A/N: OK, I have been writing this for what feels like yonks now. This chapter changed course like 50 times before I finally settled on how I wanted it. A few days ago, I saw HP 7 Part 1 (WOOOOOOO!) and realised that I do not hate Ron after all, he can be quite adorable in an awkward cute kinda way. Sooooo, this fanfic isn't going to be as ron-bashy as I was thinking….. but don't worry, Hermione still ends up with Draco. Also, I apologise because I have been too lazy to just sit down and write this :S Hopefully people still remember this… thank you to those you do :)
Chapter 10: One step forward, two steps back
As the evening sun crawled towards the horizon, the castle started to settle down for the day. Beacons of lights came on in random windows, as lanterns were lit in preparation for the oncoming darkness. The castle glittered like a decorated Christmas tree, the dim windows of light working together to form an inferno that lit the ground, far below, and the thin ledges of the several windows. A distance away, in the little village of Hogsmeade, Madame Rosmerta dispatched her elf up to Hogwarts with a bottle of aged elderflower wine as the late night pub goers made their way into the Three Broomsticks. The elf with the wine apparated all the way to the gates, taking care with the bottle his mistress had given to him. Obeying Hogwarts rules, the elf made his way up to the castle on foot, since – being an outside elf – he couldn't transport himself magically inside the castle. Waving hello to the kitchen elves gathered around Hagrid's pumpkin patch, the elf made his way up Hogwarts various hallways and staircases until finally he delivered the bottle to the Headmistress of Hogwarts herself – Professor McGonagall. Helping his mistress serve such high customers pleased the elf almost to the point of tears. Bowing out of the headmistress' office, the elf bowed numerous times, his long nose touching the plush carpet. Scurrying back down to the gates of Hogwarts the elf had a smile on his face, revealing several missing teeth. He knew his mistress would be pleased.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
As the elf with the unfortunately long nose bowed out of her office, Minerva McGonagall placed the specially fetched bottle of wine on her cleaned table. She had set all the Ministry parchments on one corner of the table, and the detentions and suspensions list on the other. The rest of the mess had been hastily shunted to the drawers behind her desk. Sinking down on her spongy chair; Minerva drummed her fingers on the desk, waiting impatiently for Draco to arrive with his students.
"Stop that infernal noise Minerva! I am of a considerable age and trying to sleep!" the Sorting Hat commented, the crease in the fabric stretching wide as the Hat yawned. Just as it seemed that the cloth would tear, the Hat snapped its mouth shut with a muffled thud.
"Now is not a good time to test my patience…" threatened Minerva as she grew evermore irritable. The school was still in an uproar with the whole Slytherin incidence. The Ministry was at her back, pestering her to start student programs that promoted unity, 'inject a sense of togetherness, you know?' had been the Minister's exact words. The new Minister of Magic, another character like Fudge. It seems that the only leaders the Magical community could elect were hideously scary ones – like Scrimgeour or the downright ridiculous cartoons – like Fudge, and now Gerard 'call me Gerry' Prichard. Thank Merlin, the Ministry hadn't found out about the incident yet. That box of trouble was barely contained and here she was twiddling her thumbs. Frustrated Minerva looked at the ancient clock on the shelf beside the hat. It was a legacy of Dumbledore's and probably of Headmasters before him as well. The clock was perfectly designed to suit a typical Head's day. It started with the obvious waking up and ended with a 'sigh of relief' that Minerva assumed was sleeping. People always underestimated the stress that came with being the head of a school, especially one so diverse and full of potentially dangerous students. Ever since Voldemort, the Ministry had been putting pressure on the schools around Europe, especially Hogwarts, to keep their students in check. Minerva had already received a letter from Olympe Maxime, complaining about the irritating weekly reports all the schools had to submit to the Minister, as if running a school full of magical teenagers wasn't hard enough. Sighing, Minerva turned her attention towards the window, it had started snowing again. Snow always soothed her, especially at night. The addition of colour to the blackness somehow comforted her. Sighing again, Minerva resumed the tapping of her fingers against the polished mahogany table. Waiting.
ooooooooooooooooooooooo
Fabian Prewett paced across the Gryffindor common room, his mind working furiously. He was torn between revising his plan in his head and being angry at Helena. Behind him, Rowena sat in the comfy armchair, gazing into the dying embers of the fire, still spluttering in the darkening fireplace. There was a party in the Astronomy Tower that night, thrown by the Ravenclaws in celebration of someone birthday. No one really cared whose; they were there because it was invite only. Being there was quite an achievement, one that everyone quietly savoured – when they could make time in between savouring the butterbeer and the various foods produced by the house elves. Of course all the Gryffindors had been invited, no party made a mark on the social calendar if the Gryffindor's weren't there. Rowena, being an out-and-about socialite, had really wanted to go, but naturally this was the night – out of all other free, empty, boring nights – that the Headmistress had invited them to talk. Sulking Rowena glared moodily at the fire, breaking her gaze long enough to comment,
"Oh stop pacing! It is NOT going to make her hurry up."
Fabian turned around to glare at her, a scowl that Ro returned gladly. Nothing like a fight to make her night, and if Aubrey wasn't here… well she would have to make do with Fabian. They glowered at each other for a few seconds, before Fabian broke into a smile.
"You look so hilarious with that scowl on your face! Any lower and those eyebrows will reach your chin!" he guffawed, ignoring the daggers that Ro continued to shoot. After a while Rowena gave up, she wasn't really going to punch Fab, again that was a pleasure she reserved for Alexander freakin' Aubrey.
"Did I keep everyone waiting?" came a disembodied voice, seconds before Arabella rushed down the stairs. She had damp hair and the edges of her robes appeared wet. Fab groaned,
"You just HAD to take a shower tonight. Merlin!" he exclaimed, grabbing Arabella by the sleeve and tugging her towards the portrait hole, a still moody Rowena in tow.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
The trio tumbled out of the portrait hole, ignoring a frowning Fat Lady. Instead, acknowledging the source of her disapproval; Professor Draco Malfoy and his posse of Slytherins.
"I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence…. After five bloody minutes of standing around listening to the yabbering of that puffed up, pink frilled ball!" Draco's voice, starting off calm, gained momentum until the last syllable was practically a yell.
The hall was momentarily filled with noise as the Fat Lady exclaimed 'Hey', which was quickly lost amid Arabella's 'fashionably late!' and Fabian's laughter. As silence reigned again, the odd group walked through the hallways of the Seventh Floor, making their way down to the Headmistress' office. Fabian drew back, to talk to Helena, as Arabella chatted with Monty and Vicky. Rowena and Draco walked in silence as they both moodily stared into thin air – contemplating drastically different issues. Ro was still bitter about missing the party of the term, just a few staircases away in the tower right across from the Gryffindor tower while Draco imagined McGonagall murdering him in various gruesome ways. He was starting to regret this, these kids – the ones that had seemed smart, strong willed and purposeful in the morning light now just seemed like a group of chatting, gossiping, normal teenagers. An ominous feeling growing in his stomach, Draco led his students down into the main body of the ancient castle. The phrase his students still left an odd taste in his mouth… even when uttered in his mind.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Hermione hastily tidied her chambers, shoving the scattered clothes in her laundry basket and sweeping the muggle chocolate wrappers under the bed. One thing Hermione had lost over the years was her freakish neatness – though not a slob yet – she wasn't the most obedient follower of the rule 'put crap back where you take it from', at least that was the version that was in her head… she was fairly certain that profanity wasn't actually used in the version that was aired to the world. Grunting Hermione heaved the stuffed laundry hamper from the middle of her living room, to the bathroom, hoping that Malfoy wouldn't have to use it. Straightening the couch to hide her bed from view Hermione stared glumly at her cramped quarters. Teachers are soooo underappreciated she thought as she finally straightened up. Satisfied with the arrangement of the sofa, Hermione slumped down on her bed and stared morosely out of the dark window. She cursed ever inviting Malfoy over, her brain could list a million reasons why this was a bad idea
One. He is Draco Malfoy.
Two. It's not worth it, he'll just say something sarcastic and leave as soon as possible…
Three. He probably won't even want to enter the rooms of a' mudblood'.
Four. He is so freakin' rude.
Five. Arrogant bastard.
Six. I don't wannnnnnnt him to come, no wait. I'm a grown up. Retake.
SIX. I do not wish for him to come.
Seven. It's Draco bloody Malfoy..
Eight. I bet he doesn't even have anything worthwhile to say.
Nine. I'm too tired for this.
Ten. After Ron's letter today… no, don't think about that bastard.
Eleven. It's Draco Malfoy. Umm… hello? Arch nemesis?
Twelve…
Stopping herself before she actually got to a million, Hermione sighed. Convinced, more than ever, that this had been a bad idea, Hermione cursed Malfoy yet again and hoped against hope that he would decide not to show up. I'm not even going to be angry. I swear.
oooooooooooooooo
Minerva lifted her head from where she was resting on her desk. Half the portraits were genuinely asleep as well. The grating of her stone staircase moving had alerted her. Just as Minerva replaced the last stray stand of hair, Draco Malfoy walked in with his students trailing him.
His students. Minerva thought, with an internal smile. However fruitless this night was, at least Draco was starting to take a keener interest – not just in his subject – but in his students as well. Blinking away the remnants of an already fading dream from her eyes, Minerva stood up. Greeting each student by name, Minerva sat back down. She had done her homework, let's see if they have done theirs.
After a heartbeat of silence, Draco started the inevitable. He began with the introductions while the group of students settled around him explored the office with curious eyes.
"We are here Minerva, as I have already informed you, about the incident that occurred at breakfast this morning. Frankly, I myself don't know the details of the plan that… my… students have come up with, but I would advise that we listen with an open mind and give them a chance. Who knows, the Gryffindors may actually use their heads for once." Minerva watched in surprise as the three Gryffindor students present in the room flashed their teeth in a grin, taking the joke in good spirit.
"I am ready, if you care to begin." Minerva replied crispy, still not ready to forgive the group the precious moments of rest they were robbing her of.
Everyone turned their eyes to Fabian, expecting him to lead. Gulping Fabian looked at all the portraits listening in, most of them awake and alert now. The Sorting Hat coughed, as if prompting Fab to speak. Steeling his jumpy nerves, Fabian began.
"Well… Headmistress, umm Professor. I.. we… do not have any proof of this, but we are confident that this whole drama was hatched by the criminal mind of Alexander Aurey, I am sure you know of him?" Fabian's voice, growing steadily more confident, paused. At Minerva's nod of acknowledgment towards his question, Fab continued. Slightly more at ease.
"Well, Alexander is a rather vain person. Someone who will want to be praised and glorified for the prank he pulled. The best way to flush him out would be if someone confessed to the crime – thereby earning all the acknowledgement. Knowing Aubrey, he would not be able to stay silent while someone else gets the reward for his efforts and so the rat will be flushed out!"
After a few moments of silence, one in which practically every eye was on Fab's slightly flushed face. Just as Fab was about to excuse himself for the plan that was obviously stupid, the students started patting him on the back. Draco's lips were graced with a slight upward tilt, pride clear in his mirror like eyes.
"That is indeed a clever plan Mr. Prewett."
As happy looks were shared around the room, Minerva elaborated.
"I am sure, that as this is your plan, you would be comfortable with taking the blame – as long as needed – for whoever decorated that table. Are we agreed?"
A look of apprehension flashed briefly across Fab's features, like a butterfly fluttering to a flower momentarily before flitting away, on it's way.
"Of course Headmistress, I would be urm.. not happy… but rather obliged to take on the role of the imposter."
With that the meeting drew to a close, everyone relieved.
Minerva glanced at the clock, thinking about her welcoming bed chamber. Rowena thought of the party that would still continue for quite some time, she would make it. Fabian's thoughts were muddled, torn between a feeling of excitement mixed in with nervousness.
Draco… the only thought he had as he stood silently on the stone staircase – for the second consecutive night – was concerning Hermione Granger.
Whether to pay her a visit or not.
As Draco broke off from the chattering group and headed in the opposite direction, he decided that it was time to retire to bed. It's not like Granger's opinion of him affected him at all.
Still, as Draco closed his stressed lids to the world, he had a lump in his throat. Something that felt uncomfortably close to guilt and regret. But it was too late to go a knocking at her door.
As the lone candle on the table spluttered out, Hermione looked up from the book she was reading. Leaving 'Tales of Beedle the Bard', the book Dumbledore had left her, on the floral patterned sofa, she got up and retrieved the waxy remains left on the saucer. Dusk had faded and night had deepened as Hermione had waited for Draco. Sighing, half in relief and half in something she couldn't quite place, she smiled a thin smile. As if to say 'I told you so' to her conscious. With a flick of her wand, Hermione brushed open the curtains that barred the window of her room. Immediately the silver light from the full moon washed over the room, transforming the unremarkable room into a surreal landscape. Hermione, oddly silent – not wanting to disturb the peace of the room – crept to her bedside cabinet. In the bottom drawer lay a pile of letters, held together by a piece of fraying string. Preparing herself for a long night, Hermione pulled out the heavy bundle and laid it across her lap as she settled, cross legged on the loveseat beneath the window. The string unravelled with one tiny tug, leaving the letters free on her lap. Hermione couldn't help but compare the fragility of the string to that of life – how simply one's life can go so off track…. One mistake and all that one holds dear disappears. Shuffling through the chronologically ordered letters, Hermione reached the oldest one, not old enough to be yellowed but still dating back a while. Taking a deep preparatory breath, Hermione lifted the letter from its brethren, with trembling fingers, to put in the direct path of the rays from the luminescent moon.
The already opened envelope read quite simply;
To Hermione,
From Ron.
Hermione slid out the delicate letter from within, the ink marks faded in some spots with handling. As she had done many times before, Hermione started reading. Although she could recite the contents by heart, the sight of the writing comforted her… reminding her of past times.
Dear Hermione,
Before you burn this with your anger please please please accept my apologies. I know that I should have been back days ago, but the port key got delayed and then Charlie invited me to stay a bit longer and then Ginny and Harry turned up and you know how it is. Harry says hello, he and Ginny have gone to the countryside for a picnic. The Department of Transport here in Romania has assured me that the next port key will be ready within the day and I should be back home with you this time tomorrow. Please give Errol a treat or two… if this reaches you that is because that bloody hand-me-down bird is likely to die on its way. Anyway, Charlie's back and I'll tell you everything about my trip tomorrow. Have I mentioned that the weather in Romania is bloody terrible? Anyway… I love you.
Missing you,
Your Ronald
That had been the start of it all the trouble.
Hermione turned away from the letter, not wanting to stain the old ink further with her tears. She could imagine Ron writing this, four years ago. She could imagine his hair falling in his eyes as he hastily inked the words. She could imagine him telling Charlie to 'wait a sec' as he finished the letter off, hesitating before adding the shy 'I love you' in at the end. She had been so in love. Merlin, THEY had been so in love. Yet, things had already started to change. After the war, Ron and Hermione had started a torrid romance – fuelled by seven years of pent up tension. It had come to the point where Hermione blushed profusely just hearing his name. This letter had been sent during Ron's first trip away after they had gone official. Of course they had been letters before this, but this was the first time he had said he loved her, so she had kept it. Hermione was sentimental like that. And Ron was accidentally adorable like that as well. He wrote Hermione letters often, not caring if he was going to see her in a few hours. That was what she loved about him – his spontaneity and innocence. But she had not counted on this spontaneousness leading him away from her. When she had first received the message, Hermione had been glad that Ron had company, but over the years she had realised that this was the first real sign of her being pushed out of the trio. Of Ginny taking over the two people she loved the most. Wiping the tears Hermione moved on to the next letter, dated a few months after this one. All the love notes in the middle, Hermione had stashed somewhere – she didn't throw them away, but this was a special bunch of letters, these were the ones that reminded her how she had been deserted, how things had gone terribly wrong.
To dearest Hermione
From your Ronald
My Hermione,
I am about to see you in a few hours and I cannot wait! I hope you have packed fully because I want to leave for Paris IMMEDIATELY. This is going to be so much fun! I can't wait to show you the Eiffel Tower and we can have lunches in those cute French cafes and we can take boat rides and…. Well you get the idea. Thinking about this makes me want to lift you up and spin you around! I know that we haven't had much time for ourselves what with the Prophet hounding us, Mum's dinners and Ginny and Harry troubles but…. I can't wait. This will be me, you and the love in the air. Cheesy, I know, but that's why you love me! OK, I changed my mind, I'm coming over right now! So this will probably get to you AFTER our passion on the couch if you get my drift…. Ready or not here I come!
Love you beyond belief
Yours, simply and always
Ron
The ghost of a grin crossed Hermione's lips as she remembered the 'passion on the couch'. Ron had been the best boyfriend, attentive and loving. Understanding and handsome. Once again Hermione tortured herself as she imagined the excitement in Ron's movement as he would have scribbled this letter. At this stage, making innuendoes and theatrically declaring his love came easily to Ron. Something that she didn't complain about. If only the trip had gone as planned… If only that day had been as perfect as we imagined… If only… With a mental kick, Hermione jerked herself out of that line of thought. 'If only's led only to regret and grief for what might have been. Gently placing the letter on top of the previous one, she reached for the next one.
Sorry
Ron
Oh she remembered this one well, a frown gracing her slightly wrinkled forehead, Hermione forged on.
Hermione,
I am so so so sorry. Please let me explain. I'm coming over.
Still love you
Ron
It was more the confrontation that was memorable rather than the one line scrawled on the parchment. After the 'bonding' on the couch, Ron and Hermione had settled for coffee and begun to chatter about the trip to France. As Ron enthused, Hermione watched him, the curve of his lips every time he grinned, the eyes that lit up every time he met hers, the fringe that kept falling in his eyes as he impatiently brushed it away. Alas, this happy time had been interrupted with a fireplace call from Ginny. She had popped in for a millisecond, screamed at Ron to get to her place and disappeared again. Ron had given her one apologetic look and Flooed away.
One tear fell. Twinkling like a pearl as the light from the moon reflected off it.
He hadn't even said good bye.
The second one fell. Falling close to the first one, but in the shadow… a dome of darkness.
He hadn't even thought to take her with him, completely forgetting that she had as much right to be there as he did when it came to Harry and Ginny.
A third one fell, landing unfortunately close to the first drop of salty water. As the tear dropped onto the original one, they both exploded in a splash of droplets. Leaving behind no trace of each other, both obliterated. On the macroscopic level, Hermione didn't even notice.
His lovingly written 'Paris' letter had arrived as soon as he left.
Hermione broke down sobbing, much like she had done that day, four years ago, on her coffee table.
The apology letter had arrived two days later, seconds before Ron himself turned up at her door, begging to be let in. She had glared in icy silence as he made himself a cup of tea and settled into the couch. She couldn't help but picture the scene in her mind.
"Hermione…" Ron had uttered, before being interrupted by her.
"Just shut up Ron. Firstly you walk out on me, leaving me to cancel the trip by myself. You know how embarrassing it was? That bloody witch sniggered the whole time! Secondly, no word from you for two whole days! What was I meant to think? I called Ginny's but no would reply, Harry's apartment was empty! At least you could have written me one of your freakin letters! Merlin Ronald! Do I need to have a sign that says 'I'm still here' for you to remember me? Or will a memo every couple of hours do? I swear. This is the last time you two leave me behind." She had ended in a shriek. Crookshanks, now old and creaky had covered his head with his tail.
"You don't like my letters?" Ron had mumbled. After a moment of stunned silence Hermione had lost it.
"You have the nerve to turn this around on me? Don't you DARE try to be the victim here! You know what? Get out. I can't do this right now. Go."
When Ron had stared at her without moving, Hermione had lifted her wand.
At this gesture Ron had come to her and demanded that she stop acting ridiculous at which point Hermione had shrieked at Ron to 'Get. Out. Of. Her. Fucking. House. Ronald', punctuating each word with a pillow that she had picked when Ron had plucked her wand out of her hands.
Fair to say Ron had been furious. Harry had been furious-er. Harry had turned up at Hermione's house with flowers and tickets to her favourite ballet – Swan Lake – apologising profusely and claiming that he had assumed she was in Paris waiting for Ron to return. He was pissed at Ron for not telling him that Hermione didn't know and for not telling Hermione in the first place. It was at this point that Hermione had inquired what exactly this emergency was – in the midst of screaming at Ron and pushing him out of her house – Hermione had forgotten to ask him exactly.
Harry had told Hermione that he and Ginny had bought a flat together. They had needed Ron to help move. Predictably Hermione was silent all through the ballet and afterwards, giving Harry a quick congratulations hug, before rushing into her own room.
The Harry she was friends with would have told her first thing, demanded that she was present, not just assumed that she was 'in Paris, waiting for Ron'.
Hermione knew in the back of her mind that she had slightly over reacted, but the prospect of her two best friends casting her aside so easily after everything was heart wrenching. In a way, the simplicity of the reason for Ginny's call made Ron's lack of response more hurtful. If had been something drastic Hermione might have forgiven him for forgetting her, but she was sure he might have found a few seconds in midst of packing to Floo call her at the very least. Shoving aside the thoughts that she should go easy on the two boys, Hermione had fallen asleep amid thoughts of fury and betrayal.
Back in the present, Hermione skipped through the next dozen or so letters. After the incident, Ron and her relationship had returned to a semblance of normalcy. All the letters were the usual deal, with slight mentions of Ginny and Harry, but mostly about normal life and upcoming dates. Hermione's fingers faltered as she reached a particularly thick letter. It was so thick because she had crammed three letters into it; the package was just a bigger envelope with three smaller ones inside it. She gingerly lifted it. She hadn't read these in a while. She slid out the first one.
To my lucky charm
From Ron
Hermione!
I GOT IT! I was so worried about the try out, I was sure I would stuff up. You wouldn't believe it but I could almost hear Slytherin's singing 'Weasley is our King' in my head… not the flattering version. But then the coach threw me the Quaffle and it was like they were in slow motion! I caught every single one! Coach was impressed and he called me on Monday to do all the legal stuff. This is all because of you! You told me I would get it, and I did. Better than felix felicis you are, my very own, personal luck magnet. Merlin, what would I do without you woman! I just have to go to my uniform fitting and then I'll be right over. I will see you soon!
Love, love and more love
From your very own Quidditch player,
Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, Ron
The self-imposed, magnanimous title that irked Hermione to no end now used to be endearing and cute back in the early days. Ron had apparated outside her house wearing his flamboyant orange uniform robes. He had flown in and swept her into a waltz, moving to imaginary music in his head. Their laughter still echoed piercingly in her head. They had then gone to an inconspicuous muggle restaurant for a romantic candlelit dinner. Unfortunately, halfway through, Harry and Ginny had popped in and Ron had abandoned Hermione, preferring to chat to Harry about the team and their chances in the upcoming season. Ginny had smiled sweetly at Hermione before apologetically joining in with the Quidditch talk, leaving Hermione to push her pasta around her plate. Ron and Hermione had gone back to hers since Ron was practically half moved in anyway, Hermione hadn't had the heart to pop Ron's bubble by informing him how left out she felt nowadays and so she had reluctantly kept her mouth shut. Truthfully, she didn't think Ginny was doing this on purpose, not in the beginning anyway. In her mind it was more the other two to blame.
Sighing Hermione squeezed her shut, breathing hard. As the air rushed out of her throat – raw from crying, Hermione sank back against the cool stone wall supporting her back. Unwillingly she drifted into a restless slumber, exhausted from the mental pressure of reviving these immensely painful memories. The letters lay beside her, oblivious to the weight of the grief they had caused the gently dozing witch lying beside them.
Hermione jolted awake as the first rays of the sun started warming the freezing glass of the window. The glazed look of lingering sleep only left her eyes when as Malfoy's elf popped in front of her.
"Miss Granger, Pepper is sorry if she woke you up. But Professor McGonagall sent Pepper to tell you that classes are cancelled today, they will be made up for on Saturday and so you can do whatever you want to."
Hermione questioned Pepper as to the reason for this unexpected turn of events. The only reply the hyperactive elf gave before rushing away was;
"Pepper doesn't know Miss, but she has to go now and tell her Master Draco the same thing. Ta ta."
A/N: Now that you have read it, please be kind enough to review :)