(-Ron's POV-)
Harry was to my right, as he was to my left. I can't help but look at him every two minutes or so. With every look made it harder to do as, but at the same time, harder to look away.
His white-blonde hair neat, besides two pieces of bangs that fell on his forehead. His silver-grey eyes on his paper. The grey feathered quill he used was writing down everything that Snape said. While I, myself, only had point-form of what he said about every five minutes. His eyes flicked up at me...
"Do you want something, Weasel?" He asked.
"What?" I ask in return. Honestly, I don't how he saw without looking up, save right now.
"You keep looking at me. Do - you - want - something?"
"No...", (yes), "No, I don't." I expected something to be added by either of us, but he just looked back at his page and continued to work.
