My name is WeasleyTwinsFan and the name of this fic is Let Her Cry. Have fun.
Something Old: Draco being kind and sweet at heart. Hermione/Draco love affairs. CC is the only one I've read who has pulled it off correctly. Kudos to her.
Something New: Well, a couple of things. The Organ Expulsion Tweezers, but they are just a name- the most yucky name I could come up with. Also, Ron being on the Quidditch team.
Something Borrowed: Excerpt from The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver. There are a couple references that Hermione makes that could only be explained by reading the book. Huge recommendations here.
Something Blue: Hermione has some hair troubles J
The month was May, the weather was dreamlike, and the Quidditch match had been fun without being challenging. Hogwarts was relishing the calm and peace; for the first time since the arrival of Harry Potter, there had been not a stir from You-Know-Who. There were small groups thriving in the shadowy forests of Albania, and Knockturn Alley had a small dingy room where regular meetings of the Future Death Eaters of America club occurred, but all these troubles seemed a million miles away on a day like today.
Students were scattered about the manicured lawns, reading, joking and talking about the Quidditch match that had just transpired. As always, the Slytherins had played rough and unfair, but the famous Harry Potter had pulled off a beautifully done last-minute victory without breaking a sweat. Of course, this is was all with a few assists from Ron Weasley, the faithful sidekick. Speaking of Ron…
He was leaning against the door of the locker room to the veela mascots from the Bulgarian Quidditch team. Tall, incredibly defined and devilishly handsome, Ron cleared his throat and one of the blond beauties looked up, giggling.
"Hello there." The sexy growl escaped Ron's throat in the same lady-winning tone that had won him a date with Celestina Warbeck. The veela, though bred to control men, found herself blushing under this intense man's seductive stare. "That outfit looks awfully tight. Won't you need a little help getting to those zippers back there? I'd love to assist you…"
Still giggling, the veela (whose name was Lorna) led Ron into the locker room, where dozens of naked veela were tromping around with skimpy towels thrown conveniently over certain areas. Lorna stretched both of her hands behind her back, trying to get a grasp on the zipper of her cheering outfit. Straining her efforts until her elbows almost touched behind her back, she stared up at Ron, damsel-in-distress style.
"Oh, my, looks like you've gotten yourself into a spot of trouble. Allow me to help you out." Lorna nodded with her eyes lowered and gazed through her thick eyelashes.
"That's kind of you, Ron. Oh, Ron…Ron…RON!"
Ron fell to the floor with a bang. Groggily opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at a creature with loads of black hair and glasses.
"Lorna?" he called mournfully.
"No! It's Harry. Do get up. You've fallen asleep in the locker room again."
"Oh, right. Sorry about that." Ron blushed bright red and scrambled to his feet, gathering his Quidditch supplies. "Did you finish going over those maneuvers with Alicia?"
"Well, actual, she wants me to meet her at the broom shed to look at the new models the Slytherins have." Ron made a face.
"Malfoy buy them again?" Harry grinned ruefully.
"He has to stay on the team, doesn't he? Anyway, I was just coming in to tell you. Why don't you head on up to the common room? I'll meet you there." Ron walked Harry out to the field, and they amicably parted ways, broomsticks slung over their shoulders.
Ron daydreamed as he climbed the steps up to the entrance, and nearly knocked over a scared-looking first year as he entered and made his way up the marble staircase. The Fat Lady curtsied to him as he called out the password (Gryffindor Rules!), and Ron jumped through the portrait hole, puffing out his chest, hoping that some star stuck third year girls might have been watching the game. He got a good amount of attention from the younger generations, and even though he knew it was all in effort to get to Harry, he enjoyed it anyway. Today, however, most of the students had taken advantage of the weather, and there was only person in the common room. Hermione.
She was curled in ball on a couch, sobbing like she had never sobbed before. Ron and Hermione had been best friends for the better part of six years, and Ron had seen Hermione in almost every emotional state known to man. But he had never seen a torrential sadness like this before. He fought the impulse to run and cautiously approached the couch, holding his broom in front of him like a shield.
"Hermione?" he asked softly, sitting on the edge of the seat cushion farthest away from her. She sat up, revealing puffy eyes and a runny nose, and sniffled loudly. It was then that Ron saw the pink-covered book that she was clutching to her chest. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and she began crying again, though thankfully not as loudly.
"I-I-I just finished a-a re-re-really s-s-sad BOOK!" The second the sentence was out, the flood began again. Ron wrung his hands, scooting just a tiny bit closer to Hermione. After all, he really did hate to see her so upset. Still, he had had enough encounters with a crying Hermione to know that caution was the key. It was kind of like chess! Plan the next move carefully…
"Er- what book was it?"
"T-The P-P-Poisonw-w-wood BIBLE!"
"Um…oh."
"D-do you w-w-want to h-hear some o-of it?" He really didn't.
"Sure…sure…just read some of it to me." Hiccuping slightly, Hermione flipped through the pages. Finding a selection to appropriately justify her feelings, she smiled, then her eyes automatically misted again. Steeling herself, she read aloud.
"Quietly I began to cry, and everything inside me came out through my eyes. "Anatole, Anatole," I whispered. "I'm scared to death of what's happening and nobody here will talk to me. You're the only one." I repeated his name because it took the place of prayer. Anatole's name anchored me to the earth, the water, the skin that held me like a jar of water. I was a ghost in a jar. "I love you, Anatole." Then this is Anatole. "Leah! Don't ever say that again." I never will. We arrived at the opposite shore. Someone's rescued hen fluttered up to the bow of our boat and strutted placidly along the gunwale, it's delicate wattles shaking as it plucked up ants. For the first time that night, I thought of our poor chickens shut up for the night in their coop. I pictured the bones laid clean and white in a pile atop of the eggs. Two days later, when the rebel army of tiny soldiers had passed through Kilanga and we could go home again, that is exactly how we found our hens. I was surprised that their dislocated skeletons looked just the way I'd imagined them. This is what I must have learned, the night that God turned his back on me: how to foretell the future in chicken bones." As she finished she wore an expression of repressed emotion, then let go and buried her head in her arms.
"I wish I had a SISTER!" she howled, hugging herself and choking on her liquid sorrow. Ron laid a hand gently on her back and she leaned against his arm, shaking with sobs.
"Well, you know, Harry and I are really just like brothers to you…" Hermione pulled her head up and glared at Ron like he had just performed some sort of criminal offense.
"I don't want a brother," she said icily, and managed to hold the pose for only a few more seconds before breaking down and crashing her head into his chest, soaking his robes. He timidly put a hand to her back and cast around the room for something to take her mind off the book. All her found was Harry, coming through the portrait with concern on his face.
"What's happened?" he asked anxiously, sitting next to Ron and Hermione. Hermione simply shook, silently now, and Ron rolled his eyes.
"She…read a book…I suppose it was sad…" Hermione jerked away and sat up, a look like laser beams piercing the room.
"I READ YOU THE SAD PARTS!" Harry and Ron exchanged a look.
"I guess you had to read the rest," offered Ron quietly, then sat back, silenced by a Look. Harry knitted his eyebrows together in a frown.
"Is this a girl thing? I mean, really, it was only a book." Hermione looked for a minute like she was going to scream, then got up and turned her back on the boys, still crying.
"They'll never understand. It's all my stupid fault. Why couldn't I have been friends with some nice, normal girls, huh? Instead I'm stuck with the poster boys for insensitivity!" Ron rose, as if to contest the last statement (he had put up with a lot of stuff to avoid the whole 'insensitivity' thing), but Harry pulled her back down, shaking his head.
"Let's let her go for awhile," Harry mouthed. "She'll be fine once she gets it out of her system. Chess?" They had a rousing game, each move marked with a sob from the corner, where Hermione was rereading her favorite parts of the book against the window. Once Ron had won, there was silence for a moment. Then Hermione began again; Ron and Harry shared identical sighs, making them sound like little old women.
"It's not getting any better," hissed Ron.
"I know, I'm beginning to get worried. What should we do?" Harry paced the chess board, thinking about a great many things. Ron toyed with one of the chess pieces, raising it up with his finger and letting swing back and forth like a pendulum on a grandfather clock. Suddenly Harry slammed his hand into the board, making the bishop fall and scuttle away, glaring up at Harry.
"I got it! Cheering Charms!" Harry was gleeful, but Ron dubiously sat back in his chair.
"I don't know…Hermione probably wouldn't like us using magic on her emotions…they're screwed up enough as it is."
"Oh, she'll never know. We'll do it when she's all buried in her book!"
"Yes, you're right, she'll be happier with us if it's all without her consent. Come on, we'll do this, and then we can go and fit little sweaters on Hagrid's Blast Ended Screwts! Just in case they get cold. No, it'll be fun!"
Harry, ignoring Ron's cynicism, rushed into his sports bag and pulled out his wand. Ron, still shaking his head and muttering under his breath, wheedled his out from his robes, and the boys trained them to the bushy-haired girl who was know clutching a handful of red velvet curtain and lamenting her religion.
"Okay, on three, we'll do the charm. Then we just start another game of chess and she'll just think she finally got over it. One. Two."
"I still don't think this is a very good-"
"Three." They knew something was wrong the second they whispered the words. Why weren't they the same words? They finished the mumbling at different speeds, and glanced nervously at each other.
"You did use the Advanced Charm, didn't you?" asked Harry. Ron took a step back.
"There's an Advanced Charm? Uh oh." Harry threw his wand down and then bit his lip, very hard.
"Ron, look over there. What do you see?" Ron turned as slowly as he could, sure that he wouldn't be pleased with what met his eyes. He was right.
"Oh, crap!" he said, much too loudly. Hermione looked up her book, wiping her nose. Both Harry and Ron snapped their heads in separate directions.
"What did you guys do?" She was on alert immediately, knowing those expressions too well. There was an odd tingling along her scalp, and she clapped a hand to her head, noting Harry and Ron's winces. Dreading the next move, Hermione turned to the window, where the darkening sky allowed her to see her reflection.
"Would someone like to explain why MY HAIR IS BLUE?!" The enraged roar was deeply unsettling. The whole bushy lot of Hermione's chestnut hair had been transformed to a brilliant shade of cerulean. Blotchy face being the only remnants of the heartbreak before, Hermione wheeled around on them, fire blazing in her eyes.
"It's a funny story…"
"Really just a mishap…"
Both boys wisely spoke to the floor, telling her the story as quickly as possible. Trying carefully to keep accusatory tones out of his part, Ron explained his objections.
"Don't try to pass it off on me!" Harry cried hotly.
"Well, it WAS you!"
"STOP!" They did.
"There will be no fighting. There will be no fooling around. Right now we are going to the library, and there we will stay until you have changed my hair back to it's original color. Get it? Got it? Good." They went.
Hermione stalked ahead, not speaking but attracting many interested glances with her new appearance. Ron and Harry walked behind, heads down like shamed puppies. Halfway there they met up with the only other person who would be pacing the corridors at this time of day. Malfoy looked down at Hermione questioningly.
"Nice hair," he remarked as Hermione looked for a way around him, and she couldn't help but notice that his normal stuffy tone was gone.
"Move, please. You can insult me to my back." Hermione was not in the mood to mess around, but the next move made everybody's jaw drop. Malfoy obligingly stepped aside, and even tipped his school hat to Hermione as she began to pass him.
"Why did you just do that?" breathed Hermione. Malfoy shrugged.
"I…I'll tell you later. By the way, I wasn't trying to be mean about the hair. I really do like it, but since it upsets you…should we go to the library and figure this mess out?"
He led the way down the corridor, with Hermione shaking her head in disbelief and Harry and Ron glaring suspiciously at the back of Malfoy's head. Finally the gang (now plus Malfoy) reached the library, and Hermione snapped back to the world.
"Okay, Ron and Harry, since you got us into this, you can go and check the books in the Charms section. I want a thorough search, boys, especially of the Advanced and normal ones you used. Draco and I will go and…brainstorm."
"Since when do you call him Draco?" asked Ron hotly. Harry's expression echoed the question. Hermione sighed.
"Since right now, okay? Neither of you are in any type of arguing position, so you'd better get cracking." Harry and Ron slouched away, muttered dispassionately. Malfoy touched Hermione gently on the shoulder.
"Listen, I think I owe you an explanation." Hermione nodded and sat down at one of the Reference tables, intrigued. Malfoy sat down next to her and began talking, staring hard at The Dictionary of Runes, Volume One.
"I've always been mean to you. To you and to most all Gryffindor. But my…my actions and attitudes aren't as shallow and clear as you think they are. This is hard to believe but…I've been controlled by my father all my life. I'm supposed to take his place in the Death Eater's circle when he's gone. And all my life he's been training me for The Big Day. When most little kids were playing with My First Wand sets, I was busy with Organ Expulsion Tweezers- don't ask- and it really has had an effect on me. When I was seven, I decided to tell him that I didn't like Dark Arts and I didn't like Voldemort- yes, I say his name. That was the first time he hit me. Soon I learned how to cover the marks and hide the bruises, and he learned that I would hide them for him. He's had to put me under the Impervius Curse a number of times, to make me do the really evil things, but most of the time the feel of his leather belt across my back was enough incentive. I've always wanted to know you and the boys, but there was always that belt. I never would think it was possible for such a tiny strip of cowhide to be such a huge barrier. Sometimes, at night, when I'm all alone and I want to give up and just let them take me, I think on your pretty face, and I know that I'll never be man enough to feel safe away from your gaze."
There was total silence at the Reference table. A few bookshelves away you could hear the noises of Ron and Harry arguing over the existence of a book that didn't make Hermione cry, but at that table, silence.
"So you never meant everything you said? Draco, you wished death on me!"
"Hermione…it tore me apart to say that. Every word against you was only on the insistence of lashes…only on the insistence of lashes." Hermione still looked doubtfully torn. Her sensible side was screaming at her.
"Everyone has their sob stories," she said dryly. Malfoy took a deep breath and looked straight into her eyes.
"And you have the power to give mine a happy ending." Hermione lowered her eyes. She was never one to do silly teenage things. Her stint on Lockheart had been strictly hormonal. Was this strictly hormonal? She had to admit that she didn't know and then she didn't care because his lips were on hers and the world was spinning and it felt like ponies and butterflies and newborn babies and the color pink. Suddenly a cry broke the night.
"Hermione! Your hair!" Ron and Harry were standing at the table, different expressions on their faces. Hermione tugged one of her curls down in front of her eyes. A chestnut color that was her original one met her eyes.
"What do you know…" she murmured faintly.
"Guess that did the trick!" said Malfoy cheerfully.
"You and Dudley! I'd rather you and Dudley!" Harry clutched a handful of his hair and ran out of the library, gibbering like a maniac.
"He took that well." Hermione and Malfoy exchanged a look.
They said goodnight and went to their respective areas. Ron and Hermione lingered at the fork in the dormitory stairs.
"It's been a weird sort of day."
"Indeed."
"Goodnight."
"You, too."
Sleep reigned.