YOUTH AND MATURITY
Disclaimer: This is an unauthorised tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.
Spoilers to OotP, not HBP compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. My review responses will probably be delayed for a few weeks, but I will try to post again next week, in the intermediate days of Passover.
"What did that greasy git want before?"
Hermione looked at Ron and struggled for an answer that would balance honesty with discretion.
"Only to wish me the best for the future," she said eventually.
"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Then why d'you look like you've been crying ever since?"
'Probably because I have,' she thought bitterly. The last term had been a painful end to childhood, with short, sharp battles culminating in a hard-fought victory almost as bitter as defeat, yet nothing had so completely divided youth and maturity as discovering that her teacher thought her old enough to love or (she supposed) to marry. To marry him. It was a generational levelling she'd never expected, a profession of equality she couldn't accept. He was a mentor, a surrogate parent for the last seven years … She'd as soon fancy her father!
But he wasn't her father. And he hadn't been thinking of her as a daughter for a long time. She tried to muster the sense of betrayal she thought she ought to feel, but all she found was sadness.
Ron was watching her through narrowed eyes, one freckled hand tapping on his thigh as he waited for her answer.
"He made me realise how much I'll miss Hogwarts," she said. "It's been home."
School was over forever. Would Ron's friendship end too? Would he be there for her in the future? Looking back over seven years of togetherness, she couldn't help doubting. Had they ever had much in common besides Harry and habit, history and House pride? Would nostalgia glue together what difference was pulling apart?
Ron guffawed.
"It's not going anywhere. If you're that desperate," (she winced) "ask if you can pop in for a visit sometimes. I don't suppose the teachers'd mind." He pulled out a Weasley Wizard Wheezes crystal-ball-pop, cherry-coconut flavour, and spun it on top of his wand. "What's the point, though? 'S not as if they'd really care."
She tried to smile. One at least would care. Professor Snape. She gulped, suddenly cold. He wasn't planning – anything silly, was he? If she was sun and warmth and bright day to him – He wouldn't do – something silly, would he? She shook herself. Idiot! He'd promised help in some remote future. Of course he wouldn't do anything – silly.
The ball-pop glowed orange and hooted like a train whistle.
"Partings and meetings, startings and repeatings," it piped.
"I think they modelled these on Trelawney," Ron grumbled. "They're just as useless."
"At least it didn't say you'd be torn to pieces by Nifflers and fed to flobberworms for breakfast," Harry said, wandering in to the common room at that moment. "What's up, Mione? Been saying a fond goodbye to all the library books?"
Hermione glowered as Ron roared with laughter.
"Don't call me, Mione," she snapped. That nickname was the most irritating mannerism Harry had copied from his newest girlfriend. "My name didn't change when you started dating Mandy and neither did I."
He grinned.
"Oops, sorry, Mione."
