Hermione Down Under
Chapter 7 VICTORY AND DEFEAT
Ron was feeling intimidated. All of his life he had known, of course, that there was a big world out there dominated by Muggles and their culture, but he had been largely sheltered from it. At home, at school, in Diagon Alley, he was surrounded by fellow wizards and witches. Even on the camping trip he had been largely confined to the tent; it was Harry or Hermione who set out to explore nearby towns.
Now he was travelling through a large country in which the only witches in sight were Hermione and a mysterious enemy, and he was doing it without a wand. He saw what Muggles had accomplished with no magic at all, while he felt helpless without his magic skills.
It didn't help that he knew that Hermione was a lot more clever than he was. Almost 7 years ago he had called her a bossy know-it-all. And though he had learnt to love her in various ways, she still was rather a bossy know-it-all. She kept the remaining wand and the Bottomless Handbag because she knew better how to handle them (Besides, Ron would like silly carrying a handbag around, in an environment where he was supposed to look macho).
And there was the disturbing sexual angle. Ron had matured a lot during the past year; and he didn't feel jealous of Harry; they had gone through too much together. (Ginny, explaining her quick forgiveness of the pair, had admitted that "if it was any girl but Hermione, I'd put an awful curse on the bitch"). Nor did he feel that Hermione was "damaged goods" because she was no longer a virgin. He wasn't that old fashioned in his thinking.
The basic problem was that in some ways, Harry seemed to be Hermione's natural mate. Ron had come across the Muggle term "alpha male". Harry, the hero who had brought down Voldemort, was definitely an alpha bloke, and Hermione, the best student in their year, was probably an alpha girl. How could Ron compete? He felt like a beta male, or maybe a gamma or a delta, if the scale went down that low. Hermione had confessed that she wasn't thinking clearly when she bonded with Harry, and for Hermione that was a humiliating admission. But if she really wasn't thinking, didn't that mean instinct had drawn her to Harry?
Ron felt a little sick at the idea. He had always wanted Hermione to be instinctively attracted to him.
This morning was the nadir of his recent existence. He was taking riding lessons in which each mistake could be seen and commented on. The only other pupil was an 11-year-old girl named Cherry who had come to the Station with her parents. To Ron, that was like being classed with a First Year.
"Cherry, you're going too fast," said the trainer.
Ron roused himself from his funk to look at his surroundings. Cherry had been riding her horse around a ring. Apparently carried away with the thought that she had a powerful animal under her control, she had urged her mount into a gallop. But riding fast in a circle was not a good idea. She was edging close to the fence.
"LOOK OUT! Use your reins, turn to the right."
Cherry panicked and jerked back on the reins convulsively. Her horse didn't like that. It stopped its progress, but started bucking wildly.
The trainer dashed out, and so did Ron. The boy managed to get behind the horse just as it bucked Cherry off its back altogether.
Ron caught the girl and they fell down into the dust together, but she was safe.
It was his Quidditch skills that had saved the day, Ron realized: quick reflexes, the ability to plan motion in three dimensions to make contact, and a sense of when a rider was or wasn't balanced. In some senses there wasn't that much difference between a broom and a horse.
Cherry let out a string of curses, with effusive thanks for "Mr. Walker" mixed in. The trainer was shaking Ron's hand. Some station workers who had seen the incident from a distance came over to congratulate Ron. Suddenly he found himself being hailed as a hero.
At that point a woman screamed.
The sound came from the direction of the stables. Everybody dropped what they were doing and ran toward the building, ordering Cherry to stay behind. The stable itself held nothing but horses, but somebody noticed the door to the "tool shed" open. Ron followed the others in.
Hermione was there, and a middle-aged woman who struck Ron as vaguely familiar. Both were trembling, and glaring at each other warily.
"That girl threatened me with a gun!" shouted the older woman.
"I didn't! I didn't!" cried Hermione, but her nervousness was evident and probably made her look like a liar to those who didn't know her. "You can search me if you like, there's no gun."
"I think she threw it in that corner when she realized people were coming," accused the other, pointing at a pile of tools.
The trainer looked through the tools. "There's no gun here."
"Then maybe she still has it. You've gotta search her."
"We can't just pat down a guest like a criminal," said one of the station employees.
"I'll do it," said a new voice. Ron turned to see an odd-looking woman in a big Mexican sombrero. She had apparently entered while their attention was on the two quarrellers.
"Go ahead," said Hermione.
Mrs. Arwen ran her hands along Hermione's body, and seemed to be doing a cool, efficient job of it. "There's no weapon."
"OK, then, now let's everybody calm down," said the trainer.
"Can I go?" Hermione asked faintly. She looked obviously strained. "I need some air—"
"Certainly."
Ron escorted Hermione outside. It wasn't Ron's idea of fresh air – the smell of manure from the stables was rather pervasive, but Hermione's mind was clearly elsewhere. She threw her arms around Ron and started crying. "Oh, Ron, Ron, it's so horrid—"
"It was just a misunderstanding, Hermione," he said soothingly.
"You don't understand, Ron. That was my Mum! And I didn't have time to put the restoration spell on her. And I've lost my wand; I had to throw it among the tools so people wouldn't get suspicious. How can I straighten anything out without my wand? My God, I've mucked everything up—"
No wonder she was so distraught. To have one's own mother accuse one of being a criminal!
"Do you think it's some sort of poetic justice, for putting the spell on them in the first place?" Hermione asked in dismay. "That I'm fated never to get it cancelled—"
"Hermione, let's calm down and look at it practically. The first thing we need to do is get your wand back. I don't think we should go back to the toolshed right now; it'll look suspicious. We'll try later in the day. Maybe I should do it; nobody is suspicious of me. For now, let's get back to our room to relax."
They walked toward the bunkhouses. Hermione said her horse was wandering around somewhere but she was too stressed out to try retrieving it. As they were there, they heard other hoof beats behind them. They turned to see a mild-mannered man dismount from a horse. "Excuse me, I must speak with you."
Hermione turned even paler. Ron, searching his memory for the face, realized that this was Mr. Granger. "I'd like to, but my wife is feeling a bit ill—" he said to get Hermione away from the scene.
"You talk to him, please, Ron," said Hermione. "I'll go lie down."
She went off slowly. Ron turned to the amnesiac dentist.
"I must apologize for my wife," said . "We'll probably get sacked, for making wild accusations against a guest, but I wanted you to know where Monica was coming from."
I know exactly where you come from, a lot more than you do, thought Ron.
"My wife has some memory problems," said Mr. Granger. "Not lapses, but false memories of things that didn't happen. In particular there's a recurring memory of a young woman pointing a weapon at her and shooting at her. So when your wife barged in the toolshed and seemed to be pointing something at Monica, my wife panicked."
Ron realized that Mrs. Granger's "false" memories were actually "true" memories leaking through. Apparently Hermione's spell had not been completely successful. "I understand. Her – Helen mistook your wife for somebody she knew. I don't know what she had that your wife mistook for a gun," though he knew perfectly well. "I'll try to put in a good word for her, try to help you keep your jobs."
"Thank you, Mr. Walker."
Ron continued toward the bunkhouse. Something more to worry about.
He looked in on Hermione in the room. She was lying in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Ron decided to give her space.
Spotting her handbag, and realizing that it would be difficult to get things out when neither of them had a wand, he knelt on the floor, turned the bag upside down, and tried to empty it by shaking. An amazing number of things came out: several heavy books that Hermione had probably brought along for light reading, jeans and T-shirts for both herself and Ron, Hermione's old prefect badge and a red/yellow Gryffindor tie from her school uniform, an embarrassing collection of Ron's underpants, and some feminine items Ron didn't know the name of. They made quite a pile on the floor, and Ron was even then not sure that he had gotten everything out. He was afraid to stick his hand in the bag and feel around. He moved the items to the wardrobe temporarily.
By evening Ron had persuaded Hermione that she had to eat; she had already missed lunch. When they crossed over to the main building and went into the dining room, he was surprised by the effusive welcome he received from the other guests. Hermione's misadventure had driven out of his head the day's other big event: how he had caught Cherry when she fell off of her horse, but her family had not forgotten about it. The hosts served Hermione and Ron an extra big dessert, saying it was on the house. Ron was careful afterward to follow up on the good will, telling the management that they did not want to make any complaint against "Mrs Wilkins".
When they got back to their room it was getting dark, and Ron told Hermione that he would try to get her wand back from the toolshed. She wanted to come with him, but agreed it would not be a good idea to be seen in that area.
It was quite dark as he walked across the field to the stables. The stars were out, and they looked strange to him. Belatedly he remembered why: this was the Southern Hemisphere, with no Plough or North Star but numerous stars that weren't visible from England or Scotland. With no city lights or British clouds competing with them, they were also brighter than usual. He wished he remembered more Astronomy, but the most he could recall was amusing Lavender with the hoary pun on "Uranus".
The smell of manure got more pervasive as he got near the stables, and Ron realized that in addition to staying out of sight, he also had to watch his step. Wouldn't he feel like a hero if he saved the day twice only to end it by stepping in a stray pile of horse droppings?
He got to the toolshed without mishap. It was unlocked, and afterwards he realized this should have been suspicious. At the moment he was just relieved, because he could not do a Alohamora charm without a wand.
He remembered the pile of tools that the horse-trainer had searched earlier in the day after Mrs. Granger had pointed it out. He knelt on the floor and started rummaging through the tools for an ornamental piece of wood.
"Are you looking for this?" asked a sarcastic voice.
Ron turned to see the sombrero lady holding a wand. Except that she was no longer wearing the silly sombrero. Apparently she had been using it to hide her odd coiffure, with the hair pulled out on the sides.
It was the mystery witch again.
TO BE CONTINUED
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Plough is the British term for what Americans call the Big Dipper constellation)
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Personally I hate the alpha male/beta male theory, so I arranged for Ron to get depressed by it)
