Snow Angel
February twenty-fourth had been the worst day.
Ron Weasley had started the day with the realization that he had missed breakfast and he had a twenty-incher to finish for Snape. He dressed haphazardly, looked quickly for his Defense Against the Dark Arts text and some parchment, and went down to the Common Room. Then as he came down—mussed hair, two differently colored socks and a Christmas sweater two years too old—Lavender came into the Common Room and was extraordinarily pleased to see him. When she sauntered up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck in order to kiss him, he asked cheekily what the occasion was.
She pulled away as if he'd asked her if she knew a cure for Spattergroit. "You don't remember?" she asked, saccharine-sweet with an edge of acid. He knew to tread carefully. He searched his mind for a date, any date. When he didn't respond, her eyes narrowed slightly.
"It's our hundred day anniversary," she stated sharply. He noticed it was not quite as subtle as Hermione's sharp tone. He heard the danger clearly.
He scrambled to cover his arse. "That's right! You know, I even planned something for lunch, but I have a massive amount of work to finish."
Her eyes widened and lightened. "Well, I'll let you get back to that. Maybe you'll have time for it after you finish." She batted her eyelashes.
Ron cursed inwardly. He'd just resigned himself to no breakfast, but lunch was fading fast as well. His stomach rumbled in protest.
"I hope so." Over Lavender's shoulder, he saw Hermione come into the Common Room.
"Oh, Won-Won." Hermione and Ron winced. "You're so sweet." She kissed him on the cheek and turned around, glimpsing Hermione. "Oh! Hello, Hermione," she said sweetly, practically skipping through the portrait hole. She didn't linger to hear Hermione's lack of response. Hermione looked Ron head to foot swiftly with a raised eyebrow at his apparel but said nothing. He would have preferred a snide remark. She hurried up the stairs to the girls' dorms, her foot slipping, and fell forward, using her hands to break her fall. Ron, still standing, twitched involuntarily as if to rush to her aid. He heard her suck in a breath quietly and she quickly stood up and continued her ascent. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Hermione was fine. He sighed and finished his trip to the table, opening his textbook and continuing his essay. If you can call working from the title continuing.
Hermione came back down the stairs the way she went up. As she went from her room, he thought, Be careful of the stairs. He was still searching for the page in his textbook, so he heard rather than saw her stop. It was then that he realized he had spoken the words aloud. She did not turn to look at him; she paused for only a moment before straightening and leaving for her class, Ancient Runes.
He stared at the door after her for a few moments, hoping she would reappear and thank him for his concern. Or at least ask him where he got off giving her such a warning. No such luck there. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned back to the essay ahead.
Had he known how the rest of the day was going to continue, he might not have bothered. After finishing the essay, a mere five minutes before class, he grabbed his things from his bedroom and his essay and hurried down to Defense Against the Dark Arts to find Hermione's backside on display as she tied her shoe. McLaggen walked by at that moment and stared unabashedly at her arse, grinning at her for at least five seconds before going on his way. Ron had the sudden urge to wring his neck. Instead he went past Hermione into the classroom, acting as if he hadn't even seen her. He took his place beside Harry and tried to remain unobtrusive for the rest of class. This was not in Snape's plan for the day, however.
"Weasley," he said, taking the essay he had written and looking at it for half a moment. "What is this?"
"What do you mean? It's my essay." Ron was unsure of what he'd done wrong.
"This—" he said, brandishing it as if it were a flag, "is an essay? 'Protego: the Shield Spell.' Very original." He smirked at it.
Malfoy sniggered from somewhere within the room. Ron would not give him the satisfaction of turning around to look at him. Snape continued to read passages of the essay out of context, making him sound more of an idiot than he already was. The Slytherins found it uproariously funny; Harry did not.
"Completely uncalled for!" he exclaimed. After they were dismissed, Harry walked purposefully to the Common Room. "It's not enough that he takes the shit out of me. He has to give my friends shit too?"
Ron shrugged, his ears turning red. Hermione rushed past them; Harry, still ranting, did not notice. Ron watched as she made her way down the hall, feeling a great sense of longing to be her friend once more.
"Right?" Harry asked, clearly expecting a response.
"Absolutely right," Ron replied, more concerned with the fact that McLaggen had a fascination with Hermione's bum. He followed Harry up the stairs as he continued his monologue, feeling very much like the sidekick Malfoy accused him of being.
He placed his belongings at the side of his four poster and glimpsed some notes Hermione had revised for him under the bed. The yearning came back full force as he remembered the day she'd fixed them. "Now, Ron," she'd said, leaning over him, her arm touching his as she pointing to a word. "Do you even know what that means?" Ron's arm had been lost in shivers as she'd looked at him with concern. "Are you alright?" Hermione.
"What'd you say, mate?" Harry asked.
"Nothing," he answered, taking note to take better care of his thoughts and not to let them run wild.
"Are you ready for lunch?"
Ron remembered his false words to Lavender. "Nah, I'm not hungry. I think I'll stay around here."
Harry looked at him questioningly. "Alright." He looked suspicious. "I'll see you up here free period?"
"I suppose so."
With one last searching look, Harry left the room. Ron sat down, hands fumbling under the bed. He came up with the parchment with her small script on it. Be careful of your articles! one note said. I think you mean "possess", here. helped another. Like this sentence! another encouraged. He tried to imagine what she was thinking.
I guess I better say something nice about this crap essay. I'll tell him I like this sentence!
Yeah, he decided, that's probably it.
He relished the sight of his name in her handwriting (in the note, Try "nor" next time, Ron.). Ron. She'd taken the time to write his name. It hadn't been necessary. He would have known the note was for him. She'd written it anyway. Ron looked through his bag from scraps of her and found a note from her stuffed in his Potions text.
Ron,
Meet me at the library around three o'clock. I would like to go over your essay about Felix Felicis.
Love From,
Hermione
At one time, he'd gotten love from Hermione. Sometimes just Hermione. Others stating See you then, Hermione. All her closing lines preserved in notes. Notes that, even now, showed concern, irritation, and doubt. One note struck him worst of all.
Dear Ron,
I have this black dress that my mother bought for me over the summer holidays. I thought it would clash least with your hair. What do you think? I don't want you to be embarrassed. Consider it and tell me next time you see me.
Love,
Hermione
The way she'd written Love, had been different than before. She'd thought about the word to put there and chose love, writing it with a flourish. The L had been given embellishments, the E a curl at the end. She'd been excited about Slughorn's Christmas party. She'd thought about her clothing and what Ron had wanted.
He looked at the note again and wondered why she'd been so excited about Slughorn's party that she couldn't just talk to him about it at the next time they'd see each other. Had she been this excited about the Yule Ball? He couldn't remember her ever bursting into a spontaneous grin before the Yule Ball. He didn't remember her giving Krum lingering looks over meals. They didn't even eat together. Could she really have been interested in him? He wasn't sure.
All he knew now was that she wasn't speaking to him and he wasn't speaking to her and it was bloody awful.
He hid all the notes away under his bed for later reading and inspection and sat on the windowsill, watching the snow falling outside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione on the grounds. She was bundled in a lumpy scarf that he suspected she'd knitted herself and was reading a thick book. As she read, her footsteps fell wayward to the line of the walkway, her foot fell onto corner on the walk, and she twisted her ankle. She lost her balance completely, her book flew out of her hands, and she fell bodily into the snow. He winced, wishing for someone anyone to help her up. She laid still for a few moments and Ron feared she'd hurt herself or was crying or something else dreadful. Then, rolled onto her back and spread her arms out. She moved her arms up and down in the snow and her legs side to side, making an angel.
Then she stilled. For one horrible moment, he feared she saw him watching her. What would she do? What would he do? Could he deny his feelings for her? Could he tell her that he missed her something awful? Would she believe him? As he saw her chest rising and falling slowly, however, he realized she was merely resting. He watched her breathing, wanting nothing more than to change his actions a month ago. He wanted to be down there with her, laughing like small children as they played in the snow, making angels and holding hands. The visions remained in his mind's eye.
He no longer cared about snogging. He would be happy to have her hand in his, warming him more thoroughly than any scarf of his mother's. His hands ached to tangle themselves in her hair. His index finger itched to twine her hair around it. Her arms spread filled him with the desire to skim his hands along her sides. Her vulnerable torso begged for tickling or perhaps the worship of his hands. Reverence was certainly required for beauty such as hers.
Not many would see it, could see the loveliness in her smile when she finds a solution or when she receives praise from her instructors. Ron definitely hadn't until two years ago. It had happened slowly as she scratched her calf and chewed on her bottom lip and pressed a piece of hair behind her ear. It happened when she looked up and saw him and smiled that smile. The one when she sees or hears something she likes and her eyes light up and she just smiles. It happened mostly when she forgave him after a row, when she helped him with his homework, when she was concerned for him. He didn't know it was happening until she went with Viktor Krum.
Krum. That Bulgarian slime ball had kissed his Hermione. Probably put his hands all over her and shoved his tongue in her mouth. She'd probably enjoyed it. He was famous; she'd triumphed by snagging him for the Yule Ball. She'd probably gone to Bulgaria and loved every moment of it. Eating fancy meals and meeting famous people. Or perhaps it was just a small gathering of his small family, secluded and quiet so she could read and they could snog in private. Disappointment must have filled her when she realized what she'd be doing with Ron at Grimmauld Place. She'd been surrounded by loud people in a house ready to burst. Ron reached up to scrub his face with his hands. He'd never had a chance. Not really.
Hermione's small frame began shaking, bringing her gloved hands to her cheeks, wiping what Ron assumed to be rogue tears. She pushed herself out of the snow, picked up her book, and looked down at her creation. It was classic as if it had been drawn by an artist. She brought one hand to her face again as she just stood there and looked at it. Ron wished he knew what she was thinking. Then she shook her head and turned back to the castle and walked towards it, returning to her book. Looking out the window, he heard the door to his bedroom open.
"Ron?" Neville asked, looking befuddled at Ron's pose.
Ron was startled, having assumed that Harry would be the next one to enter the room. "Oh, hey Neville."
"Hello. What are you doing?"
"Just looking out the window." He wished Hermione would hurry.
Neville was right behind him, glimpsing Hermione as she wiped her face again, holding her book to her chest.
"Oh."
Ron tore his gaze away from her. "What?" he asked.
"Well, I knew," he said, looking determinedly away from Ron, "but I didn't know, you know?"
Ron wondered how much Neville knew and was not willing to give away anything. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Neville said again, now staring at the wall. "I knew the two of you were, you know…"
"No, I don't," he replied.
"Fine," Neville said, finally looking into Ron's eyes. "Okay. I'll be straight with you. Hermione cries. She cries more than you think. I found her last week, in an abandoned classroom, sobbing. She was almost incoherent. Saying something about canaries and you and Lavender and something about…perfume? Anyway, I can guess what's wrong."
"Oh?" Ron said, turning back to the window to find Hermione back in the castle. He looked at the Snow Angel longingly.
"I know you fancy her, Ron."
Ron chose not to comment on that. "Listen, Hermione's just mad because I hurt her dignity and she'll get over it—"
"That's a lie." The steel in Neville's tone made Ron turn. "You know that's not why she's upset. She wouldn't be crying three months after the fact if that was it. She left lunch this afternoon because Lavender was harping on about some surprise you had planned."
"Oh sweet Merlin. She's not going to let me go on that one is she?"
"Don't change the subject. Why are you going on with Lavender?"
Ron narrowed his eyes at Neville. "Why do you care?"
"You and Harry aren't Hermione's only friends. And don't dodge my question. Why did you do it? We all know you more than fancy her. We all know she asked you to Slughorn's party. Why did you do it?"
Ron looked at Neville for several long moments wondering when he'd grown a set and if he was able to be trusted. "Because she's had Krum."
Neville's brow furrowed. "Huh?"
He took a deep breath in. "Hermione's had Viktor Krum, International Quidditch Star." And out.
"I don't understand," Neville replied. "What does that—"
"If she's snogged Viktor Krum, how could I possibly measure up?" He asked in desperation. "Ron Weasley, witless wonder, could not ever stand next to Krum."
"I don't think Hermione would be—" Neville began.
"Of course she would be!" Ron exclaimed. "How could she not? She'll be comparing everyone to him, and I will always fall short."
"Hermione isn't like that," Neville said, sitting on Harry's bed to get a better look at Ron. "You know that."
"Well, I didn't know it when it occurred to me that she'll have snogged him," Ron said bitterly.
"I see," Neville said, leaning forward to place his chin in his hand. "Hmmm."
They were both silent, both comprehending the stupidity of Ron's actions, and both wondering how Ron could fix it.
"Well, maybe you could break up with Lavender."
Ron looked at Neville for a few moments. "Who says she'll forgive me anyway?"
"Maybe she won't," Neville answered, shrugging.
Ron threw his hands into the air. "That's bloody helpful, Neville."
"You've stuffed it up, Ron."
Ron sighed. "So you're telling me I should give up the only bird who's ever been interested in me for Hermione, who may not even like me anyway?"
"Well, you love her, don't you?"
Immediately, Ron opened his mouth to deny it, but something made him stop. He did love her. Could he continue to hide that? Should he just admit it?
"Right," Neville finally said, standing. "So, think on that, huh?"
"Neville?" Ron asked, turning to look at him leaving the room.
"Yeah?" he asked from the doorway.
"Thanks."
Neville smiled. "No worries." With that said, he left Ron to his thoughts for a few minutes.
Ron's eyes wandered to the vacated angel of Hermione's, thinking of her crying in the snow. He wondered if the image of the angel weeping would be burned into his memory forever. He closed his eyes and saw the outline of her angel on his eyelids. He rubbed his eyes, willing the image to be rubbed away with no success.
Harry appeared a few moments later, ruining his plan to stare at the angel for eternity.
"Well," he said, heaving a large sigh. "I realized almost immediately why you didn't go to lunch."
"Oh?" Ron asked, wondering how much of a scene Lavender made.
"Your illustrious girlfriend spent all of lunch telling anyone who would listen about how she couldn't wait until you gave her your surprise."
Ron sighed as well. "I'm going to have to make something up, aren't I?"
"You might want to start—" Harry paused to look at his watch. "—well, now."
"Right," Ron said, not able to deviate from Hermione's snow angel.
They sat in their bedroom for a few minutes, Harry reading the Prince's book and Ron thinking of the snow angel.
"Harry?" Ron asked abruptly, surprising even himself.
"Yeah?"
"What do you think about snow angels?" His brain balked at the question. What the hell was he thinking?
"Snow angels?" Harry repeated. "I guess they're alright. Some people think they're their own form of art."
Ron looked back to the figure Hermione had left. He could see the appeal, could see the artwork in the creation. Ron, however, saw the art in everything Hermione did.
"Why do you ask?"
Ron shrugged. "Someone made one out on the grounds and I thought it was rather nice."
"Hmmm," Harry replied, brow furrowed. There was no more talk that free period, snow angel or otherwise. Until the two of them went to Potions.
"Hermione," Harry prefaced, seeking her as soon as they had settled themselves in class. Ron listened avidly, a habit he'd found himself picking up lately when Harry and Hermione were in earshot. "Were you out on the grounds today?"
Ron heard her hair whipping through the thick air in the dungeon classroom. "What makes you ask that question?" Her voice was strained, much to Ron's displeasure.
"I saw a snow angel outside, and I wondered if you'd seen it," Harry answered, lying through his teeth. Ron wished to turn around and demand to know what he was getting at. He kept his feet planted on the floor, still staring at the front of the class.
Ron heard the pause clearly, her gears clearly turning. "Yes. I made it," she told him warily.
"Oh really? I never would have guessed." Harry's words were contradictory to his tone in the extreme. Ron felt his ears turning scarlet. Was he really that transparent?
Hermione cleared her throat but said nothing. Slughorn began speaking then, thwarting any attempt of Ron's to ask Harry what he was on about. He waited until they were quite out of hearing distance from Hermione before turning to his friend, and slapping him roughly about the head. "What the bloody hell was that all about?" Ron asked angrily.
Harry shrugged, smirking widely. "Just a guess."
Ron glared at him, opening his mouth, fully intending to interrogate him further, when he heard Lavender saying hello to Hermione in the not-so-far distance. "Fuck. I forgot. I've can't go to dinner."
"Ron?" Harry said, looking at Ron in concern. "Have you eaten at all today?"
"Hmmm?" Ron said, knowing full well that he hadn't. "I'm going to the kitchens."
"Okay—" Harry said, the question clear in his voice. "I'll see you later?"
"Yeah," Ron replied, turning to walk back down the stairs and towards the kitchens.
With the motivation of Lavender's nagging voice in the distance, he reached the bowl of fruit quickly. Upon tickling the pear, he smiled genuinely for the first time that day at the giggle it emitted. When the portrait swung open, he was attacked and grasped around the legs.
"Harry Potter's Wheezy! Hello! Can Dobby get you anything? Where is Harry Potter?" Dobby peered around his legs as if Harry would be hiding behind him. "Is Harry Potter alright?"
"Harry is fine, Dobby," Ron replied, prying Dobby away from his knees and sitting on a stool that had materialized since his entrance. "How have you been?"
"Dobby has been wonderful, sir! Dobby has been collecting his wages and he is hoping to buy some shoes. Dobby sees them on his day off, sir, and he likes them very much. How have you been, Harry Potter's Wheezy?"
"I've been-" he paused, his grin fading. "It's not been a good time for me, Dobby."
Dobby cocked his head to one side. "Why not, sir? What has been troubling you?"
"I've been missing Hermione."
"Missing Miss? Where has she gone? Miss was here just last week to talk about our rights, sir."
"She isn't gone, Dobby; we just-we aren't-" And suddenly, Ron found himself telling Dobby everything, about the Yule Ball, Krum, Lavender, McLaggen, even his insecurities about his brothers. He let it all spew out of him like bile, hoping that, as with vomiting, he would feel better afterward.
Dobby was a good listener. He didn't seem to be interested in anything more than hearing Ron talk about his problems. When Ron was finished, he nodded. "Dobby understands that, Wheezy. Dobby has many brothers as well. They was always fighting, trying to do better than the others. Dobby doesn't like to fight, sir. Dobby likes to be happy! Everyone thought Dobby was odd, they was not proud of Dobby."
Ron looked at Dobby in wonder as he asked him one question: "Which brother are you?"
The other house elves forced food on Ron while he and Dobby talked about big families. He had lost track of time, finding someone who understands had pushed out the worries about Lavender. It was Dobby who noticed the time.
"Wheezy must get back to his room. Dobby does not want you to be in trouble! Dobby will see you later?" he asked, looking hopeful.
"Yes, I'll come by again. It's been great talking to you, Dobby."
"And you, sir."
As Ron traveled up the stairs, he thought of Hermione for the first time since he told Dobby what had happened. It did not occur to him until he opened the portrait hole that he had forgotten Lavender's surprise. She launched herself at him eagerly, wrapping her arms around him. Ron racked his brains, trying to think of something, anything to give her or tell her. Nothing came to him.
"Oh, Won-Won! I've missed you all day!" she said, repeating the same sentiment she had every day. "Where have you been?" She did not relinquish her hold on him.
Jewelry? Clothing? Do I have bird's clothing?
"Won-Won? Are you alright?"
Then, a miracle occurred: he remembered the antique quill of Hermione's that she had let him borrow. He pulled back from Lavender's embrace and said, "I have something for you upstairs. Would you like me to—"
Lavender squealed. "Oh, yes! I would love that!"
He loosed himself from her limbs and walked around her to see Hermione curled up in her chair by the fire with Hogwarts: a History. On first glance, she appeared to be reading. Her eyes, however, were glazed and wet and were not following the lines of text. Her book was in her lap, the way she would read a book for school, not for pleasure. Her expression was not content. She was not pushing her hair back from her face in order to see the pages better.
Hermione was not reading. Hermione was pretending.
Something about that sight—the sight of Hermione coping—was staggering. It brought back visions of a little first year girl with bushy hair, cowering with red eyes from a troll in the bathroom. He stopped, instantly deciding that he did not want to give Lavender something that was clearly meant for Hermione. Ron turned back to his girlfriend. "Lavender?"
She looked at him curiously. "Yes?"
He took a deep breath and said, "I lied. I never had a surprise for you. In fact, I had no clue it was our hundredth-day anniversary."
Lavender watched him for a few moments. "Why didn't you just tell me?" she asked, her sweet tone still intact. "I'm not mad. I expected that." She grinned.
Ron sighed, not out of relief, but, to his surprise, disappointment. Merlin, he wanted rid of Lavender. "Oh. Well, sorry anyway." There was a pause in which Lavender looked hopeful. Perhaps she thought he would snog her to make amends. "I think I'll go to bed. I don't feel well," he said with little emotion, turning back towards the stairs. He looked towards Hermione to find her staring into the fire, a small frown on her face.
He continued up the stairs, hearing Lavender saying, "Goodnight, Won-Won!" but he did not bother to muster up a response. He trudged up to his dorm, slipping into bed without a word.
"Get in trouble with Lav-Lav?" Harry asked, reading something, probably the Prince's book.
"Nah," Ron replied. "Apparently, I'm not worth the trouble."
Harry did not look up from whatever he was reading. "Mm."
Ron drew his curtains around his bed and laid back. Closing his eyes, he barely heard the goings-on of his roommates, the Snow Angel on the back of his eyelids as if seared upon his brain, dreams of his angel beside hers filling his thoughts.