Of House Elves and Horcruxes
Somehow, Hermione found herself sitting alone in the attic at 12 Grimmauld Place. She had come up here mostly to be alone, but also to get away from the bumbling idiot that was Ron Weasley. She had hurried up the stairs, undeniably cross, and found a large, ornate chair that sat in the corner of the damp and dusty attic. It looked empty and nostalgic, as if waiting hopelessly for someone who had been gone a long time. Hermione volunteered herself as an acceptable, if not worthy, substitute. Of course, she brought with her a book that was lying around to provide an escape.
Now, two hours later, she found herself much less angry. The ridiculous romance novel, with a tan, chest-exposed red-head clutching some frightened-looking brunette to his bosom on the cover, lay open on her lap. She had never really started reading it (and probably never would). She was too absorbed in daydreams about growing up completely muggle and becoming a dentist. All you have to do when annoying boys with a ridiculous number of siblings bother you, she thought, is forget the Novocain. However, she couldn't remember what exactly it was that Ron had said that made her so mad. It was funny that despite the new threat they were up against, a few stupid words tumbling listlessly from his mouth would get her so worked up. She felt the exact same way as she did in first year, with Wingardium Leviosa, and then fourth year, with Viktor Krum.
He still made her feel the same.
A song with a gentle acoustic rhythm floated up through the cold floor.
I'm not good at much, much but herbology
At the Yule Ball, I wondered if you'd dance with me
Won't step on your toes, I'll do my best
My fair-haired darling, you aren't like the rest...
This was a right mess of a situation. It was just like the world, or whatever invisible entity was drawing out the patterns of her life, to throw her into this kind of thing. And I thought being a witch was weird. Obviously, helping her best friends find the Horcruxes and save the world was important. Actually, without a world, she wouldn't even have a chance to be mad at Ron. This thought calmed her in a grotesque sort of way. She would fight, and fight to the death if necessary, but all the weight of responsibility included random bouts of bitterness. She just didn't want to see anyone die. Especially not her friends. Not even Ron, the bumbling idiot.
She thought she remembered faintly what had made her angry. Something about not being useful, thinking too much, not wanting to hurt anyone. Well, she told herself, he's not lying. She always found herself in that awkward, logical middle ground. Sure, she read too much, but that had more pros than cons. Making rational, thought-out decisions will not make me a bitter old woman who lives in a library and breathes dust for nutrition. Lots of other people read constantly. I just can't think of anyone. Oh, wait! There is--Oh dear God, she reveled, I am Remus Lupin. The closest person to me is Remus Lupin. I am the female equivalent of Remus J. Lupin. I might as well become a werewolf, fall in love with Sirius (before he died, that is), and develop an addiction to chocolate. The idea of slowly morphing into Lupin was altogether quite ridiculous, and she let out a loud "HA!" then suddenly clapped her hand to her mouth, as if surprised by some abnormality. It was foreign, laughter. She hadn't even snickered since summer started.
All of a sudden, she heard a loud rustling sound in the corner and felt a pair of eyes upon her. She turned to see what it was. "Hello?" she said, realizing how much of a stupid question that was. "Who's there?" Another stupid question. Apprehension crept, spider-like, into her mind. It was certainly not a giant rat. She turned around slowly. Oh. This is where–
The house elf was standing behind her, surveying her closely with two protuberant, yellow eyes.
"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "You disgusting, filthy–" She threw the nearest object she could find at him. "Honestly! Sitting around in the dark, watching people! Get out of here!" Kreacher whimpered as he avoided the flying book and gave Hermione a sullen look as he scampered away. Exhaling, she leaned back into the chair. Her eyes fell upon a button that had fallen out of her robes. S.P.E.W., it said. Well, that's ironic.
She heard a pair of footsteps entering the attic. It was her bumbling idiot. Ron came in and looked at her through the musty light that was fighting the good fight to brighten the room. It was strangely spectacular, she mused, that he had changed so much in a few months. Physically, he was still lanky, sanguine, and freckled as ever. But there was something that had changed in his demeanor. It seemed like he was taking some of Harry's burdens on his own shoulders. His walk was more brave, more sure, but heavier as well. He looked like a man who was stepping proudly onto his scaffold.
"Hermione?" he asked through the darkness.
"Yeah." She answered faintly.
He came to her, his face partly lit, partly in shadow. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "You... er, you're alone." Brilliant observation, she thought.
Instead, she said, "I suppose so." They stood silently for a few seconds.
Finally, Ron said, "Look, I... I, er, came here to..." He trailed off.
Hermione picked up where he left off. "To... play the bassoon? Share some tea and crumpets?" Her tone was not hostile, but it had a bitter aftertaste.
Ron sighed. "No, though crumpets would be nice about now. Erm, look, Hermione... I'm not the type to apologize, but..." He trailed off again.
She picked up the line again. "But admitting you have a problem is the first step to solving it." This finish, though more feasible, had more of a bite. Ron noticed, because his ears turned pink and he suddenly became fascinated with something next to his left foot.
"No, I need to apologize... to you." He looked up at her. "Look, about what I said earlier... I am an enormous git."
She smiled politely. "Well, I'm not going to argue with you, but truth be told, I've already forgotten what you said."
He blurted, "Oh, well, I said that you were too sympathetic about everything and that it would be just like you to say something like, 'Oh, that hex was a bit too much, sorry about that.' to a Death Eater in battle. And then I said that we'd be better off without you and your feelings and logic getting in the way." Hermione's smile fell immediately. Idiot. "Oh, yes. Well." Ron realized the mistake he had just made.
"But that's why I'm here," he quickly added. "I came to say that I am... sorry. I didn't really mean it, I was just... frustrated, that's all."
Hermione stared at him. "Well, that's a first."
"What?" he asked. "No, I've been frustrated lots of times..."
She rolled her eyes. "No, I meant about apologizing. You've never done that, I don't think."
"S'pose not."
"S'pose not, indeed." Ron sat down on the floor.
"This is some serious stuff, this fighting."
"Yeah."
"We could die, you know," he said, voice cracking in the middle.
"Don't say that!" Hermione squeaked.
"What? It's true, Hermione! Any one of us could be killed!"
"Stop it! Stop, please!"
Hermione put her face in her hands. Ron sighed and stood up. "Look, it's just that... I mean, you were saying about me and apologies not going together very well... and that's why I needed to apologize..."
Hermione made an odd sound into her hands.
Ron's face slowly acquired the look that Hermione would have if she looked up. He prepared himself to say something he had been meaning to for a while. His speech became shaky and nervous.
"No... please, I am sorry... but you, Harry, none of us are safe."
Hermione would have stopped him there, but by the time she looked back up, he was going on a rant. "...and even though I will do everything to make sure it won't happen, I can't promise that..."
His eyes started to get watery and his face turned bright red. The pauses between phrases were big gulps of air lost more and more control over his tears.
"...I can't promise that nothing will happen to you! I mean, I can only try so much, and sometimes..."
Hermione stood up, leaving the chair expectant as ever, and tried to think of something comforting to do or say, but she could only stand there, looking incredibly helpless.
"Sometimes... it's never enough. Sometimes, I try so much and I can never promise anything and just being here is so hard..."
He let out a short, hollow laugh.
"And I was looking forward to being an Auror."
He took little, shallow breaths, like a small child who is crying, but has no tears. His slim body convulsed in little tremors that left him breathless. His right hand ran through the crimson mane.
"You know, we shouldn't... we shouldn't have to do this... and I'm horrid for saying it... but that's how I feel sometimes... that we shouldn't have to do this..."
He looked down at the floor and gasped for air.
"Ron..." she whispered, and reached her hand forward.
"No!" He moved back, away, and wiped his eyes, which were on the verge of spilling their contents. He regained some hold of himself, but remained distraught. The intensity changed in his eyes. He blubbered neurotically to the floor, "I'm all right... issallrigh'... it's just... I wouldn't want anything to happen to you without you knowing how much... how much I love you."
Ron stopped abruptly, stunned by the words that had just came out of his mouth. Hermione was not particularly struck by what he said, but the horrified look on his face afterwards showed that it had a different meaning entirely. Before she could say anything, the astonished visage gained a sudden flash of courage, and Ron practically dove in and pressed his lips against hers. As a reflex, she pushed him away rather harshly. He was crestfallen. "Oh. Er, sorry. I didn't mean to... I mean... oh, fuck."
"No, Ron, I didn't mean to--"
He cut her off, saying, "No, it's alright. I wasn't really trying to– you know. Er, funny joke? Ha. Ha. Ha."
It's a wonder he says anything–his face is practically a mood ring, she thought, as he turned from red to magenta.
"Oh. Well, I was just saying... so then, you don't...? I mean, from a theoretical and completely non-sexual... er, non-romantic standpoint, you know. Er... ha. Ha. Ha?"
"Well, I mean, I've never said that to you before, so it came off a little... odd. I mean, you're my..."
"Friend?"
"Yes. Friend. Exactly. Haha, right-o! Friend."
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"I think I should leave, now. Erm, carry on, then! Pip, pip, cheerio!" Ron had suddenly become a mezzo soprano. He turned away, and walked halfway across the wooden floor.
"Ron?"
He turned to face her.
"Yeah, Hermione?"
"I was going to say... er, oh dear."
She ran up to him and gently pressed herself against him. Her lips found a way to his and they kissed. It wasn't a very good kiss, considering it had caught them both off guard. He was much taller, so she had to strain to reach his face. His lips were chapped, their teeth gnashed against each other horribly, she wasn't sure what to do with her hands, and his mouth was uncomfortably wet, but the meaning stayed the same.
When they pulled away, Ron's face had evolved to a bright fuchsia. "No, no no, I lied. I am a liar and I have never been so sure of anything in my entire life. I lied, so not ha ha ha. Not ha ha ha at all." He said breathily.
She stared at him as though he was criminally insane. "Oh..." Her expression softened, and she hit a weak fist against his chest playfully. "Honestly, Ron!" She turned serious again. Her eyebrows knitted together in a look of concentration. "Look. This isn't going to be easy."
"I know," he replied gravely.
"It's hard for all of us, you know."
"I know. That's how it is, innit?"
"Yeah. But..."
"Look, Hermione," he said, grabbing her shoulders firmly. "I know. I know, okay? But we've got each other, yeah? And we've got Harry."
"Yeah," she said, smiling sadly. "We've got Harry. And everyone else."
"And everyone else," he echoed. He added for reassurance, "So we'll be okay?" It was more for him than it was for her.
"Yeah. But... I wanted you to know, you're not the only one who feels that way."
"I know... but I wouldn't want nothing else."
She winced at the double-negative, then laced her fingers into his, the way they were always supposed to be. She looked up at him adoringly and said, "I wouldn't either."
He grinned, eyes red and bleary, then shivered. "Let's go downstairs, shall we? Who knows what Kreacher's been doing up here."
She laughed, and this time, it didn't seem so strange.
FIN
Disclaimer: I own, but not Harry Potter. It is all the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and Scholastic.
The song at the beginning was an excerpt from "The Ballad of Neville and Luna" by The Remus Lupins. Check 'em out on myspace. They own as well.
And a very special THANK YOU to Emily (sing somethingsweet for meeeeee) for the super fantastische beta!