It's 2018 and I still don't own Harry Potter. Thank you for reading and thank you especially to those readers who continue to review! Reviews are very much appreciated and I do love seeing both reactions and guesses as to what may come next. I struggled rather more than I would have liked with this chapter, but hopefully you'll enjoy (or wonder where this angst bus is going next).
Chapter 7: Jealousy and Lemonade
When the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Remus arrived back at the Burrow, Mrs Weasley and Ginny hurried Hermione into Ginny's bedroom, which the two girls were sharing. That left Remus, Harry, and Ron to wait in awkward silence in the Weasleys' living room. Ron grabbed a magazine from the side of the couch and sat down to read, while Harry watched Remus. The older wizard smiled tiredly at Harry but didn't say anything as he dropped onto a cushion on the other side of the couch.
In the bedroom, Mrs Weasley chivvied Hermione out of the summer robes she'd been wearing while Ginny put away both girls' books. "Did you take your potions today? Yes? Well, then you just have a lie-down and I'll bring in some tea," Mrs Weasley said, and pulled her wand from a pocket in her robes.
While her mum cast a basic diagnostic spell on Hermione, Ginny measured her robes against Hermione's. Hers were longer, as she was taller than the older girl by several centimetres, but Hermione's woollen robes were larger around the chest even with the witch's apparent weight loss. Ginny quickly tucked Hermione's robes into the side of the closet reserved for the brunette while her mother was still occupied.
"Hmm. Have you been sleeping?" Mrs Weasley asked as she turned down the covers of Hermione's bed.
Hermione grimaced, but she obediently climbed into the bed as ordered. With hands that shook only a little, she fluffed her pillow so that she could sit up against the headboard. "Oh, yes, Mrs Weasley. I think it's just the potions I'm taking. One of the healers at St Mungo's said that this could happen from time to time while I'm on the mend," she explained.
Mrs Weasley frowned, but tucked the sheet up around Hermione despite the August warmth, and patted her hand. "I'll bring in some of my special tea and once you've had a cup you can take a nap." She looked over at Ginny, who'd finished putting their purchases away and was looking through an old issue of Witch Weekly with Celestina Warbeck on the cover. "Come now, Ginny, let Hermione get some rest."
Ginny closed the magazine and gave her mother a brief nod. "Feel better, Hermione," she said with a little wave, and followed Mrs Weasley through the doorway.
When Mrs Weasley came back with the tea, she brought with her a vial of potion that was such a bright yellow that Hermione would have described it as sunny, as well as Crookshanks, who ambled in behind the woman. "Here you are. When you wake up from your nap, drink this potion and you'll feel much better. I checked my Home Remedies book and it won't interfere with the potions Madame Pomfrey gave you," she explained.
The portly witch turned to leave and then hesitated. With a gesture of her wand, the door shut, and she turned back to the girl in bed. "Hermione, dear, I want you to cast a Lumos charm."
Hermione startled, her eyes widening. "But the Reasonable Restriction…" She stopped when Mrs Weasley gestured impatiently.
"Doesn't work in actual wizarding homes. Don't tell Ginny or Ronald."
Reluctantly, Hermione pulled her vine wand from beneath her pillow. I was right, she thought as she gave the magical focus a brief polish with her bedsheet. That's why none of the purebloods ever get in trouble. Out loud, she said firmly, "Lumos," and her wand threw off blue sparks before the tip glowed golden in the bedroom. "Why did you ask me to cast this charm?" she asked curiously.
Mrs Weasley studied the light closely, but then she shook her head. "It was a guess, but I'm glad to be proven wrong. You'll be right as rain once you drink your cuppa and have a nap."
Hermione smiled again, whispered "Nox," to vanish the light, and took a generous sip of tea. She tried not to make a face at the taste: it was too sweet by half. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley. I'm sorry to have cut short your time with the twins…"
Mrs Weasley just waved a hand dismissively and tucked the sheet more firmly around Hermione. "Don't be silly! Now, you finish your tea and we'll see you at dinner." She gave the orange, squash-faced cat an absent pet when he leapt onto the foot of Hermione's bed and curled up. "Take care of our Hermione, then," she admonished the cat before leaving the bedroom.
When the door was shut behind the Weasley matriarch, Hermione sighed and took a few more sips of her tea. Once she'd drunk a respectable amount, she slid down in the small bed and turned onto her side. She wondered what Harry and Ron were doing – Ron had been so angry with them both. Even as the thought slid through her mind, the tea did its work and Hermione slid into a dreamless sleep with the sound of her cat's soft snores in her ears.
In the living room, Ron set aside a copy of Seeker Weekly and stood up from his place on the Weasleys' sofa when Mrs Weasley returned. "How is she?" he asked. He shot a look at Harry, who was watching Mrs Weasley apprehensively and had half-risen from his own seat in an armchair.
"Oh, she's just tired out, poor dear," Mrs Weasley reported. "I've given her a spot of tea and a potion to take before dinner. She'll be all fixed up by then, I'm sure."
Ron gave Harry a significant look. Harry, for his part, stifled a sigh and followed his friend out to the yard when the taller boy got up and headed out the front door.
The two met under the same tree they'd all sat under the other night, but this time Ron leaned against the trunk and crossed his arms.
"How much do your parents know?" Harry asked, before Ron could say anything. He looked around for any sign of other members of the Weasley family – particularly those that might be using Extendable Ears. "Your mum didn't want us anywhere near Gringotts."
It was the wrong thing to say, Harry realized immediately: Ron's ears turned red and the rest of his face was on its way to the same colour. "Mum's just trying to protect us," he argued. "You know that's how she is. Doesn't want us to be part of the Order, doesn't want us in danger at all. Besides, we can't all be at risk just because you need to talk to some goblins."
Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses, and he pushed them back onto his nose to try and disguise his shock. "Ron, telling your mum that I needed to visit Gringotts because of Sirius' will was your idea. The three of us thought it would work."
The redheaded boy just grunted. "And getting under your cloak with Hermione and chasing after Malfoy? Whose idea was that, then?"
"Mine, and we did it because we wanted to know what Malfoy was doing, sneaking around in Knockturn Alley. He bought something, probably something dark, at Borgin and Burkes. I'm sure he's going to bring it to Hogwarts, Ron, and he'll probably hurt someone with it," Harry argued.
"Well then you should tell Remus about it before he leaves, and he'll tell Dumbledore. But you shouldn't be running off with Hermione," Ron insisted. "She tires out easily. I bet that's what made her sick today!"
The icy feeling returned to Harry's chest, and he shivered despite the August heat. Maybe he had made Hermione sick, by dragging her off to follow Draco. Maybe the fact that they'd had to hurry back to the Weasleys' store had overtaxed her. It had felt so good to have his arm around her waist and her body pressed so close to him that he hadn't even thought that he could be making her feel worse.
"And anyway," Ron continued while Harry was still ruminating, "You're being paranoid. Malfoy's always up to something and it's probably not about you or your inheritance. Not everything is about bloody Harry Potter," he finished with a snarl.
The words made Harry draw back as though he'd been burned. His eyes flashed bright green and as his face turned ashen, the raised, red, lightning bolt scar stood out all the more. "I don't want everything to be about bloody Harry Potter, Ron," he retorted. "But Voldemort's back," he didn't bother to hide the way he rolled his eyes when Ron winced, "and it's no surprise that the Malfoys want Sirius' money for him. You saw Malfoy: he showed up in Diagon Alley, threatened me, insulted Hermione, and then he walked into a store known for selling dark artefacts."
"You don't know what Malfoy was doing," Ron objected. "He could have been looking for a present for his mum, for all you know!"
"Why are you defending him?" Harry's voice took on a tone of incredulity, and he stared at his best mate in abject confusion. "You hate Malfoy."
Ron's lips twisted in a snarl and he shook his head. "It's just not all about you," he insisted. "Just leave Hermione alone!" He stormed off toward the orchard before Harry could reply, leaving Harry to stare after him in confusion.
"What the bloody hell was that all about?" he muttered to himself. Between Hermione's illness and Ron's temper, not to mention Mrs Weasley and Ginny's behaviour, Harry was starting to think that everyone around him was under a spell.
Harry barely spoke to anyone in the days following the trip to Diagon Alley. It wasn't exactly easy to avoid people in the overcrowded Burrow, particularly without attracting the attention of Mr or Mrs Weasley, but Harry used the excuse of completing his summer reading one day, and the other two he spent as much time on his broom as he could, training (he said) for the upcoming quidditch season.
On the fourth day, Harry found himself up a tree in the orchard behind the Burrow. He'd brought a book, which he wasn't reading, but it was a good enough excuse to continue his efforts to avoid his friends. Every time he thought of Ron, his anger simmered. His best mate was jealous of him – again. They'd argued over Harry's wealth before, and that was when all he had (or thought he had) was the money in the trust vault. Ron still didn't seem to understand that Harry would have traded it all to have a real family.
Every time he thought of Hermione, something in his chest twisted and writhed in pain. Hermione and Ron had clearly reached a new stage in their relationship just in time for Harry to realize that he didn't just think of Hermione as his best friend. In fact, he hadn't thought of Hermione as just a friend in months.
It would have been more bearable if Hermione at least seemed happy with Ron. But for every time Harry saw the two of them holding hands or kissing, he also saw her act as though nothing had happened between them, or even as though she'd rather be somewhere else. He'd even seen her trying not to cry, once, when she thought no one was looking. And she still seemed so ill. That hurt even more than watching Hermione and Ron together. She was still sick because of the curse Dolohov had used; his best friend was suffering because he'd convinced her to follow him to the ministry and walk into a trap.
I don't deserve Hermione anyway, Harry argued with himself. He'd nearly gotten her killed! Whatever his feelings on the matter, Hermione and Ron had clearly already made their choice. He rather wished they'd at least spoken with him about it, but the most important things had to be that they were still his friends – and that they were happy.
Maybe they were happy together, despite the oddness of the whole thing. After all, what did he know about relationships? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were affectionate when he was younger, he supposed, but things had been tense since she forced Vernon and Dudley onto a diet. Molly Weasley clearly loved Arthur Weasley, but often her love seemed to take the form of exasperated fondness for the muggle-obsessed man. Maybe Ron and Hermione liked things the way they were. He didn't exactly have anyone else to compare them with, unless he included the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy had always been solicitous of Narcissa Malfoy, at least in public. He shuddered at the thought of comparing Ron and Hermione with a family of Death Eaters, and shook himself out of his thoughts.
Harry took a deep breath and started to climb down from the tree, but voices on the grounds below him stayed his movements. He clung awkwardly to the branches and then quickly clambered back up to the branch he'd been sitting on, then sat perfectly still as the voices grew louder.
Not far from his chosen tree, Hermione and Ron were standing beneath another tree. Harry could barely see them through the thick leaves of the apple trees, but he could certainly hear them. They were having another argument, based on the way the two were facing off against one another. He couldn't hear exactly what they were saying – just a few words here and there, and the anger in their voices.
Hermione's hair was flying loose in the summer breeze, and streams of chestnut-hued waves and curls swirled around her head. Despite the uneasy feeling that rose in him watching the two argue, Harry couldn't help but enjoy how energetic she looked just then. For just a moment, it was as if she'd never been ill at all. For the first time he found himself thinking that Hermione was hot, and he wondered if Ron fought with Hermione so often because she was so attractive when she was angry. Immediately, Harry regretted allowing both of those thoughts into his head.
Barely restraining himself from dropping down to interfere in the fight as he ordinarily would, Harry instead watched as Ron paced in front of Hermione, red hair nearly matched by the colour of his face. He expected Hermione to once again give as good as she got – but instead she slumped, suddenly, and shook her head. She must have whispered something, because Ron shrugged, and his face seemed to be returning to its normal colour. He reached out to squeeze her hand, and Harry saw Hermione smile just a little before she turned to walk back to the Burrow.
Stuck up in the tree, Harry reminded himself silently that he wanted his two best friends to be happy – even if something seemed off about the argument he'd just watched.
Instead of following her, Ron stayed out in the garden and kicked the base of one of the other trees a few times before sitting down and leaning his head back against the trunk. When Ginny joined him in the orchard a few minutes later, Harry swore under his breath. He didn't really want to talk to her, either – ever since the trip to Diagon Alley she'd been making any excuse possible to touch him, and her perfume made him sneeze every time he caught even a whiff of it.
Ginny sat down next to Ron and passed him a large glass of their mum's lemonade. "Fighting with Hermione again, Ron?" she asked, a touch of sympathy in her voice. Her mane of red hair was tied up in a high ponytail and she wore what Ron thought was an awfully short pair of shorts. Along with an equally skimpy tank top, they showed off the tan she'd built up playing pick-up quidditch for the past week.
Ron shoved a hand through his hair in frustration before taking a long gulp of the freezing, sweet-tart beverage. "Just another of her flare-ups, Gin. She's worried over Harry like always. Thinks it's upset him that we're…closer, I guess. What with Sirius being gone and all."
"Do you want me to talk to her? Other people are worried about Harry too – she doesn't have to do all the worrying," Ginny replied. She glanced back toward the Burrow. "I can talk to Harry, too, about you and Hermione."
With a sidelong glance, Ron shook his head briefly. "Just let her get it out of her system. Dolohov's curse still has her jumping at things and sleeping as much as that cat of hers." He took another sip of lemonade, and made a face. "Did mum change the recipe? This is sweeter than usual."
Ginny shrugged and leaned back against the tree trunk. "Maybe she didn't stir it enough and you got extra sugar in your glass." She smirked at him. "Since when is anything too sweet for you?"
"I didn't say that it's too sweet, just sweeter than normal. Mum say what's for dinner?"
"Cottage pie, although I don't see why when it's so bloody hot outside. But she said Harry and Hermione both need to put some meat on their bones." Ginny sniffed. "There's treacle tart and ice cream for pudding, so you'll be fine."
Ron took another gulp of his lemonade. "I like cottage pie, and Harry is scrawny," he said. "Are you hiding out from mum so she can't make you help?"
"No, I'm not hiding from mum. She wanted me to give you some lemonade. She said you'd been de-gnoming the gardens with the twins all morning," Ginny replied, "and thought you'd be thirsty in this heat. I gave some to the twins as well." She squinted up through the tree leaves at the bright afternoon sky. "Have you seen Harry today? Dad was looking for him – something about the Ministry."
Ron shook his head. "He's been scarce the last few days. Like I said – 'Mione thinks he's upset and brooding, she likes to call it."
Ginny's eyes narrowed, but then she stood up and held out her hand to her older brother. "Well, come on then – if you're done with your lemonade, mum actually does need help, and I still need to find Harry."
As the two youngest Weasleys left the orchard, Harry let out a sigh of relief and waited until they were out of sight before climbing down from his perch in the tree. He still didn't want to speak with them – or with Hermione – but it was hot out, and he'd recognized Mrs Weasley's lemonade even from up in a tree. He tucked his book under one arm and set out for the Burrow once more.
When he stepped inside the house a few minutes later, he spotted Hermione first, curled up on the sofa with Crookshanks. She was asleep, and a half-empty glass of lemonade sat on the end table nearest her. Harry couldn't help the frown that spread across his face, even as his heart flip-flopped at the sight of her. There were soft shadows beneath the girl's eyes, and her dress had twisted around her waist so that it rode up above her knees.
Even that glimpse of her thighs had Harry blushing, and he hurried by the sofa toward the kitchen. He had no business looking at his friend like that! Especially when it's clearly Ron she's interested in, he admonished himself. There was a giant pitcher of lemonade on the counter, and Harry turned toward one of the cupboards to reach for a glass when a flash of red hair appeared in the corner of one eye. When he finished taking a glass down and turned again, Ginny was standing near the lemonade pitcher.
"Oh, hullo, Ginny," Harry greeted. She was still wearing that perfume, he could tell almost immediately, and he stifled a sneeze as he reached for the pitcher.
Ginny smiled up at him and shifted in closer so that Harry would need to reach past her for the lemonade. Harry coughed and grabbed for the pitcher, then poured a glass of lemonade for himself and took a sip to soothe the sudden scratchy feeling in his throat.
"I've been looking for you for an hour, you know," she said, and Harry took a step back after he put the pitcher on the countertop. "You've been hard to find." Despite her scolding, the witch's tone was bright and there was a smile on her face; Harry smiled back after a moment of hesitation.
"I've been reading," he explained, and gestured at the book he'd set down on the other counter. After another sip of lemonade, Harry asked, "So why were you looking for me?" He kept the glass in front of him like a barrier.
"Dad wants to talk to you, actually," Ginny explained, and Harry thought he heard a note of disappointment in her voice. "He said it's something to do with the Ministry."
As Ginny spoke, the floral scent in the room grew stronger, and Harry's nose itched while at the same time, a headache began to form right between his eyes. He sneezed, and this time couldn't stifle it. "Uh, I'll just…find your dad then," he managed, and sniffled. "Listen, Ginny, are you wearing perfume? It's just, there's this flowery smell in the room and I think I'm allergic to it."
Ginny frowned. "I'm sorry, Harry. It must be my shampoo! Luna gave it to me as an early birthday present – she said it would keep away wrackspurts but I think it just smells good."
Harry nodded and downed the rest of his lemonade, then placed his glass in the sink. "Sorry, I think it's got something in it that," he interrupted himself with another sneeze, "I'm really allergic to. I'm uh – I'm going to go find your dad." He beat a swift retreat, sneezing twice before he got out of the kitchen.
The young witch sniffed the air experimentally once she was alone. "It's not that strong a smell," she muttered, and frowned deeply.