A Conversation
Hermione Granger strode quickly down the corridor to the library, pulled open the door, and peeped in. He wasn't in there, of course. Viktor Krum was: he looked up from his book, saw her, and turned his eyes impassively down to his book again.
She shrugged in frustration and went back up to the common room. Once inside the portrait hole, she went looking for Fred and George Weasley.
They weren't difficult to spot: they were playing what looked like a complicated game with Lee Jordan involving creative insult and throwing Gobstones-perhaps not so much complicated as chaotic. Any minute the owner of the Gobstones was going to appear and give them what for. Hermione waited a moment until it looked like they were taking a short breather, and approached George.
George answered her query with: "Dunno. Saw him leave 'bout half an hour ago. Ginny had been talking to him, but he didn't tell her where he was going, I don't think."
Hermione sighed and went out of the common room again, leaving them to their game.
He wasn't in the Great Hall; or in the Owlery; or in any of the empty classrooms she checked. She had almost given up on the castle and decided to go to Hagrid's, but first she decided on a long shot to peep out into the courtyard. Donning her cloak just in case, she pushed open the heavy door and glanced around the bleak stones: and there he was, his hair the only vivid thing in the landscape. He wasn't wearing his cloak (of course, Hermione tutted to herself), and at the more violent gusts of wind he shivered visibly.
She went down and sat next to him on the steps. He looked at her briefly as she tucked her cloak around her, then gave a forced sigh and looked away again.
"I don't want to talk," he muttered.
"Fine," Hermione said, and settled herself in for a wait.
She was rewarded after a few minutes when he said bitterly, "So why aren't you with him?"
"He's doing his Divination homework," she said calmly.
"And I suppose you think I should be, too," he growled.
"Probably," she said, not taking the bait.
Another silence fell. Hermione waited and Ron shivered.
"So what are you doing here?" he said at length, staring morosely across the empty courtyard.
"Elementary, my dear Weasley," she said wryly, and he snorted.
"You're not going to cheer me up," he said.
"Apparently, not so elementary," she remarked, more wryly still.
"And I wish you'd stop trying to make me go talk to him," Ron added.
"Well," Hermione sighed, "at least you got it in two."
Ron didn't smile.
"Oh, come on, Ron," she said, dropping her patience. "The sooner you go talk to him, the sooner this can be over."
"He doesn't want to talk." Ron huddled against a fresh blast of wind.
"No-because he thinks you still have a bad opinion of him. You can set that straight, at least."
"It's the other way around. He's got a bad opinion of me."
"He will, if you don't talk to him," Hermione insisted.
Ron didn't answer.
"You have more power than he does to set it right," she said, after another silence.
He turned to her then, his face taut; and in his expression she could read all the self-pity he'd worked hard to hide in the past few weeks. Ron, the morose Weasley (miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle!)-except the difference was-
"You know you want it to be different," she said. "You don't want it to stay like this."
"Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do?" Ron demanded, suddenly fierce.
Hermione bit her lip. "Apologize, maybe?" she suggested.
Ron looked away. "He's not going to let me," he said bleakly.
"You don't know that for sure."
"And what am I supposed to tell him I believe now?"
"That somebody else put his name in-"
"Who?"
"Ron, do you think he knows any better than you do?"
"Well, what do you think?" Ron glared at the ground ahead.
"Well.there's always You-Know-Who.."
"Come off it," Ron said, but his voice had lost the conviction it had had the last time they discussed this.
"Or one of his supporters." Hermione refused to balk. "Don't you remember what he told us about that dream, and his scar?"
Ron ploughed his hand through his hair and pursed his lips.
"And do you really believe all that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in the paper?"
"No!" Ron burst out. "But.."
"But-but," she said mockingly. "You can't clear it up just sitting here feeling sorry for yourself."
Ron's ears turned an angry pink that swallowed the color the cold had given them. But he said nothing.
The wind whistled sharply over the empty courtyard.
"What do you want me to do?" he said finally.
"Go up and talk to him. Now, before you lose your nerve."
"I can't."
Hermione lost patience and stood up. "Then go ahead. Sit here, and be miserable, and leave your best friend without your support in the first task next week, and let him think you don't care a newt's tail about him-"
Ron looked away sharply and bit his lip hard.
"Or at least arrange a meeting, if you can't go up to him yourself," she said more softly. "But do something, Ron-don't just put it off. It'll only make it harder."
"Do something.like what? Send him an owl?" Ron said, his face still turned hard away.
A silence fell. Then Hermione ventured, "It's a Hogsmeade weekend. Maybe I can get Harry to come, and we can meet up in the Three Broomsticks.."
Ron said nothing.
"It's a start," Hermione said.
Another silence. "Okay?" she persisted.
A moment passed, then Ron gave a slow nod without looking around.
She gave a small sigh, and patted him gently on top of his mussed red hair. He gave a nettled hunch of the shoulder, but didn't otherwise resist. She straightened and turned to go.
She paused at the door into the castle. "I've got homework," she said. "And you'd better come in too-you'll catch your death."
Ron waved a gentle, dismissing hand. She sighed, and went inside; and the heavy door fell shut behind her.
Hermione Granger strode quickly down the corridor to the library, pulled open the door, and peeped in. He wasn't in there, of course. Viktor Krum was: he looked up from his book, saw her, and turned his eyes impassively down to his book again.
She shrugged in frustration and went back up to the common room. Once inside the portrait hole, she went looking for Fred and George Weasley.
They weren't difficult to spot: they were playing what looked like a complicated game with Lee Jordan involving creative insult and throwing Gobstones-perhaps not so much complicated as chaotic. Any minute the owner of the Gobstones was going to appear and give them what for. Hermione waited a moment until it looked like they were taking a short breather, and approached George.
George answered her query with: "Dunno. Saw him leave 'bout half an hour ago. Ginny had been talking to him, but he didn't tell her where he was going, I don't think."
Hermione sighed and went out of the common room again, leaving them to their game.
He wasn't in the Great Hall; or in the Owlery; or in any of the empty classrooms she checked. She had almost given up on the castle and decided to go to Hagrid's, but first she decided on a long shot to peep out into the courtyard. Donning her cloak just in case, she pushed open the heavy door and glanced around the bleak stones: and there he was, his hair the only vivid thing in the landscape. He wasn't wearing his cloak (of course, Hermione tutted to herself), and at the more violent gusts of wind he shivered visibly.
She went down and sat next to him on the steps. He looked at her briefly as she tucked her cloak around her, then gave a forced sigh and looked away again.
"I don't want to talk," he muttered.
"Fine," Hermione said, and settled herself in for a wait.
She was rewarded after a few minutes when he said bitterly, "So why aren't you with him?"
"He's doing his Divination homework," she said calmly.
"And I suppose you think I should be, too," he growled.
"Probably," she said, not taking the bait.
Another silence fell. Hermione waited and Ron shivered.
"So what are you doing here?" he said at length, staring morosely across the empty courtyard.
"Elementary, my dear Weasley," she said wryly, and he snorted.
"You're not going to cheer me up," he said.
"Apparently, not so elementary," she remarked, more wryly still.
"And I wish you'd stop trying to make me go talk to him," Ron added.
"Well," Hermione sighed, "at least you got it in two."
Ron didn't smile.
"Oh, come on, Ron," she said, dropping her patience. "The sooner you go talk to him, the sooner this can be over."
"He doesn't want to talk." Ron huddled against a fresh blast of wind.
"No-because he thinks you still have a bad opinion of him. You can set that straight, at least."
"It's the other way around. He's got a bad opinion of me."
"He will, if you don't talk to him," Hermione insisted.
Ron didn't answer.
"You have more power than he does to set it right," she said, after another silence.
He turned to her then, his face taut; and in his expression she could read all the self-pity he'd worked hard to hide in the past few weeks. Ron, the morose Weasley (miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle!)-except the difference was-
"You know you want it to be different," she said. "You don't want it to stay like this."
"Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do?" Ron demanded, suddenly fierce.
Hermione bit her lip. "Apologize, maybe?" she suggested.
Ron looked away. "He's not going to let me," he said bleakly.
"You don't know that for sure."
"And what am I supposed to tell him I believe now?"
"That somebody else put his name in-"
"Who?"
"Ron, do you think he knows any better than you do?"
"Well, what do you think?" Ron glared at the ground ahead.
"Well.there's always You-Know-Who.."
"Come off it," Ron said, but his voice had lost the conviction it had had the last time they discussed this.
"Or one of his supporters." Hermione refused to balk. "Don't you remember what he told us about that dream, and his scar?"
Ron ploughed his hand through his hair and pursed his lips.
"And do you really believe all that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in the paper?"
"No!" Ron burst out. "But.."
"But-but," she said mockingly. "You can't clear it up just sitting here feeling sorry for yourself."
Ron's ears turned an angry pink that swallowed the color the cold had given them. But he said nothing.
The wind whistled sharply over the empty courtyard.
"What do you want me to do?" he said finally.
"Go up and talk to him. Now, before you lose your nerve."
"I can't."
Hermione lost patience and stood up. "Then go ahead. Sit here, and be miserable, and leave your best friend without your support in the first task next week, and let him think you don't care a newt's tail about him-"
Ron looked away sharply and bit his lip hard.
"Or at least arrange a meeting, if you can't go up to him yourself," she said more softly. "But do something, Ron-don't just put it off. It'll only make it harder."
"Do something.like what? Send him an owl?" Ron said, his face still turned hard away.
A silence fell. Then Hermione ventured, "It's a Hogsmeade weekend. Maybe I can get Harry to come, and we can meet up in the Three Broomsticks.."
Ron said nothing.
"It's a start," Hermione said.
Another silence. "Okay?" she persisted.
A moment passed, then Ron gave a slow nod without looking around.
She gave a small sigh, and patted him gently on top of his mussed red hair. He gave a nettled hunch of the shoulder, but didn't otherwise resist. She straightened and turned to go.
She paused at the door into the castle. "I've got homework," she said. "And you'd better come in too-you'll catch your death."
Ron waved a gentle, dismissing hand. She sighed, and went inside; and the heavy door fell shut behind her.