Second attempt at HP fic. Let us just assume that Voldemort was defeated in some non-traumatizing way back in the Trio's 6th year. Also, for the sake of this story, Ron and Hermione never had any romantic notions toward each other, yeah? Go easy on me folks! This was actually inspired by a story called "Blaise Zabini and The Difficult of Existing" by Starkidsftw.
I actually intended this story to be a That '70's Show one-shot with a Jackie Burkhart/Eric Forman pairing, but instead here we are.
Merlin, it's good to be Ron Weasley. It's two weeks into his final year of schooling and he's got nothing to worry about except for N.E.W.T.S. Voldemort, who threatened his whole world, had been killed and his family was safe. And, there were so many fit girls around that were interested in one of the wizards that fought that Dark Arse, that it was rather hard to keep all of his appointments.
"Blimey, Hermione," Ron says, taken aback. "Kindly pull that wand out your arse. It was just a question." He only asked that she help him with his Transfiguration essay, not write it. Yet, her verbal wrath knocked him of his feet, as if her words contained a physical manifestation of her temperament.
"Ron." Harry warns from the seat next to him.
"You really ought not to screech like a banshee," Ron says, ignoring Harry. "You may well scare poor Seamus if he heard you."
"Oi!" A voice behind him says.
Ron looks over his shoulder, over the sofa back. "Don't worry, Finnigan." He says looking at the Irishman with a puffed up chest. "I helped kill Voldemort. I'll save you from the banshees. Especially this one." He jerks his thumb at the fuming Head Girl standing in front of him.
"Ronald." Hermione looks as if she might murder him on the spot. She has that look in her eye, hands perched on her hips, and he knows she'll charm his underpants to say something embarrassing, or something of the like.
"Right, right. Sorry. How's the Head Girl business going anyway?" He asks in order to distract her.
Surprisingly, she huffs out a breath and answers instead of chewing him out. "That's what I came up here for, actually. I was just going to tell you that I'm entirely too busy to help you two," she pauses and gives Harry a look, "with school work. I can't very well sit your N.E. for you can I? I mean, I'll help obviously, but-" some sort of weird compulsion makes her glance down at her wrist watch, "-drat, I've got to go. Draco and I need to sort out the prefects schedules." Without looking back, Hermione leaves in a rush, leaving her two best friends slightly dumbfounded.
Hermione has always been a bit high strung, but since the start of the year, she's been positively nutty. More than usual, really.
It's two months into the school year, and Hermione is as busy as ever. She's been Head Girl-ing her way around Hogwarts and tutoring students and whatever else she does, Ron knows. He knows, but he still misses the days when they were younger and spent nearly all their time together. Well, except that whole Dark Wizard business back then. Obviously, he doesn't miss that.
It isn't until he sees her on the staircase walking toward the Great Hall, that something occurs to him. She's smiling and flushed as she passes the other meandering students on their way to breakfast.
She's been cagey and distracted since the term began and it's odd that Ron is the only one to notice. He's never been the most observant of souls, but Harry acts like nothing is amiss, and when he tried to bring it up once before, Harry just mumbled something abut the library, and you know how she is, and all that.
"What're you so happy about," he asks as he approaches. Hermione unsuccessfully tries to hide her smile, and shoves her hands in her robe pockets.
"Oh, I -nothing really," she stammers. Ron notices how flustered she seems, and it's so un-Hermione like, that the suspicion grows a bit stronger. "Just, um, you know. It's a beautiful day- shouldn't you be getting in for breakfast?"
He raises an eyebrow at her. She's could lie to adults when it suited her, but she was never a good liar when it came to him and Harry, and it's all but glaringly obvious she's trying to divert his attention.
"'Course. I'm not one for missing a meal. You coming?" He deliberately says it nonchalantly, trying his best to act less Ron-like with his suspicions. After all these years, he's learned how to handle his best friend in order to avoid her ire. Well, most of the time anyway.
Hermione darts her eyes around a second before answering. "I, yes. I'll join you in a moment. There's…I have to grab something real fast. Save me a seat, okay?" Then she's gone before he can answer her.
Ron's eyes narrow as he watches her hop back up the staircase. There's definitely something going on, and he's pretty sure he knows what it is.
"She's seeing someone, isn't she?" He asks Harry as soon as he takes a seat.
Harry looks up, slightly confused. "Who?"
"Hermione," Ron says. Who else would he be talking about? Really, for being The Chosen One, he could be so thick at times.
"What?" Harry looks around as if the answer is within the Gryffindor table. "Who…who would Hermione be dating? Wait. Why would you think that anyway? She'd tell us." He looks at Ron as if he's the one who has gone 'round the bend and has been acting all sorts of strange.
"You think it's that Finch-Fletchley guy? " Ron asks, because she has been seen in various places around he castle with him, although it isn't as if she's been spotted sneaking into broom closets or anything. But, still.
"Who?"
Oh honestly. "You know. That moony faced Hufflepuff bloke."
Harry lifts himself halfway off the bench to search the Hufflepuff table. His eyes dart around for a brief moment before he settles back down and gives Ron a look. "I don't think so. And really, so what? Why do you care?"
"Mate, I don't. But it's our jobs to look out for her. She can be positively mental, you know, and who knows who she might agree to go out with when she's all flustered and whatnot. Remember that McClaggen tosser?"
Harry squints back at the Hufflepuff table. "Doesn't she tutor him?" Ron rolls his eyes as Harry continues, "I think she's also tutoring a couple of Ravenclaw firsties. D'you think she's dating them, too?"
Ron shovels eggs into his mouth; slightly annoyed that Harry is brushing all this aside. The three of them take care of each other- that's what they do.
"Speaking of Hufflepuffs, don't you have a date with Hannah in the tower?" Harry reaches for the pumpkin juice and pauses mid- pour, as he looks at Ron. "Or, is it Lavender again?"
"Lay off. You're just jealous," Ron huffs. Harry gives him an expectant look. "I mean, how can you choose just one, yeah? They've both got," Ron looks around before leaning over the table and holding his hands comically far away from his chest.
"Charming, Ron." Hermione says as she lifts one leg, then the other over the bench next to him, as Harry laughs.
"Speaking of charming," Ron starts, looking at her, "you gonna ever charm us with your presence? We hardly see each other anymore-the three of us."
Her hair is sort of a mess, he notices, but decides the best thing to do is not to say anything. Hermione gives him and Harry a small smile. "You're right. I've been entirely too busy. Hogsmead weekend is coming up."
Ron nods, because it's her way of saying they'll at least spend time together there.
The next twenty minutes are spent laughing and planning between the three of them. It feels like old times to Ron, times where they weren't near their adult lives, destined to live apart, no matter what promises they've made to each other.
"…And that's when Percy decided he was going to join Gobstones International-"
"Granger."
The trio looked up to find Malfoy standing at the Gryffindor table. Of course.
"What d'you want?" Ron asks, annoyed not just at the interruption of his story, but at who interrupted it.
Malfoy has the bollocks to ignore him, because all he says is, "Granger," again. Ron looks at Hermione to see her turn an absurd shade of red, and isn't quite looking Malfoy in the eye, while she's fumbling around with her bag.
Ron looks to Harry to see if he'll say anything about this breach in inter-house etiquette, but Harry's nose is scrunched up as if he smells something bad, and is staring Malfoy down.
Fine. If he's not going to say anything, then Ron will.
"Not understand English, then? What're you doing here?"
That causes Malfoy to turn his attention to Ron. "The Head Girl and I have an appointment with the Headmaster this morning,"
"So?" Ron turns around fully to face the interloper. "Send an owl, or some such. There's no need to come over here."
Malfoy looks at him as if he's the stupidest wizard alive. "That's not exactly practical, now is it? Perhaps I should have bellowed across the Hall like some sort of uncouth Gryffindor?" With each word, he's inching closer to Ron, and Ron can't help but raise himself slowly from his seat.
"Ron." A hand lands on his arm, and Hermione pushes him back down into his seat. "It's fine. We have a, um, a meeting."
Ron looks to Hermione now, but she won't look at him. She's taking one last drink out of her goblet while turning to get up. He switches his gaze to Harry, who doesn't do anything but raise an eyebrow. Movement out of the corner of his eyes makes him turn to see Malfoy's hand extended to help her up.
Malfoy's hand. To help the Muggle-born.
Then he sees Hermione's hand accept the offer.
Then they're touching. Touching hands.
Malfoy and their Hermione.
Ron feels his stomach drop because surely the Great Hall will erupt into flames any minute now and he cannot be the only one witnessing such an unnatural act. Perhaps the Earth will fly into the Sun because this was as bizarre as Voldemort sitting right down at the head of the Gryffindor table.
After she leaves, he turns to Harry again. "Didja see that? I mean, really?" All Harry did was just look at him. "What?"
"They're Heads, yeah? They're bound to spend time together." Oh of course Harry doesn't see. If it doesn't involve life-threating situations, then it doesn't matter.
Oh Merlin's beard. It's Malfoy, isn't it?
Ron glances back at the double doors as if that will confirm his suspicions.