Chapter Seven
Hermione's week after that day was one of the worst weeks she had lived in her life (not counting the anguished weeks she had spent waiting for Ron's letter after the dance). She couldn't remember the last time she had been so angry at him, or, at the same time, so worried. When they fought, usually, it was for a good reason, and she could keep him out of her mind. But this time, it was like she was waging an internal war; half of her wanted to throw her arms around his neck and apologize and make everything all right. The other half simply wanted to kill him. And she was so worried about him.
By Friday, she felt almost consumed. She hadn't really talked to anyone for a week. Sitting down for breakfast on Saturday morning, though, she noticed a group of fifth years clustered around a copy of the Daily Prophet, and was reminded unpleasantly of Rita Skeeter's escapades in her fourth year. She picked up her copy of the paper and scanned the front page. It was the usual: "Fudge loses game for International Quidditch Cup," "No word on the location of Harry Potter; Ministry refuses to disclose details" (her throat caught on this one, but she had seen it's like many times before), but nothing out of the ordinary. Then her eyes were drawn to a small feature in the bottom corner of the page: "Suspicion grows around Weasley". Curious, she read it.
Ronald Weasley, aged seventeen, found earlier this week to be capable of breaking any truth spell or potion, has been rumored to have helped the Dark Lord to find and capture Harry Potter. Ironically, Mr. Potter is Mr. Weasley's alleged best friend, though the two have not seen each other since the incident two Christmases ago.
Hermione gaped. And it wasn't even Rita Skeeter who had written the article. She looked around the table for Ron, and saw him staring at his breakfast with a grimace painted across his features. Several people were looking at him very strangely, others flat out glaring. Once again, the old feeling of wanting to help Ron bubbled up inside her, and she strained to keep it down. If he hadn't lied about his homework in the first place, none of this would have happened, said that horrible, reasonable voice. Shut up! The other shot back. Look at him. He looks as though he hasn't seen sunlight for days! She watched him push his oatmeal around in the bowl, looking sick.
Ron must have sensed her gaze, because, at that moment, he glanced up and looked straight at her, his brown eyes green-tinted with desperation. He searched Hermione's face, as if trying to see how she would take this, but she looked away, got up and left the table.
Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall to the common room, desperate not to see Ron for the rest of the day. I'm going mad, she told herself. She had been having the dream about the blackness every night, too, just to add to everything. She thought that if she got six hours of sleep in one night, it would be a miracle. She reached the portrait hole and climbed through, desperately wracking her brain for something to do that day. Something- anything- to keep her mind off Ron.
She finally gave up and went to the library, intent on reading something. It was her usual solution for situations like this. When in doubt, read.
It had to have been ten hours before Hermione heard anyone come into the library. She had skipped lunch, and had read six books since breakfast. At around seven o'clock that evening, though, she heard someone walking in her direction. She looked up and, to her horror, saw Ron picking his way through the tables, chairs and shelves towards her.
Hermione was just about to get up and leave when Ron reached her, and he put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back into her seat. "Not yet," he told her quietly. "I have to talk to you."
"What do you want?" Hermione snapped, more angrily than she had meant to. She bit her lip as Ron winced. Why on Earth couldn't she find a reason to be nice to him?
Ron's hand was still on her shoulder, holding her in her seat, as though he knew how she ached to get up and run away. "I'm assuming you saw the little article in the Prophet this morning, judging by how you're avoiding me," he said quietly, a hint of sourness in his otherwise flat voice. "Not that your absence is anything unusual, these days." She narrowed her eyes and listened, impatient, as he continued. She could feel something weird, coming from the point where his hand touched her shoulder. "I just wanted to
say-"
But Hermione was done listening. If she didn't get out of here, she would lose her mind. She jumped up and felt the chair fall to the floor at her feet. "I don't want to know!" she cried. "You are an ass, Ron Weasley! I don't want to talk to you! Leave me alone!"
"Hermione!" Ron scampered after her, through the chairs to the door. "Hey! I have to tell you!"
"I don't care!" she cried desperately. "I don't want to know!" She dodged a cart full of books and almost ran down the librarian.
"Hermione!" Ron took the opportunity and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry, OK? I didn't mean what I said that night. You have to hear me out, Hermione!" She looked up and saw that his eyes were greener than ever, and seemed to be glowing. They look like kiwi slices, she realized. Brown around the edges, bright green in the middle, then flecks of black right in the center. She shook her head and pulled away from him.
"Let me go," she whispered. "If you can lie through any truth charm, how am I supposed to tell whether or not you're lying to me?"
Hermione knew she shouldn't have said that the instant the last word escaped her lips. Ron's face fell and let go of her. She turned just slowly enough to hear him say fiercely, "Get out," and walked- almost ran- back to the common room and collapsed, drained into bed. She was still wearing all her clothes.
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