An unnatural flush crept onto Hermione's cheeks.
"And then a whole flock of chattering girls swarmed around him like flies drawn by a smell, asking whether the stars in Bulgaria were brighter than the ones in Scotland!"
Ron let out a snort of laughter, but under Hermione's murderous glare, he forcibly swallowed it.
"I'm even... I'm even considering..."
Hermione's voice dropped, sounding full of self-loathing.
"Pretending to be a fan, asking him for an autograph, and taking the opportunity to get the words in."
For Hermione, who had always prided herself on intelligence and logic, this was an utter humiliation.
Harry looked at her sympathetically, then turned his gaze to Ron.
"What about you?"
Ron's face instantly turned the same color as his trademark red hair.
He sprang to his feet and paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, muttering under his breath without managing a single complete sentence.
"I... well... she..."
"He saw Fleur Delacour in the corridor this afternoon."
Hermione filled in the rest for him.
"Then he stood rooted to the spot for a full five minutes, as though he'd been hit with Petrificus Totalus, until Fleur had completely disappeared around the corner."
"I did not!"
Ron protested loudly, but his blustering only confirmed Hermione's account.
"I was just... just thinking about a spell from Transfiguration!"
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, each seeing the same "like hell I believe you" look in the other's eyes.
Ron deflated completely. He slumped back onto the sofa and buried both hands in his hair in anguish.
"I can't do it, Harry. I really can't."
There was a hint of a despairing sob in his voice.
"The moment I get near her, my brain turns into a basin of slugs, all slimy, and I can't think of anything."