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Ron had two jobs when studying with Hermione in the library.
The first job was really a stipulation. He never got any work done himself, not even when he was following along with her - So in order to not become a violent distraction, he was in charge of fetching the books that Hermione required for her studying, or her homework, or her research. He actually got quite good at remembering where certain sections were. The day he realized he knew by heart where Hermione's favorite experimental potions textbook was, it almost scared him away from the library for good. That’s what he told her anyways, but he knew deep down that nothing would really get him out of there if that’s where Hermione was.
His second job was unspoken. Hermione worked herself into a ditch when she really got into it. Ron could fall asleep at that table, wake up hours later, and find Hermione in the exact spot she was before he’d closed his eyes. Except with frizzier hair. So Ron took it upon himself to make sure that she wasn’t quite literally killing herself over a few novels. That included bringing her meals, or snacks. Always providing water bottles out of nowhere when she mentioned being thirsty. He also provided distraction when distraction was needed .
His favorite way to pull Hermione’s nose out of a book was to make up increasingly psychotic stories about what Harry had decided to get up to during their free period that day, or about what the Hufflepuff quidditch team was hiding, or about what Seamus was buying with all that gambling money he’d been winning from Friday night poker in the eighth year dorms.
Flailing his arms about, mimicking various magical creatures or muggle machines that he’d never seen before - He’d get weird stares when it was particularly busy, which put a bit of a damper on his phony storytelling. When they were alone though, right before curfew or as soon as the sun had risen, that’s when he really got to shine. Spinning on his tippy toes and tripping over himself as he clumsily danced around the huge table Hermione had stationed himself, cackling like an idiot until he stubbed his pinkie on a bookshelf. He definitely felt a bit like an idiot when he came back to himself, as he usually did when he made a stupid choice and had a moment of self-realization.
Except then he’d look over at Hermione, who was hunched over in her chair and laughing so hard she was barely making any noise. She was slapping her book like a seal, rocking back and forth like it would help calm her down - When in reality it just made her look even more ridiculous.
Ron would sink down to his knees, giggling like a madman, and he’d ask himself when he’d fallen in love with her.