Chapter 2 -Ron
Ron can't help but stare at the bushy haired girl sitting in the back of the Potions classroom. She looks tired and sick, like she's been suffering from the flu for the last month. He wants to ask if she's alright, but they aren't close anymore and every attempt he's made of drawing her in has backfired. He's afraid to hear the resentment in her voice.
The truth is he misses Hermione. At night, she plagues his dreams. But, when he wakes up, the realization that they're broken up makes it feel like he's awoken from a seductive nightmare. When he sees her in the common room, in class or during their head boy/girl meetings, his heart stops. He wants her; he needs her.
And he loves her.
But at the same time the bitterness of their argument still clouds his vision. The words she had said to him are nearly unforgiveable, and he can't just give in. And, the worst part, the part he can't bear, is that apologizing would mean admitting he said those horrible things to her, and Ron knows he never would do that. He couldn't hurt Hermione, even after she'd hurt him.
"Mr. Weasley," Professor Slughorn mutters in his bumble of a voice.
"Eh?" Ron looks up. He hasn't been paying attention at all.
"What potions can you make from adding Bugleweed and Arachnid's blood?" Slughorn asks rather impatiently. Even if Ron is now a member of the revered slug club after his involvement in the defeat of Voldemort, he can still tell Slughorn is far from impressed with him. He doesn't care; he doesn't want to be part of that guy's bragging list.
"Ergh…"
"What about you Ms. Granger?" Slughorn looks eager. If there is any student he can rely on to succeed and make him look good it's Hermione, she's a bona fide genius. But a moment of pause, makes Ron look at her. Why isn't she answering?
She looks stressed and confused like she hasn't been paying attention, but was thinking about something far more important and pressing. Knowing Hermione she's probably stressed about N.E.W.T.S.. Typical Hermione, he chuckles to himself, it would be just like her to be more stressed now, worrying about her exams, than she was when we were running for our lives trying to save the Wizarding world.
"I- I don't know sir," She says with a panicked look plastered on her face like a startled deer. A murmur of shock floods the room as they all realized the brevity of this situation. Hermione Granger doesn't know the answer to a question.
"Well surely, you do know," Slughorn paces the room slowly with disbelief.
"I really don't," she continues to insist.
"Points from Gryffindor," Pansy Parkinson prods. Ron glares at her; every Gryffindor does and even some Slytherins. Nobody has forgotten her eagerness to hand over Harry at the Battle of Hogwarts last year.
"Yes," Slughorn looks defeated, "I suppose this is shameful that none of your house can answer this OWL level question. 5 points from Gryffindor."
The Gryffindor students turn their glares to Hermione. This is what they rely on her for. "Wait," Ron stops, "Isn't it the know-it-all potion?"
"Yes," Slughorn smiles hesitantly. He hates when he's wrong about students, he's always admired his ability to pick from the crème of the crop in students and see them blossom into valuable connections. Hopefully it isn't too late to get the Weasley boy.
"Shouldn't you have known that one?" Pansy Parkinson mocks Hermione from the front row.
Ron's worried about Hermione and as class goes on, he notices that she doesn't answer a single question. This shouldn't worry him to much, but when they start brewing the potions, she messes hers up to the point where it needs to be thrown out.
"What do you think is wrong with her?" Harry asks under his breath.
"Don't know," Ron says quietly.
"Think we ought to talk to her?" Harry asks.
"So she'll lecture me again?" Ron frowns, "You go on ahead."
"Maybe we better not," Harry mumbles as he saw the sight of a fuming Hermione. She looks like she's about to yell at the next poor soul to wonder into her path.
"Are you alright?" Neville asks nicely to Hermione, like an innocent mouse walking carelessly into a rat trap, "Do you want any help?"
Hermione's face turns bright red, "I'm not stupid, Neville," She barked, "I don't need your help." Hermione's face turns bright red at the realization of her own behavior "I'm- I'm sorry Neville. I didn't mean- I just-."
Neville shrugs it off, "It's fine 'Mione. Don't worry about it."
Ron has never seen her get so angry before, and over something so harmless and obviously caring. His eyes examine her once more. Her hair is longer and fell in perfect waves. Her lips are as luscious and alluring as ever. But something about her isn't right. Upon closer look, Ron notices the way her cheekbones are far more prominent on her thinning face. He noticed the loss of color in her cheeks. He notices the weary look in her eyes. He notices the way her robes hang against her body like she barely exists. He notices the way she moves like she's in pain, notices the facade of her polite smile, in response to the encouraging words of her classmates.
As the week passes, it grows more and more obvious that Hermione is far from her usual self. Something is bothering her. She falls asleep a few times in McGonagall's transfiguration classes and one of Flitwick's actually useful Charm's classes. He notes that her papers are barely satisfactory, and professor's tut at her inability to answer the questions when called upon. The worst are the quizzes, which are given lower marks than Ron. It's unbelievable.
Something is wrong with Hermione. Ron knows it, and he's going to find out what it is. He has to.