words are only words.
a/n: akasjlfkahfdklas this Ron-voice is difficult. thanks to kittykittyhunter for the correction.
She never ceases to amaze him, and he wishes he could tell her so.
It's not the courage he lacks (although maybe a little more of that could help, too), no; it's because he knows he's so bad with the words that she's so good with. If he opens his mouth, to say something that in his head is perfectly eloquent (let's just say: "Hermione, you amaze me every single day, please marry me right now"), it'll come out a jumbled mess and she'll look at him like he's a Hippogriff with a backwards head.
Which doesn't make a lot of sense, when he thinks about it, but that's what his mum always used to say. She's never been good with words, either, so she borrows other people's and that works for her. He can't rely on old wives' tales and proverbs, though, because he's Ron bloody Weasley, best friend to Harry Potter, yes, the Harry Potter, none other, and he has to be better than the average Joe.
Speaking of Harry, he's decent with words, even though he doesn't have to be. Ron reckons that even if whenever Harry opened his mouth all that came out was a long duh, people would cheer. Because he's the Chosen One and the Boy Who Lived, and he's pretty amazing in his own way, too. He doesn't need to be told so by Ron, though. He already knows, because that's what best friends are for, and best friends are uncomplicated.
Unlike bloody women.
So he stumbles and mutters and swears and gives up on what he was trying to say in the first place, because for some reason people think that if you can't speak eloquently you have no eloquent ideas to express. What a load of hogwash. Sweet-talking never made anybody a better thinker, and some of the best people he's ever met are rougher even than him.
Sometimes he thinks she understands this, but other times it seems like she's as blind to this as he was to her until she walked into the Yule Ball, teeth flashing hair twirling on Krum's arm, when he finally understood that tugging feeling in his chest.
Even his mind has run-on sentences. How could he ever hope to tell her how amazing she is?
She'd laugh, wouldn't she?
She's over there now. Hermione. He should use her name, but thinking of her name means thinking about feelings that scare him a little bit. Her teeth aren't scary white and her hair isn't twirly, but she also isn't on somebody else's arm. Ron thinks that maybe he likes her better this way, anyway.
Hermione's alone. He walks over slowly, not really wanting to bother her, but feeling like if he doesn't get this out his head and heart might explode and then she'll never ever know just how amazing she is. As if she senses this, she looks up. "Hey, Ron," she says, almost nearly exasperated, setting aside her quill. She's probably expecting him to ask something of her.
She waits. He waits, but the words just won't shove out of his mouth.
"Hermione, you're...you're bloody amazing, you know that, right?"
Ron could swallow his tongue. He sounds like a downright idiot. He honestly shouldn't speak, ever again. Maybe Flitwick can charm his mouth shut, and the world'll be a better place.
Slowly, she breaks into a smile, as if she thought he was joking at first. "Th-thanks, Ron," she says, with a hair-twirly quality in her voice, and a hiccup disguising most of his name.
He thinks that there can't be a better feeling, so he walks off and hopes nobody saw.