The Casanovian Principle
"What were you doing up there with her?" Lavender shrieked.
Oh, dear. "Lavender, it's not-" Hermione began, but the look on the other girl's face was enough to silence her. She shrank out of her line of fire, right into the furthest possible corner of Gryffindor tower. She sat herself down at a table, starting to unpack her bag as noisily as possible, but she was not quite far enough to way to overhear everything Lavender was saying.
"Think I'm an idiot…treating me like an object…not your toy…don't take me serious…think I'm stupid…never talk to me…always talk to her…"
Hermione blushed scarlet, and quickly pulled out her potions' book to conceal it. Luckily, or was it luck, a fight between two second years girls over who had said what to whom when behind whose back broke out at the table closest to her, drowning out both Lavender, who was still shrieking at Ron, and Ginny, who was doing a very good job imitating her mother noise wise.
"I feel so betrayed…why could you hurt me like that…thought it meant something…I AM NOT YOUR SNOGGING TOY!"
"You don't understand me…you never have…don't lie…IT'S GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH HARRY!"
At this, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her. She looked up, just in time to see Ginny slap Dean squarely in the face, angry tears welling up in her eyes as she sped up the girls staircase. Hermione thought briefly of going after her, but she knew Ginny well enough to know she wanted to be left alone when she cried. Ron was staring after his sister, obviously not even listening to the hysterically screaming and now sobbing Lavender. "OH, GO HEX YOURSELF, YOU INSENSITVE WART!" rang through the room, and Lavender too disappeared up the stairs.
Hermione turned her attention to her book, waiting. If he came…if he didn't come…but of course, he did. She saw his shadow approaching, but did not look up, not even when he sat down on the table, his hand practically covering up the page she was supposedly reading.
"Hermione?"
She looked up. His ears were red, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable, but when she caught his eye, she saw not a trace of remorse in it. He had not looked at her like this…ever, she realized. There was no aggravation, no ridicule, no expectation, no dishonesty, no disbelief, no regret. It was the kind of look that heals. The kind of look that rewards you, when you have thought nothing could be worth your trials. The kind of look that welcomes you in a home you thought you'd lost forever, lets you hope where you were sure all hope was lost. This was a look free of everything that had first been exciting, then painful. This look stated, as clearly and simply as anything, I am glad you are here.
She blinked. A tear, just one, for she would not permit herself more tears over him, not even happy tears, got caught in her eyelashes. She wiped it away, bending over her book again.
"Erm," Ron cleared his throat noisily, "so…err…what are you working on."
She stared fixedly at her book. "Potions project, you know, the Famous Potioneers Essay."
"Hermione, that isn't due till June!"
"Yes well," she said, looking up at him. He was grinning down at her, looking restless. "It's very interesting, you know."
Ron snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure. Who'd you choose, the first house-elf ever to make wine?"
Hermione laughed, in spite of herself. "No, actually, I chose Casanova."
Ron stared at her. "Casanova? But I've heard of him! But he was…I mean he wasn't…oh come on, he wasn't a bloody potioneer!"
"Yes he was, actually. Look: Giacomo Girolamo Casanova was one of the 18th century most renowned potioneers. His merits include the Casanovian Principle, and the invention of several famous potions." She looked up at him over the cover of Magical Achievements of The Baroque Period, grinning smugly.
"But he was…" Ron sputtered, "I thought he was, you know…the greatest lover of all times!"
Hermione smiled deviously. "He was. You see, when they say, 'several famous potions', the actually mean Amortentia. You know, the…"
"…strongest love potion in the world." Ron finished for her. "Isn't it? That stuff, that smells like yo- whatever you like." Hermione stared at him, trying to figure out whether her imagination was pulling her leg. "That is sneaky! So, he wasn't the greatest lover in the world at all; he was just some potions-whiz using his talents to get snogged. Might have been an 18th-century-Snape, eh?"
"Ron! "
Ron let out a low sign, leaning his back against the wall. "Well, that's a bit of a bummer."
"What do you mean?"
"Well…c'mon, if the 'greatest lover in the world' turns out to be a fluke, you almost think …what else is true. Nothing, right? If Casanova was just an average bloke with a potion, then all that love stuff might not even be real either. Maybe it's all just Amortentia."
She stared at him, resisting the temptation to grab him by the shoulders and yell "Who are you, and what have you done to Ronald Weasley?" It was just so unexpected to find a reflective, almost mature Ron sitting beside her. Suddenly, she became acutely aware of how close her their hands were. How she could feel the warmth of his body next to her, breathe in that smell of chocolate, broom handles and woolen sweaters. "You know," she said, choosing her words with care. Even after all that had happened, she did not want to get hurt again. "Amortentia doesn't create love. It just creates…lust. There's a difference between love and lust. All of those women who Casanova…won over, they didn't love him. Maybe they thought they did, but it was all just lust, just…Amortentia."
"So you think there's more?" Ron's voice was deep, low. Pleasant, somehow. This was the voice he had used the many times he had cropped up in her dreams.
"Yes." Her voice was shaking now. "Yes, I think there's more. I think to love someone, you have to know them…you have to laugh with them…it's so complex. No potion could every create all that."
He smiled down at her. "Right, as always. Blimey, Hermione, when've you ever not been right?" He got up, his fingers lightly brushing her side, walked to the window. "I wonder how Harry's doing. Can't see him, though," he squinted out of the windows. "No, it's too dark. Not like I mind. Wouldn't want to see that…thing…anyway." He paused, turning in the dark window, studying her. "So…what's the Casanovian Principle, then?"
She smiled, and promptly recited: "The Casanovian Principle states that after the absolute completion of a potion, no adding of components can permanently damage it, and after said absolute completion, no potion can loose it's magic and effect, only increase it's potency to a possible dangerous level."
"Come again?"
"Basically, it means that once you've made a potion, made it perfectly and finished it, nothing you add to it can destroy it, and neither can time. It means that if something is perfect and finished, no matter what you do it, and how long you let it wait, it'll never go wrong." She stumbled over her own words, realizing what she'd just said. Ron was looking puzzled too. Then his face lit up.
"So if you have a potion, and it's done…nothing you do can hurt it?" He too seemed to be choosing his words with care, as though he was afraid of stumbling over one of them, tripping an falling and crashing, headfirst into disaster. But she was sick of falling, sick of crashing and disaster, and, she though as she heard his next words, so was he. "Not if you pour in Armadillo Bile, or put in crocodile livers and Hinkypunk blood, or Bulgarian Beetle hearts, or Lavender seeds, nothing of that can actually hurt it?"
"Yes," Hermione said, her heart beating faster, "yes, that's exactly it."
"I like that," Ron said, smiling. They looked at each other, the second long, telling look of the evening. Premonition, slight anxiety, but most of all understanding. The sweet, delicious knowledge that they had finally understood each other reflected in their eyes, the marveling joy that they had, finally, understood.
"So do I," Hermione whispered. They smiled at each other, and Hermione turned back to her homework.
Fin
ALTERNATE ENDING:
They looked at each other, the second long, telling look of the evening. Premonition, slight anxiety, but most of all understanding. The sweet, delicious knowledge that they had finally understood each other reflected in their eyes, the marveling joy that they had, finally, understood. He beckoned her closer. It was hardly a movement, really, the slightest of waves with the hand, asking her, almost humbly. The few steps it took seemed a very far way to go, each of them shattering a protective layer around her, shattering another excuse, and at the end of it, she was almost glad to find herself in his arms. Where she belonged, inexplicably, obviously, mind-boggingly belonged. Carefully, as though she was made of precious china, his fingers touched her, then his arms, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She could feel his mouth loosely in her hair, felt her own lips almost touching his neck. This, already, was bliss. She turned her face up towards, knowing what would come. She was half-trembling, half-deliriously happy as their eyes met, for one last time, before he carefully, almost fearfully, kissed her.
His lips were rough, and they tasted of dinner, the tangy taste of shepherd's pie and cool, creamy pumpkin juice was still the most prominent. Hermione's analytical mind marveled at how easily this really was, how it took no trembling and tears at all. It was the easiest thing in the world. She simply savored the taste of his lips, the way his rough nose tickled her, the way their tongs were already engaged in the playful banter they had become so accomplished yet in the past five years. Except this banter was non-verbal, and felt so much better.