And sandy sweetly said, "you know, you foolishly admitted to even remembering that you've written harry potter. i could be very evil here. does even requesting the little wizards count as something you wouldn't enjoy writing? cause, you know, I'd enjoy some ron/hermione. yes, yes, i would. set at hogwarts, maybe. in no way involving food." she's sneakier than she looks.

"I've never heard you sing."

Hermione's quill squeaked to a halt and she looked up without moving her head, which gave her rather an owlish look, Ron decided. With the eyebrows and all. "What," she said flatly.

Refusing to be cowed, Ron flexed his fingers and sat back, doing his best to look nonchalant. "I was just thinking. I've heard most everyone else sing, even when they're utter rubbish —" he paused for a moment to keep from screaming HARRY HARRY HARRY, "— but you? Not a peep. Not so much as a hum."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said, pushing bundles of hair back from her face. Ron wasn't sure why she didn't just plait it or tie it up somehow and save herself the trouble, but he didn't really mind. "I sing the school song every year, same as anybody."

Ron rubbed at his knees and smiled, putting that extra little curl at the corner of his mouth that he knew would get Hermione riled. Sure enough, she started fluffing up like a little hen owl, harrumphing and rearranging her quill and books. "I've never heard you," he maintained pleasantly. "You mostly just...recite. Instead of singing."

Hermione fluffed some more, her hair reaching new feathery pouffs of indignance. "I didn't come to this school to be a sing for you," she sniffed. She flipped through all her papers and then thumped them back into order, then sent her quill skittering across the table, then made a noise of irritation and threw herself across the table to get it and her robe scattered her neat stack of papers everywhere. Ron easily reached over and started collecting them.

"You must know how to whistle, at least," he said, eyes on the thick sheets. Hermione went still, then went red. He knew she was red without even looking at her, because...well, because he knew. He just did.

"I —" she began, then blurted, "oh, sod off, Ron!" One flick of her wand and everything gathered itself up into a pile on the table; Hermione swooped it all into her arms and scurried off in a cloud of brown hair and ruffled feathers.

Ron sat back. "Weasley is our King," he hummed tonelessly, then began to whistle it. He had to stop soon enough. It was pretty much impossible to whistle while you were smiling.

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