Hermione Granger was curled up in a small corner of her bedroom with nothing but a piece of parchment, a quill and an overdue leather-bound book of Spell man's Syllabus. Crookshanks was purring at the edge of her sofa, scratching at the untidy, lavender cloth, obviously yearning for attention.

“Crookshanks!” scolded Hermione, picking him up and staring at him directly in the eye. “Not now, I’ve got to study, it’s almost time for the Burrow’s – ”

Crookshanks ignored her plea and viciously pounced onto her accumulated piles of paper.

“Crookshanks!” squealed Hermione, smacking him gently. “Bad cat, bad cat!”

Crookshanks, however, meowed merely and started scratching onto the carpet. Hermione, rolling her eyes, said, “Bloody cat.”

Bloody cat…hadn’t Ron said that months ago?

Crookshanks hissed furiously as a small, feathered creature smashed onto the window glass. It was an owl. Hermione sat up immediately and gasped as the tiny owl – which very much resembled a pig – tapped onto the window with its claw instead of its beak, which held a large letter with the words “Hermione” scribbled on untidily.

Hermione opened the door, and realized that the owl was indeed Pigweidgon.  She snatched the letter from its beak and said, “Thanks, Pig.”

The tiny owl flapped its wings excitedly and set off, flying into the distance. Hermione closed the window behind her and settled upon the lavender sofa again. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the words “Hermione” in only one handwriting she recognized: Ron’s. His handwriting, as always, was very rushed and lacked neatness, but was still readable. As she traced the word with her finger she felt tiny bumps, and saw ink stains. Based on the bump and stains, she could very much tell that the letter was written by a rather different Ron.

She tore it open and saw that the edges of the paper where slightly torn. There, in Ron’s handwriting, read:

 

Dear Hermione,

                             I really meant to write to you earlier. Sorry. Mum’s mental with all this work she’s giving us. It’s just been a month after a rather stressing year at Hogwarts and she still can’t give me and Ginny a break. But obviously, that’s not why I wrote this letter.

The main reason is – I wanted to apologize for the way I reacted this year about you…you know, about the whole stupid Yule Ball thing? And about Vicky Krum? I shouldn’t have said all the things I said. It was your moment and I ruined your big night. I know, I can be an enormous prat sometimes.

Obviously I should have asked you. And should have noticed that you were a girl. Well, that’s my way of saying, “Want to go to the ball with me?” Stupid Krum, I suppose, asked you properly, as I have heard from Harry that he watches you studying in the library.

Well, what I really want to say is… I said all those things about you and that stupid Bulgarian prat Krum because I wanted to go to the ball with you. I just realized that no one else – not even Fleur – would be as fun to dance with as you. And what I also want to say is that you were amazing at the ball and I really shouldn’t have ruined it.

So there you go. Ron Weasley finally apologizes. Quite unexpected. And on top of that, Mum’s being – well, Mum – and telling me to clean out the kitchen with Ginny. Harry’s arriving soon. And I’m definitely not looking forward to fifth year. Great job on making it prefect. I know our letters haven’t announced it yet but I’m positive you’ll get the position. See you soon at the burrow.

 

Ron

Hermione just noticed that a grin was etched up upon her face. Her cheeks hurt but she did not care: Ron Weasley, that untidy, redheaded, lazy, uneducated boy had actually apologized to her – but what drenched Hermione’s mind was the way he said it. She laughed uncontrollably at the ways he crossed out how he felt about Krum – calling him “Vicky” and “Stupid” and her now favorite, “that stupid Bulgarian prat”. He was Ron. That same old humorous Ronald Weasley. Her favorite boy in the world.

She picked up Crookshanks and stroked his thick orange fur continually, staring at a nearby lamp and still thinking about the letter. Then she realized. She had never felt about Ron how she felt about Harry or Viktor. But definitely not Viktor. He was just a date. A small date at the Yule Ball. The main reason, she remembered, on why it had taken her at least two weeks to finally accept the unwanted invitation was just she was waiting for Ron to ask her.

But since he didn’t, Hermione finally had to accept the offer. And at the ball, she had a good time. She had nice robes, nice company and a nice time, overall. And she remained oblivious to the fact that Ron was watching her, glaring at her – and finally lost it. She remembered the blazing row they had. She remembered she had told him to not think of her as a last resort. Hermione wondered if he had “gotten the point”.

By what she said, it probably referred to, “you missed your chance” to Ron, but what she had really meant was – “Fine! Fine! You can take me next time Hogwarts hosts a ball!” Being Ron, he did completely miss the point. Hermione wondered if he had gotten it now. She felt her broad grin fade away.

Hermione switched the light off and kissed Crookshanks gently on the forehead, whispering, “Good Night.” She slid into her comfy bed, fluffed up her pillows and laid her head. And that night, Hermione Granger seemed to have sweet dreams about a certain redheaded boy.