Disclaimer: So, I don't own this. Not the characters…not even the plot. Sad, isn't it? But if I did, you all wouldn't be nearly as addicted to the Potterverse as you are now.

Summary: Calling all R/Hr shippers! Ever thought that sometimes Harry gets in the way of all the action? What does he know, anyway? So, let's gently shove him aside and let Hermione tell her version of the drastic Lucky-Potions Incident. Warnings: HBP spoilers, fluff, and some pretty intense drama.

Note: If you haven't read the 6th book yet…first of all, this story may be somewhat confusing, and secondly, why not?! The 7th book comes out in just another month!

Now, finally presenting…

Fragments

A headmaster with twinkling blue eyes once announced, "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends."

Sadly, headmasters with twinkling blue eyes are hardly ever wrong, taking into consideration their considerably high capacities of intelligence.

You'd think that after six years of following my friends around, lecturing them on what's right and what's important, I'd have that bravery concept down to a tee.

Today certainly proved otherwise.

I stumble over nothing and desperately grasp at a tapestry to keep from falling. The result is that I fall and disarrange the cloth at the same time. Nobody catches me in my moment of embarrassment, though considering the reason I'm wandering around Hogwarts at all is due to the fact that I've just embarrassed myself to an extreme degree, my efforts are in vain.

The whole event seems like ages ago, instead of only a couple hours. I'm still wincing at the memory.

"You just put something in that drink," I declared hotly, my cheeks burning with outrage.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, a little too innocently.

"Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!"

"Stop bossing me around, Hermione."

That had been during breakfast. After downing the drink, Ron had set off without another word, leaving me speechless. The match itself…well. That burned painfully, too.

I walked outside, the bright, clear air refreshing my thoughts. Selecting a seat in the stands, I'm soon joined by Luna. Leave it to Luna to leave her housemates for the sake of a Quidditch game. She has her rather silly lion hat on, too.

"Hello, Luna," I say, as pleasantly as possible, while secretly hoping she won't start talking about imaginary creatures again.

"Hi, Hermione," she murmurs, eyes focused on a point nowhere in general. "Wonderful weather, isn't it? I just heard from Terry Boot that Slytherin's chaser, Viktor or Vaibhav or something, couldn't play today. Draco Malfoy is out, too. Lucky, isn't it? I hope this means Gryffindor's in for a win."

It's hard to hear her over her hat's roaring, but I manage, and at her words, my heart seems to fall into the pit of my stomach. Up until then I had still been clinging to a glimmer of hope that I had misjudged, and that Harry would never cheat to win a Quidditch match. But Luna's words destroyed any hope I had left.

Throughout the entire game, I sit dejectedly, my suspicions of foul play confirmed. Despite Smith's foul commentaries, Ron saves goal after goal, Ginny scores repeatedly, and in the end, Harry somehow manages to swipe the Snitch right out of Harper's hand. Amidst all the cheering, I slowly make my way over to the changing room.

I thought they would come clean with only a little reprimanding, but it seemed that Harry and Ron are going to play dumb until the end. Near tears, I choke out,

"You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!"

They just don't understand. However serious a business Quidditch may be, it simply isn't right to go around breaking the law.

"No, I didn't," Harry says, again. Still in denial? How stupid does he think I am?

"Yes you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"

"I didn't put it in!" Harry claims again, grinning like a maniac. He pulls the bottle of Felix Felicis out of his jacket pocket.

It's filled to the brim with golden liquid, and the cork is tightly sealed with wax.

Abruptly, I stop. How am I at the Fat Lady's portrait already? I stare at her a moment. I must admit, I'm afraid to go in. The after-match celebrations are going on, and I don't want to go deal with them.

Ron's face swims in my vision again, his face all hurt and angry at the same time.

Harry's explanation of his psychological trick is finally over. My heart lurches with a sickening feeling as Ron stiffly turns to me.

"See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!"

Flabbergasted, I try explaining. I know it's hopeless even before he pushes me aside as he leaves the locker room. Harry says something, and I reply, but all I can think about his how I'm going to get out of this one.

Though I'm feeling angry at Harry's tactic and more than irritated with Ron's attitude, as well as indignant at the injustice of the entire situation, some part of my consciousness screams guilt. So I turn and sprint out of the changing room, calling, "RON!" He's ignoring me, but he's not hard to follow.

Miraculously, I catch up. He stares down at me, and I'm once again reminded of how tall he has gotten, and how short and insignificant I always seem to be to him. I try and ignore the frost that has glazed over his eyes, and I open my mouth to spurt out a full apology. He cuts me off.

"Save it, Hermione. I understand. You never did think I was a good enough Keeper, eh? Well, now that you've been proven wrong, why don't you go tell somebody else off?"

And with that, he turns and follows his teammates back to the dorm, leaving me standing still in the middle of the moving crowd, a rock fighting the current of the river.

"Dear, are you alright?"

The Fat Lady's voice startles me. I can see that she's worried, and wondering whether she should call for help. Merlin, I must look like a mess. Hastily wiping my eyes, I assure her that I'm fine, and enter with the password. The celebratory noises sound like gunfire at the start of a war rather than firecrackers on New Year's.

The common room was in an uproar. Gryffindor had just won the match against Ravenclaw, and the day had been topped off when Harry cast the Patronus that sent Malfoy and his thugs reeling. I had sat alone in the stands, simply attending for Harry's sake, and avoided Ron as much as possible. I don't care what he says – Crookshanks is innocent.

Now, I'm trying to get my homework done. The classes are killing me, and the Time Turner's not much help. I flip through the book frantically. 422 pages left, and the party is still in full swing. I can't concentrate.

Harry comes over. "Come on, Hermione, come and have some food," he says. He glances at Ron nervously. I almost laugh with hysteria, and I promptly inform him about my work situation in what sounds like a high-pitched whistle. And, almost as an afterthought, I add, "Anyway, he doesn't want me to join in."

Speak of the devil, because Ron decides to choose this moment to exclaim, "If Scabbers hadn't just been eaten, he could have had some of those Fudge Flies. He used to really like them –"

I can't help it. I burst into tears. He's still blaming me! And I hate the fact that I care so much!

So, I tuck my book under my arm and run out, face buried in my hands.

Thinking back, I remember how weeks later, I had found Scabbers hiding in a teapot in Hagrid's hut. Scabbers, of course, turned out to be none other than Peter Pettigrew, servant to You-Know-Who.

I woke up, as if from a long and troubled sleep. Harry's still unconscious to my right. I see Ron across from us, lying on a bed, looking thoroughly worse for wear from his bout with Lupin as a werewolf. I'm about to get up and look around, when movement from his bed catches my attention.

"Ron?" I whisper.

"Hey, Hermione," he murmurs, still half asleep. "I really made a mess of things, didn't I? Never did listen to anyone about Scabbers. I'm…sorry I thought Crookshanks...you know. Not like there wasn't proof or stuff…guess I just -mphf-"

He falls back to snoring. I'm still awake, but now, I'm smiling.

Thinking about it, it's odd, isn't it? How inconsistent humans are. We all make so many mistakes, and we're always being asked to make this choice or that choice. I remember Harry saying that Dumbledore told him that it's our choices, not anything else, that determine who we are.

My eyes begin scanning the room for Ron, and I pick out the familiar bright shade of hair I've long become accustomed to seeing. But it's Ginny I've found, and she's preoccupied with talking to Harry. The two are chatting amiably – I'm about to stop and register the sweetness of the scene, despite all the chaos around me, when Ginny waves airily at a corner. Harry turns to look, and so do I.

It's absolutely, without a doubt, definitely incomprehensible.

I try to stay in control despite the shocking public display of affection before me. I really do. But I can't keep my heart from thudding crazily against my chest, I can't stop the feeling of claustrophobia and panic, and I can't shake off the feeling that what I'm seeing can't possibly be real. As if from another world, another scene pops into my head.

Harry had finally come back from the last DA meeting before the holidays. He was looking…peaky.

"Is it Cho? Did she corner you after the meeting?" I question brusquely. "Did you kiss?"

Ron sits up so fast that I'm amazed he didn't hurt himself – there's ink all over the rug now, though.

After Harry's confession, he begins wondering whether Cho was crying because he's a bad kisser.

Of course, Ron says something stupid, so I tell him he's the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet. I try elaborating on Cho's feelings for Harry's sake. I'm not even done talking yet, but I already realize that Harry and Ron aren't getting it. Boys.

"One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode," was Ron's ingenious statement to Cho's poor situation.

My patience cracks. "Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," I snap, returning to my letter.

And, if possible, it seems Ron's emotional capacity has now been reduced to 0. Kissing Lavender Brown is simply hard, solid proof of the fact.

I do the most sensible thing I can think of, which is not much – I spin around and dash out of the room, the way oddly clear for me. I need to get away. Maybe, if I close my eyes and wish it hard enough, I can convince myself it isn't true.

"And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?" Ron asks, his eyes emitting sparks.

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," I say, a little irritated with his impatience.

We fall into another argument. He's angry at something.

"'Slug Club.' It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug –"

I feel so hurt, I forget all the nice ways I had come up with to ask, so I simply cry out, "We're allowed to bring guests, and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's that stupid then I won't bother!"

He looks shocked. "You were going to ask me?"

"Yes, but obviously if you'd rather I hooked up with McLaggen…" I'm still seething.

I almost don't hear him as he says, "No, I wouldn't."

But I do.

Panting, I seek refuge in the first empty classroom I come to. My lungs are burning as much as my eyes are stinging. I half-run across the room and collapse onto the teacher's desk.

I feel rather betrayed, to tell the truth.

Not like I had him officially claimed or anything. But I had really starting hoping, especially after the Yule Ball disaster.

It's been a while since I felt this giddy. Honestly. If you were going to go to a great ball with an International Quidditch player, you'd be excited too.

I feel like I'm in a dream as I float down the stairs to find him waiting for me, and of course, I can't help but giggle as Viktor Krum gruffly tells me that I'm beautiful.

It's time to walk into the hall. I glance around as I glide down across the room on Krum's arm, and I feel smug at the looks of disbelief on people's faces. How nice it is to prove some people wrong!

My breath catches in my throat when I see Ron glaring at me. The blissful feeling vanishes to be replaced by uncertainty. What's his problem?

I decide that I must have been hallucinating. Why would Ron look at me like he hates me? I mean, we're friends, right?

It's a very enjoyable night with Viktor – we dance most of it away. He's superbly graceful. When he goes to get drinks, I decide that I've neglected my best friends long enough. To be honest, I'm sort of dreading their reaction – hence why I didn't tell them who my date was at all. But now, I make my way over to Harry and Ron. I try making small talk.

"Viktor? Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?" Ron says scathingly. The entire sarcasm of his tone slashes at me like a sharp knife.

"What's up with you?" I demand. He says some nonsense about fraternizing with the enemy. Then, he says that Viktor only wants me as a date to help jinx Harry or help him with his egg. By the end of our argument, I'm shaking. So I just leave.

I try having fun the remainder of the ball, but Ron's attitude is like a ghost following an unwary student – it nags at the back of my mind, and I can't concentrate on the magic of the night anymore. I excuse myself, and retire early – but not before Viktor steal a kiss under the mistletoe.

I feel better. I go into the Common Room with a sort of dance in my step, and I spin in a flighty circle when the portrait suddenly swings open. I turn to come face-to-face with a very red Ron.

"Ron," is all I can say in my surprise.

He grumbles and starts to stride towards the dormitory stairs. My fury boils up again like hot water.

"Ron Weasley! What in the name of heaven's are you on about?!"

He turns and gives me a look that could have fried eggs, except I'm already hot and ready for a fight myself.

"My problem? My problem is you going to a ball with one of the champions that's going against Harry, and not even telling us about it! And he's Krum! He's from Durmstrang!"

Before I know it, I'm yelling back. "Who was the one who was all over him when he first arrived, then?! You're being so unreasonable! Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?"

He roars, "Oh yeah? What's that?"

The words I've been itching to say pop out unbidden. "Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"

He's rendered speechless. I storm up the girl's staircase, a mixture of exasperation and satisfaction all churning inside me.

I definitely didn't imagine all that.

The back of my neck prickles, and my awareness heightens. Someone's here.

I look up to find Harry standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. Ron's still occupied in the Common Room.

Poor Harry, forced to come because his best friend's being an idiot. There's not even a quick way to fix this – the entire situation is as broken as my memories are, shattered like my image of Ron has smashed into a million tiny bits and fragments.

I should really take a stab at being calm.

"Oh, hello, Harry," I say, forcing casualness into my tone. But even to me, I sound bitter. "I was just practicing."

"Yeah…they're – er – really good…." Harry says, looking at the sweet, tweeting birds that are keeping me company. He's obviously at a loss. All his happiness from the victorious match before has evaporated.

I'm feeling a little guilty that Harry is always somehow caught right in the middle of mine and Ron's arguments. He has enough on his plate with being the hero of the world without having to deal with stupid friends. Like when he and Ron got into that fight over the tournament.

We're sitting together in the stands, and I peer through my fingers in horror as the abominable Hungarian Horntail roars and goes after Harry again. Ron's incessant mutterings aren't helping any. I glance over. He looks worried.

"Ron," I whisper, frightened. "What if Harry gets killed?"

I sneak a glance at him. Partly satisfied that his face has turned paper-white, I continue, "You know, that's probably why those horrid people entered him into the competition in the first place. Wouldn't it be convenient if Harry was finished off in a school event?"

I'm beginning to scare myself. I usually never voice my fears out loud, but it's high time Ron did something.

He doesn't respond. I turn to him and hiss, "And yet, his best friend won't stand by him when he needs you more than anything else. He's Harry, for goodness sake! Does he really need more fame than he already has? He's got enough with You-Know-Who trying to murder him without having to worry about you, too!"

Ron's still silent. I sigh and continue watching Harry, hoping against hope that he'll win against the dragon. A warm arm drapes itself around me. I look up, surprised, and Ron simply says, "Okay," just as the crowd roars with approval. Harry's okay. Ron's okay.

I breathe.

I almost start choking up again at the memory. And the thought of Ron makes me say, before I can think better of it, "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

I'm so pitiful, reduced to such a condition because of a boy.

"Er…does he?" Harry murmurs, hesitantly. I almost snort, remembering how much trouble Harry always had with Cho, and how he had almost messed up entirely because of his interview with Rita Skeeter.

So, I remember that Harry is not the one I should turn to for advice on love.

No, not love. I don't think I love Ron.

Let's say… emotions.

Anyway, Harry is doing a bad job of trying to avoid the topic, because it's the topic in question that caused Harry to have to come and comfort me in the first place.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," I grind out through clenched teeth. "He wasn't exactly hiding it, was -?"

The door bursts open. Stunned, I slowly register the topic of our conversation walking in through the door. They're laughing and pulling each other's hands. I spare a moment to look at Harry, and I can tell he's horrified. At least he has the decency to feel it.

How do I feel?

The question crosses my mind, and I try to sort myself out. Am I sad? Angry? Numb? It's probably all those things combined to form a terrible sensation of shock.

Ron stops short at the sight of us. "Oh," he mumbles, rather quietly.

"Oh" is right. I can't do anything except stare at him incredulously. He won't even look at me. He's looking around the room, at everywhere but where I'm sitting, on this desk. So he knows how I feel – guilt is etched on every feature, in every freckle. It's a look I've become somewhat accustomed to – the first time I saw it was not long after we met.

I look around nervously. Luckily, nobody else has noticed yet how stupid he looks. I don't want anyone to think that it's because of me that he has no clue what he's doing. So, as nicely as possible, I try helping him out with his pronunciation. I'm also trying to save my eye from getting punctured.

"You're saying it wrong," I say through clenched teeth, trying not to attract attention from the surrounding tables. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

He challenges me to do it, since I'm so clever.

Well, fine. I roll up my sleeves, flick my wand, and say, "Wingardium Leviosa!" My feather rises gently into the air.

I sneak him a smug look. He seems, if anything, madder.

I drop my quill at the end of class, so I spend a couple seconds crawling under my desk looking for it. It's simply because of this that I'm near enough to hear him when he says, "It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

Bag now securely on my shoulder, I stand completely still for a moment, shocked as though Petrified. Nobody ever said something so mean about me before. Or had I just not heard it? Coming to my senses, I shove past Harry into the corridor. My breath hitches in my throat, and so I do what seems the most sensible course of action: I dash for the nearest bathroom, seeking refuge in a quiet stall so I can cry.

I smile wryly. It's funny how now, over 5 years later, something Ron does can still affect me as much as it did when I was a naïve 11-year old.

"Oops!" Lavender giggles, jolting me out of my stupor. She backs out of the room, shaking madly, like a leaf about to be blown away in the wind.

"Oops." What else would you expect to come out of her mouth?

The door clicks shut, leaving behind a dreadful silence – the kind of silence that fills the ears with a rushing sound, as if the world is speeding at a remarkable pace towards one specific point in time.

It's just the three of us now. My eyes move back to glare at Ron, and a mixture of disgust, pity, and anger wells up in my heart. He's still refusing to meet my eyes. Harry looks like he wants to be swallowed by a hole in the ground.

Finally, Ron breaks the silence by cheerily exclaiming, "Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!"

No apology, not even an explanation.

We all know what we're expecting – an explosion. But, I don't even know if it's coming. In my head, I've already killed and brought Ron back to life one thousand times over. Now, I feel drained, and I don't feel like spending another moment's thought the guy who's such a coward he's practically whimpering.

Or so I'd like to believe.

But he'd definitely crossed a line, and lines aren't made to be crossed.

"You may go now, Miss Granger," was Madam Pomfrey's reluctant assessment of my condition.

Apparently, the Mandrake drought had been superbly effective in reviving those who had been Petrified.

I, for one, was really glad to be getting out of the confines of the Hospital Wing.

The welcome we receive in the Great Hall is amazing. I'm anxious to see the friends I've been deprived of.

Spotting Ron, I run over without thinking to give him a great big hug. I bury my head in his shoulder, and he pats my bushy bush of hair awkwardly. It makes me laugh, though a little shakily.

"Welcome back, Hermione," he mutters, rather stiffly. I step back, admiring his slightly rugged look of having been through a great ordeal. But it reminds me of what I've heard about Ginny's being in the chamber, and my mood dampens almost immediately.

My throat closes up on me, but I manage an "I missed you too, Ron."

He smiles. "I knew you'd be okay."

I roll my eyes, grinning. "I'm sure you did. But of course I'd have to be. I can't leave you and Harry to figure stuff out on your own, can I? You found my note!"

He nods, and says solemnly, "Yeah, Hermione. I don't know what we would've done without you. You're …what's the word? Like air for a person?"

"Vital," I chirp. And we sit down to wait for Harry.

I'm done with it. I've had enough of thinking about him. Finally, I make a move, and slowly slide off the desk.

"You shouldn't keep Lavender waiting outside," I say, trying to control my shaking voice. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

I take a deep breath, preparing to exit dramatically with my head raised high. But before I reach the door, some internal battle in me subsides and comes to a quick decision. Everything breaks loose inside, like all the tides of the ocean tearing away from their restraint and crashing upon the shore, wave after wave of the feelings of every memory I shared with Ron exploding out.

In a split-second, as if I had planned it all along, I spin around, my wand trained on Ron, and shriek,

"Oppugno!"

The birds, momentarily forgotten, turn and begin to attack him with a viciousness and fury that strikingly reflects my own bitterness and rage. His yells sound like "Geroffme!" but who cares?

I spare him one last look of contempt before I start running, and finally, a dry, strangled sob chokes out as I slam the door. I almost collide with a very shocked Lavender, who is staring at me suspiciously. She whispers threateningly, "What have you done to him?" but I turn away and flee down the hall, emotions twisting and turning inside me.

After turning the corner, I slide down the wall and sit, consumed. A poet would say that my overflowing tears spill like raindrops splashing in the muddy streets on a gloomy day, but there's nothing poetic about this situation

Gloom. Stretching as endlessly as a vast expanse of sea, with no end in sight.

Just as I thought my time with Ron had no conceivable end.

Ugh. There I go again.

But really, I think I have a right to be disappointed, though my believing Ron would be there forever was definitely one of those human errors and misconceptions. Hogwarts, after all, isn't a novel where a magic wand fixes all your problems. Ron is at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes.

Though you'd think that he'd realize it should be me.

I sigh again, leaning my head back against the wall. I feel calmer, thank Merlin. And though I've just spent the past day basically crying my heart out, I'm getting the sense that I've resolved something, though I'm not quite sure what.

It might be the fact that I love him.

Might.

Well, I can wait. Or get over it. Or do something drastic. You know, maybe I'm not resolved after all. Matters of the heart are, after all, pretty complicated.

I get up, smoothing my skirt and wiping my face. After today's entire valuable lesson, I now have only one question:

Where's McLaggen?

A/N: If that's not how you imagined how Hermione was feeling, or how she thinks…well, don't read the story again! If you haven't figured it out yet, everything in italics was a flashback, including real scenes from Jo's books or some made-up RHr moments that we never have the pleasure of viewing.

To be honest, this entire thing was difficult to write – especially at the end, because we know Hermione goes through a whole stage of denial with everybody else, but I don't think she'd actually have denied her feelings to herself. Hermione's a smart girl, right? I tried to make this deal "creative." So…tell me how that went!

REVIEW! Honestly, the button is right there. And it's just a one-shot…no waiting for updates or anything, right? Right?