Part Five
In which Ron has a pet rock named Lester.
Rated R for language.
Icon used in this post by ajcher
“I don't want another pretty face, I don't want just anyone to hold, I don't want my love to go to waste, I want you and your beautiful soul-”
Jesse McCartney’s simpering voice rang out across the library, earning several disgusted looks from the students scattered here and there. Ron sniggered to himself, looking around for the culprit. What kind of prat would have that as their ringtone, he thought, but the smile slipped off his face when he noticed the bushy haired brunette sitting ten metres away was glaring at him. It struck Ron all of a sudden that the ringing was loud, really loud actually, and he wondered briefly what the vibrating near his foot was. In a sudden moment of panicked horror, Ron dove under the desk, hitting his head against the edge of the table as he did so in the scramble for his bag. The ringing was definitely louder under here.
“Bloody buggering fuck ow!” Ron rubbed his head and continued to grope in his bag, ignoring the shocked look the girl gave him, muttering rude words about Ginny under his breath as he did so. She probably thought changing his ringtone was funny, but now his phone was whining louder and louder about not letting another minute go to waste and she was still staring and it was horrifying.
“What?” he nearly yelled into the phone when he finally managed to press the answer button, crawling out from under the table and resuming his seat, trying to ignore the sniggers and smirks of the students around him.
“Well hey to you too little bro,” Charlie’s voice sounded coolly amused and Ron was so not in the mood.
“Hi Charlie,” Ron sighed heavily, casting a furtive look at the girl who had now thankfully resumed her work, though she still shook her head and occasionally tutted. Ron’s shoulders slumped a little at the sight. He hadn’t even known she was back from Italy until today and his heart might have skipped a beat when he was passing the library and he saw her nodding along earnestly to one of the staff, but that hadn’t been the reason - at all - that he had come in here. Honest. He had needed to like, get out books, and stuff. Yeah.
“Want to come to the footy this weekend? Got two spare tickets. West Ham’s playing at Boleyn.”
“Um,” Ron was trying to whisper now, cupping his hand over his mouth. He was receiving long-suffering glares from all directions now and he would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t just treated them all to three verses of ‘Beautiful Soul’, the acoustic version. Instead he made apologetic faces to the room at large, ears burning. He was actually going to kill Ginny. “Yeah, sure mate, whatever,” Ron paused for a moment, slowly taking in what Charlie had just said. “Wait, did you say two spare tickets? Hang on a sec.”
An idea began to form in Ron’s mind, eyes on the brunette in front of him. It would be risky. Incredibly risky, actually, but -. He could, couldn’t he? She might like football. Plenty of chicks did, didn’t they? He had seen her at the tennis courts occasionally and that was sort of a ball sport right? If you really thought about it, Ron mused, tennis was pretty similar to football, really. Except for the number of players and the rules and the racquets and the two were nothing alike in all honesty, but Ron really, really needed a better excuse to talk to her than ‘Can I borrow a pen?’ because he had about ten spare pens in his bag now and Ron reckoned she was growing suspicious. The last time he did that she had asked whether he ate them for breakfast and Ron had given a sort of half-hearted nervous laugh and she had sighed and pulled out another one, handing it to him before turning away. Ron had fled.
But now, he thought, he could be all, oh yeah hi, Hermione isn’t it? Yeah look I’ve just got a spare ticket, fancy coming along? But what if she said no? What if she said no and then looked at him like he had crawled out of a nearby sewer? What if she said no, looked at him like he had crawled out of a nearby sewer and then laughed in his face? He would never be able to borrow another pen again, he would have to swap to Camomile St library (which wasn’t as nice or as big) and then possibly move to a hut on a beach somewhere. He would grow a beard and scream at little children for disturbing his seashell arrangements. He would have a stick and a pet rock named Lester. Ron grabbed his head in his hands; he seriously needed to get a grip but his shirt was too tight and his palms were too sweaty and he felt too big and altogether too red to do anything other than sit here for a minute. He hadn’t even asked her out yet and already the pressure was too much.
Lost in self-loathing, Ron didn’t see her check her watch and gasp; standing up quickly while she began to pack her belongings into her bag. Come on Ron, just bloody grit your teeth and do it, you enormous pansy. He gulped a lungful of air and felt a little calmer. Right. He stood abruptly, straightened his shoulders and - and looked around, puzzled. Her table was empty. He spun to face the entrance just in time to see her dash out of the library, giving a hasty wave to one of the staff as she left.
Ron sat back down heavily. Shit.
“Ron? Ron?” Charlie’s tinny voice called from the desk where Ron had placed his mobile. He picked it up slowly.
“Yeah?”
“What just happened? You sound like you want to top yourself.”
“Nothing.” Ron knew sounded like he was about ten, sulking over when the twins had stolen the remote off him yet again, but he didn’t care. He sort of wished he could cry for his mum now the way he had back then. But only a little bit, because he was twenty-five and a man, he reminded himself. A real man.
“You’re not still mooning over whatsherface are you? Doesn’t she have a boyfriend anyway?”
“Mmph,” Ron mumbled noncommittally. The thing was, he wasn’t sure whether they were still together, her and Blaise. It wasn’t as though he had looked to see if she had a myspace or anything, but he had been googling names, just for fun, you know, and hers had come up, weirdly enough, and since that day he occasionally checked back, every now and then, just to see what was going on in his extended network. Ron didn’t think of it as stalking, exactly, but she had taken down her relationship status a few weeks ago and hadn’t put it back up and he knew there was a line somewhere he was straying dangerously close to crossing.
Charlie snorted down the line at him, muttering something that sounded like ‘pathetic’ and ‘where have all the men gone?’.
“Just because you’ve sworn off women--” Ron began half heartedly but Charlie cut him off with a laugh.
“Trust me mate, I definitely haven’t sworn off women-” Ron groaned at the suggestion in his voice, not really needing that mental image. “I’m just not involved. Not ever.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I just don’t want another chick throwing a drink in my face at RG’s because they think I’m you.”
“But that way at least girls talk to you Ronnie.”
“Piss off.”
“See you Saturday,” was Charlie’s reply and he clicked off, leaving Ron to pack up his things, all thoughts of studying for his PIRT forgotten. He might have strolled past the desk Hermione had been working at on his way out; checking for forgotten items, maybe a precious book he could return to her, but that was only because he was a nice guy, not at all stalker-ish, and-.
Oh, piss it. He might as well start growing that beard.
On to part six...
Rated R for language.
Icon used in this post by ajcher
“I don't want another pretty face, I don't want just anyone to hold, I don't want my love to go to waste, I want you and your beautiful soul-”
Jesse McCartney’s simpering voice rang out across the library, earning several disgusted looks from the students scattered here and there. Ron sniggered to himself, looking around for the culprit. What kind of prat would have that as their ringtone, he thought, but the smile slipped off his face when he noticed the bushy haired brunette sitting ten metres away was glaring at him. It struck Ron all of a sudden that the ringing was loud, really loud actually, and he wondered briefly what the vibrating near his foot was. In a sudden moment of panicked horror, Ron dove under the desk, hitting his head against the edge of the table as he did so in the scramble for his bag. The ringing was definitely louder under here.
“Bloody buggering fuck ow!” Ron rubbed his head and continued to grope in his bag, ignoring the shocked look the girl gave him, muttering rude words about Ginny under his breath as he did so. She probably thought changing his ringtone was funny, but now his phone was whining louder and louder about not letting another minute go to waste and she was still staring and it was horrifying.
“What?” he nearly yelled into the phone when he finally managed to press the answer button, crawling out from under the table and resuming his seat, trying to ignore the sniggers and smirks of the students around him.
“Well hey to you too little bro,” Charlie’s voice sounded coolly amused and Ron was so not in the mood.
“Hi Charlie,” Ron sighed heavily, casting a furtive look at the girl who had now thankfully resumed her work, though she still shook her head and occasionally tutted. Ron’s shoulders slumped a little at the sight. He hadn’t even known she was back from Italy until today and his heart might have skipped a beat when he was passing the library and he saw her nodding along earnestly to one of the staff, but that hadn’t been the reason - at all - that he had come in here. Honest. He had needed to like, get out books, and stuff. Yeah.
“Want to come to the footy this weekend? Got two spare tickets. West Ham’s playing at Boleyn.”
“Um,” Ron was trying to whisper now, cupping his hand over his mouth. He was receiving long-suffering glares from all directions now and he would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t just treated them all to three verses of ‘Beautiful Soul’, the acoustic version. Instead he made apologetic faces to the room at large, ears burning. He was actually going to kill Ginny. “Yeah, sure mate, whatever,” Ron paused for a moment, slowly taking in what Charlie had just said. “Wait, did you say two spare tickets? Hang on a sec.”
An idea began to form in Ron’s mind, eyes on the brunette in front of him. It would be risky. Incredibly risky, actually, but -. He could, couldn’t he? She might like football. Plenty of chicks did, didn’t they? He had seen her at the tennis courts occasionally and that was sort of a ball sport right? If you really thought about it, Ron mused, tennis was pretty similar to football, really. Except for the number of players and the rules and the racquets and the two were nothing alike in all honesty, but Ron really, really needed a better excuse to talk to her than ‘Can I borrow a pen?’ because he had about ten spare pens in his bag now and Ron reckoned she was growing suspicious. The last time he did that she had asked whether he ate them for breakfast and Ron had given a sort of half-hearted nervous laugh and she had sighed and pulled out another one, handing it to him before turning away. Ron had fled.
But now, he thought, he could be all, oh yeah hi, Hermione isn’t it? Yeah look I’ve just got a spare ticket, fancy coming along? But what if she said no? What if she said no and then looked at him like he had crawled out of a nearby sewer? What if she said no, looked at him like he had crawled out of a nearby sewer and then laughed in his face? He would never be able to borrow another pen again, he would have to swap to Camomile St library (which wasn’t as nice or as big) and then possibly move to a hut on a beach somewhere. He would grow a beard and scream at little children for disturbing his seashell arrangements. He would have a stick and a pet rock named Lester. Ron grabbed his head in his hands; he seriously needed to get a grip but his shirt was too tight and his palms were too sweaty and he felt too big and altogether too red to do anything other than sit here for a minute. He hadn’t even asked her out yet and already the pressure was too much.
Lost in self-loathing, Ron didn’t see her check her watch and gasp; standing up quickly while she began to pack her belongings into her bag. Come on Ron, just bloody grit your teeth and do it, you enormous pansy. He gulped a lungful of air and felt a little calmer. Right. He stood abruptly, straightened his shoulders and - and looked around, puzzled. Her table was empty. He spun to face the entrance just in time to see her dash out of the library, giving a hasty wave to one of the staff as she left.
Ron sat back down heavily. Shit.
“Ron? Ron?” Charlie’s tinny voice called from the desk where Ron had placed his mobile. He picked it up slowly.
“Yeah?”
“What just happened? You sound like you want to top yourself.”
“Nothing.” Ron knew sounded like he was about ten, sulking over when the twins had stolen the remote off him yet again, but he didn’t care. He sort of wished he could cry for his mum now the way he had back then. But only a little bit, because he was twenty-five and a man, he reminded himself. A real man.
“You’re not still mooning over whatsherface are you? Doesn’t she have a boyfriend anyway?”
“Mmph,” Ron mumbled noncommittally. The thing was, he wasn’t sure whether they were still together, her and Blaise. It wasn’t as though he had looked to see if she had a myspace or anything, but he had been googling names, just for fun, you know, and hers had come up, weirdly enough, and since that day he occasionally checked back, every now and then, just to see what was going on in his extended network. Ron didn’t think of it as stalking, exactly, but she had taken down her relationship status a few weeks ago and hadn’t put it back up and he knew there was a line somewhere he was straying dangerously close to crossing.
Charlie snorted down the line at him, muttering something that sounded like ‘pathetic’ and ‘where have all the men gone?’.
“Just because you’ve sworn off women--” Ron began half heartedly but Charlie cut him off with a laugh.
“Trust me mate, I definitely haven’t sworn off women-” Ron groaned at the suggestion in his voice, not really needing that mental image. “I’m just not involved. Not ever.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I just don’t want another chick throwing a drink in my face at RG’s because they think I’m you.”
“But that way at least girls talk to you Ronnie.”
“Piss off.”
“See you Saturday,” was Charlie’s reply and he clicked off, leaving Ron to pack up his things, all thoughts of studying for his PIRT forgotten. He might have strolled past the desk Hermione had been working at on his way out; checking for forgotten items, maybe a precious book he could return to her, but that was only because he was a nice guy, not at all stalker-ish, and-.
Oh, piss it. He might as well start growing that beard.
On to part six...