A/N: Sorry the last two parts were so short…BTW, thanks to everyone who
reviewed! sugar-n-spice, Lady Lupin, j.j. Alan, Summer Shines, Sexy Oscar,
ShellyK, Jaxx, Countess Gemina, Tennisgal, Elsie, and wmlaw... I'm so
grateful, you guys don't even know. I got ten reviews already, and the
other R/Hr story I'm working on (Separate Worlds) is going on seven
chapters and only has 28 reviews…so go review that too! Just kidding…but
you all know that's a shameless plug.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling. That's all that needs to be said.
Psychology, Room 36, Building Q.
"Please turn in your homework," Hermione Granger, the current highest- ranking student of the Senior class at DeWalin Wizarding University, San Diego Campus, stuck her essay into the gigantic pile of parchment at the front of the room. She looked at her professor, Dr. Albert Bloth, expectantly. "Thank you." He pushed some wispy white hairs from his head with a pudgy hand and continued. "Today, we shall continue our study of human behavior with a guest visitor." Hermione looked out at the gray, tumultuous sky outside. Not unlike home, she thought. She had always hated rainy days, for some strange reason. "As our last discussion has shown, human will in the face of evil takes many forms. Although some of you may lean towards the contrary, there is undisputedly an immense capacity for humankind to triumph in the wake of such an encounter." He cleared his throat. "As I cannot speak on the topic as well as some who have battled with evil, I have invited a guest who has. Please welcome a colleague of mine in the research of Dark Forces, Mr. Ronald Weasley." Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. Ron? Here? A colleague? What the...she thought she would fall to the ground dead as Ron entered the room. It brought her back to another place, another time, another rainy day...
"Miss Granger? Miss Granger?" Dr. Bloth's pudgy face leered down at her. "Are you alright?" Just a few weeks into classes and she was the favorite of all her professors. Which was good, since she needed their recommendations to continue on to her doctorate.
"Yes, I'm fine." He beamed at her.
"Well, since we do have a guest-" He gestured to Ron, who was staring at her with a mixture of surprise and...something else. "It would be wonderful if you could again remind us of your theory regarding those who triumph over evil." She gulped. That was her pet project, the extra-credit paper she'd been working on for the past few years.
"Sure." With tremulous hands, she extracted the still-unfinished paper from her bag and read out the thesis. "Although mankind has the capacity to withstand evil forces, self-inflicted or otherwise, they will later be affected by it's post-trauma effects, particularly if a heavy loss is involved, and will still ultimately be destroyed by this evil." She had, of course, started it after all those people had been killed in the Final Confrontation. Years of isolation had hardened her, and her outlook on life was invariably touched by irony and sarcasm.
Ron had been looking out of the window, thinking of...what? That fateful, long-ago day he had professed his love to her? No, she was just dreaming. Not that she was still in love with him. She was in love with the world, with education and travel and debate and... and...dimpled little babies and the wordless, comfortable silence shared by lovers; meaningless little spats that would be kissed away later, the feeling of being loved, truly loved...
"Well, I'd have to disagree with your theory, Miss Granger." Ron's voice, deeper than she remembered it, cut through her thoughts. She searched his eyes desperately, looking for the Ron she knew in them. She didn't find him. "People who are affected by evil after it has touched their lives are often the strongest ones. They usually, to put it bluntly, get over it or..." His voice trailed off for a second before picking up again, "They run away and live the rest of their lives in denial." A murmur swept through the room as people scrambled for parchment to take notes, the occaisional "interesting, very interesting" by some student echoing through the room. Hermione sat frozen.
She knew she had, however excruciating it had been, made the right choice. Look at Ron now. He was a scholar, a man of the world, successful and, by the expensive look of his robes, very rich. But was he happy? She wondered.
His eyes, although intelligent and thoughtful, looked weary and hollow and more than a little jaded. It was all she could do to stop herself from throwing her arms around him. But then, she thought with a bittersweet smile, he might just awkwardly pat her head and move away. Hermione sobered quickly as Dr. Bloth hinted that Ron's own theories would be a focal point in next week's discussion. She looked up from her Quick-Quotes Quill, which was outlining the main points of Ron's lecture, to see the man himself deep in discussion with some students. He was loosening his tie. It was red and gold, just like his Gryffindor uniform. She remembered constantly redoing the knot for him, as it came untied quite often.
Dr. Bloth dismissed the class with a wave of his hand and everyone got up to leave, chairs scraping as the air was filled with voices. She stuffed her notes and quill in her bag. Heaving it onto her bag, she headed outside, catching a last glimpse of Ron. He was scanning the crowd. She sped up, jostling more than a few students on the way. She reached the door and began to hurry down the hallway. She didn't know she was being watched.
*********
"Damnit." Ron Weasley flinched as he put down his razor, a dribble of blood sliding down his cheek. Groping for a tissue, he pressed it to the freshly- made cut and pressed it there, eager for the steady crimson trickle to stop. He stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, scanning it for his wand. It was easily located, and with the help of a handy first-aid spell the cut disappeared. He tossed the tissue into the rubbish can, watching as it sailed in easily. "I'd make a spanking good Quod player, I would."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, mate." Ron whirled around to find the head of his best friend, Harry Potter, grinning at him from the fireplace.
"Bloody hell…don't scare me like that." He plopped down onto the carpet, tugging at the fine material gently. "So what's up?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to see how you were doing with the lecturing and all."
"I'm doing pretty well…people are really interested in what I have to say, particularly the Americans. I think all the gore interests them."
"Strange." Harry studied Ron's face for a moment. "What's with you? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"I have." Black eyebrows shot up from under curious green eyes. "Been haunting me for years."
"Get an exorcist or something. Or maybe you can confine her to a toilet, like Moaning Myrtle…wait, is it a normal ghost or a poltergeist?" Ron smirked at his friend.
"Oh, I suppose I could go to Trelawney and tell her the telepathic field of vision that clouds my Inner Eye is getting rather annoying and blah blah blah…she'd lap it up." He trailed off as they both shared a laugh. "Seriously though, I was speaking figuratively."
"So?"
"So I'm not really talking about a ghost. I'm talking about-" His forehead furrowed in thought, wondering if he should tell Harry about this latest discovery. "I'm talking about Hermione."
Harry's mouth dropped open as if it had come unhinged. "Erm, Harry?"
"Wha…huh?"
"Close your mouth up if you don't want to eat soot."
"Oh yeah." Harry did so before shaking his head in disbelief. "Hermione?"
"Yeah." Ron frowned suddenly, stooping to pick up a copy of Hermione's paper, which Dr. Bloth had photocopied for him. "You won't believe this. She wrote this essay for her Psychology class and it's the worst piece of dragonshit I've ever read."
"You've got to be joking."
"I'm not. I don't know what happened to her…listen to this." He read the thesis out to Harry, watching as his expression changed from neutrality to disbelief.
"She wrote that? Why would she? I mean, look at her, attending one of the best schools, most likely top of her class…she has a running chance to be Mistress of Magic!"
"And instead she's wasting her time writing this meaningless drivel. It doesn't have enough statistics behind it, not enough research or quotes from actual survivors…no attack on the flip side of things, although it would probably be hard to do seeing as…" A smart knock on the door shook him out of his tirade. "Listen, I have to go. I'll catch up with you another time, all right?" Harry's head nodded and dissapeared. Ron turned on the television, knowing that if it was a Muggle they would think he was off his rocker talking to nothing.
"Hi Ron." The person on the other side of the door smiled at him seductively, blonde waves of hair swishing softly.
"Oh…Kate, I totally forgot about dinner. Sorry." He offered her an apologetic smile, which she waved off.
"Don't worry about it." Her eyes roved over him blatantly. "Did you get all the papers done or do you… need some help?"
"I'm still working on them. But I'm fine, thanks," Ron replied firmly.
"Oh." She smiled that seductress smile again. "I'll be right down the hall if you need me." And with that, Kate Blythe tapped him on the chest and walked away, hips swinging under a most revealing set of witch's robes.
"Women…" He turned away from the door, walking towards the large picture window. He pulled open the curtains, exposing the drizzly, wet night sky. The stars shone weakly, faint twinklings shrouded by the clouds. Ron propped himself up with an arm, his forehead pressed softly against the cold glass. He always felt cold. Even when he was with his family the cold was there, if not more present. All of his siblings had their own families, wives who loved them and kids that idolized their dads and mums. The cold was still there, piercing through sinew, muscle and bone to wrap around his very soul and capture it with its icy breath. With a harsh scoffing noise, he turned away abruptly. "Getting angsty..."
He thought he knew who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with…perhaps he still knew. But she had run away before he had gotten the chance to show her how it could be between them. In the years following her departure, Ron was tortured by the ghost of what could have been. Hermione's words that rainy night in June deadened him to the world for many long, lonely years. After that day, she had tried to get things back to normal between them, but it just wouldn't happen. All those times that Ron had been so convinced of...something between them. The rain fell in sheets now, and he could hear it pounding upon the pavement, little bullets of liquid.
Ron hated rainy days.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling. That's all that needs to be said.
Psychology, Room 36, Building Q.
"Please turn in your homework," Hermione Granger, the current highest- ranking student of the Senior class at DeWalin Wizarding University, San Diego Campus, stuck her essay into the gigantic pile of parchment at the front of the room. She looked at her professor, Dr. Albert Bloth, expectantly. "Thank you." He pushed some wispy white hairs from his head with a pudgy hand and continued. "Today, we shall continue our study of human behavior with a guest visitor." Hermione looked out at the gray, tumultuous sky outside. Not unlike home, she thought. She had always hated rainy days, for some strange reason. "As our last discussion has shown, human will in the face of evil takes many forms. Although some of you may lean towards the contrary, there is undisputedly an immense capacity for humankind to triumph in the wake of such an encounter." He cleared his throat. "As I cannot speak on the topic as well as some who have battled with evil, I have invited a guest who has. Please welcome a colleague of mine in the research of Dark Forces, Mr. Ronald Weasley." Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. Ron? Here? A colleague? What the...she thought she would fall to the ground dead as Ron entered the room. It brought her back to another place, another time, another rainy day...
"Miss Granger? Miss Granger?" Dr. Bloth's pudgy face leered down at her. "Are you alright?" Just a few weeks into classes and she was the favorite of all her professors. Which was good, since she needed their recommendations to continue on to her doctorate.
"Yes, I'm fine." He beamed at her.
"Well, since we do have a guest-" He gestured to Ron, who was staring at her with a mixture of surprise and...something else. "It would be wonderful if you could again remind us of your theory regarding those who triumph over evil." She gulped. That was her pet project, the extra-credit paper she'd been working on for the past few years.
"Sure." With tremulous hands, she extracted the still-unfinished paper from her bag and read out the thesis. "Although mankind has the capacity to withstand evil forces, self-inflicted or otherwise, they will later be affected by it's post-trauma effects, particularly if a heavy loss is involved, and will still ultimately be destroyed by this evil." She had, of course, started it after all those people had been killed in the Final Confrontation. Years of isolation had hardened her, and her outlook on life was invariably touched by irony and sarcasm.
Ron had been looking out of the window, thinking of...what? That fateful, long-ago day he had professed his love to her? No, she was just dreaming. Not that she was still in love with him. She was in love with the world, with education and travel and debate and... and...dimpled little babies and the wordless, comfortable silence shared by lovers; meaningless little spats that would be kissed away later, the feeling of being loved, truly loved...
"Well, I'd have to disagree with your theory, Miss Granger." Ron's voice, deeper than she remembered it, cut through her thoughts. She searched his eyes desperately, looking for the Ron she knew in them. She didn't find him. "People who are affected by evil after it has touched their lives are often the strongest ones. They usually, to put it bluntly, get over it or..." His voice trailed off for a second before picking up again, "They run away and live the rest of their lives in denial." A murmur swept through the room as people scrambled for parchment to take notes, the occaisional "interesting, very interesting" by some student echoing through the room. Hermione sat frozen.
She knew she had, however excruciating it had been, made the right choice. Look at Ron now. He was a scholar, a man of the world, successful and, by the expensive look of his robes, very rich. But was he happy? She wondered.
His eyes, although intelligent and thoughtful, looked weary and hollow and more than a little jaded. It was all she could do to stop herself from throwing her arms around him. But then, she thought with a bittersweet smile, he might just awkwardly pat her head and move away. Hermione sobered quickly as Dr. Bloth hinted that Ron's own theories would be a focal point in next week's discussion. She looked up from her Quick-Quotes Quill, which was outlining the main points of Ron's lecture, to see the man himself deep in discussion with some students. He was loosening his tie. It was red and gold, just like his Gryffindor uniform. She remembered constantly redoing the knot for him, as it came untied quite often.
Dr. Bloth dismissed the class with a wave of his hand and everyone got up to leave, chairs scraping as the air was filled with voices. She stuffed her notes and quill in her bag. Heaving it onto her bag, she headed outside, catching a last glimpse of Ron. He was scanning the crowd. She sped up, jostling more than a few students on the way. She reached the door and began to hurry down the hallway. She didn't know she was being watched.
*********
"Damnit." Ron Weasley flinched as he put down his razor, a dribble of blood sliding down his cheek. Groping for a tissue, he pressed it to the freshly- made cut and pressed it there, eager for the steady crimson trickle to stop. He stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, scanning it for his wand. It was easily located, and with the help of a handy first-aid spell the cut disappeared. He tossed the tissue into the rubbish can, watching as it sailed in easily. "I'd make a spanking good Quod player, I would."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, mate." Ron whirled around to find the head of his best friend, Harry Potter, grinning at him from the fireplace.
"Bloody hell…don't scare me like that." He plopped down onto the carpet, tugging at the fine material gently. "So what's up?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to see how you were doing with the lecturing and all."
"I'm doing pretty well…people are really interested in what I have to say, particularly the Americans. I think all the gore interests them."
"Strange." Harry studied Ron's face for a moment. "What's with you? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"I have." Black eyebrows shot up from under curious green eyes. "Been haunting me for years."
"Get an exorcist or something. Or maybe you can confine her to a toilet, like Moaning Myrtle…wait, is it a normal ghost or a poltergeist?" Ron smirked at his friend.
"Oh, I suppose I could go to Trelawney and tell her the telepathic field of vision that clouds my Inner Eye is getting rather annoying and blah blah blah…she'd lap it up." He trailed off as they both shared a laugh. "Seriously though, I was speaking figuratively."
"So?"
"So I'm not really talking about a ghost. I'm talking about-" His forehead furrowed in thought, wondering if he should tell Harry about this latest discovery. "I'm talking about Hermione."
Harry's mouth dropped open as if it had come unhinged. "Erm, Harry?"
"Wha…huh?"
"Close your mouth up if you don't want to eat soot."
"Oh yeah." Harry did so before shaking his head in disbelief. "Hermione?"
"Yeah." Ron frowned suddenly, stooping to pick up a copy of Hermione's paper, which Dr. Bloth had photocopied for him. "You won't believe this. She wrote this essay for her Psychology class and it's the worst piece of dragonshit I've ever read."
"You've got to be joking."
"I'm not. I don't know what happened to her…listen to this." He read the thesis out to Harry, watching as his expression changed from neutrality to disbelief.
"She wrote that? Why would she? I mean, look at her, attending one of the best schools, most likely top of her class…she has a running chance to be Mistress of Magic!"
"And instead she's wasting her time writing this meaningless drivel. It doesn't have enough statistics behind it, not enough research or quotes from actual survivors…no attack on the flip side of things, although it would probably be hard to do seeing as…" A smart knock on the door shook him out of his tirade. "Listen, I have to go. I'll catch up with you another time, all right?" Harry's head nodded and dissapeared. Ron turned on the television, knowing that if it was a Muggle they would think he was off his rocker talking to nothing.
"Hi Ron." The person on the other side of the door smiled at him seductively, blonde waves of hair swishing softly.
"Oh…Kate, I totally forgot about dinner. Sorry." He offered her an apologetic smile, which she waved off.
"Don't worry about it." Her eyes roved over him blatantly. "Did you get all the papers done or do you… need some help?"
"I'm still working on them. But I'm fine, thanks," Ron replied firmly.
"Oh." She smiled that seductress smile again. "I'll be right down the hall if you need me." And with that, Kate Blythe tapped him on the chest and walked away, hips swinging under a most revealing set of witch's robes.
"Women…" He turned away from the door, walking towards the large picture window. He pulled open the curtains, exposing the drizzly, wet night sky. The stars shone weakly, faint twinklings shrouded by the clouds. Ron propped himself up with an arm, his forehead pressed softly against the cold glass. He always felt cold. Even when he was with his family the cold was there, if not more present. All of his siblings had their own families, wives who loved them and kids that idolized their dads and mums. The cold was still there, piercing through sinew, muscle and bone to wrap around his very soul and capture it with its icy breath. With a harsh scoffing noise, he turned away abruptly. "Getting angsty..."
He thought he knew who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with…perhaps he still knew. But she had run away before he had gotten the chance to show her how it could be between them. In the years following her departure, Ron was tortured by the ghost of what could have been. Hermione's words that rainy night in June deadened him to the world for many long, lonely years. After that day, she had tried to get things back to normal between them, but it just wouldn't happen. All those times that Ron had been so convinced of...something between them. The rain fell in sheets now, and he could hear it pounding upon the pavement, little bullets of liquid.
Ron hated rainy days.