Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

The Serpent

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Chapter 20
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"I thought you'd given up 'The Serpent' case," Ron commented, absently rubbing Crookshanks' belly as the part-Kneazle snoozed beside him on Hermione's loveseat.

"I have," she absently stated, and then shushed him. They were at a very important juncture of their game and she needed to concentrate.

Hell, she was screwed. The next move was obviously 'mate. There was nothing to be done about it. She'd played the wrong opening move, clearly.

Frowning at the chess board, Hermione inwardly cursed for once again agreeing to a game of chess against her ex. What had she been thinking? In nearly twenty years of their friendship, she hadn't once beaten him. Not once! Yet, here she was again, roped into playing against him by that familiar, ill-fated hope that perhaps (Oh, please! Oh, Merlin, please!), this time, she'd win.

Godric, she was a glutton for punishment, wasn't she?

"Ready to admit defeat?" he asked with an arrogant, all-male smirk she wanted to smack off his face.

She scowled and petulantly crossed her arms. "Fine, but I can still kick your arse in Trivia Pursuit any day!"

"That you can," he concurred, chuckling. Together, they gathered up the pieces of his glass chess set and put them back into their antique curved wooden case. The set was a gift from her for his twenty-first birthday, back when they'd still been dating. It warmed her heart to know he took such good care of it.

When they'd finished, she played hostess again. "Would you like something to eat?"

"You really cook now?" He sounded perfectly calm, but his blue eyes furtively searched the room for a quick escape, a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

She smiled sweetly, while behind her face, she was throwing pointy ninja stars at his head. That had been one of the contention points in their relationship – that she hadn't been able to cook her way out of a paper bag. To someone who liked to eat as much as Ron did, and given his mother's amazing penchant for the art of food preparation, her inability to boil water without burning it had been one of a few unspoken bones between them.

"Oh, yes," she batted her eyelashes with mock solemnity. "I made that recipe for shepherd's pie your mum tried to teach me last year. I think I've finally got it down. Of course, it's a little on the crisp side, but you can't have everything now can you?"

"I-I'm sure it's g-great," Ron stammered, looking around desperately for an excuse to escape.

"Oh, I can't wait for you to tell me your opinion!" she shammed, hiding a smirk at his suddenly pale face. Undoubtedly, he was remembering that one time she'd tried to make him meatloaf with peas. Or maybe it was when she'd attempted that "easy" Yorkshire beer-battered fish recipe. Of course, it might even be the special dinner she'd planned that one evening involving a chicken vindaloo and a cucumber raita.

He'd projectile vomited after wolfing down every bite of those meals without complaint.

Great times.

*.*.*.*.*

Ron felt a cold sweat take hold of him and his belly cramped.

Good Lord, he needed to get out fast! If only he had an excuse!

"Yes, that'd be great, 'Mione, but...er... well..." His eyes zeroed in on the clock on the wall behind his ex, and a tangible relief passed through him. Oh, thank the Founders! "Merlin, look at the time! Is it that late already?!" He jumped to his feet, making like he was running behind schedule, and pasted an apologetic smile to his face. "Sorry, luv, but I can't stay! I have plans with... with... Harry! Yeah, Harry."

He congratulated himself on that off-the-cuff fib. With how awkward things were between Hermione and their friend at the moment, she wouldn't ask Ron to invite Harry here. It was the perfect excuse to bugger out while he had the chance. He intended on taking it, not wanting to experience another bout of vomit burn, thanks.

The last time she'd attempted to cook a meal, he and Harry—her culinary guinea pigs of choice—had ended up in St. Mungo's with severe food poisoning. They'd both had to have their stomachs magically pumped. They often joked behind 'Mione's back, in fact, that they'd have made it easier on everyone if they'd simply made Voldemort try out some of her cooking. Guaranteed death... and his Horcruxes wouldn't have been able to save him, because if there was anything more formidable than Hermione's wand, it was her cooking.

That wasn't to say he didn't love this witch. Merlin, he did, really! Sometimes, he even envisioned what it might be like for them to get back together, because he missed her as his girlfriend (especially the way she used to make those cute, little whimpering-begging noises in the back of her throat when he'd been buried deep inside her...). She'd been his first lover, and he'd been hers, and they'd been in love, and there was no forgetting that. In fact, it was probably fair to say that Hermione Granger would be in his blood until the day he died, and he'd always wonder 'what if' when it came to them. And in his head, she'd be forever nineteen and all his. However, they really weren't right for each other in the long haul, and they both knew it.

The cooking cinched that fact. He needed a woman who was as passionate about food as he was...

...and one who wanted kinky sex.

Hermione had always been rather vanilla in their bedroom activities – maybe because of inexperience or lack of self-confidence, he wasn't sure. Whatever the block had been, he'd never felt comfortable discussing it or pushing her into doing something she wouldn't want to try after that one time he'd talked her into having sex with him outside at his parents' place, behind his dad's shed in the orchard. That had the hottest thing they'd done together, but she'd been so embarrassed afterwards that she'd given him the silent treatment for several days – and no sex, either. He'd never made that mistake again.

It was all water under the bridge now, though, and they'd kept their close friendship, and that was more than he could have hoped for. His ex was an astounding woman, and he would have had a Hermione-shaped hole in his heart if things had gone sour between them in the aftermath of the breakup. As it stood, he was content with where they were.

He was not, however, comfortable with sticking around right this moment.

It was time to make a clean escape.

*.*.*.*.*

"Yep, gotta go meet up with Harry," Ron restated, collecting his robe from the hook by the door and hiking up the chess set under his arm. "Going to dinner at the pub."

"Huh. Well, that's odd you'd say that," she drawled, doing her best not to laugh out loud at his panicking expression, "because when I left the Ministry earlier, I passed by Harry's office. He told me he had a meeting with his French counterpart tonight – in Paris. He won't be back until tomorrow."

Ron's freckled face turned ashen.

"O-oh," he said and started hyperventilating.

Normally, she might have let him go, but she was not letting him off the hook this time. He had, she'd discovered, been the one to encourage Harry into making a move on her sometime this year, so he deserved a little payback for getting involved where his nose didn't belong. Honestly, he should have known better than to play her matchmaker.

"You must have gotten your days confused," she said.

"Y-yeah, that must be it," Ron capitulated, his shoulders slumping. He swallowed so hard, his entire throat convulsed. Then, he laughed nervously, and his ears turned beet red. "M-My mistake."

"No harm done." Hermione patted his back with a devilish smile. "And I'm sure after you try my shepherd's pie, you won't worry about anything!"

On her way into the kitchen, she nearly giggled and gave the whole thing away when she heard him mumbling to himself.

"Yeah, sure, 'Mione. Dead people rarely worry about anything."

*.*.*.*.*

"Heard you played a trick on Ron yesterday."

Hermione paused in her writing and slowly lifted her head to look up at her visitor. She recognised the voice, but wanted to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

She wasn't. Ginny Weasley, looking timid and embarrassed, stood in her doorway, her hands fiddling with her waistcoat. Underneath it, Hermione could see she was still wearing her Quidditch practice uniform. Her friend had just come in from the pitch, then.

Carefully placing her quill in its ink pot, she moved aside the parchment she'd been working on, and leaned back on her chair, giving her friend her undivided attention. Ginny fidgeted under her penetrating stare, and did her best to avoid looking directly in her eyes.

Deciding to put her friend out of her misery, Hermione gestured to one of her visitor seats. "Your rotten brother deserved it," she replied, remembering Ron's expression when she'd brought out the covered dish. He'd looked ready to bolt through a window. It still made her chuckle recalling the absolute relief that had come over him when she'd patted his head and revealed her mother had drop by the day before and had brought the shepherd's pie with her.

Cooking was simply not Hermione's forte, as everyone knew.

"I'm sure he did," her best girlfriend murmured, gingerly sitting in one of the cushy armchairs. "He's always teasing about your lack of cooking skills."

Today was Hermione's last official day as a member of the Auror department, and her office was almost barren. Her books and personal items were already in her new office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's administration wing. Only a spare quill and ink pot remained on her empty desk, along with a few fresh sheets of parchment, in case she needed to take down a letter or an interdepartmental note.

Hermione remained silent, content with leaving Ginny to set the tone of the conversation. She had said her piece three days ago in Divine Cuisine. If Ginny was here to talk—and the fact she had come straight from Quidditch practise, without changing implied just that—then she'd listen.

In the past, Hermione would always be the one to apologise first for any misunderstanding or fight, her innate need to keep the peace between her friends and the fear of losing them and ending up alone urging her to take the initial step towards reconciliation, even when the disagreement hadn't been her fault or at her instigation. Now, as she was older and a bit wiser, she was beginning to understand that doing such a thing all her life had put her at a decided social disadvantage, as everyone expected her to simply concede first to smooth things over. It made her less equal in the power dynamics of her relationships, as a result. Recently, though, she'd decided she'd start demanding her friends stand up and acknowledge their mistakes, too, and to properly initiate apologies when they were due. Doing so would force them to respect her and acknowledge that she wasn't a doormat for them to walk all over. Friendship was a two-way street, and it was time for them to prove it.

Ginny seemed to sense the change in Hermione's attitude, understanding what it would require of her if she wished to continue their friendship. Her fidgeting worsened, as she struggled with her inherent stubborn nature and learned how to set her pride aside.

It took her two minutes and fifteen seconds to grow up and face the music.

"I'm sorry."

"For which part?" Hermione asked, needing to make this point so Ginny would never pull this kind of cock-and-bull on her again. "For ignoring me or for believing the sensationalised stories The Prophet published? Or are you apologising for accusing me of betraying you and intending to cause you pain, despite the fact you knew better?"

Ginny flinched at every word, and her grip on her satchel was knuckle-white.

"I... Everything. I'm sorry for everything," she whispered, eyes watery as she finally looked up. "I'm sorry for being such a lousy friend, and doubting you. I'm sorry for embarrassing you at the restaurant, and for saying those mean things. I know you'd never hurt me intentionally. I just... Merlin, Hermione, you have no idea how difficult this is for me!"

"You're right. I don't know – because you hold things back from me. I'm not a mind-reader, you know."

Ginny gave a nervous laugh, and swiped at a stray tear on her cheek. "I know, and I'm sorry for that, too." She sobered, and dropped her gaze to her lap again. "You're my best friend, Hermione, but sometimes, it's difficult to tell you things, especially when… I'm so jealous sometimes about how I don't and can't ever measure up to you."

Hermione was taken aback by that. "What are you talking about? Ginny, you're an incredible person! You're a Quidditch star, for Merlin's sake! You have groupies!"

Resolutely, Ginny shook her head. "You don't see it, but to the rest of the world, you are THE Hermione Granger – the universe's most clever and famous witch. You're an Auror with an amazing track record for catching bad guys, a war heroine who helped bring down the most evil wizard our world has ever known, and you fight for the rights of the disenfranchised everywhere. Everyone worships you, both men and women alike. I mean... I think I'm relatively pretty and talented, sure, and I fought in the Final Battle of Hogwarts, but no one is like you, Hermione. You're perfect, and everyone wants to either be near you or be just like you, usually both. Even when I was with Harry… Do you know how hard it was to go out with him to public events and to have people give me weird looks when he introduced me as his girlfriend, like they couldn't believe he was with me? And then there would be those few times when someone would dare ask what had happened between him and you. 'I thought you were dating Hermione Granger,' they would say – right in front of me! Can you imagine how that feels?"

Hermione sighed and ran a hand over her face to hide her own sudden, burning tears. Gods above and below, had people really been that heartless to do such a thing to Ginny? Why hadn't Hermione ever seen or heard about that sort of treatment, and why hadn't Harry put those people in their places?

Ever since their fourth year, people had been speculating about her relationship with Harry, but it had certainly worsened post-war, when she and he couldn't attend the same social function together without a tremendous amount of gossip speculating on their dual presence. The reporters had even managed to make their double dates, while she was still with Ron and Ginny with Harry, look like a carefully constructed plan for her and Harry to hook-up. Those were the worst for her, because they'd always had a spin to them that made her out to be a scarlet woman who'd seduced the faithful hero with her wiles.

Utter rubbish, all of it, but Skeeter and her villainous gang of troublemaking journalists had targeted her, and Hermione had resigned herself to the fact her love life would always hold a peculiar and slightly creepy interest to the rest of the community as a result. It was the price she had to pay for having fought in a war on the winning side.

"You are not an easy woman to be friends with as a result," Ginny continued, looking bashful and bravely trying to keep the tears in her eyes at bay. "You're strong, beautiful, kind… It's not easy being compared to you, and always, always coming up short. I try not to let it affect me, but sometimes it's difficult."

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, as if trying to formulate her thoughts, and Hermione remained silent, waiting for her friend to get it all off her chest, knowing now that this conversation had been a long time coming.

"When I read that article, I cracked," Ginny admitted. "I lost it completely. A part of me inside"—she touched the area over her heart—"didn't really believe it, but I was so angry and hurt. It was… safer to blame you, rather than Harry, because if you were at fault for that kiss, then in my head that meant Harry wasn't really in love with you, and then maybe… maybe none of what everyone had said for so long about you two would have been true. Then I wouldn't have been just some kind of consolation prize for him while he'd waited for you. It would mean he'd really loved me."

Consolation prize.

Oh, good God, her friend didn't really think so little of herself, did she? She couldn't possibly!

"Oh, Gin!" she sobbed, heartbroken for her friend. Forgetting her earlier resolve, she jumped to her feet and circled her desk, coming to kneel in front of Ginny. Gently, she grasped those pale, lightly freckled hands and squeezed them. "I'm so sorry if I ever made you feel like you were somehow less or unimportant. I think you're wonderful, and beautiful, and so talented, and… I wish you could see what I do when I look at you! You're an amazing flyer, and a powerful witch in your own right, you're fiercely loyal to your family, and I'm in awe of your fearlessness and bravery! Your fashion advice is to die for, and you might think this strange, but I'm envious of your fame and the ease in which you own a crowd, and how you talk to people and befriend them so easily. People love you!"

She reached up and tucked a long strand of pretty, red-gold hair behind Ginny's ear.

"As for Harry… he loved you, so please never, ever think differently. I remember the many nights he spent staring at your dot on the Marauder's Map when we were out hunting for Horcruxes. He'd touch the map with your name on it and smile. Sometimes, he'd even fall asleep with it open, across him, and I knew the last thing he'd done was look for you on that map before giving into exhaustion. You were on his mind all the time, and I know it tore him up to leave you behind that year, but he never gave up on you. And he still does love you. Maybe it's changed now, but I know that to him, you hold the most special place in his heart, because"—she tilted Ginny's chin up so their eyes met and gave her an encouraging smile—"you got to have him first, in every way that matters, and no one else can ever boast that."

Ginny's lips trembled as a smile quivered to life. "I did, didn't I?" She wiped her eyes and cheeks, bucking up with a bit more of her usual courage. "That's right. I took the virginity of the Boy-Winner. Popped his cherry. Rode the pickled sausage first. No one can ever say that but me!"

Hermione laughed. "Ew, Gin. Just… ew."

Ginny threw her arms around Hermione and started sobbing in happiness against her shoulder. Hermione, still kneeling, wrapped her arms around her friend's slender waist and let her girlfriend cry, indifferent to the tear stains ruining her silken blouse.

When the storm of tears passed, Ginny was the first to lean away. "You're too good to me, 'Mione." She smiled, dabbing at her tears with her sleeve. "How is it that you did the comforting when I was the one who acted like a total bitch?"

Hermione shrugged. "I remember what I was like after Ron and I broke up. You were there helping me every step of the way, despite my foul and depressive temper," she replied, getting back on her feet and leaning her bum against the edge of her desk. "This is what best friends do for each other. We understand."

"True," Ginny mumbled and looked up at Hermione. "I'm really sorry."

"You should be," Hermione agreed, with a teasing, forgiving smile. She sobered though, needing to get serious for a moment more. "Harry's a good man, Ginny. I won't lie and say I don't notice that he's handsome, a powerful wizard, and charming. But I need you to understand that our lives, his and mine... the paths we both chose can only allow for friendship on my end of things. Imagining him as a boyfriend is actually rather… disturbing."

Ginny snickered.

"Don't tell him I said that, please!"

"I won't," her best friend promised. "And anyway, we both know how fragile the male ego can be."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

Ginny suddenly started fidgeting with nervousness again. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and peeked up at Hermione, a bit hesitant. "So... are we...? I mean... do you…?"

"Forgive you?" Hermione asked, tossing Ginny a playful smirk. "Well, let me think now… I definitely think bribing me would help your case."

"Double chocolate fudge cake?"

"With a side scoop of chocolate ice-cream."

"How about dinner and dessert at my flat, tonight?"

Hermione pretend-swooned back into her chair behind her desk. "Shall I bring a sparkling wine?"

"A blanc, if you please. I shall endeavour to earn your forgiveness, my dear, with a classic chicken dish I think you'll enjoy." Ginny batted her eyelashes, and stood. "Shall we say seven?"

"Seven-thirty, if that's okay," Hermione requested. "I have to meet Theo immediately after work, and what I have to say... It might take a while."

Ginny's brown eyes, so like her mother's, widened in understanding and a touch of sympathy. "Go easy on him," she advised as she saw herself out. "He's a good one."

"I will," Hermione agreed. "See you."

"See you."

With a last smile, her redheaded friend shut the door behind her, leaving Hermione alone with her darkening thoughts.

Yes, she needed to have a talk with Theo as soon as possible, to set things straight between them. It wasn't right to lead him on when there was really no chance for them, either.

"Merlin, why couldn't I fall for him? Why did it have to be Malfoy of all people?" she muttered under her breath as she penned a short note to Theo, asking him to meet her for tea in Diagon Alley later, rather than the dinner he'd proposed. She'd rather not be alone with him, not because she didn't trust him, but because it would be uncomfortable to break-up with him in his flat with a romantic table setting between them.

After she was done, she grabbed her handbag and walked out of the office, deciding on a late lunch in the cafeteria. She had a Christmas party outfit to plan out – one that she hoped would knock Draco for a six and having his hands all over her by the end of that night.