
He grabs my hand and pulls me up, out of my chair, and walks me to the staircase, my hand still in his. Ron's hand gives me nice tingly feelings that run through my arms into what feels like my heart. It's pleasant.
He turns to me at the bottom of the staircase and gives me a hug, his long arms wrapping warmly around me and I collapse into him. He smells so… Ron. I sniff just to take it in. Ron pulls away hesitantly, and says, "So, goodnight?"
I give him a small smile, and while going up the staircase, I say, "Yeah. Goodnight, Ron. Sweet dreams."