Love Potion No. 9 3/4
Chapter 7: Penance
Sango-sama

Author Notes: ::Sniff, sniff:: Chira took away all my fun! ^_^ Sorry, Chira, but you did! Anyways, I really feel it's not quite so important precisely what Ron said, but rather that it was so offensive that it prompted leveled headed Hermione to slap him. And as Chira said in the reviews, I like some of the ideas raised far better than my own! Anyways...this is still a draft version; I hope it's okay, but I know it's not perfect. I hope to submit the whole story at SugarQuill.net soon to have it proofread right.

Bit of a dedication: I'm dedicating this story to my Aunt, Uncle and Cousin who apparently have been reading so far. Thanks, you guys!

Disclaimer: Just borrowing the HP cast…and bits from the song "Love Potion Number 9." Purely a product of being raised on oldies!

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Ron had tracked Hermione out of the dining hall, one hand stuck to the side of his face that had been struck by her hand. He hid behind the corners and the heavy tapestries as she dashed down the halls, carrying that damnable box with her. His eyes were still burning holes through its heavy brown wrapping.

She reached the door to Myrtle's bathroom, tossing the door open angrily with a heft of effort. A bright red flush had consumed her face, tears brimming in her eyes, but not yet fallen. She stormed heatedly into the room, looking around quickly, no doubt searching for Moaning Myrtle, but thankfully, and not finding her in her normal stall.

Having caught the door with his hand and stifling the noise as best he could, his eyes peered through the crack in the door, watching Hermione sink along the wall and onto the floor. It took nearly all he had not to go in and apologize profusely, as large tears that had welled up in her eyes began to spill onto the front of her robes and large box. He swallowed anxiously, pushing the thought quickly aside. No,' he thought to himself. 'This is my penance for saying…that to her.'

Her fingers rose up to her eyes trying desperately to wipe the tears away, a scowl pressing her lips tightly. "That twit. That absolute twit!"

He flinched as the angry words met his waiting ears. He wanted to be angry, to take his unhappiness out on that package. But he couldn't. The dull burn of the red hand mark on his face was a simple testament to that.

Taking a sharp breath, he turned to watch her again.

She was opening the package, and pulling out a heavy old Quidditch robe. 'Probably one of Vicky's,' Ron thought to himself darkly. The robe had dropped to the side, pushing up dust into the air as it fell. His eyes caught a golden gleam, and he gaped, wide eyes, as she picked up the shiny, metal ball and unfolded the small piece of parchment that had fallen out of the robes.

She had been scanning over the parchment, smiling prettily. Even beneath her raw, red eyes, flushed face, and a shimmering veil of damp tears, her eyes were sparkling. Ron felt his stomach become a heavy pit, dropping completely away from his body. 'She never smiles that way…' He found himself shaking his head, trying to push from her mind how in spite of her angry and her tears, she looked strangely pretty. 'Not at Harry and…not…not at me.'

A frown turned her lips as she stared towards the door for a moment.

Ron held his breath, certain that he had been spotted.

A flash of fire crackled in her eyes, but they seemed a bit dazed, staring off into space somewhere.

Ron's free hand grasped over his heart, silencing the beats which were thumping loudly in his ears.

The ball lifted up out of her hand, it's golden wings sending it flitting to and fro, very nearly dancing right before her eyes.

It was the golden snitch from the World Cup Quidditch match.

Ron's hand quickly drew out of the door, setting it against the stone door jam as quietly as he could. His footsteps were heavy and dejected, as he dawdled around the corner.

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Hermione heard a light click, which jarred her from her thoughts.

Standing up slowly, she walked curiously over to the door, wondering who in the world would be up here and not in the dining hall.

"He's gone you know." Myrtle had popped up from her stall.

"Oh?" Hermione didn't make any effort to conceal her ignorance. Her fingers absently raised to her face, wiping her still damp cheeks and smoothing down her hair, which had somehow grown far more bushy and tangled since she had brushed it last. "Who's gone?"

"The boy you had come in with the other day. Ron, I think it is." Myrtle's glasses were sliding down her nose as she looked down from at her from the top of the stall.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "He was here?"

"Sure." A translucent finger snuck up from the stall, pushing her thick glasses back up to the bridge of her nose "Watching just behind the door until just now."

Hermione looked quite upset. "Couldn't even bother to come in here, now could he?" She huffed. "He should have apologized, that prat!"

"He looked right sorry, when he wondered off though."

Her face softened, though traces of the height of her ire remained. "Why were you hiding anyways?"

She shrugged. "I was watching him. Funny really, that he looked just as upset as you." She paused…her face glazing as she stared off into the mirrors. "I wonder, though…what happened anyways?"

Hermione's face paled. "Come down here a second." The ghost complied quite eagerly, leaning her ear near the living girl's mouth.

Her jaw dropped as Hermione whispered in her ear. "He said that!" Myrtle nearly shrieked. "And you haven't killed him yet?"

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Ron was still a bit out of breath. He had run nearly the entire way to the common room after dinner, stopping only to avoid Filch. Classes had dragged on endlessly and people had been glaring at him. People like Lavender and Parvati had been shooting mean glares at him and Harry, who thankfully had placed himself between himself and Hermione, was somehow still shaking his head in disbelief. Draco Malfoy had been smiling rather triumphantly as he called across the room for Hermione to give him another.

His head dropped into his hands as he slumped heavily on the couch. It seemed he could do not right today.

Ginny had come up from dinner early and cornered him. "What in the world were you thinking, Ron?" She stood hovering over him, hands firmly on her hips shouting at her older brother. "I ought to write Mum, you know. She'd send you a Howler you'd not soon forget."

He groaned into his hands. "I know I deserve one, Ginny. Believe me, I know." His eyes wandered up to his sister's. "But…how in the world am I supposed to compete with Krum?"

Confusion clouded Ginny's face, but not before a light smile passed over her lips. She had known that her brother had liked Hermione and was equally certain he would never admit it out loud...but this had come fairly close to just that. "Who said you needed to compete with him?"

He frowned. "It doesn't need to be said. He took her to the Yule Ball. He sends her all sorts of gifts….like that bloody golden snitch she's got now. I figure it's got to be the one he caught at the World Cup..."

Ginny's eyes widen. "How did-How did you find out about that?"

"It was in that package she got today…" he mumbled.

A rare silence settled over the Gryffindor common room.

Ron felt the couch beside him dip, as Ginny sat down beside him, her voice softening. "Ron, you shouldn't think you need to compete with Viktor Krum. Really. If Hermione were going to chase after Krum, she would have done it last year before he even asked her. But, as I recall, she thought the girls who were doing just that extremely shallow." "Hermione's a smart girl, Ron. You have to trust her a bit…." Her voice rose as she added, "and apologize to her the first second you get."

Ron sighed, leaning his back into the couch. His head tipped back and he was gazing up at the ceiling. Ginny was right, but even with her words of encouragement, he couldn't quite let himself take every scrap of her words as truth.

"But," she quipped, "if you ever stick your foot that far down your throat again, you'll drive her right into the arms of someone like that stupid git, Draco Malfoy."

Ron's jaw dropped at the very suggestion; he nearly jumped out of his seat, flames dancing in his eyes.

Ginny was nearly to the portrait hole, when she threw her head over her shoulder to say, "And then, dear brother, you'll be on your own."