Spilled Ink
by : epiphanies
"She's gone mad, Harry!" Ron said furiously as he entered the dormitory and slammed the door shut.
"Why now?" Harry smirked, then straightened it as he turned to face his best friend.
Ron looked a mess. His hair was windswept and askew, his eyes were bright and he looked like a red pepper. Harry maintained his concerned look as Ron exploded.
"She's been writing to Viktor again, and it's been three bloody years since they even saw each other! And she said that she was going on a trip with her parents to Bulgaria all summer! You think she'll just ignore the fact that she'll be around the block from her precious Pro-Player-Prat?"
Harry raised his eyebrows, "Did she say why they were holidaying there? I mean, it's not an elegant or fancy place, is it?"
"Yeah, it's all snowy, isn't it?" Ron grumbled, and his eyes widened in shock. Harry frowned as Ron began to sputter.
"What?" Harry finally said.
"Snow," Ron breathed in disbelief, "Snow!"
"What about snow?"
"Snow for - for sliding down a mountain on sticks!"
Harry took a moment to realize what Ron was talking about, and then he groaned.
"Skiing, Ron."
They sat down on their beds, facing each other.
"I can't believe it," said Ron hoarsely, his fists clenching and unclenching. His knuckles were white.
"Ron," Harry began, "Maybe it's just a coincidence-"
"She's been seeing him all this time," Ron seethed, and shoved his face in his hands. Harry rather hoped, for both their sakes, that he wasn't crying.
Ron coughed roughly and wiped his eyes, "Something in my eye..."
"Yeah, it's dusty in here," Harry tried to joke, "D'you reckon the house elves have gone on strike?"
Ron snapped his eyebrows together and closed his eyes.
"I've been trounced," he said quietly.
"Ron, she went two years ago," Harry tried desperately, "Maybe then, but not now..."
"Right," Ron spat, "Now it's just love letters signed with a bloody kiss."
Ron then called Viktor something that made Harry snort. Harry pulled out a pack of Chocolate Frogs and tossed them to the next bed.
"Why don't you just ask her?" said Harry as Ron ripped the package open.
"Right," Ron rolled his eyes, "Just go up to her and say, 'Hermione, are you having relations with Mr Bulgaria 1998?'"
"Actually," Harry lowered his eyes, "I meant, ask her if she fancies you."
Ron blanched.
"Harry," he sputtered after a moment, "You don't honestly think that I fancy-"
"Bollocks, Weasley," Harry grinned, and Ron made a face and threw the chocolate wrapper at him.
There were a few moments of nervous laughter, and then Ron sighed heavily.
"This is so out of order."
Harry nodded, "But you'll never know if you don't say something."
"But-"
"You'll die a lonely old man with fifty-six cats, one of which will be Crookshanks because it would be unbearable for Hermione to live with two grouchy, bow-legged, squash-faced creatures under the same roof."
Ron laughed despite himself and stood hesitantly from his four-poster.
"Well," he said awkwardly, "thanks Harry. For the...for the Chocolate Frogs."
"Good luck," Harry replied, grinning as Ron left him alone in the dormitory again.
The door clicked quietly, and Harry smiled. It had only been a matter of time, of course. He looked forward to owling the Weasley's the news.
One backward turn should do it
She was sitting cross-legged in a high-backed chair near the fire, enjoying the scratch of her quill in the empty common room. She sighed and dipped her quill into the ink bottle and bit her lip, then continued her letter (her fingers shook a bit,)
So, Mum, I know that you and Dad want me to come to Bulgaria again, but I just don't think it's a good idea... do you remember that boy we met at the Slope Cabin a few years ago? He fancied me in the fourth year and I think it would be awkward if I had to put him down again ... he hasn't written since then. I also wouldn't know how to tell him that I rather fancy somebody else...
The common room door creaked open and Ron appeared. She quickly rolled up the parchment and stared at the fire, but she'd been too slow.
"Who're you writing to?" he said suspiciously, walking over.
"No one," she said firmly, but could feel pink patches appearing on her cheeks. He stopped short and stared at her.
"You're writing to Vicky again," he lowered his eyes, muttering.
She frowned at him, "No, I'm not. I'm writing to my parents about vacation."
"And where do they want to go?"
He sat down across from her. She blinked, and whispered,
"Bulgaria."
His eyes widened. He stood up and started toward the Boys Staircase.
"Ron-" she stood, knocking her letter and her ink all over the carpet. She barely noticed. His dorm closed with a slam.
One turn forward will suffice
She'd not stopped crying since the slam of the Boys Dormitory door. Her letter and ink lay on the floor, drying and forgotten. Her cheeks were raw and pink, and her eyes were red.
She was sure that she'd ruined everything - every little daydream, every little idea of the two hands touching, of the chances she had to kiss his cheek before Quidditch matches...
She could barely recall feeling any less for him. The fluttering stage had passed long ago, the doodling shortly after. There was nothing childish left about her feelings, and it scared her.
So, when he came down the stairs, she didn't flutter or giggle. She didn't smile or try to hide her face. She just stared at him.
He was looking very humbled, but wouldn't meet her eye until he sat in the same chair across from her.
"Hi," he said quietly, and she tried to reply, but it would simply not come out. He frowned at the tears on her cheeks.
"Hey, are you ok?"
"Sure," she whispered in a hollow voice. He shifted uncomfortably.
"Hermione, I'm sorry that I'm so stupid about Viktor, alright?"
Her attention was not only snagged by the apology, but by the "Viktor." Her hands shook a little bit.
"It's always bothered me, that you could be with him if you wanted to," he continued, "because he's... he's famous, isn't he? Talented, world-class, older-"
"Ron," she interjected, "You know I don't care about Quidditch."
"Well, I do," he shrugged, then went a bit red, "And if you fancied a bloke who could be with the smartest author witch in the snap of a finger, you'd be jealous too."
"But-"
She stopped and replayed in her brain.
And if you fancied...
Did that mean-?
She stared at Ron, who only stared back.
"What are you saying, exactly?" she finally asked quietly.
"I guess I'm saying I fancy...you...yeah," he finished lamely.
She burst into tears and curled up into a ball in the chair, not able to see Ron's alarmed, bewildered face.
"Maybe I'll just go," he muttered, and she cried out,
"No!"
He froze and turned.
"Well, you obviously didn't want to hear that, so..." he said dejectedly, and she sobbed loudly. He frowned and came toward her, kneeling down to her level on the chair.
"Oi," he said softly, touching her hair, "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm s-sorry!" she lifted her head and, miraculously, she was smiling through her tears, "I've been so stupid about everything... I fancy you as well, Ron."
Ron breathed in relief and laughed, "Well, what's the problem, then?"
She shook her head and hiccupped, "I've no idea!"
Ron shook his head in disbelief, "Can you believe how long this has taken?"
"I thought it never would," Hermione admitted, calming her tears. He bit his lip and tentatively caught the last tear on her cheek. They stared at each other, and Hermione smiled.
Taking his chin in her hand, she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his. The milky twilight shone through the high windows and the fire crackled merrily. The parchment on the floor was later thrown away, to be replaced by one written in such a messy happiness that any mother could ever read.
the end.