Not Yet
By Nerd Incognito

Summary: The story of what is on Hermione's mind during an argument with Ron and how sometimes you can learn the darnedest things from books.

Disclaimers: You know the deal, I own nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing to do with Harry Potter alas.

An audience had gathered in the Gryffindor Common Room to witness yet another heated row between Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Now in their 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, they had really elevated the humble disagreement to art form, one that their classmates had come to view as a sort of entertainment. The casual observers had seen it all before, but still, much like the morbid curiosity that compels someone to slow down when passing any good disaster, they couldn't help but watch the two.

The assembled spectators all knew what she was thinking when she had that look on her face, staring at him like that. Surely she was calculating her next verbal onslaught, waiting merely for him to take a brief pause in his own. And he knew it too, and that's why he kept rambling on, not giving her a chance. They all knew that her resolute stare meant that soon, he'd be done for.

At least that's what they thought. And normally, they would have been right. But today, well, today was something altogether different. Today they'd be shocked if they knew the truth. Of what was really going on behind those unwavering eyes of hers.

To be honest, that is what she had started out thinking, a well rationalized and forceful rebuttal to his string of baseless accusations peppered with the occasional obscenity for affect. But today he was particularly long winded in his tirade, listing each and every infraction that she had supposedly made over the course of the 6 years that they've known one another and well, frankly, her mind had started to wander.

Yes, she was locked in a determined gaze, but it was no longer a waiting one, but one of study. For example she was currently observing the almost dangerous way that his blue eyes were flashing and how his knuckles were turning the faintest shade of white as he clenched them at his sides. How a soft pink glow had interlaced the freckles that dotted his face giving him a flushed hue. How his fiery red hair brushed lightly across his forehead and threatened to dip into his eyes. And how she desperately wanted to brush it out of the way just to touch it. It looked so soft she thought as she flexed her fingers subconsciously.

With a small "hummph" (which the bystanders attributed as a response to a comment from Ron) she tried to clear those thought out of her head. Focus, she thought. Focus.

But it was too late. Now that she knew. Now that she was sure. And there was no denying it.

She was in love with Ron Weasely.

She repeated the sentiment silently in her head as he continued to drone on unaware. I love him. She was amazed how calm she felt as she thought about it. Well, calm now. She was done with being shocked about it, and with pretending it wasn't true. No, she had irrefutable proof that even she couldn't deny. Not like she had in the past. Not anymore.

Now she had the book. Stupid book. She had silently cursed herself a hundred times for coming up with the idea for that book. Sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

The idea to write the book had started out as one of her more brilliant ones, or so she had thought at the time. It came to her after she once again had pointed out something to Ron and Harry that they should have already known, something that she had learned from reading Hogwarts, A History. Ron, as per his typical exasperating self, had commented that he and Harry had no need to bother reading it when she had already memorized it for them. Well, what if something happened and she wasn't there to do their thinking for them, she had snapped back at him and stormed off, leaving Ron slightly pale and stunned, his mouth agape.

Once she calmed down and had time to think about it, she decided that she had indeed made a very good point. After all, these were extraordinarily dangerous times. Any one of them or even all three could be lost at any time. As devastating as that thought was to her, she was not one to dwell on the negative. No, she was one to make plans. And the thing that frightened her almost as much as the thought of losing her two dearest friends, was the thought of the loss of all the knowledge that they had accumulated over the years about Voldermort, his servants and how to defeat them. That's when she made up her mind to write the book, to chronicle all that they had done and all that they had learned in order to leave a sort of instructional guide behind in case they were killed. Something that those who came after them would be able to use to carry on their work.

She wasn't trying to be morbid, per say, just realistic. Anyway, if they did survive, then all the better. She was sure that witches and wizards everywhere would be interested in reading about Harry's adventures once the war was finally over. And better her document them, than someone like that horrid Rita Skeeter.

She has always maintained that you could learn anything that you needed to from books reading books, but she never imagined what she would learn from writing one.

So Hermione set to work recording all the trials and tribulations that the trio had encountered over the years in the fight against Voldermort. Their story flowed out of her quite easily onto the parchment and often, she would write whole sections as if she was on autopilot, without much reflection on what she had put to the page. But on occasion, she would notice something quite strange about what she had written. She noticed that she tended to get off focus on the oddest things, things, more precisely, that had to do with Ron Weasley.

The first time she noticed it was when she realized she has spent 10 minutes trying to determine the perfect adjective to describe the color blue that his eyes were. She was torn between azure and sapphire when it occurred to her that it was a rather unnecessary sentiment to include in a biography of how to defeat Voldermort. She just simply shook it off to getting carried away in the details.

Then, another time she caught herself spending an inordinate amount of time describing a particularly nasty row that the two of them had during their third year, when she again realized that it was in no way relevant to the intended narrative. This had come to her as she settled back down to write after having to take a break to retrieve some tissues to dot her tearing eyes, caused by the painful memories. Again, she had figured that she had just fallen into the trap of being far too detailed. She did have that tendency she knew, as he seemed determined to remind her of often.

It wasn't until she had gone back to proof read what she had written that she started to get a clear picture of just what she had written. And as the story slowly unfolded, so did her understanding for just what was to be learned from this book. The more that she read, the further her mouth stood agape at her dawning realization. She was taken aback to see how much space she had devoted to describing seemingly inconsequential events, all of which Ron figured chiefly.

For example, during the chapter where she described the tests that they had to master in order to gain entry into the chamber where the Sorcerer's Stone was being hidden, she found that she had spent the majority of the chapter describing Ron's heroic chess game with only a brief mention of the other trials. And when Ron was being held in the Shrieking Shack by Sirius Black before they knew about who Scabbers really was, shouldn't that chapter be mostly filled with the information they found out that night and not just how scared and so worried for Ron she had been? And why even mention the events of the Winter Ball in their fourth year? None of that mattered did it?

But those weren't the only instances she noticed. Not by far. The entire book was littered with references to Ron doing this and Ron doing that. And not just what he had done, but how he had done it and how she felt about it and other various irrelevant observations. Much to her increasing astonishment a clear picture was starting to develop. She was exceedingly preoccupied with a certain annoying red-head, but why?

Of course she was preoccupied with him, she thought. He is my best friend isn't he? But, she reasoned, so was Harry and she had managed to paint a clear and fairly unemotional depiction of him. But Harry of course was different from Ron wasn't he. Ron was just so, just so, well, she never could really say rightly. He just got her so frustrated. It seemed that he lived only to aggravate her.

But then there were other times when he could make her smile when no one else could. Reluctantly she had to admit to herself, he did have some rather good qualities. He was loyal, brave (in his own way), funny, clever (when he wanted to be), cute, fun to be around…

Wait, back up, did she really just say cute? Well, she had to admit, she guessed he was cute in his own way. He was tall, which she liked and all the Quiddich had left him in shape. And she did always fancy red hair. And he could be sweet when he wanted to she supposed. Yes he did always fuss and fight with her, but he always was the first one to defend her if someone else picked on her. She always did love that about him.

And once that single four-letter-word entered her head, she couldn't shake it. Love. Did she love him? And then it hit her. Oh God. She did. The realization made her sit straight up in bed. Luckily she was alone in her dorm room because as she sat there with her mouth hanging open at the realization, she couldn't help herself from saying it quietly, but resolutely, "I love Ron."

And she knew it with every ounce of herself that it was true. How could she have not realized it before? How could she, Hermione Granger, cleverest witch in her year let something this big sneak up on her?

There was no more denying it. But where to go from here, that was the problem. For one thing, she knew that if she had been too dense to realize how she felt about him, there was no way that he could know. Observation was not exactly Ron's strongest attribute. So she felt confident that he didn't know about her recent epiphany.

Now what? That was the question echoing through her head. Pretend like nothing had changed? Continue to have these petty little spats? Repress it? Tell him? The possibilities were limitless and frightening, yet at the same time, slightly thrilling. All she could manage to bring herself to do at the moment, however, was to simply consider the potential.

Over a week later from her realization, she had had come no closer to finding a solution to her predicament that further consideration. And that is just what she was currently engaged in as she patiently watched him yelling himself horse here in the Common Room.

"Were you even listening to me?" he yelled at her, flinging his hands up disgusted.

Apparently he'd finished. What were they even arguing about again, she wondered? She'd completely forgotten, distracted by her own thoughts. As she finally opened her mouth to respond, he waved her off.

"You know what? Never mind. I don't even want to hear it," he said, turned and stormed off to his dorm room scowling all the way.

No, she thought to herself with a small smirk as the spectators began to disperse. No, I guess you don't.

Not yet anyway.

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Thank you for reading. Please review. It makes me feel so very special inside.