A/N: Chapter Twenty-Nine!
The following weekend, Hermione and the others went down to Hogsmeade. It was the third trip that term, and rumoured to be the last, as there were too many incidents involving banned items from Zonko's Joke Shop. Just last week, Hermione confiscated seven dungbombs and three hiccough sweets from students ranging first year to seventh. Suffice to say, the shenanigans were getting a little out of hand, and the first floor of the castle would forever carry the stench of flaming turds.
That in mind, she enjoyed her butterbeer to the very last drop.
"So I have some news," Ginny started, tilting back a pint of butterbeer, as they settled into their usual booth, located near the window, on the far end of Three Broomsticks.
Hermione refocused, looking to her red-haired friend. Because the boys were off doing their own thing, she and Ginny decided to spend some quality girl time together.
"Good or bad?"
Ginny on thought on it, ending with a shrug. "Er… depends, really."
"Does it have to do with Quidditch?"
"No."
"School?"
"No."
"Your family?"
"No."
Hermione waited, motioning for the other witch to explain. "Harry?"
Ginny drank, letting the silence speak for itself.
"Hmm." Suddenly, it dawned on the Head Girl. "Oh, my goodness. You're not… you're not…" She leaned in and lowered her tone to a faint whisper. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
The redhead snorted with laughter. "No, I'm not pregnant."
Hermione sighed. "Oh, thank Merlin. I mean, I'm sure you'd both make lovely parents, but you are still teenagers…" There was a beat of silence, as the brunette weighed her options. Because the news was neither good nor bad, and because the pregnancy idea had been squashed… there was really one last option. On cue, her eyes drifted to Ginny, and her heart sank. "You split up."
She took a long drink from her butterbeer, and nodded. "Bingo."
"That's… he… you… " Hermione took a moment, collecting her emotions. "Are you OK?"
Ginny smiled, thoughtfully. "I'm OK. I mean… splitting up with someone you're in love with, is never an easy thing to do but it was the right decision for us. We were drifting. Harry was headed north, and I was headed south. Plus, this is his last term at Hogwarts. Come June, he's a free man. I don't want him to feel tied down to me, whilst he should be out in the real world, living… you know?"
The brunette lifted an eyebrow, slightly. "That's… logical."
"You think I made a mistake."
At a loss for words, she ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. "It's not that. I just… I'm not sure what to think. I mean, if you and Harry can't make it work, what does that mean for the rest of us?" she joked.
Ginny laughed. "Trust me. Our relationship was far from perfect," she said. "Despite that, the breakup isn't one hundred percent. If we want to give it another go, once I'm out there with him, we will."
"So it's more like a break?"
"Sure. What I don't want, is for him to be twiddling his thumbs, waiting for me. He needs to live a little."
Hermione thought on it.
"I mean think about it this way. I'm the only girl he's properly dated. How insane is that?" Ginny furthered. "He's the Chosen One, for Merlin's sake. He could have anyone he bloody wants."
"That's true, and I'm sure a small part of him is well aware, but it doesn't change the fact that he wants you."
"Well, that's the problem, isn't it? He's never experienced anyone but me. What it… what if we do the whole marriage and kids thing… then ten or fifteen years along the line, he wakes up one morning and realizes he let his whole life pass him by? I would hate that…" she voiced, looking down at the table.
Hermione nodded to her, knowingly. "I understand," she said. "And I'm proud of you."
"You are?"
"Of course," she smiled. "You've made an incredibly selfless decision; one I'm not sure I'd have the confidence to make."
Ginny looked to her, returning the smile, as Rosmerta came around the table with another round of butterbeers for the girls.
The stench of it alone was enough to make her stomach turn.
Astoria followed Ron into the Shrieking Shack, and froze, as he led her through, to the main area. It was all dust, rotted wood and broken furniture. There were hints of daylight streaming in through the boarded up windows, but other than that, the house was dank and dim. The longer she spent inside it, the more her skin began to itch.
"Well this is pleasant," Astoria mumbled, avoiding the stains on the floor. They were all brown and rusty, like blood. She swallowed, looking at Ron. "Why, exactly, are we here?"
"You wanted to talk," he said, bringing her to the middle of the room, where he draped his cloak over the coffee table and sat down with her. "This is the most private place I can think of. Unless you don't mind being seen with me, of course."
Her lip twitched. "No, this will do."
"Thought so." He smiled lopsidedly. "So what's this about? I don't hear from you for weeks, and then you suddenly need to talk as soon as possible. Bit weird, don't you think?"
"I was busy," Astoria shrugged, looking to the stained floor, if only to avoid his eyes. "And now I'm not…"
Ron looked at her knowingly. "I kissed you and you panicked," he said, outright. "Why?"
For a moment, she blanked. And then it came to her. "Well, of course I panicked. Granger about caught us in the act."
"So… it had nothing to do with the kiss?"
"Not a thing," Astoria confirmed, studying the interior of the musty, dilapidated house. "Kissing doesn't scare me."
Unfazed by the haunted house, as though he'd been there before, his attention was focused solely on her.
"What does scare you?" he asked.
There was a second of silence, before she looked at him and muffled a yawn. "If this is the part where we bond our fears and insecurities—count me out. I'm not into the whole kumbaya thing."
Ron nudged her with his shoulder, lightly. "Honest answer."
She glared at him. "You are such a cliche."
"Stop deflecting," he chuckled. "I'm trying to get to know you here…"
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"I'm a passive aggressive succubus," Astoria said to him, batting her eyes. "That's why not."
Ron smiled, unexpectedly. "You really don't want me to like you."
She ignored him, checking her hair for split ends, before bouncing a look in his direction, to see that his eyes hadn't left her. "Is it working?"
"No," he said. "I mean… I don't like you, but I don't dislike you, either… "
Astoria snorted. "Well, that has to be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"I'm sure I'd have nicer things to say if I knew the first thing about you," Ron inserted, tilting his head a little, to meet eyes with her. "Let's start with the reason you asked to see me today."
She tossed an obvious look at him. "I haven't had a shag in two weeks. Next."
Ron clenched his jaw a moment. "If that's all, I'm sure you can find someone else to do the job."
"Oh, what's that tone for?" Astoria asked, teasingly. "Are you angry that I didn't fall in love with you the second we started sleeping together?" she laughed, at his expense. "Rule one: I have no emotions. Rule two: don't kid yourself otherwise."
He snorted. "Oh, cut the act."
"Whatever are you talking about?"
Ron tilted his head back and stretched tension in his neck. "The whole devil-may-care attitude. It doesn't fool me for a second."
Astoria rolled her eyes. "Well, kudos to you. Beneath the cigarettes and mascara, I am, after all, just a simple, delicate flower."
He side-eyed the witch. "Not what I meant."
"Sure it was. Isn't it your obligation as a Gryffindor to look past that which makes me Slytherin and uncover the sweet, sensitive soul that I've buried under years of displaced anger and horrible upbringing?" she asked, disdainfully. "I'm sure that's how the story goes… boy-next-door meets the troubled girl from the wrong side of the tracks and tries to chip away at the wall she's built around her heart, to fulfill his quota for benevolence and blah, blah, blah."
Ron turned his head in her direction. "Is that what you think I'm doing?" he asked.
"Of course," she nodded. "Why else would you bring me to this place and pester me about a kiss that meant nothing, if not to absolve yourself of the fact that we had casual, meaningless sex?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that I'm too careless and stupid to think that far ahead?"
Astoria looked to him, lifting an eyebrow.
"One kiss," Ron uttered, simply. "That's all."
She narrowed her eyes, knowingly. "Oh, let me guess. This is the part in the story, where the boy finally breaks down that wall and kisses the girl softly and romantically, because that's what she needs in her life: a white knight to save the day. She gets butterflies all over again and it's a done deal. Isn't that right?"
Immune to Astoria's deflective remarks, it took a moment for Ron to realize what she said. "You got butterflies last time?" he asked, a twitch of humour along his bottom lip. "How cute."
Her mouth fell open. "I did not," she argued. "I was just—"
"Close your eyes."
She folded her arms. "Make me."
"Fine," he uttered, stirring confusion into the mix of emotions between them, as he leaned in and brushed a couple fingers under her chin, kissing her slowly and undividedly.
Astoria melted a little.
Bloody hell.
It was around three in the afternoon, when Hermione returned to the castle. She would have liked to stay behind and spend more time with her friends, but McGonagall called her in for a meeting. It sounded urgent, by the tone of the memo.
"Oh, Miss Granger. Good. Just in time." McGonagall ushered her through the Gargoyle Corridor and toward the Grand Staircase. "I'm sorry to tear you away from Hogsmeade so early in the day, but there's an urgent matter at hand."
"That's OK," Hermione said to the elderly witch, following her through the castle. It took several moments, before she realized where they were headed.
McGonagall led the way to the Hospital Tower. "As you may know, Mr. Malfoy has been absent from class, for the past week, which means he's fallen incredibly behind in his schoolwork," she explained, reaching the top level of the tower, where the Hospital Wing was located. "Because you share the same classes, and because of your outstanding academic record, I'm left to wonder if you would be interested in helping him through the coursework."
Hermione swallowed, coming to an abrupt halt, as a tall, blonde-haired Slytherin came into view. Luckily, it seemed he was asleep. She noticed an empty bottle of Sleeping Draught at his bedside and ignored the wave of relief that passed through her body.
"Miss Granger?"
"Erm—" She froze, looking to the Headmistress. "I'm flattered that you trust me with something like this, but I'm not sure Mal—Draco would be co-operative, where I'm concerned. The history between our social circles is checkered, to say the least."
McGonagall brushed the argument aside. "Oh nonsense. If he causes you any trouble, I'll remind him that his place in this institution is contingent on whether he is able to waive his differences with you."
Hermione's lip twitched.
Before them, the young man stirred awake. Disoriented from the Sleeping Draught, it took him a moment to realize that he wasn't alone. He sat up and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes, before an almost revolted look tugged at his face muscles.
The Head Girl looked down, instantly.
"Oh, very good. You're awake," McGonagall voiced, strangely ignorant to the undertones. "Miss Granger here will help you through the coursework you've missed," she explained, gesturing to Hermione.
"I don't need help," he said, flatout.
McGonagall folded her arms. "You are to sit the NEWT examinations in only three months. As a Seventh Year student, missing one day of class can be detrimental—and you've missed five."
His muscles tightened. "Fine. Blaise will help me. Problem solved."
"Mr. Zabini shares only two classes with you. Miss Granger is the only student in this institution with a course schedule that is identical to yours."
Hermione bounced a look between them, taking note of the sternness in McGonagall eyes and the protest in Malfoy's. He genuinely can't stand me, she thought, with a twinge of anger in her bloodstream. I've done nothing wrong to that—to that arsehole—and here he is, treating me like I'm some clingy freak of nature. I don't want to be here, either, you great imbecile!
"Miss Granger?"
Breathing hard, with her hands balled into fists, Hermione looked to the Headmistress. Only then did she realize they were both staring at her. "Er—" In a blink, she stuffed the tension as far down her esophagus as she could. "Sorry. Just—Just a bit tired."
McGonagall looked to her a moment, before refocusing. "Do we have anymore objections?"
There was a beat of silence in the Hospital Wing.
On cue, Hermione's eyes drifted to Malfoy, to find that he was already staring at her. There was disdain in his features, disdain that she soon reflected. I don't want this. And if he thinks I do, for even a moment, I'll set him straight.
Despite the tension, they were both well aware of the fact that there was no getting out of their current predicament. McGonagall wasn't asking them to get along. She demanded it.
"None from me," Hermione said, swiftly turning on her heel. "Good day, Professor."
A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! Thoughts?
