Hogsmeade weekend dawned dark and dreary and could only get worse, Hermione decided. Harry, though, was determined to drag her along, insisting that getting her out of the castle will do her some good. She didn't disagree, though her gut still prickled with warning. Less supervision on students who might want to harm her, after all. But Harry pleaded with his terrible green eyes and told her Luna will be meeting them there for lunch and Hermione just sighed. Who is she to get in the way of true love, after all? And it will be funny to watch Harry with her, at least.
She can't help but tease him on the way to the village, though. "So has Sirius heard anything about the future Mrs. Potter, yet?"
Harry flushes and narrows his eyes. "It's not like that," he grumps. Hermione just smirks.
"Not like what?" She asks, innocently.
"I just—she was just sitting alone, y'know? At her own house's table. Ravenclaw, and they just can't see she's brilliant, is all, and her hair, its—" And then he cuts himself off, looking down. "Shut up," he says.
Hermione just smirks and doesn't say anything. "I hope you'll tell Sirius about her soon," she says. And pauses. A little more kindly, she adds, "He might be able to help."
Harry smiles, and their walk to Hogsmeade finishes in silence. Upon their arrival, they agree to split up for the less interesting of each other's tasks—Scrivenshaft's, for Hermione, and Zonko's, for Harry—and to meet at The Three Broomsticks for lunch with Luna. Harry glances at her worriedly when they begin to split, but Hermione just gives him a thumbs up—which makes him smile, since their shared muggle heritage tends to make purebloods like Ron and Draco confused. Only other muggleborns understand the silly hand sign.
Hermione sets off for Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop purposefully. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders to keep out the sharp winds around her. Not that it did much good.
Idly, she noticed how crowded it was this weekend. But then she remembered—Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were experiencing their first Hogsmeade weekend. Best just to stay out of everyone's way then, she thought.
Scrivenshaft's was a quick stop for Hermione. She already knew what she liked; Merlin knew she'd been there enough to memorize the entire store's inventory!
But on her way to the register, she bumped into Fleur Delacour—literally. Hermione was making her way down an aisle when the blonde girl stepped out from behind a tall display, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. Hermione apologized as a flush rose to her cheeks. She wasn't normally so clumsy. But Delacour, too, was blushing as Hermione scrambled to her feet and offered her a hand up. Delacour took it, and something sparked between them. For just a second, something soft appeared in Delacour's eyes, but then they narrowed a second after.
"Watch where 'ou are going, imbécile," the French girl snarled. "Tu me gonfles."
Hermione met her eyes. "Je m'en fou," she returned with equal ferocity. She waited only a moment to see Delacour's eyes widen before brushing roughly past her to the front counter. Merlin, that felt good!
Her bags packed, Hermione stepped outside back into the blistering cold. She paused only a moment before beginning the brief trek to Zonko's. She had finished much earlier than expected, after all, and she didn't particularly feel like waiting around at The Three Broomsticks.
But just outside Zonko's, she saw, unfortunately, a spot of red hair and a face full of freckles. He was laughing with some other boys in their year, and it seemed they were just leaving. She hoped Harry didn't run into them inside.
All thoughts of Harry vanished when Ron spotted her.
"Hey!" He shouted.
Hermione turned her head and pretended she didn't hear him. She didn't want to face him. Merlin, she hadn't a clue what to say.
"Hermione!" Ron shouted again.
Reluctantly, Hermione lifted her head to face him, desperately trying to block out the crowd that was rapidly forming.
"You couldn't resist it, could you?" Ron's face was flushed, his freckles boldly standing out on his pale skin. His eyes were glaring holes through her. "You couldn't resist showing everyone else up, the brilliant muggleborn who can do anything she wants!" A pause. "Except make friends!"
Hermione felt tears prickle her eyes even as her hands clenched. "I didn't enter, Ron. And if you were my friend, you'd know that!"
"Well, I'm not your friend—not anymore, not ever! Why would I want to be friends with such an ugly, cheating swot?"
"At least I'm still brilliant, even without someone like you dragging me down!" She couldn't think of anything else on the spot, but her words clearly hit home when Ron drew his wand.
"Who's doing your homework now, Ron? Are you failing your classes, yet?" She continued, deliberately ignoring the wand now in her direction. There were witnesses here. She was safe. Ish.
"Shut up, you, you—mudblood!"
Hermione gasped. So did a few other students in the crowd. She never thought he'd cross that line. He was in a family of so-called blood traitors! He was supposed to be on her side. She saw Dean subtly inch away from Ron. She lifted her chin.
Before she could speak, a slow drawl cut in. "Well, well, well," Draco began, emerging, like a snake, from the crowd, "never thought I would see the day a Weasley would use such an abhorrent slur. Shame on you, Weasel!"
Ron flushed, and seemed to just realize the enormity of the word he used. "I didn't—" he began, but was quickly cut off.
"You did," Hermione said, eyes flashing, "and I, for one, am glad to finally see to sort of friends I used to keep. Run along now, Ronald. Perhaps your new friend Malfoy might want to help you study."
At this, Malfoy and his cronies looked torn between snickering at Ron and hexing Hermione for, well, existing.
When Ron raised his wand, and opened his mouth to cast, Hermione froze. But another voice entered the fray. Smooth, deep, deceptively friendly—it seemed Diggory was ready to join the fight. But rather than pulling his wand on Hermione, he turned to Ron. His eyes were dangerously narrowed, and Hermione never thought she'd seen that… intense of a look on his face before.
"Ronald Weasley. Ten points from Gryffindor for disorderly conduct, and another twenty for using a slur against a fellow students," Diggory cut in coldly.
Before Ron could utter any protests, Diggory sent him away and disbanded the rest of the clustered students. Dean shot Hermione a sorry look over his shoulder as he left, and as much as it heartened Hermione that not everyone was as bigoted as Ron, she couldn't help but remain lonely. But then Diggory turned towards her, and when their eyes met, something sparked inside of her… his eyes flickered over her form, presumably checking for injuries. But a moment later, Diggory nodded, turned, and strode away, leaving her feeling more than a little confused. Hermione sighed and went inside to meet Harry.
Harry, luckily, hadn't tussled much with Ron besides calling him a prat, which, Hermione supposed, was the best she could've asked for. But he was infuriated when he learned what Ron called her.
"I don't care, 'Mione, nothing you said should've let him call you that! Ron and I—well, even if I could forgive him for everything else, and you could, too, this is the final line. We're better off without that tosser."
Hermione flung her arms around Harry. "Oh, Harry," she sighed, "Thank you! I didn't want to end your friendship with Ronald, but—"
"You did nothing to end it," Harry cut her off. "That was all him."
Hermione smiled, even though she privately disagreed. The things she'd said had been pretty cruel, after all. But she was just glad to have Harry remain by her side. Maybe she was selfish to be glad he picked her over Ron, his first friend. But she didn't care.
They made their way to the Three Broomsticks, both quite ready for something warm to stave off the cold and loosen their tensed muscles. Upon entering, they spotted Luna already inside with a mug of butterbeer clasped between her hands. Her pale hair was loose and curly, falling down her back, and her wand was tucked behind one ear. Her jumper seemed to be made of at least sixteen kinds of yarn, and her boots had little painted birds all over them. Hermione glanced over to Harry; he looked enchanted.
Lunch with Luna was, overall, good. She kept Hermione's mind from straying toward her encounters from earlier in the day, and for that, she was grateful. The girl just seemed to know when to change the subject, or what to say to get Hermione passionately involved in whatever disagreement was happening. And best of all, she was entirely oblivious to Harry's love-struck gaze. It was nice.
Hermione decided to return to Hogwarts a little early, to give Harry and Luna a bit of time to themselves. Not that either knew that, of course. Merlin, she was turning into a romantic! She picked up her cloak and muttered something about studying before ducking out onto the street.
The walk back to Hogwarts was peaceful. It was the afternoon, and it seemed the clouds had temporarily cleared to let a little sunlight filter through. Even the wind had let up a little, and just a light breeze was left to rustle through her curls. Hermione's shoulders loosened, and her steps became slower.
This is it, she thought. This is all I want. Just… to bask. Glancing surreptitiously around, she waiting until she was just a few minutes outside the castle gates before stepping off the path. Her boots squelched in the mud, wet from last night's rain. But it didn't matter. Everything was green, and once she cast a warming charm, it would feel like spring.
Hermione conjured a thick picnic blanket and swept it over a patch of grass. She pulled out a book, too, but after laying down on the blanket for a minute, the warmth from her charm and the glistening, filtered sunlight forced her to put it down. She soaked in the quiet, the ease. And before she knew it, her eyes fluttered shut, and she fell asleep.
Much later, she will wonder how she woke up in time to return to the castle. Just luck, probably. (She didn't see the three conflicted sets of eyes watching her from a distance, after having experienced their own foray into the woods—and she certainly didn't see the subtle tickling charm sent towards her side to wake her up.)