The glasses of Firewhiskey refilled themselves and Celestina Warbeck could be heard crooning in the background of the small living room. Hermione sat on the edge of the sofa watching Fred and George decorate the Christmas tree and Ron swiftly beat Harry in another game of Wizard's chess. She smiled to herself, enjoying the sound of laughter and the smell of Mrs. Weasley's baking coming from the kitchen. Remus sat in a squashy armchair with Tonks perched in his lap and Hagrid occupied a spindly stool in the corner by the fireplace while he warmed his hands.
The usually-packed headquarters for the Order seemed even more congested than usual, but Hermione preferred it that way. She sipped her Firewhiskey, letting it burn the back of her throat and warm her from the inside out. Feeling sluggish and content to watch the bustle of activities around her, Hermione allowed her mind to wander back to the night that Draco confessed his feelings. It still felt surreal to her and she occasionally doubted whether or not it had actually happened. A month had passed since that strange encounter and Draco was acting even colder to her than usual. What worried her the most wasn't that he had kissed her, but that she hadn't minded it one bit.
"What's got you so quiet tonight, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley asked as he took a seat next to her. He took a bite of the tart on his plate and looked at her curiously.
"Oh," Hermione replied, blushing, "I suppose there are a lot of things." She avoided his gaze and watched as Fred sneakily stuffed a Doxie in his pocket that had been hiding in the Christmas tree. Mr. Weasley nodded and went silent for a moment, enjoying his dessert.
"I may be wrong in assuming, but does this have anything to do with a boy?"
Going scarlet, Hermione glanced at him and shook her head. "Erm, no. Not at all." She took another quick sip from her glass, averting her eyes. Perhaps he would contribute her blush to the drink, Hermione hoped. It wasn't like Mr. Weasley to be so perceptive, but then again, his newest Muggle obsession ("It's called a calculator! Just brilliant!) had broken a few hours earlier and he now had nothing to occupy himself.
Mr. Weasley nodded, leaned in to her and looked around before muttering, "I know it may be difficult to tell someone how you feel, but sometimes you just have to take that leap."
Hermione glanced up from her glass and looked curiously at him. Tell him how you feel?
"Erm, sorry, but who are we talking about?" she asked in the same lowered voice.
"Ron, of course," he answered instantly.
She felt the blush color her cheeks again and fell silent, suddenly mortified. Ron was her best friend, so of course his parents would be expecting them to date. It seemed like the logical thing to have happen. As Mr. Weasley smiled, wrongly interpreting her blush as his answer, Hermione felt her heart sink a bit and settle somewhere in the region of her stomach. Suddenly her encounter with Draco made her want to run screaming.
I think I love you, okay?
Draco had spoken those words the night he caught her off guard on her way back from the library. It had been like something out of a very bizarre dream, and every so often she would hear his voice echo those words in her head. Of course she hadn't told Harry or Ron about what happened. Especially not Ron. Likely they would have taken the first opportunity to fight him, and the last thing Hermione wanted was another black mark on their records.
She was always grateful for Harry and Ron's presence in her life, though. While she sat on the sofa staring vacantly into the fireplace, all of the adventures the three of them had had flashed through her head. It felt ridiculous to think of having feelings for someone she shared only bitter memories with. Where was Draco when she was fighting off a mountain troll? He hadn't cared or even taken notice of her absence from the feast that night. Harry and Ron had. And where was Draco when she was cornered in the Shrieking Shack by a supposed prison escapee? Sitting pretty in the Slytherin common room replaying Harry's fall from his broom at the last Quidditch game, no doubt.
So where are these absurd feelings coming from?
Nowhere, Hermione told herself, I'm just stressed and a bit delusional from being so busy.
With a new resolve, Hermione stood up and drained the remaining whiskey from her glass. Ron and Harry looked up at her from their seats around the chess table.
"Going to bed already?" Ron asked. Hermione couldn't be sure, but there may have been a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Don't be such a wet blanket, Hermione," George piped up from somewhere behind the Christmas tree. She watched as he and Fred managed to stuff a few more Doxies in their already lumpy pockets. She suppressed a grin and shrugged.
"If I don't sleep soon, I might fall over."
Harry nodded in agreement and stretched. "I'll be off too, then."
A quick glance between the two and Ron stood abruptly, nearly upending the chess table.
"Erm," he mumbled, going red around the ears, "Sleep actually sounds good."
After saying goodnight to the rest of the group (Hagrid already snoring loudly into his tankard of drink), they ascended the narrow staircase to the second floor hall. Harry yawned and found his and Ron's room, opening the door to a very excited Pigwidgeon. Hermione heard Hedwig hoot dolefully from somewhere inside as well.
She padded further down the hall to a door marked with a worn gold placard, the name illegible after so many years. A sign hung over top of it that read, "Ginny and Hermione's Room." A smile pulled up the corners of her mouth when she remembered watching Ginny scrawl out the new door tag. "That plaque is so depressing!" she heard Ginny saying when they moved in, "I don't want to think about all the creeps who lived here before."
Hermione turned the doorknob and glanced back down the hall where Ron was paused, apparently struggling with a thought.
"Ron?" she said, "What's wrong?"
He hesitated for a moment more before crossing to where she stood.
"I, um, just wanted to know..." he started, but let the sentence trail off.
"Know what?" she prompted him. A painful pang in her chest alerted her to the question he might be trying to ask. Please, Ron, let it go. Don't do this now...
"Hermione..."
She took a deep breath and looked up at him hesitantly. Just as she feared, his emotions played out in his eyes like an open book. Before she could tell him not to speak, he whispered, "I love you."
It was as quiet as a soft breeze, and Hermione wasn't even really sure he spoke at all, but the way he was looking at her with a tenderness she'd never seen before told her that she hadn't heard wrong.
"Ron, I-" she tried to respond as best she could, but the words wouldn't come out. How could she possibly tell him that she may have feelings for Draco Malfoy?
He would never talk to you again.
Perhaps she was only confused. Perhaps her nervousness could be contributed to Ron's proximity. She could feel his breath flutter the stray strands of her hair and his body heat emanate on her skin. His eyes roamed over her legs, her arms, her shoulders, then came to rest expectantly on her face again. Hermione knew that he was expecting some sort of response, but nothing came to mind.
You could love him, you know, Ron. You could have a happy life with him if you gave him a chance. You're simply confused about Draco, but that means nothing. Just give him a chance.
Before she could reason with her own logic, Hermione slipped one hand around Ron's neck and quickly pressed her lips against his. His intake of breath told her that he was just as surprised as she was, but he wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and responded eagerly. It was quite a different feeling than the hasty kiss she had shared with Draco. Ron was gentle and almost afraid of moving wrongly against her. One of his hands found the soft skin of her cheek while the other gripped the back of her sweater.
When she pulled away and opened her eyes, Ron was wearing an expression halfway between reverence and shock. She knew that her face must mirror his and looked away while she untangled herself from his arms
"Erm, Ron, I-" she started to say, but she wasn't sure of her own words. Instead of feeling giddy or excited by his kiss, she felt only more unsure. "Goodnight," was all she could offer.
Ron's smile was undeterred by her hasty reaction, and she could have sworn that he skipped once on his way down the hall to his and Harry's bedroom.
Great.
Now that she and Ron had kissed, word was surely going to spread to Harry, then Ginny, and of course the twins. All hopes of secrecy would be gone at that point. The dynamic duo of pranksters would probably paint a congratulations banner for the happy new couple by morning.
Hermione slipped out of her jumper and corduroy pants and curled into a ball underneath her comforter. Ginny entered some time later, but so consumed was Hermione in her turbulent thoughts that she couldn't tell how late it was. Ginny didn't speak, probably assuming her roommate was asleep. When the sky outside her window slipped from navy into midnight black, Hermione sat up, deserting her attempts to go to sleep.
No sounds could be heard from the first floor, meaning that the adults must have called it a night and made their way to bed. Hermione slipped her arms into her favorite maroon robe and, in the darkness, let her feet find the slippers set neatly at the foot of her bed. As she tiptoed silently from her room, being careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards, she tied the cloth belt of her robe into a messy knot around her waist and snuck into the kitchen.
Tea always seemed to relax Hermione, probably a habit she acquired from her parents. If ever there was a problem or an important question needing answered, the kettle was put on. Kreacher could be heard in the hallway mumbling under his breath, but Hermione had long since learned to ignore him. Her heart always ached at the injustice of the situations House Elves were forced into, but tonight it was the farthest thing from her mind.
She quietly opened a cabinet where the glasses were shelved, and fumbled a bit in the semi-darkness for a china cup she'd gotten attached to in her stay at Grimmauld Place. The moon shone brilliantly through the kitchen's only window, and Hermione was thankful for its light as she found and filled the beaten up tin kettle, setting it to boil on the stove.
"Can't sleep?" a deep voice spoke from the doorway. Hermione nearly screamed in surprise, but stopped herself. She spun around to meet whomever was there while her hand fluttered to her chest. Sirius Black stood leaning against the door frame in a way that reminded her of Draco so many nights ago. She blinked away the thought and smiled, thankful for the company.
"No," she replied, turning back to the window. "Why are you still up?"
"I could never imagine a time when I would be hoping for more peace and quiet," Sirius answered, taking a seat at the long table in the center of the room. "You'd think I would be grateful for the company, right?"
Hermione nodded, laughing quietly. "I expect it's quite a change after having so much time to yourself." She turned again to face him, leaning back against the counter top with her arms crossed over her chest.
Sirius nodded, looking at her slight frame silhouetted in the moonlight. "Yes, it is. These days I can hardly hear myself think."
"You're lucky," Hermione offered before she could stop herself.
A curious look crossed the older man's face, but he smoothed it over and shrugged in response. It looked to Hermione as if he had something to say, but she was met with silence until the shrill whistle of the kettle split the air. She whirled around to remove it from the stove before the whole house was woken up, and grabbed another cup from the cupboard for her nighttime company.
Sirius took his tea straight while Hermione spooned in a bit of sugar. A few minutes passed in silence with the two sipping their hot drinks. Every once in a while Hermione would look up at Sirius where he sat across from her at the table. His eyes met with hers once or twice, but the look Hermione found wasn't what she'd seen in Draco's or Ron's. It was only curious instead of possessive.
It was nice not to feel as though Sirius was imposing on her thoughts with invasive questions or presumptive remarks. He was quiet, pleasant company. She took the time to study his features that night while they exchanged muted conversation over tea. Sirius had strong features that she remembered seeing echoed in the ancestral tapestries throughout the house. His eyes were dark, almost haunted looking, and the sallowness had disappeared from his face where once it dominated his features. Although it felt a bit strange at first because they were still nearly strangers, Hermione found talking Sirius to be a distraction from the drama she was plunged into as of late. He asked polite questions about her studies at Hogwarts and her family back home. He wanted to know what her favorite shop was in Hogsmeade and where she had vacationed as a child.
The last of the tea was finished and Sirius stood to put their cups into the sink. For the first time that night, Hermione felt relaxed.
"I should be off," Sirius said with a yawn. Hermione nodded and stood from her seat at the table.
"Thank you," she said quietly. Sirius stood for a moment by the door of the kitchen and looked at her once more. A ghost of a smile played on his lips before he disappeared into the hall like the ghost everyone thought him to be. Hermione smiled to herself, suddenly wondering if she'd found someone to confide in. Sirius Black, of all people.