Chapter 12: Unexpected Things
Author's Note: Yes, I'm updating! Rather quickly, too! I'm v. proud of that. Anyways, this chapter is much longer than last one, and I can see with perfect certainty that there are going to be three more chapters. Yes, and then this will end for certain. But that could take a while. In this chapter, I reveal my soft spot for Snape I've always tried to keep secret. It's all out now. And thank yous go to:
Sea: Absolutely. Thank you!
Jaffacake: Thank you, I'm glad you like the music and the sonnets. It is definitely not too late for them to be happy. Far, far from
Julia Griever: Aww thank you!
Felicia: Don't cry! I'm sorry, there's a happy ending. Indeed, RW/HG forever!
Gillian: The next chapter is up! Not happy yet…but soon…
Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling, the books would be called, "Ron and Hermione and the Philosopher's Stone…Ron and Hermione and the Chamber of Secrets….Ron and Hermione and the Unavoidable Fluffy Situation…." To tell the truth, I like the ring of that. But they're not. Therefore, I'm not J.K.
I never will forget that look upon your face
How you turned away and left without a trace
But I understand that you did what you had to do
I know you had to go away
I died just a little, and I feel it now
You're the one I need
I believe that I would cry just a little
Just to have you back now
Here with me
Here with me….
-Michelle Branch, "Here With Me"
Life went on for the rest of the school. It always goes on, no matter the incident that disrupted it. Ron and Hermione recovered outwardly. Outwardly is the best word because there were always times when Ron looked off into the distance and his eyes were just as tired as they had been immediately afterwards, as if it was only by effort that he kept the painless expression on his face day by day. Harry saw him when he thought no one was looking.
The punishment for all those found at the party was severe. Each person was to serve at least three months in detention every Friday and Saturday night, owls had been sent to their parents informing them that with another such escapade the school would be forced to expel them, and all weekends at Hogsmeade had been revoked except for the last at the end of the year. Points had been taken from all four houses, but out of the 400 points deducted from the houses there was a notable maximum from Gryffindor, and a minimum from Slytherin. It was obvious that Professor Snape's discipline had been tempered by someone else, as otherwise the entire party would have been expelled. Some believed it was Professor Flitwick who was responsible for this: a student had overheard him remarking that it was "all in good fun, I did it too when I was their age."
When Professor McGonagall returned from "somewhere in Scotland," it was believed that if she could have, she would have taken off extra points for their having given Snape something to lord over her about. Or, possibly, just because she didn't get to take the points off the first time.
The only person affected differently was Irina. As she was an exchange student, and agreements had been made so that if there was one major rule-breaking occasion, her stay at Hogwarts would be permanently over. A week after the party, she was to leave Hogwarts in a state of disgrace. This would be done by Floo Powder. All who desired a proper farewell were to do it very quickly in Dumbledore's office, where the fireplace through which she was to depart was located.
As Irina stood by the worn tapestry that depicted various frames, and that an experienced eye would have found bore great resemblance to the Bayeux Tapestry, one could see in her eyes something trying to be proud indifference, but it was obvious that her egocentric nature had been greatly harmed by the fact that not one of her many, now apparently former, suitors had deigned to see her off. Her eyes narrowed, but there was no one there to care. Her head flicked suddenly to one side, hearing movement, and anticipating a love-struck fool to whom she could be cruel and playful, but instead saw something very different.
Harry and Ginny stood, smiling. Irina looked shocked, and within her black eyes, there was a tiny spark of fire.
"Goodbye Irina!" Ginny said sweetly, running over to hug her. Irina pushed her away, causing her to tumble to the ground near the fireplace.
"What do you care?"
Harry beamed genially at her. "See, we just wanted to explain exactly why none of your captive boys are here."
Nodding, Ginny continued. "It's because, when you did that at the party, they all realized –"
"- why bother wasting time on a bitch."
Irina narrowed her eyes. Harry reflected that that was really all she ever did.
"Was that supposed to be the best insult you could conjure up? Because it's pathetic."
"We're not done yet. Now, the pretty much unanimous vote on you, considering how you did cause two very happy people to become very unhappy, not to mention poor Justin, is that you were never really that pretty anyhow."
"And, Irina?" Ginny leaned forward, as if she were about to tell her a secret. "We looked up your family. We were surprised that you came from such a nice ordinary family of shopkeepers when what did you tell us? Ugh, I can't remember. Anyways, they actually sounded much nicer than you. Do you have any siblings that aren't bloated on self-importance?"
The girl was actually stunned into resentful silence.
"Yes. Bye, Irina. We hope we never, ever see you again."
As they turned and walked away, Irina quickly recovered. "Pathetic!" she screeched after them. "That was pathetic!"
They ignored her. Once they were a suitable distance away, Harry leaned over to Ginny. "Did the powder go in all right?"
Nodding, Ginny had what could only be described as a smirk on her face. "Yes. When Irina uses that Floo powder, she will emerge from the fireplace most unfortunately covered with blisters that no school nurse has ever encountered before."
Harry smiled with the simple happiness of a child.
"God, your brothers are geniuses."
***
Ron was tired of thinking. That was all it was. If he thought, he had to remember. He couldn't bear that. When he did things now, he did them in an automated fashion, almost blindly, his mind somewhere else or trying to hide where nothing could touch it. Watching him was painful, especially to Harry, like the shell of something that had once been. Ron knew this. He tried to be light-handed like he used to be, tried to make jokes and be his normal self. That was even more painful for Harry, the forced laughter and the hollow insults.
Hermione didn't sit with them anymore. Ron knew that when he wasn't around she talked to Harry, knew that once or twice when he had walked into the Great Hall there had been a flurry and a brown head had gone bobbing away. He knew that she avoided him. He didn't try to contest that. He had seen the only thing that it could do, when he had tried to talk to her. His emotions betrayed him. They always did. They made him seem so insincere, so grasping, like a paltry and pathetic child. He wanted anything except for Hermione to think of him that way.
He wondered if there had ever been a chance. Maybe it had been tempting fate.
Fate –
Something was niggling at the back of his mind. He couldn't quite get a hold of it, it slipped through his mind's eye.
And then suddenly he knew. Divination. The "crystal ball." It all came back with a sudden rush of clarity.
The End of Year Ball – it had come true, didn't it? There was going to be a ball…If that, why not the rest of it? There was still time, enough time for all of this nightmare to be over, plenty enough time for his vision to finally right itself and his life.
If Ron had not foreseen the Ball, if that had not given him faith in this vision, he would not have assumed the other. But to have a spark of hope in his too dim life was so tempting to his mind that it accepted it without question. Any outsider would have found it intensely amusing that
Thoughts spun through his head like Golden Snitches. It wasn't all over – Hermione couldn't hate him forever – It would happen, it had to happen, it didn't matter when but it would be soon, so soon. She wasn't lost.
"Ron?"
Ron spun round to see Harry. "Uh, yes, Harry?"
"Are you, er, okay?"
"Yes! Of course I'm okay!" Ron babbled, attempting to cover his sudden elation for a reason he couldn't guess. Why wouldn't he want Harry to know? He probably hadn't noticed though, anyway, he hoped.
At that precise moment, as Harry regarded him suspiciously, he was thinking does he think I'm stupid? He hasn't looked this happy for days.
"What's our next class again?"
"Potions."
Ron grinned. "Oh, not Snape. If I do so much as breathe loudly today, he's going to expel me and probably throw in a year in Azkaban to boot. You can tell he's just longing for it."
Harry smiled weakly. It was so disconcerting, to have your best friend suddenly act as if he had been taken over by very overly happy aliens or something. "Yeah, watch your step, Ron."
Ron actually beamed. It actually looked like his eyes lit up with a light behind them.
Harry gaped.
"Is something wrong, Harry?"
Stuttering, Harry shook his head. "Uh, everything's fine, Ron. Uh, let's go?"
They walked off to Potions together. As they passed through the doors to the Dungeons, Harry snuck glances every once in a while at his friend.
Ron was oblivious to this. Walking through, he noticed Hermione sneak in after them, and seat herself far away from them. It came with the same sudden sharp jab of loss that it always did, but this time the jab was tempered with a balm. It could still be mended.
Sitting down, Ron and Harry had barely gotten comfortable before Snape stalked in. "Class, begin the preparation of your engorgement potions. Mr. Weasley, my office please."
Ron looked at Harry with an incredulous face. "I haven't even had time to do anything!" he whispered, trying to get out of his chair without horrendously falling or something. Hermione watched him go into the room with concern.
Once inside, Ron sat across the desk from Snape tentatively. He expected at any moment an axe to drop down from the ceiling and decapitate him, or something similar. Instead Snape merely sat there with his usual expression of distaste, not uttering a word.
Ron didn't want to say anything. It was far too risky, in his opinion.
Snape stood up suddenly. He strolled over to a cauldron emitting a faintly noxious green fog and began to speak.
"I want you first to know that I have never harbored any affection at all for you and your friends, Mr. Weasley."
Ron was even more confused now. Did Snape think that he showed it? Did he honestly think that the way he acted made it seem as if he wanted to reach out and embrace Gryffindor as a whole with tenderness and compassion?
"You hate me, I know that," the figure in the corner said, sending jolts of apprehension through Ron for a moment, until he heard the next comment: "And rest assured I hold no different emotion for you."
Ron stared incredulously at Snape's back. Snape didn't just invite students in for friendly little chats.
The form in the corner seemed to straighten almost imperceptibly. "But there are some things to which I do not stoop, regardless of my…disregard." Snape spun round. "I am referring, of course, to the comment I made to Miss Granger."
Ron had thought he couldn't possibly be more flabbergasted. He had been wrong.
"I do not presume to like Miss Granger. In fact, I can barely tolerate her. But this is because of her personality. It is not because she is Muggle-born."
"One may assume that as the head of Slytherin house, I share the sentiments of some students within. I do not. One of the things that I abhor is the prejudice against Muggle-born wizards. I find it illogical as well, seeing as how the most recent leader of these people was half Muggle-born himself."
"Do not take this, Mr. Weasley, as a proposition of something like a truce, where I would favour you and your friends. You all annoy me considerably. I still cannot stand your friend Miss Granger, and certainly not our dear Potter. But I loath you because you are yourselves, not because of some silly bloodline. I lost my temper that day and the words of others came out of my mouth instead. I suppose this is an apology, something it pains me to give."
Ron found words. "I understand, Professor."
Snape looked at him. Ron saw still no respect in the dark eyes. But he felt sure that Snape, looking back into his, would catch more than a glimmer.
"You may go, Mr. Weasley."
***
After Potions class, Harry approached the situation cautiously. Since Ron was still at Hogwarts and not off packing his bags to go back the Burrow, he assumed that it had not been catastrophic. On the other hand, his friend was so quiet and contemplative it was as if he had actually had a nice chat or something. Which was, obviously, impossible.
"Ron? What happened?"
Ron was silent for a moment, trying to decide just what he should tell Harry. Then again, he didn't really see why he would have to keep this from him.
As he explained, Harry's mouth fell open, his eyes grew to unreached levels, and Ron was almost afraid he would do something…..irrational.
"No. You are joking. Snape apologized? Snape. Severus Snape. Who teaches us Potions. Who hates us all and wishes we were dead?"
"Well, he never denied that bit, now did he?"
"No. It's impossible. That's insane."
"That's how I felt too."
"Wait, Ron! There's a solution. This has got to be the only explanation."
"What?"
"It's just like fourth year. Some Deatheater has gone undercover and he's drinking Polyjuice Potion every hour to keep Snape's form."
"Gross! Can you imagine having to drink something from Snape every hour?"
They both shuddered.
"But, seriously, Ron –"
Ron shook his head. "No, Harry. I think he was being serious. He almost looked…regretful."
Covering his ears exaggeratedly, Harry clenched his eyes shut. "This is all wrong. There are only a few things in this world that are assured and never, ever, ever change. The first is that the earth revolves around the sun. The second is that Dudley will never, ever get a girl. And the third is, of course, that Snape never apologizes. This disrupts everything, Ron. I could have accepted the sun revolving the earth more easily."
"You didn't have to see it. I would have slapped myself if I could have moved."
***
Ron noted with increasing apprehension that the entire school has been taken over with an infection in preparing for the End of Year Ball. Girls giggled round corners about their dresses, and boys were either anticipatory or awfully procrastinating.
But other than that, it was relatively the same. Ron thought he saw everything that went on; he did a lot of quiet observing now.
He didn't. He didn't, for example, know that there was a set of unwritten rules that had permeated the school's subconscious.
These rules were: Firstly, never mention Hermione to Ron. And secondly, never mention Ron to Hermione.
It was very strictly followed. Only a few times had these rules been broken – the results had been awkward, and painful, but all present had hurried to remedy the situation. Once, a very loose Neville had repeated a comment of Ron's to Hermione. She had turned a very pale white and immediately asked to be excused to the library, as she had to research something. Neville had been shamefaced and had had to be restrained from cursing himself, as they were all afraid he'd do something much worse than just locking his mouth shut.
Colin had mentioned it to Ron, asking why Hermione never hung around Harry and Ron anymore (Colin had always been a little out of it when it came to social gossip). Ron had slumped to the desk he had been sitting at, and sunk his head below his arms for a good half-hour. When Colin had finally been filled in, he had understood the need for discretion. His camera had been confiscated.
So, probably a great deal more people looked upon them with pity then they would have liked. Ron and Hermione, above all, did not want pity. They did not want attention.
All the same, there was a rather peculiar conversation that took place in the Gryffindor common room while Hermione was at the library (she always seemed to be at the library, these days) and Ron was trying to find Errol, who had passed out somewhere on the school grounds after being used once more as a last resort.
Harry, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Colin, and actually all the Gryffindor males were seated before the fire, in what looked to be a make-shift meeting that Harry had called up.
"Right. The Ball is coming up, as I'm sure that you've all noticed. Most of us are asking around for partners, right? A lot of us are noticing that our first choices already have a date?"
There were rueful nods.
"Well, while you're scrambling around desperately for females, remember this: no one is to ask Hermione. Alright? Hermione is hands-off. It's to be agreed in all the other Houses as well."
Although there was considerably less than Harry had predicted, there were still some uncomfortable faces.
"Are - are you sure that's fair to Hermione, Harry?" one piped up rather nervously. "I already have a date, but won't she want one?"
Harry looked quickly at the floor. "I know, I know how it sounds. But if we don't do this, then we risk Ron. Ron is upset enough already. Imagine how much worse it could get.
Everyone winced.
"Besides, Hermione doesn't usually care about these kinds of things anyways, right? And she probably wouldn't even want to go, if she was asked: we all know she's no less upset than Ron."
There were nods of agreement this time. "Maybe if we get them both smashed enough this time, Ron'll kiss her and she'll be too drunk to remember the other thing, and it'll all be alright again?" Seamus said hopefully.
No one responded to this. They knew Seamus knew just as well the impossibility of the situation.
"So that's decided," Harry said resolutely, getting up and raking his fingers through his, as usual, messy hair. "Dean, Seamus, can you go tell the guys in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too?"
When Ron and Hermione came back, careful not to enter at the same time making contact inescapable, nothing was out of the ordinary; if the rest of the House looked up at them a little more often than usual, neither of them noticed.
***
Time passed. The days left until the Ball slowly counted down. Ron awaited them with something akin to eagerness, for as the time had elapsed he had become more and more sure in the knowledge that the separation from Hermione would not last long. That tiny seed of hope had grown considerably, and was now a full-fledged thing that seemed to fuel Ron. Those who talked to him found him jovial, and amusing; most of them were confused by the sudden change in attitudes, but none of them inquired as to why. Ron was not worried by this, in fact he never even considered it. He viewed this space of time as something unpleasant that would soon be over, something he could very soon put behind him forever.
***
Hermione is in the library. She is sitting at her usual spot, the one that no one else ever sits in, scribbling furiously at the parchment in front of her, pausing only to place the stray lock of golden-brown hair (no longer with any attempt of taming) behind her ear. It falls down again immediately. As if a switch has been turned she stops suddenly, almost out of breath – the wayward curl in front of one of her brown eyes. She is staring blindly to the front, at first, until something at where she is absentmindedly watching comes into focus. It is a library shelf, directly ahead of where she works, and someone has wrongly categorized a book.
She looks numbly at the title, something that she never saw till now, as if some cruel and bored god had stopped time for an instant to change the scene in which she plays just for amusement. It is a small book of Shakespeare's sonnets.
The title might as well have blinded her, for she remains completely motionless. Maybe what she is so intent upon blurs for a moment; maybe it does not.
With sudden intensity, she jams the book behind the others, hidden now, although she knows it is there. She gazes at where is used to be.
