A single glance into Hermione's room was all it would take for anyone to see that it was in perfect order. In other words, her room was in its usual state that night. The books that lay on top of her desk corresponded to the scheduled reading material for the day in preparation for the N.E.W.T.s. But Hermione wasn't reading her books tonight. In fact, studying was the farthest thing from her mind right now. She was too busy reliving her fifth year to worry about anything else. She almost wished she could get a hold of the Time Turner Professor McGonagall gave her so she could change -- quite a lot of things, actually, especially those that concerned her relationship (or lack thereof) with Ron. But then again, she knew that every change she would have made could have caused many other ripples that might have been even more disastrous to their friendship. Not that their friendship was actually a friendship, to begin with. It was... something else, certainly nothing like the friendship bordering on brother-sister love she and Harry have. With Ron, she was... different, mainly because he was so different from Harry. But why is that? Maybe the past held the answers that eluded her tonight.
It was only when she looked back did she realize that she had known it all along -- Ron would lead her down the path of wrongdoing as early as their first day back during their fifth year. It seemed to be his goal to make her break at least five rules a day, despite, or maybe because of, the fact that they were both made Prefects. She never expected to give in to him, but something in the way he had challenged her made her anger flare up like a camp fire, and her resolve crumble faster than dry twigs fed to said camp fire. It seemed that the harder she tried to behave properly and abide by the rules, Ron would try even harder to get her to break them, and, to her complete shock and horror, she would give in to him. She had always felt guilty about breaking school rules, but now she was utterly appalled, as she was supposed to be someone who enforced the rules, not break them.
She shuddered as she remembered taking the twins up on their wager about what House Viktor would belong to. She had never felt so ashamed in her entire life when Viktor approached her just after Ron had left the Great Hall with the first-years after the banquet.
"Hello, Hermy-own-ninny."
"Hello, Viktor. Did you have a good trip? You didn't come on the Hogwarts Express, did you?"
"No, I vent by Floo to Hogsmeade, as Professor Dumbledore instructed. I vould have vanted to Apparate, but Dumbledore said it vould not be a good idea. A carriage vas vaiting for me, along vith a man called Filth."
Hermione resisted the urge to tell Viktor that one simply cannot Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds. That would be too, well, know-it-all-ish. "Er, that's Filch, the caretaker. Oh, congratulations on becoming a Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout is your head of House, and she's a wonderful Herbology teacher."
"Thank you. I vas hoping to get into Gryffindor, but the Hat said I belonged in Hufflepuff, and that I vas needed there. I don't understand vot that means."
"Well, we'll find out soon enough."
"Yes. My housemates vanted me to play Quidditch on the team. But perhaps that vould not be fair to the other teams."
"I don't know if Hogwarts has any rules on that. Your housemates should have talked to Madam Hooch before they asked you. She's the Flying instructor and referee for the Quidditch matches. But maybe it's their way of making you feel welcome."
"Perhaps. I see you are a Prefect. You vould not be giving me any detention if I break the rules, vould you?"
Was he flirting with her? She blinked away the thought before answering in her best Prefect-sounding voice. "Seeing as you're new here, I might let you off with a warning first. But don't abuse the fact that you're friends with a Prefect, the others might not let you get away so easily."
"I vill keep that in mind," he answered with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Viktor was looking at her, well, there was no other way to describe it, as though he was disappointed. She really didn't know what to say next, so she decided it would be best to leave off before things got awkward between them. "Oh, I have to go now, I've got duties. But let's talk again soon."
"Of course. Goodnight, Hermy-own-ninny."
"Goodnight, Viktor. I hope you like it here at Hogwarts."
"I loved being here last year, and I think I vill continue to love being here this year."
There was something in his voice that made her nervous. "I'm sure of it. Well, goodbye." She turned and walked away as quickly as she could without appearing to be rude. However, she looked back and gave him a small wave, which he returned. As she left the Great Hall, she saw out of the corner of her eye that Viktor had not moved from the spot where they had stood and talked.
However, any questions she may have been asking herself about Viktor's behaviour were driven from her mind by the thought of the wager she made that night. It was sooo silly and childish. She shouldn't have done that, making a stupid bet and agreeing to do stupid things if she lost. Prefects were supposed to be above petty things like that, weren't they? But then again, maybe she wouldn't have felt so terrible if she had won. As she didn't, she had to endure Ron calling her 'Mione. It was only after nearly four years had passed since that fateful day, that she was able to admit to herself... she liked the way Ron called her 'Mione. And only he was allowed to do that. Anyone else who tried got an earful from him, sometimes with a threat that a fist would follow said earful if the person concerned was being too stubborn. But still... she shouldn't have let her temper get the best of her then. After all, she was a Prefect. She was expected to help maintain order in the school, and be a role model for the younger students.
She didn't know what to make of Ron. He was so... unpredictable. For instance, the night of the start-of-term banquet, after behaving in such a way that would have earned them detention for the entire year had any of the staff got wind of it, Ron turned around and assumed his duties as though he had always been a model of propriety. The image of him taking charge of the first years and leading them up to Gryffindor tower as if he had done so everyday of his life was so unlike anything he had ever done before that she was... breathless. And that was only their first day as Prefects.
During the first two weeks of the term, she was truly worried that Ron wouldn't be able to hold on to his Prefect badge, as he acted more exuberantly than the first years he was supposed to be in charge of. And though she didn't tell anyone, she had been secretly hoping that Ron would win his bet against Harry. After all, Harry could afford to buy sweets for Ron, but Ron would be doing a disservice to Harry by, er, making up his homework, as Harry would never learn anything on that subject, even if it was Divination. But when Ron proved her fears wrong and won his bet this time, she couldn't help but rejoice.
In the succeeding weeks, she kept hearing all sorts of odd stories about Ron from the younger students. One third-year told her that Ron had helped him with his Arithmancy homework by using... Exploding Snap cards? How did he do that? He never even studied Arithmancy, for Merlin's sake! But when she looked at the Arithmancy homework in question, the equations were all correct. And then there was a second-year who learned how to make Pepper-Up Potion when Ron explained the relationship between the degree of heat used and the brewing time needed to ensure maximum effectiveness of the potion by using... Gobstones? She nearly fainted when she heard about a first-year who got top marks on an exam about important dates and persons in History of Magic by borrowing Ron's collection of... Chocolate Frog cards? It was all so... so... Ron. All these things could only happen with him.
One thing that puzzled her back then was how the younger students all said learning with Ron was fun. How could that be? To her mind, learning had nothing to do with fun. Learning was... learning. And fun was fun. But then, Ron also said he had fun while he was teaching his charges, and sometimes, they learned new things together. He was just as excited as the younger students were when he discovered something for the first time. She couldn't understand it. She believed in being proper and conventional about doing what had to be done. She was never one to do things differently. So when she conducted her study sessions, it was as though they were in class: she lectured, the students took notes, she gave them practice tests, and required them to submit their homework to her so she could review it. She didn't know how to make learning fun because she didn't think of it that way.
She was a bit hurt when she found out Ron was the younger students' favourite Prefect. Not that she expected the title, but she had done more for them than any other Prefect, hadn't she? She didn't expect to be popular, but still, she had hoped for... what? She had the students' respect, yes, but Harry had their near-idolatry because of his famous name, and Ron had their... love. There was no other way to describe it: he was 'cool,' 'fun to be with,' 'was always good for a laugh,' and many students felt as though he was their brother. She knew she couldn't compete with her best friends, so she tried even harder to do things properly, hoping that her steadfast compliance to the rules would make the younger students see her as their role model. Perhaps they did, but when Ron was around, they all wanted to be just like him. She had finally decided that regardless of the younger students' desire to be just like Ron, they needed her to bring some order into their lives and a little discipline in their studies. So, she devoted as much time as she could to making sure they learnt everything they possibly could and used it to their best advantage.
Part of her efforts to be the perfect role model for the other students was to prepare for the study sessions she handled as thoroughly as if she was a professor. She had sent for all her old study materials, and a mountain of binders and boxes came. Harry and Ron had to make four trips up and down Gryffindor tower to stow everything in her quarters.
"This is ALL your stuff since first year? How did you manage to write all this down? Hang on, is this box filled with your notes from BINNS' CLASS? How could anyone take this much notes from that class?" Ron's face was a mixture of shock and admiration. Then, a shade of hurt passed over his features. "And you never let me borrow any of it."
Her jaw dropped. "I -- I didn't think you'd learn if you didn't take your own notes. I would've let you read them while we were revising for exams, but I didn't think you wanted to... study that hard. You can -- you can borrow them for your study sessions, that is, if you want to." Her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides as she spoke.
"Thanks." He looked into her eyes for a long moment, and she almost promised herself to let him borrow anything he wanted from her, if Harry hadn't tripped over one of her boxes and scattered papers all over the floor.
While Ron used the common room for his study sessions, she always picked an empty classroom, to give the students the mindset that they were there to learn. She would write out the lesson on the blackboard, the students would copy what she wrote, and if it was a practical lesson, say, a spell, she would demonstrate how to perform it, then she would make the students practice. Afterwards, she would give them, well, it was too close to homework to call it by any other name, but she was positive it would help them understand the lesson better.
One night, after a grueling study session in Transfiguration, she heard a group of students talking about her as they left the classroom.
"Whew! That was a tough one!"
"Yeah, and her acting like McGonagall didn't help."
"Why couldn't she be more like Ron? Then we can enjoy the lesson for a change."
"Right, she needs to loosen up a bit."
"A lot, you mean."
"She can take a lesson or two from Ron on how to loosen up."
"Oh, I bet Ron can really loosen her up."
There was the sound of giggling, followed by, "you saw it too, didn't you? The way she looks at him?"
"She's got it bad for Ron, that's for sure."
"And she's not the only one. Did you see the Patil girl?"
"Which one? The Ravenclaw? No way!"
"I couldn't believe it either, but I had it from one of her dorm mates. And that other one, what's her name? Perks? They were drooling over Ron yesterday, when..." Their voices died down as they walked farther away.
She felt tears stinging her eyes. She was a failure. Not only did the students find her prissy, they also made fun of her. But worst of all, they were positive she fancied Ron. But how could they know, when she was confused about what she felt for him? What kind of role model was she when the people she was supposed to set an example for couldn't take her seriously? And how was she supposed to face them again, knowing that they knew 'she's got it bad for Ron,' and that 'she's not the only one?' But her bout of self-pity was interrupted when--
"Hey, how was the lesson?" Ron asked as he came into the room.
"F-fine," she answered, trying to make it appear as though there was nothing wrong.
"What's wrong, 'Mione?" Uh-oh. Can't she ever hide anything from him?
"W-what makes you think anything's wrong?"
He stepped up to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and peered into her face. "You forget who you're talking to. Now what is it? Were any of the students rude or mean to you?"
"N-no, they weren't rude or mean. At least, not in front of me." She muttered that last bit under her breath, but he heard it anyway.
"WHAT?! What've they been saying behind your back? Tell me! That sort of thing shouldn't be going on without us doing anything to stomp it out. It hurts all the prefects when students are rude to one of us. C'mon, out with it. What did they say?"
"Th-they said I acted like McGonagall and I needed to loosen up and why can't I be more like you and--"
"I think I get the picture. Those were third-years, right?" She nodded. "Cheeky lot, they are. I think I know who those prats are. Not to worry, I'll take care of it." She looked up in alarm, and it gave her the strength to meet his eyes for the first time since he came into the room. "Aw, don't give me that look, 'Mione! I swear I won't do anything stupid, trust me. I just need to give them a little lesson in manners."
"Ron, please don't. It might make things worse."
"No one can insult you and get away with it."
"But--"
"If you and Harry would only let me have a shot at Malfoy--"
"Ron, shush! You're not talking sense anymore..."
"You're the best Prefect in Hogwarts. Remember that."
"Oh, Ron..."
"Well, you are. And don't let any stupid cheeky prats tell you otherwise."
She knew her eyes were swimming in tears by then. Why, oh why, did she suddenly become weepy and girly whenever Ron paid her a compliment? Why didn't he fight fair? Why couldn't he just go back to being that boy in fourth year who insulted her beyond all measure when he blurted out, "Neville's right -- you are a girl"?
He had been true to his word when he said he would teach those third-years a lesson in manners. They became cringingly polite and ridiculously eager to please by the next study session, and if they ever talked about her behind her back, she never heard of it again. And, to her complete satisfaction, they showed a remarkable improvement in their Transfiguration marks. But what surprised her the most was that they held Ron in higher esteem and loved him even more for not letting them get away with their "cheek."
Another thing that puzzled her back then, and still did now, was that despite his uncanny ability to make learning fun for the younger students, Ron seemed to need just as much help with his own homework as he did before. He still depended on her to check all his answers and to explain things to him whenever he got an answer wrong. She couldn't understand it, but she was glad to feel that he needed her just as much as he always did. Sometimes she frowned at him for getting answers to relatively simple questions wrong, as though he did it on purpose so she'd have to lead him away to a quiet corner of the common room and explain the lesson to him again. He would smile and nod and behave in all respects as a model student, but she quickly found out that it was too distracting to have his complete attention focused on her.
Although she enjoyed every minute of "playing professor" for Ron's sake, and despite the fact that he seemed to thrive on his new responsibilities, she had been worried that he might try to do too much and end up failing. She was so worried that she even harboured thoughts of dissuading Ron from trying out for the position of Keeper on the Quidditch team. But then, how could she tell him that playing Quidditch might be too much for him to handle on top of his Prefect duties? Pointing the fact out to him seemed to be disloyal, as though she didn't believe he could pull it off. After all, Harry seemed to be doing just fine. But then she needn't have worried, as Ron continued to do well, both as Prefect and as Keeper, despite the fact that Quidditch practice had begun to occupy a considerable amount of his time.
But then again, there were times when she almost regretted not saying anything to him about taking on more than he could handle. He seemed to be too preoccupied that he forgot the simplest things. And along with it came a change in his behaviour that was so unlike the way he had ever acted before, at least with her, that it seemed as though getting along with him was like living on the edge of a volcano. He had changed for the better, yes, but still... something about him troubled her. Maybe it had to do with having to kiss each other for losing their bet with the twins. The longer they put it off, the more tension built up between them.
She remembered one time when he asked her to look at his Potions homework. She took one look at the parchment he handed to her, and started tutting almost at once.
"Ron, you forgot about the bezoar!"
"Beeswax?"
"NO, bezoar! That's the key ingredient in this antidote! Honestly, this was covered in our first lesson in first year! The whole concoction would be useless without it. Snape would have given you a failing mark if you handed in your homework like this!"
And with that, she launched into one of her 'professorial lectures,' as some of the cheeky third-years would call it. Her hair kept falling onto her face as she talked. She swept her hair away impatiently for the fifth time when she suddenly got fed up and gathered her locks into a bun. But having nothing to hold it with, she reached out for her wand and stuck it into her hair to keep it up. When she turned back to Ron, she noticed he had been watching her intently. She felt her cheeks turn pink. She valiantly tried to resume her lecture, but when she looked up and saw that he was still staring at her, her voice died in her throat.
"All right, 'Mione, I think I got your point now," he said in a soft voice that made her heart race.
"Well, good," she answered, trying, but failing miserably, to give the impression that she was getting impatient with him.
"You know, I think you look much better with your hair down," he said, as he reached out and gently pulled her wand out of her hair. The bun came loose, and her hair tumbled down her back.
He looked at her appreciatively. "Definitely much better. You just have to do this, and your hair won't fall all over your face." He extended both hands and tucked several unruly strands under her ears. His thumbs trailed lightly across her cheeks as he drew back his hands. She felt her cheeks burn as his ears turned pink. They turned away from each other at the same time.
"Erm, I think your homework is all right now. You didn't forget to mention how jasmine makes the antidote more effective, did you?" She spoke to her shoes.
"No, I have it right here. Adding dried jasmine petals makes it work better, but only up to twenty petals should be added. Anything more than that would make the whole thing more toxic than the poison it's supposed to act against." He seemed to be answering to the ceiling.
"Right. Do you need help with anything else?" She still couldn't look at him.
"No, that's it for tonight. Thanks."
They reached for their book bags at the same time, and that simple movement brought their faces to within inches of each other. If she had dared, she could have leaned over and kissed his cheek. And if he had dared, he could have... For a moment, it seemed as though he would. He looked into her eyes for what seemed like hours, and she felt herself starting to drown in those lake-blue eyes framed with the auburn lashes that made her lose her head last summer. But then, a group of noisy second years came in through the portrait hole, and the moment was gone.
She didn't know whether to sigh in relief or in frustration. That, that, whatever-it-was, rendered her sleepless for at least three days. She thought about how it would feel like if the moment had come for them to fulfill the terms of the wager, and promptly started to tremble violently. She tried to calm herself down by reminding herself that they wouldn't have to kiss more than once, and after it was done, perhaps things between them would go back to normal. It was probably just one of those once-in-a-lifetime flukes that happened between friends that they wouldn't have to worry about again, right? But then, she never anticipated that their relationship had started changing, to the extent that nothing would ever be the same again. They could never go back to the way they were before. They were children back then, but now... she didn't even know how to act or react around him anymore. She tried to put up a brave front and pretend that everything was fine, when all the while she was really starting to go out of her mind. For the next few days, it seemed as though nothing had happened between them. She was starting to feel like herself again, but just then, she and Ron had a fight that ended in such a way that years later, she could still remember the bitter pang of regret she had felt then.
She had come down to the common room at two in the morning, feeling uneasy. It was as though she instinctively knew that there were Gryffindors outside, roaming the corridors and just begging to get caught. A few moments later, the portrait hole opened, and Ron and a first year named Wilson walked in, each one stuffing a strawberry tart into their mouths. There was a bulge at the front of Ron's school robes that could only mean one thing: Harry's invisibility cloak was hidden underneath. A wave of disappointment hit her so hard that she nearly lost her balance. Where was the reliable, rule-abiding, mature Ron, and why did the immature, irresponsible Ron come back? Or was the "new Ron" only a mask he wore as though he was play-acting but would take off again whenever it suited him?
"What are you doing out of bed at this time of night?" she hissed at them.
"Nothing, just -- taking a walk, is all," Ron replied, as the first year had turned greener than a pickle.
"After midnight, along the corridors, where Filch or Mrs. Norris or Peeves can catch you?"
"W-we weren't g-going to get c-caught--" Wilson stammered.
She rounded on him. "And why is that? Is it because he had an invisibility cloak?"
"Y-yes," Wilson answered miserably. "Oh, no! I -- I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. I'm sorry, Ron. B-but she already knows about the cloak, doesn't she? D-don't you?"
"'S all right, mate. Hermione already knows about the cloak. Don't worry about it. But don't tell anyone else, okay? Why don't you go off to bed now? I'll take care of this."
"Not so fast!" she huffed, as she blocked the way up the boys' staircase to the dormitories. "I can't believe you're doing this, Ron. Leading first-years in bouts of rule-breaking! Getting Harry's invisibility cloak, and for what? Stealing food from the kitchens? You're a Prefect, for goodness' sake! Why don't you act like one?!"
"Now wait just one minute! Who do you think you are, lecturing me on what I should and shouldn't do? You're not McGonagall! And I don't remember asking you to keep reminding me I'm a bloody Prefect! I know what I'm expected to do, and I'm doing it the best way I know how! You don't know what Wilson and I were doing outside, so you shouldn't be jumping to conclusions about us going rule-breaking. Besides, it's none of your business anyway, since Wilson came to me in confidence. So just step aside and let us get some sleep!" Ron's face was purple with anger.
"Not until I sort this out first! If you don't talk to me, I'll report the two of you!"
"Fine! Make your stupid report! See if I care!"
"FINE!"
"P-please, Hermione... R-ron was j-just helping me g-get a l-letter to my dad. H-he's a Muggle, and I-I'm worried about him. My mum died when my baby sister was born, a-and my sister is too young to do the kind of magic mum used to do for dad. M-my mum used to make my socks dance along the tea table, and my dad loved it. My mum d-died four years ago today, and I knew dad would be lonely. I couldn't sleep, so I wrote him a letter, but I d-didn't have an owl, so I couldn't send it. Ron got P-pig to take my letter. On the way back, I told Ron I was h-hungry, so we stopped by the kitchens. R-ron borrowed the c-cloak so we wouldn't get caught, and I wouldn't get a black mark on my record in my first year. That's the truth, I swear. P-please don't report Ron, report me." Her mouth had dropped open while Wilson was speaking, and had continued to open and close soundlessly.
"No, she won't. She'll report me, and that'll be the end of it." He looked into her eyes with a fierce expression on his face. "Let him pass, Hermione."
She stepped aside, and Wilson ran upstairs. He headed for the staircase, his eyes continuing to pierce hers. She reached out and grabbed Ron's arm just as he was about to brush past her. Tears were falling from her eyes like rain, but she didn't care. "R-ron, I'm sorry. I -- you were right, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I was just worried about you getting caught. I didn't want you to lose your Prefect badge. I couldn't bear it if you lost the chance to do something you're so good at..." She stopped talking as she looked into his eyes. They were burning, perhaps with anger, or maybe even hatred, for her. She let go of his arm, trying to prepare herself for whatever he would say.
"How could you just think the worst of me without even considering there might be a good reason why I'm doing what I'm doing?" he asked in a low voice that made her quiver.
"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have..."
"Why do you think you have to keep reminding me what's expected of me? I already know I'm expected to be this perfect, prissy, brainy sort of person, and I'm not. I also know everyone's just waiting for me to mess up. I didn't think you'd be betting against me, too."
"I'm not, believe me, I'm not..."
"What is it about me? Am I just too daft to be trusted to do what's right?"
"No, Ron, don't say that. You're kind and caring and... and... everyone loves you. You're a wonderful person, you really are. Please believe me." She took one step forward and held out her hands to him. Her hands brushed against the sides of his robes, and she clung to him desperately. She tried to tell him with her eyes what she had no words for.
He must have understood her, or perhaps he saw something in her eyes that she couldn't help letting him see. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Then, he took one step forward, reached out and wiped her tears away, his eyes locked onto hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Their bodies were only inches apart. She nearly gasped when he broke eye contact, only to stare intensely at her lips. She blinked, and the tears that were still making her eyes swim trickled down. He growled softly and wiped her face again. He came closer, stooping down so that their faces were on a level with each other. She could feel his breath on her face, smelling sweetly of strawberry tart and... and... Ron. She froze as she realized she'd been licking her lips, anticipating... what? That he would kiss her? He moved closer, and she was sure she would feel the warm pressure of his mouth on hers, when...
"Meow?" They sprang apart.
"C-crookshanks? There you are," she murmured. She heard him sigh, then walk upstairs. She picked up her cat and hugged him fiercely, as tears fell from her eyes again.