A/N: Alright, here is the dreaded chapter that everyone's been asking about. I think everyone's going to hate me once this story finishes. Anyway, give Lupin a round of applause because she is just so cool, and everyone who has left reviews is also on my cool list. Oh yeah, there is a swear word in this chapter (only one, but I just figured I would warn everyone).
Disclaimer: It's not mine.
Chapter 9
"Interesting resume," Headmaster Richard Stanley of Elliot Stanley's School of Magic commented to a well-dressed and professional looking Remus Lupin.
"I have held a wide range of jobs, but as you can see I have an ample amount of teaching experience," Remus answered, a hint of nerves slipping through his calm demeanor.
"Yes, yes, I see," Richard Stanley commented, twirling an end of his long mustache. "A year at Hogwarts School, and a year at Mumpsty School; and I see that you have a personal letter of recommendation from Albus Dumbledore."
"That is correct."
"In fact, you have a letter from Alastor Moody from your first job, proclaiming your usefulness as well."
Remus cringed inwardly at the use of the word "usefulness;" the man seemed to be objectifying him already. He knew what was coming. "I committed myself to every job I have had, and will continue to do so in the future," he offered, knowing it was a feeble attempt at repairing his chances for this job, which had been irreparably damaged two years beforehand.
"Indeed." Richard Stanley stood from his desk and began to pace the front of his respectably furnished office, staring intently at the wooden floor.
"Mr. Lupin," Richard Stanley began, sounding as though he were struggling to speak. "When my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Elliot Stanley founded this school in 1650, he intended it to be a safe, stable, and top-quality learning center for young wizards. We began to allow witches into the school in 1690 to comply with the changing of the times, but since the establishment of this school that is the only major change that has been made." Richard Stanley sighed and looked up to face Remus. "I won't deceive you by claiming that this is the best school in Britain." He began to pace again. "Far from it in fact; quite honestly, we are near the bottom, and many of the classes we teach involve teaching the students to live as Muggles due to the fact that the great majority of our students are squibs, or nearly so." He paused to take a breath, as he seemed to be getting nervous. His pace quickened. "Nor will I attempt to fool you into thinking that it is stable; teachers come and go two or three times a year due to better positions being offered, and the ones that do stay are, to put it bluntly, horrible. As a result, the Ministry has been threatening to close the school since 1803. No, Mr. Lupin, we are by no means stable."
Remus looked at the ground, the feeling of disappointment finally settling into his stomach.
"However, I can assure you that this school is as safe as any other. You are a dark creature, Mr. Lupin, and a great threat to those around you even with this so-called 'wolfsbane' potion. I, personally, have no reason to believe in its effectiveness or possibly even its existence. Parents would complain even if I did trust you; who would want their children schooled by a werewolf? Please put yourself in my position, Mr. Lupin, and understand that I could not hire you with even remotely good conscience. Safety is everything this school has, and I'm afraid I'd like to keep it that way. Good day, you may see yourself out." The man walked from the room, much quicker than he normally would have left and shut/slammed the door behind him, leaving Remus sitting in his chair, biting his lip, and staring at the floor.
Afraid is one word for it, he thought as he snapped out of his melancholy trance and began to hastily gather his resume from Richard Stanley's desk. It was his fourth interview in three days, and it had ended nearly the same as all the others. As he opened the door to leave, he wished for the anonymity he'd had before the whole fiasco had occurred, before he had tried to become a hero and save anyone, before the Daily Prophet had ruined his life…
He had saved Cornelius Fudge from an assassinator, and he had been widely praised for it. Remus didn't like the recognition, but it all seemed innocent enough until he woke up one morning, sat down with a cup of coffee, and found the Daily Prophet's headline to be, "REMUS LUPIN—WEREWOLF?!" He had spilled the coffee and burnt his hands, but the burn was nothing compared to what the article had said. It contained an interview with Lucius Malfoy, who accused Remus of deceiving everyone into believing that he was on the "good side," when in fact he was working for Voldemort. The byline read "Rita Skeeter," but Remus was too stunned to notice.
He had gotten over the initial shock of complete strangers hating him for a newspaper article, but even though Hermione had turned Rita into the authorities for being an unregistered animagus and Lucius Malfoy had been almost literally thrown into Azkaban, the scars still remained. As a result, in two years Remus had been unable to get a job even though he had been to at least one interview a week since.
It's too much for me, he thought as he walked down the stairs by a group of schoolchildren who stared as he passed. As he neared the exit, he heard a small voice holler,
"FREAK!" but when he looked back he only heard the excited chatter the group was emitting as its members scampered away. Despite having experienced derogatory statements many times before and being able to shake it off, Remus felt tears well up in his eyes.
"Hey, steady on, you're not a freak and you know it. Besides, the little thing who called you that? You could strangle him with one hand. He deserves it, you know."
Remus turned, surprised to see Sirius standing against the edge of the building with a newspaper. "What are you doing here?" he managed to sputter, trying to hold back the childish tears that were fighting to come out.
"Thought I'd congratulate you on not having to work in this horrible place," Sirius said, walking evenly with his friend and motioning to the building behind them. "This school is just wrong. The headmaster, Richard Stanley? His parents named him 'Dick' for a reason." Sirius paused as he noticed Remus still hadn't cheered up. "Hey, what did the bastard say to you?" he asked gently, sitting him down on a bench. Remus bent over, shoulders shaking, and tearfully mumbled,
"I've had enough, Sirius. I can't fucking take it." Sirius was surprised at the swear word; Remus usually had very good control over his foul language. "I'm hated and they don't even know me. I can't lie it away, like I could before, and now even children—children, Sirius—are insulting me…I just can't take it. I can't even get a bloody job. It's been two years!" He suddenly sat up, voice loud. A teenage couple glared at them in recognition from the sidewalk, and crossed the street. "I've been trying for three years, and no one will hire me because I'm…" He resigned back to his bent over position and began to clutch his scalp. Sirius bent over as well and put a hand on his back in a lame attempt to comfort him. "Padfoot," Remus began, still crying. Sirius started; Remus hadn't called him "Padfoot" in awhile. "I'm sorry…I'm taking advantage of you, staying in your flat. I'll find something soon and I'll pay you back—"
Sirius pushed him off the bench as if they were both in school again and nothing had ever changed. Remus jumped up with a look of shock.
"What was that for?" he asked, bewildered, watching his friend as he gave him a smug look.
"Because you're being a pretentious git," Sirius announced, expression unchanging. "I don't give a damn whether or not you pay me or not, and I never want to hear you mention money again. As far as I'm concerned, you owe me nothing."
Remus just stared at him from the ground, mouth half open.
"Oh get up, I have good news for you anyway," he muttered, pulling Remus up and back onto the bench.
"What good news could you possibly have? I just made a fool of myself in public, I don't have a job, and those kids walking by just gave us the finger."
Sirius couldn't help himself, and let out a laugh and waved at the children, whose looks of scorn quickly turned to looks of fear as they hastened out of sight. "Old Dick must've told the kids you were coming; there's no way you would have been recognized by so many people in one day. Anyway, read the paper." He handed Remus the paper he had been reading, and though Remus had doubts he resigned himself to Sirius's will. He observed that the paper had been opened to the classifieds section, and he shot Sirius a look that clearly said, "Yeah, right." Sirius gave him a look back that said, "Keep looking." Remus glared and his eyes scanned the page until they stopped at a small ad circled in pencil:
BOOKKEEPER (AND MORE)
DESPERATELY NEEDED!
Sense of humor a MUST
Interested applicants
may interview from
9:00am to 5:00pm with
Fred and George Weasley of
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes
No advanced owl required.
Remus looked at Sirius. "Isn't that…"
Sirius nodded. "I'm not sure, but considering that to enter the store, you have to say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' which is engraved above the door with credit given to Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, I'm pretty positive they'd give you a good, fair amount of consideration for the job."
Remus gave him a look that could only be read as meaning, "what?"
Sirius looked right back at him and said, "It's a respectable enough sounding job, 'Moony,' and I think you might enjoy it. Now let's get back to the flat, Maggie's coming over for dinner in 20 minutes."
Remus laughed. "The truth comes out, Mr. Compassionate," he said as he stood up and apparated with a small "pop." Sirius laughed as well, and followed.
***
Ron opened his eyes and sat up quietly in bed; a quick look at the clock told him that it was 2:07pm. Deciding it was time to get up, he yawned, stretched, and pulled up the shades to let some light in (he had decided that it was time for Harry to get up as well). Harry groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head.
"Wake up, it's after 2," Ron said, pulling a sweater over his head.
"You're kidding!" Harry suddenly yelled, and practically catapulted himself out of his bed. From there he began to throw clothes on. Ron stopped and stared at his frantic friend.
"Geez Harry, you've got time. The portkey for Hogsmeade doesn't leave until 3:00."
"That's today?!" he said, stopping as he was about to run out the door.
"Er, yeah, why else would you be running off like that?"
"Gah," Harry grimaced as he realized his error. "Ron, I promised Michele we'd practice for the defense against the dark arts final today at 2, I'm already late. You don't mind, do you? Sorry, I'll make it up to you," Harry spat and, not waiting for Ron's response, ran from the room.
Ron glared and proceeded to mutter several choice phrases about Harry's girlfriend and Harry's definition of friendship. As he grabbed his cloak, he suddenly remembered that this meant he might have to be alone with Hermione and started to swear even louder. At least he was supposed to see Ginny; Hogwarts had designated that Saturday as a Hogsmeade visit day and Ron was happy to find that there was a portkey scheduled from his school as well. They had plans to meet up at 4:00 in The Three Broomsticks, and Ron was looking forward to it (if not just for the butterbeer). As he passed some windows he stopped; it was snowing pretty heavily, even for Canada. Transfixed by the snow, he didn't realize that time was passing until his watch said,
"Get moving you prat, the porktey leaves in 5 minutes!" Ron started, then ran down the hallway toward his destination, making a mental note to forgive Harry for abandoning him and thank him again for his birthday present (the talking watch).
When he reached the room, he saw two students he didn't know and Hermione gathered around an empty milk carton, and a look at his watch told him he had only a minute to spare.
"Hi everyone," he said to the two girls, who smiled coyly. "Hey Hermione," he said quietly to Hermione. She refused to even glare at him, and did not reply.
Ron was beginning to get worried; usually when they fought it was over the next day, or at the most two days later. The last time they hadn't spoken to each other for over a week was when Hermione's cat Crookshanks "ate" Ron's "rat" Scabbers when they were 3rd years at Hogwarts. Ron did not want a repeat of his 13th year on the planet.
"Hermione," he began solemnly, "I'm sorry for—" he was cut off as the portkey left for Hogsmeade. He braced himself for the landing, and as soon as his feet were on the ground he opened his mouth to continue his apology. "Hermione, I'm sor…" he started, but trailed off as she dropped her hold on the milk carton and walked away, along with the two giggling girls from before. Sighing in defeat, he did the same and went to do some shopping, sightseeing, and conversing with people from his past.
An hour later, Ron had visited all of the usual places when his watch started yelling at him again and he realized that it was time for him to be at The Three Broomsticks to meet Ginny. Upon walking out of Honeydukes, he was almost blown back into the store with the force of the wind; it was snowing almost as hard there as it had been in Canada. Righting himself, he trudged out into the sea of white and muttered a spell that would point his wand in the direction of The Three Broomsticks.
At last he could make out the outline of the building through the blinding snow, and soon the door was visible. As he went to lay his mittened hand on the knob, a gloved one reached it at the same time. Startled, he looked up only to be greeted by the eyes of Hermione, who quickly shifted her look from one of surprised curiosity to one of harsh apathy. Ron decided to be a gentleman and stepped back to let her in first; however, she mistook his kindness for mockery and increased her look to an all out glare before walking in first anyway, slamming the door behind her. Ron sighed, re-opened the door, and followed.
The pub was filled with people talking, laughing, and sipping their drinks. Ron took off his winter hat and looked for an empty seat. He found the only open seat at the bar, but to his dismay he saw that it was next to Hermione. Choosing her painful indifference over his painful feet, he bravely walked over, sat down, and ordered a hot butterbeer. As soon as Madame Rosmerta had gone to get Ron's order, a group of people across the room left and Hermione hastily stood and walked to one of the just vacated seats. The two girls from before, whom she apparently had become acquainted with, were with her. Ron shot a desolate look in her direction that she did not see. Just then, Madame Rosmerta came back with Ron's butterbeer.
"Thank you," he said sadly with a sigh.
"Well," Madame Rosmerta chuckled. "My butterbeer isn't that bad, is it?"
"What? Oh, no! I'm sorry," he said, snapping out of his trance. "I've, er, got a lot on my mind."
"Really," Madame Rosmerta said, wiping out some glasses. "Like what?"
"It's just, well…I can handle it. I'll be alright." Ron decided that he would not tell Madame Rosmerta his life story.
She gave him a smile. "I hope she forgives you soon."
Ron returned her grin with a weird look; she ignored it and continued to wipe out the glasses. Sipping his butterbeer, he stole another longing glance at Hermione, who was involved in conversation with the two unnamed girls. Sighing, he took out a book he was reading and began to read (and read, and read) while he waited for Ginny. He was just getting worried when Madame Rosmerta began to speak to him again.
"Are you by any chance Ron Weasley, a.k.a. the tall red-headed dimwit with freckles and a big nose?" she asked.
Ron glared. He was beginning to dislike this woman. "Yes, why?"
"This came for you before you got here, by owl. I just remembered," she replied, tossing him an envelope. It was from Ginny; she told him she was sorry but that Hogwarts had cancelled the Hogsmeade trip due to the weather.
"Great," Ron mumbled, exasperated by this point at how lousy his day had been going. Just then, there was a tapping on the window, and Madame Rosmerta frowned and walked over. She ducked and opened it, successfully avoiding the large gust of wind and snow, and also the feathery torpedo that crashed onto the bar. The customers all laughed, and continued on with their conversations. Ron observed as Madame Rosmerta picked up the poor, shivering owl and draped a towel over its wings, taking the letter out of its talons in the process. Her eyes scanned its contents, and then she shouted, "'Oy! Anyone here from the Wizard University in Canada?" Ron nodded, looked back, and saw Hermione and the two girls wave their hands. "Just got owled by the school; they say that you're to stay here tonight because of the weather. And for all the rest of you, I'm closing now for the same reason, so out!" Everyone let out a collective moan and began to protest. "Oh be quiet! It's getting late, and the weather's horrible; most of you've been here since 5:00 anyway. Go home to your families." The customers resigned, and began to shuffle out (with much shooing from Madame Rosmerta). When everyone not staying overnight had cleared out, there were only the four students and their charms teacher Professor Moore left.
"Since you all insisted, I'll stay open a bit longer for you five." The remaining people cheered, and Madame Rosmerta gave them all a round of free butterbeer.
Ron read and drank, read and drank, and read and drank until his book was finished and he had run out of money (simultaneously), and until he had to go to the bathroom so badly that he doubted he could make it to the other side of the room without wetting himself. With a pang, he realized that to get to the bathroom would mean passing Hermione's table, but at that point nature was screaming louder than his senses, and he trotted away to pee. After he had relieved himself, he realized that to get back to his seat he would have to pass by Hermione again, and this time he wouldn't be distracted by his full bladder. Taking a deep breath (and ignoring the small voice in his head that told him it would be better to just take the long way and walk around the room), he set off, expecting the worst and getting something even worse than he expected; as he passed by her table she ignored him completely. Ron stopped in exasperation.
"You could at least acknowledge my presence, you know," he shot. The conversation that had been taking place between Hermione and her two new friends screeched to an abrupt halt, and she looked up at him dangerously.
"Why, Ron?" she began. "I don't particularly like you anymore. You're mean, contemptuous, and have no consideration for my feelings. So please, leave me alone."
"I just want to apologize, Hermione," Ron answered in a supercilious tone.
"Well, I don't want to accept your apology!" She was getting louder. The two girls were beginning to get more and more involved.
"Geez, you point out all my faults all the time; maybe you could do to be a little more forgiving and a little less nitpicky, and maybe a little nicer!" he replied in a mean tone, suddenly no longer caring.
"That's it!" she shouted, throwing her hands down on the table and standing up with a loud creak as she kicked her chair back. "Get away from me! I don't want to talk to you ever again, didn't I make myself clear yesterday?" The remaining two people who had not been staring before were now as engrossed as they could be.
"Well, you know what? Good! Because I don't want to talk you again either, and I sure as hell don't want to apologize anymore!" screamed Ron, stepping forward. Ron had never seen Hermione more livid than she was at that moment.
"Good! Because I hate you, Ron!"
"Well, I love you—" Ron stopped as he realized the magnitude of what he had just said, and in fact, what he had just said (he was pretty sure he meant to say, "I hate you"). The two girls, Professor Moore, and Madame Rosmerta were hanging on Ron and Hermione's every breath. Hermione looked frozen in horror.
Ron swallowed; his eyes darted around the room, observing the scene he had, in essence, created, and his lip began to tremble. Then he did the only thing in the world that seemed logical for him to do at that moment in time: he ran.
***
Remus Lupin, dressed in the nicest robes he owned, stared up at the inscription above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with apprehension in his eyes. How many times had he said that phrase? How many detentions had it resulted in? How often had he thought of it during later years, long after it was clear that nothing would ever be the same again? Shaking himself back to his senses, he stood tall and proud and recited, as if saying an old familiar prayer:
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The door creaked open, and Remus Lupin pushed through and into the great beyond.
He was instantly aware of a small tinge in the back of his mind that jumped in excitement and wanted to buy everything in the store. One look around told him that the Weasleys' inventions had probably revolutionized the pranking profession (and doubled the quantity of items on the list of forbidden objects at Hogwarts). He wistfully wished it would have been open when he was in school; how much fun they would have had, how many more gray hairs they would have given Filch…
"Excuse me, may I help you?" Remus heard Fred or George call from the counter behind him. When he turned, he saw a look of pleased recognition pass over Fred or George's face.
"Professor Lupin!" the as yet unidentified twin grinned as he vaulted over the counter to shake his hand. Remus was surprised; he hadn't been greeted like that by anyone but Sirius since the newspaper article. "So, what brings you here? Oh, it's George by the way," George said, to Remus' relief.
"Good to see you George, the shop looks great," Remus began. George bowed. "Actually, I came for a job interview…" he paused as he saw George get a little confused.
"Aren't you a teacher?" he asked Remus.
"Well, I'm a bit of an everything," he answered, uncomfortably.
"Okay then, I'll go get Fred," George dutifully answered, showing Remus to the "office," which was filled with piles upon piles of papers and three chairs. Remus sat himself down and waited, well aware of the muted conversation that was taking place outside the door.
"Wait, Lupin?"
"Yeah, I told you, Remus Lupin."
"Our defense against the dark arts werewolf teacher Lupin?"
"Yes, like I said."
"Are you sure?"
"It's definitely him."
"Didn't he see the part where it said something about a 'sense of humor?'"
"He could have a sense of humor."
"He's a teacher, none of them have a sense of humor."
"We at least owe him the interview, Fred."
"Fine, let's go."
"After you."
Remus couldn't help but laugh at the account he was going to give Sirius. The interview was going so well, and it hadn't even started yet.
The door opened, and Remus greeted Fred, who returned the hello, and then sat with his twin in the two unoccupied chairs.
"So," George began, paging through Remus' resume, "extensive collection of jobs here, Professor Lupin—"
"Look," Remus said, sighing resignedly, "Let me give this to you straight." Fred and George stared at him with surprised interest. "I've been looking for a job for two years now. Not one person will hire me; I'll leave the reason unsaid, I think you both know why. I have bookkeeping experience, I can do whatever you want me to do and probably more."
The twins looked at each other as if silently reading one another's thoughts. George finally spoke.
"Professor Lupin, that's all well and good, but you were our teacher at Hogwarts…how much of a sense of humor can you have? We've had plenty of people apply, all with qualifications like yours, but we don't want someone who's going to leave when they find out how we conduct business…which, incidentally, is very unprofessional, if you will."
Remus looked down. It had come to this, had it? "I have much more of a sense of humor than either of you know," he said.
"Oh really, professor?" Fred said, leaning back and putting his feet up on a large pile of papers, crossing his legs defiantly. "How so?"
Remus took a breath. "You're familiar with Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?" he asked quietly. Fred and George nodded. "Well, I'm Moony." The twins attained identical looks of bewilderment.
"Excuse me?" George asked.
"Moony," Remus answered.
"You're WHO?" Fred questioned.
"Moony," Remus answered yet again.
"No," Fred said, shaking his head.
"Yes," Remus replied, nodding his. "The Marauders Map that you treasured so dearly at Hogwarts?"
Fred and George nodded.
"My idea."
Fred stood at this. "Prove it," he affronted.
Remus coolly stood as well and accepted the challenge. "Secret passages to Hogsmeade that Filch never found out about, excluding the whomping willow passage: statue of the one-eyed witch. Tap her hump with your wand, say Dissendium, her rear will open and you come out in the basement of Honeydukes. The second one is behind the small mirror in the first floor hallway, right next to the huge mirror that everyone pays attention to. Tap the mirror and say 'Let me in,' and you'll end up below Zonko's."
"Too easy," George said, shaking his head.
"Fine. Secret passage to the Slytherin common room from the Gryffindor common room: climb halfway up the fireplace. Tap the black brick with your wand and command it to open; the brick will expand and open up, and you turn left at the first fork or else you end up behind a portrait in McGonagall's office, and then turn right at the second, or else you end up in Snape's, and then you push aside the third tapestry and you're there."
Both Fred and George were rendered speechless, and then suddenly both were groveling on the floor.
"Forgive us for doubting," Fred said. "We knew not what we were doing!"
Remus began to look oddly at them. "Get up, stop it," he said, a little surprised (and a little frightened). They obeyed him immediately. "So, can I have the job then?"
"Can he have the job then. Of course you can have the job, professor—"
"You can call me Remus, Fred, you're my superior now if I remember correctly," Remus smirked.
"No, we will never measure up to your greatness."
Whatever you say, Remus thought, trying to contain his laughter.
"You can start Monday, is that alright?"
***
Ron didn't run far; he stopped just outside of the door to the pub and leaned against the building, resisting the urge to pound his head against the wall while the snowflakes stung his face. It wasn't long before he felt frozen (his cloak was still inside on the bar counter), but given the choice between death and facing the incorrigible mess he had created inside, he would have chosen death in a second. It was for this reason that he sat, huddled against the wall, wishing that everything was just a dream. After a few minutes, the door to the pub opened and Professor Moore appeared, squinting out into the distance for some sign of Ron.
"Inside, inside! You'll freeze," Professor Moore said when he saw Ron, and held the door open for him.
"That's the idea," Ron mumbled, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the real ice storm inside.
However, when he entered he heard nothing, no laughter, no heckling, not even talking. Opening his eyes, he saw an empty pub save Madame Rosmerta, who was cleaning the bar, and his Professor who, with a pitying look, almost immediately bid him goodnight and ascended the staircase to the rooms above. Ron walked over to one of the tables and lay his head in his arms, wishing it all to end, not realizing that he was dozing off.
Several hours later Ron woke up, and for a blissful second thought it was all a dream; then he realized he was at a table in the darkened pub and reality collided into him with the force of a truck. The darkness surrounded Ron; a single lamp was lit near the staircase, and by its meager light Ron was able to see a note with a key attached to it (reading "Room 3, sleep well), his book, and his cloak lying on the table next to where his head had been. He had finally resigned himself to the reality of his irreversible predicament, and was about to take his things and ascend the staircase to his room when he saw a pair of big eyes staring at him from across the pub. Further observation led him to see that the eyes belonged to Hermione.
The first thought that came to his mind was that he should say something, so he opened his mouth to speak. After he did this, he realized that he had no idea what to say, so he closed it again. Immediately following this, he got the idea of reiterating his rehearsed apology from earlier, so he opened his mouth again; however, he remembered that she hadn't wanted to hear the apology, so he closed it again. After that, he thought that he should tell her how he felt, how much he loved her and how sorry he was for having caused her pain, and opened his mouth yet again, but he thought that he might sound like a pansy, so he shut it. Then the thought of taking everything back and running upstairs dawned on him, so he opened his mouth yet again; however, a little voice in the back of his head told him that this was a stupid thing to do so he closed it—
"You look like a fish," Hermione said with a smirk on her face. Ron finally accepted the fact that he didn't know what to say, and for once said nothing.
There was a long pause. He stared in her direction, a look of anguished sorrow residing on his face, watching her stare harshly at him and wishing that this would all end.
"So this is why you've been so horrible; you've been jealous."
"Congratulations, you've figured me out," Ron mumbled, though he knew Hermione could hear him.
"Look," Hermione sighed, voice remaining strict. "You were a real prick, Ron and you really hurt me…don't deny it, because you know it's true, and don't grab your stuff and run away either."
Damn, Ron thought, there go options one and two. More silence passed, though it wasn't as harsh this time. Hermione had softened noticeably; apparently, she had gotten part of the message that his face was trying to convey. An expression of pained thought crossed Ron's countenance as he realized what he would have to do. "I'm sorry about you and Viktor…I know you loved him."
"Probably at one point," Hermione said, sighing.
"Well, I'm still sorry. How have you been doing? Have you been okay?"
"I've been managing…it's hard, but I'm alive." She shrugged and began to play with a napkin.
"What happened between you two anyway?" Ron asked innocently.
Hermione reddened, and looked down.
"Come on, you can tell me…"
Finally, Hermione sighed. "Promise you won't laugh?"
"Weasley honor."
"I'm not convinced."
"Well, it's all I've got."
"Fine," Hermione huffed. After a brief pause, she mumbled "Hedumefermila."
"What?"
"He dumped me for Amelia. You know, my supermodel roommate…"
"Oh," Ron said, surprised, "I'm…er, sorry…" Stop it, Weasley, he thought as he tried to contain his laughter, contorting his face in the process.
Hermione gave him a stern glare.
"Wh-what? I'm not laughing," Ron replied, his voice wavering desperately. They both stood in silence for a minute, but finally Ron couldn't hold it in any longer and let out a snort.
"Ron," Hermione threatened.
Ron continued to shake with his laughter, and began to turn red from the effort of keeping it bottled up.
"Stop it, Ron," Hermione continued, but the effect was lessened as her voice was broken by her own giggles seeping through her stern tone. Soon, they were both laughing together, on separate sides of the room.
When they had stopped a few minutes later, Hermione, still with a hint of a chuckle in her voice, said,
"You can come over here and sit down, you know."
Ron immediately grabbed his things and obliged, but when he got there silence again took over the room and the two carefully avoided each other's glances. Ron was beginning to get antsy from the intense quiet.
"Are you still mad?" he asked.
She shook her head; he felt relief fall upon him like a grateful summer breeze.
The ticking of the clock on the wall soon became noticeable as the conversation lapsed again. Hermione's eyes finally met Ron's, and their gazes stuck for a minute or two.
"You really are a dolt. You know that, don't you?" she quipped.
Ron smiled and nodded, still staring into her eyes. Hermione was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable.
"And another thing, you really need to find a more effective way to express your feelings."
His grin widened and he nodded even more broadly than before, his eyes not moving from hers though her eyes were darting around in nervousness.
"Also, you—" Ron suddenly leaned closer to her and put his finger to her lips, effectively shushing her for the time being.
Her eyes no longer moved; they were fixed in his. The sound of both of their breathing became painfully apparent to her as he began to lean his face closer to hers. She could soon feel his breath on her cheek, her skin tingled where his hand touched her face, her heart began to beat faster…
"Goodnight!" she squeaked when his face was millimeters away, and shot out of her chair and toward the stairs.
"Hey!" Ron yelled, offended, stopping her halfway across the room. "What gives?" When she turned back to look at him, he had a hurt look on his face and was about as red as she had ever seen him before. "I mean…don't you…"
For the fifth time that night, they were both rendered speechless.
Ron slowly walked over to where Hermione was standing, and put his hands on her arms.
"Ron…" Hermione began shakily, "I don't…" The crushed look that appeared on his face stopped her from going any further. Hermoine found herself unable to answer.
She had meant for it to be a quick kiss and a dash up the stairs, but he had held her there much longer than she had meant to stay. She soon pushed away from him and ran, tripping over a chair as she did so but continuing on anyway. Ron watched her with reverence from behind, sitting in a chair and staring after her for a bit before he finally went up to bed.
***
"Good seeing you again, and thank you," Remus Lupin said, shaking the hands of both Fred and George perhaps more vigorously than he would have liked. "Mind if I apparate?"
"No, not at all," George said. "See you Monday, Professor!"
Remus smiled and nodded, and with a small pop he was gone from the store and in the kitchen at the flat.
"Sirius, I'm back! I got the job!" he called, waiting for Sirius to bound in and yell, "Yes! I knew it!" and say something witty. However, nothing happened. Must still be asleep, Remus thought; he isn't on call today. Oh well, it's time for him to be awake anyway. "Black, I got the job!" Remus yelled, opening the door to Sirius' room and expecting Sirius to yell something rude, roll over, and fall back asleep.
However, a very different sight greeted Remus' eyes when he burst into Sirius' room. The first thing he noticed was that the bed was empty. The room had been literally trashed; the curtains were torn, the floor was scratched and charred along with various items of clothing, and the bed had been broken, the bedclothes torn, and the mattress ripped apart. On the floor near the door, there was a piece of parchment with writing in a distinct red ink. Shaking, Remus leaned over and picked it up, afraid to read the contents, eyes unwilling to believe them when they did.
***
Hermione looked at her watch; it was 3:00. Ron had to be awake by now. She excused herself from the nearly empty pub (the weather persisted and patrons were few) and climbed the stairs to Ron's room with intentions of waking him. Where they would go from there, she didn't know; when the other four inquired after what had happened the night before, all she told them was that they had forgiven each other. Room 1…Room 2…Room 3. Hermione knocked.
"Ron, you there?" she called. No answer. "I'm coming in, you lazy prat," she called again, tapping the doorknob with her wand and muttering "Alohomora."
What she saw inside caused her to gasp. The room was in shambles; there had obviously been a struggle. The bed was empty, and blankets and little bits of the dilapidated mattress were torn, charred, and spread about the room. The window was broken. Near her feet she saw a note and did not hesitate to pick it up and read it. Scrawled in what looked like red ink (Hermione did not want to think of what else it could be) were the words:
This makes two. You're next, Harry Potter.
Review. Harry Potter would want you to. (For the sake of this plug for reviews, please ignore the fact that he is fictional.)