Chapter 4 - Super-Comforting Snotlets
It was past midnight before most of the guests had gone home, and the main parts of the hall looked like something dragons had ravaged. Fred and George's bar had turned out to be a total success (despite the rather infelicitous cases during the night, most likely results from their effective mixtures) and the twins who had shaken, stirred and delivered tons of drinks all night were now sleeping soundly on the floor, leaning against each other between a pile of empty bottles.
That night Harry went off to bed with his stomach full of pixies and thundering head- and heartache that nearly drowned all other rational thinking. It would be the understatement of the year if he said that he was surprised by the turn of events this particular night. Not only had he began resorting to drinks (which hopefully wouldn't become a habit!), he had also ended up with another man's fiancé in his arms (although, he ultimately considered Ginny his). Not that he minded the latter so much. It had been a rush of old and new sensations and memories when they had kissed; and in that very second, they had both jumped on a thrilling, nonetheless dangerous rollercoaster ride. A ride of emotions and alcohol that had left him staggering on his feet back towards his hotel room after having said sweet goodnights to Ginny at her door.
Harry stopped short, reeling for a moment, and grasped his head, squeezing his eyes shut, as a jolt of painful, early signs of a hangover shot through his head; mixing with images of her. His whole body seemed to prickle with an unquestionable feeling of … love. An all-consuming love; slowly burning up his bones from the inside. He was still trying to grasp the sense of utter submission to his own feelings; feelings he had buried deep inside himself since he started focusing on the mission to get hold of the Horcruxes. It all seemed so long ago.
Harry groaned. He knew it was impossible to bind himself to Ginny so soon; despite everything that had happened between them this evening, he still held on to his initial conviction that she was his only true weakness, as well as his strength. If Voldemort ever got to her, he would never be able to forgive himself for acting foolish for even a second. Which in the end was the reason for letting her go tonight – admittedly, very reluctantly – and retire to sleep with his own turbulent thoughts. Right now, however unlikely it seemed, he needed a cool, steady head to find the Horcruxes, destroy them and by that Voldemort.
At the thought of the risk he actually put Ginny in this very moment by exposing her to his reciprocated feelings (hell, just by being in the same room as her!) the pixies in his stomach took an icy turn. Voldemort had eyes everywhere, not to mention his loyal Deatheaters mingling with ordinary wizards and witches (and even Muggles) at every given chance, and making merciless use of the Imperius Curse on those who were too weak. Who knew; some of the guests at the party this evening could have been under the Curse. Maybe some had seen Ginny and him together – even in their dark corner – and had already reported it or made devious plans beyond their own control?
Suddenly Harry felt an anxious urge to go back and tell Ginny about his suspicions and make her leave the hotel as quickly as possible. On the other hand, he knew that she was more than capable to defend herself (she'd even surpassed her brothers at several occasions), and that she – just like Hermione – always had a surprise spell or two in the back of her mind when all hope seemed lost. She knew how dangerous it was to be with him; that he couldn't always be there and that she wouldn't risk asking for the help of her loved ones, putting their lives at risk as well. On that point, she was just too scared, too brave, too damn stubborn to do anything less; exactly like Harry himself would..!
Then why couldn't they be together if their situations were so alike? If their minds and hearts seemed so synchronized?!
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to make his thoughts stand more clear and decisive. However, the alcohol had done its final deed for tonight and made everything frustratingly blurry. Not to mention numb. Oh, he felt his head and heart alright, yet everything else seemed sort of bland and outside his field of vision. He only hoped none of his enemies would turn up right now, then he'd stand no chance to defend himself properly, much less point his wand at the right direction. Ironically, he chuckled a bit at the thought. He couldn't help himself. If there was any night that 'The Golden Trio' would stand most defenseless it would be this night. Actually, the Deatheaters would be pretty daft if they hadn't already taken advantage of the situation. But then again, they weren't the smartest of people either. Harry laughed to himself, only then realizing that it was properly the first time he'd actually made a joke at the expense of Voldemort's followers. Oh, well, he could only blame it on the giddiness of the liquor. Not that he was the only who had behaved strangely this evening.
Speaking of which, what exactly had happened between Ron and Hermione? They had each left the party pretty early, all considering, and not particularly in a good mood. Suppose they had been fighting? Of course, the scenario wasn't new to him, but Harry had felt something different in the air tonight. As if there finally wasn't anymore air to take out of the balloon. Perhaps they simply couldn't cope with being at each other's throats any longer?
Nah, that was an even stranger thought, he admitted to himself, a bit surprised. It was almost impossible to imagine his two best friends being anything but conscious of each other's flaws, bickering and bantering about silly things – as they always had, even when things were awkward between them. Silence and misery would actually be the worst thing – and especially now when the strength of their relationship was crucial if they should stand any chance against what was coming. And he was sure it wouldn't be anything like what they've experienced so far.
Harry sighed, his head getting heavier by the minute. Yet, he knew what he had to do. Although, it was the last thing he wanted to do right now, getting mixed up in more emotional turmoil and especially considering his current state, he knew he had some role to play – and thus a responsibility – in Ron and Hermione's relationship. He didn't want it to fall out no matter how awkward things were to become, good or bad. In the end, what was most important was their mission. Then they could deal with the other stuff afterwards. If there was ever to be an afterwards…
Grudgingly, Harry changed direction, and instead of heading towards his own room, he went down the quiet hallway to his right and walked up to the room which he (almost certainly) remembered to be Ron's. It was albeit a bit late and considering Ron's heady night, he was probably already sound asleep, but Harry had to try anyway.
He knocked a bit feebly at the wooden door and waited a couple of minutes without getting any response. He sighed, already starting to regret, then tried again, this time a bit louder. Then he heard a faint sniffling from the other side, some commotion and footsteps and then the click of the door opening and a blotchy, freckled face appearing cautiously, yet expectantly out from behind it.
"Oh, it's you," Ron sighed as he saw Harry, his face crestfallen, as he swung the door open and let him into his room.
"You expected someone else?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer, as he took in Ron's utterly depressed state and red, puffed-up eyes and nose.
"Huh! Who do you think?" Ron's head hung low as he turned away from him, dragged himself a couple of feet towards his bed and threw himself on it, his face hidden in the pillow.
Harry, still feeling the weight of his head between his shoulders, couldn't help sighing resigned at Ron's dramatic gesture. Should he always be like that? However, now that he was here, he might as well try and lighten up the mood – or at least throw some light on the evening's events. At any rate, then to make Ron stop the sniffling.
He studied his surroundings. The dark, barren room clearly had an imposing magnitude to hold at least a minor ball, if it wasn't for the somber and dank atmosphere that was more suited for a werewolf. Very different from his own small and plushy room, and not exactly a place where he would like to spend the night alone. Especially not if one was in Ron's mood right now.
However, Ron didn't seem to take any notice of this – or anything else at the moment – and Harry felt a bit at a loss. Yet, if he knew Ron right he just needed a moment or two before he started crying his heart out. Meanwhile, Harry decided to throw himself in the nearest of the enormous, old winged armchairs by the even bigger fireplace, where the fire was slowly dying. A decision which only made his head throb for a couple of long, regretful minutes. As he recovered he stared over at Ron who still laid facing down the bed, getting a bit fed up with his rather childish behavior by now.
"Come now, Ron. It can't be all that bad..?" Harry sighed out loud, hoping he at least hadn't fallen asleep yet.
After a while, however, Ron stirred, lifting his heavy head and stared into space.
"Oh, you mean, not that bad that I've thoroughly humiliated myself in front of everybody by getting myself completely sloshed, and then acting shamelessly, behaving like a whiny drama queen after being hit and dumped by one girl and then run down by another?" He made a torturous grimace and faced his pillow once more, mumbling something about getting The Ass of the Year Award.
Harry groaned and arched back his sore skull. "Would you stop the self-pitying for a moment! It's really pathetic to watch, you know!"
"Hmph! I thought that self-pity was supposed to be pathetic," came the gruff answer.
Harry rolled his eyes and continued to watch his friend making strange, frustrated noises into the pillow. What could he say that would make him feel any better? Right now, he seemed rather inconsolable. Well, at least he could try to sort this mess out, even though he knew that its roots were much more tangled and went much deeper than just this evening's events.
"Ron, just tell me what happened. Have you said or done something to Hermione – or she to you – since it has come to this? Something else, more hurtful, than all the other times?"
Ron's head shot up from the pillow with a bizarre bobbing motion, and he stared indignant back at Harry. "What-what do you mean by that? I haven't done anything to her – I never have, as a matter of fact! It's her! She's just out of her mind, that's all. I mean – why did she react so strongly tonight – I-I don't know – it's not like I broke a promise or anything –"
"RON - WHAT - HAPPENED?!" Harry interrupted impatiently.
Ron shot him a dazed and shameful look and pulled himself up from the bed. He rubbed his nose, bent down and pulled out something looking very similar to a package of ordinary handkerchiefs from under the bed. However, in the moment he blew his nose in one of them, it turned into a canary yellow color, started flapping it sides and as Ron finished and let it go, it started flying around the room until it landed in the trashcan in the corner of the room. Soon he had used a whole package and the room was for a moment filled with yellow birdlike handkerchiefs fluttering confused around him in search of the trashcan.
Without looking up, Ron solemnly gestured towards them. "It's one of Fred and George's newest inventions: 'Super-Comforting Snotlets'. They're quite creative, right?" he sniffed shiftless. "The only problem is," he started wriggling and rubbing his nose again, "they only make your nose scratch even more until you – you –" He sneezed loudly and rather violently several times in a row, until Harry didn't think Ron's face could get much redder or much more snotty and miserable to look at.
Harry sighed once again, reluctantly starting to feel sorry for him. After all, he didn't know exactly who was to blame for this mess in the first place, and Ron looked like he already had his fair share of scolding for one night, so Harry couldn't very well begin making presumptions and assume Ron was the only one to blame. And when it came to Ron and Hermione he never knew who started first. In the end it takes two to make a quarrel. He hadn't seen Hermione behave stupidly; yet, when he saw her at the party, her state of appearance wasn't one to be taken lightly. And when she stormed out of the room, one could only fear what she would do; go to a corner and cry her eyes out or lash out verbally or physically (or magically) on anything or anybody nearby. She could very well have sought out Ron after he'd went to bed and asked for an explanation or get her frustrations out on him. And Ron wasn't the best option handling Hermione's emotional eruptions, to say the least, much less to the fact that he often was the cause of it.
Harry's mind was suddenly filled with a load of images of how things could have escalated between them if so, and that it couldn't have been a pretty outcome. He rubbed his eyes and grunted. Why did it always have to be so difficult between them? Why did it always have to end up like this? He really didn't have the patience to play the go-between much longer if they kept up making these rather embarrassing scenes. He wasn't exactly a saint himself (tonight had clearly proven that), but he didn't just keep on playing this punishing game of stubborn pride and hidden emotions that none of them would care to admit.
He was rather conflicted whether or not he was supposed to speak of the unspoken between them, since their stubbornness apparently wouldn't allow themselves to do such thing. He felt very uncomfortable, feeling like he was intruding on an area best left solved by the ones inflicted, yet he couldn't help feeling inflicted himself. How was he to deal with this matter? He was their best friend, they had stood by each other through thick and thin all their lives and would undoubtedly continue to do so, but now he felt the matters of adulthood pressing ever so firmly on his shoulders, the understanding of feelings not to be taken lightly and the consequences which follow. All that, together with an almost childlike ambivalence towards the utter silliness of the matter and natural question: "Why don't they just make up and get it over with so everybody can be happy?". However, it was easier said than done when it came to Ron and Hermione. And Harry wasn't entirely sure they would be happy just so. It would lift a heavily load of distrust, jealousy, frustration and bitterness off their shoulders and certainly lighten the air around them and everybody in their presence, but that they should run around being all smiley and gooey and 'living-happily-for-the-rest-of-their-days'-like was not a very realistic thought in Harry's head. At least not at the present moment – and certainly not in the nearest future (which brought even fever positive prospects to the idea of playing go-between). Well, nothing ventured; nothing gained, after all.
About half an hour later, Ron had explained – with many sniffling halts – to Harry what had happened after Hermione had knocked on his door.
"I don't know, Harry," Ron said with a despondent voice. "You know how proud and stubborn Hermione can be. I'm pretty sure she won't ever talk to me again. Not before I'm on my deathbed probably."
Harry sighed. Sometimes Ron had the tendency to overdramatize – especially when it came to matters that always somehow solved themselves. Eventually.
"Now, Ron," Harry patted him friendly on the back. "I think I've seen you behave just as proudly and stubbornly at several occasions, especially when it comes to Hermione." Harry raised a telling eyebrow towards his lost friend who only looked up at him questioningly, until it slowly dawned on his face what Harry was referring to.
"Oh, well," Ron huffed offended. "I've never really been affected by those incidents. It was just – just friendly bantering, nothing more. I was just pretending to be insulted by what she said. She never really got to me. I mean – I didn't let her get to me."
"Right."
Ron grimaced at him, but this time Harry couldn't help smiling.
Ron looked down again and fumbled with piece of the floral bed linen, his jaw set. "Actually, I'm not really that sad about tonight, Harry. I mean, it could have gone a lot worse! And you know, Hermione and me always go out with a bang." A second after, his head shot up, looking mortified. "Oh, come on, Harry! I didn't mean it like that..!"
Harry didn't know if he should laugh or keep it cool, but there was something about Ron's serious look that made him momentarily forget the little innocent innuendo. He sensed that tonight hadn't been 'just one of those times'. Not this time.
He chewed a bit on the matter.
"So you got her real upset tonight, huh?" He said calmly.
"Yeah."
"And you don't know why –"
"Of course I know why! I know I screwed up! As I always do! I just don't get why she has to make such a big deal about it. I mean, we've been through this over and over again since we've been what – eleven!? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it, Harry, and it's killin' me to be like this and to see her like this, you know?"
Harry, knowing exactly what he meant, patted his shoulder, sensing the desperation simmering in Ron. But what could he possibly say to make it all better? If only he knew how to make sense of it all himself, he might be of some use. As if he hadn't already enough to deal with regarding finding the last Horcruxes, though. And if this turned out to be just one of those passing fancies as usual, after all, there was not much he could do, but let it play out. Oh well, he was never one for those big, dramatic rows, anyway. He always felt terribly awkward in such matters. Maybe it was better to just let them solve it themselves in the end. Maybe just wait for the morning to come to soothe the wounds. Or should he go talk to Hermione? Should he tell Ron to go and make up with Hermione? Judging from Ron's state of appearance so many hours after the row, it probably wasn't the best idea right now, though.
"Maybe you just need a good night's rest, Ron." Harry tried soothingly, gratefully sensing an emotional as well as physical fatigue from tonight's events starting to hit Ron's eyelids. He looked more than complying with his proposal, to say the least. "You'll see; it'll all seem much clearer in the morning." Harry sincerely doubted that himself, but right now he'd say anything to get Ron to go to bed, not to mention himself.
"Well – alright, you might be right." Ron yawned and then fell towards the pillow again, but this time with a more serene – or rather exhausted – look on his face. He still looked disturbingly dejected and strained – even in his slumber, which once more confirmed to Harry the seriousness of what had happened between him and Hermione tonight.
As Harry snuck out from the dark and clammy room to the sound of Ron's distinctive snore, the giant clock in the hallway struck four o'clock in the morning. He yawned violently, stretching his arms and back, his sore muscles shuddering a bit in the cold air of the hallway and felt his head once more ring from the effective alcohol he had consumed only hours ago. Had it really only been hours ago? The time he had spent at Ron's had seemed like forever. This entire night had seemed like forever. Everything was as quiet as a grave around him, everyone probably sound asleep in their warm beds. Everyone else but him. Well, maybe Hermione was also still up? He probably should go look and see if she was alright. His head and body definitely protested to this idea, but he couldn't just ignore her now when he had been to see his other best friend. She was likely just as, if not more, upset by tonight's event as Ron was. Who knew what she had been doing between now and then? A thought that very much frightened Harry. Even if she was asleep, he just had to check to make sure.
So, in the end, instead of going to his own cozy slumber, getting under the warm covers and rest his sore head for the few remaining hours of the night, he padded sleepily down the long hallway, rounded the right corner and continued down the next, steering towards Hermione's quarters.
