Chapter 1: Composing Hermione
"I'm serious. He's starting to scare me."
"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about," Ginny assured her friend. If anyone had anything to fear at all, it was Ginny herself – Hermione's hands were so tightly clutched around her own that she couldn't help but entertain thoughts of snapping bones. "You're probably overreacting. It's not like that'd be a first."
Hermione sniffled, a shaking smile fleeting across her countenance like a dying animal. Ginny smiled encouragingly, imagining the blood that would soak all twenty of their fists if Hermione were to accidentally break her fingers. She imagined bloody handprints artfully decorating Ron's bed sheets. He'd scream like a girl. Ginny had always wanted to prank the shit out of her older brother – Ron was the second most fun to mess with – but back when Harry hung out with them, she figured it was best to lie low. Her sisterly smile broadened, because Harry Potter didn't like Ron anymore; Harry had moved up in the world. Up and into Ginny's shooting range. Ha, ha.
"He hasn't eaten with us since the first week of term," Hermione continued, salty confusion streaming down both cheeks and dripping unnoticed all over her robes. "And he doesn't talk to us since we started – you know – and . . ." She tried to continue but let out a terrible sob. Ginny frowned, dabbing at her friend's robes and cheeks with her own handkerchief. Hermione was not a dramatic person by nature; it concerned her to see the girl this way. "I saw him in the hall on Friday and I called out to him. Just like, Hey, Harry. I didn't say anything else. It was like he looked right through me. I wish he'd be mad or at least something. Enough with the walking around dead thing already!"
"Hey babe," Ginny tried, lifting Hermione's chin with the intention of lifting her spirits. "It's gonna be alright. You saw this coming, remember?"
Hermione nodded gloomily. "Miles away," she choked.
"Sharp as ever," Ginny tried, but Hermione only rolled her eyes. "Remember what you said, when summer started last year? Right after we sent him off with his uncle?"
Nodding, "Turn for the worst."
"And he did. But remember what else you said?" This time she didn't prompt the blubbering witch. "It has to get worse before it gets better. That's what you said! This is just the bad time, hon, and you know it. Things will get better."
Hermione quieted a bit to listen. Ginny began to dab around her eyes with the handkerchief.
"He's gonna go through this creepy phase and ignore you and Ron, then he's gonna come back to you. He has to. He still trusts you, no matter what." It was true, and Ginny didn't resent it. She liked her brother and Hermione just as much as she always had; all that had changed was how she showed her affection. Then and now. She liked 'now' better. She was making Hermione feel better because she wanted to; because that was what she did. Molly Weasley's health had taken a downward plunge after Percy had left for New York City unannounced at the beginning of summer. It didn't help that his passport no longer read the name "Weasley," but "Harlow." It had been his own idea to re-Christen himself after a famous American scientist.
"He's mad about Ron and me too though," Hermione pointed out, always willing to show the carpenter his termite holes. "And I don't know who could blame him, honestly."
"Hermione," Ginny said, holding both of her shoulders in a gentle, but firm manner. She was the new mistress of the Weasley home. She took care of the boys. "Chances are, Harry's head is so far up in the clouds, he hasn't even noticed."
Hermione snorted. "He saw us, Ginny. I'm not stupid, in case you haven't noticed."
Ginny draped her arms over Hermione's shoulders and rested her own forehead against her friend's. "I promise you," she whispered, "That right now, romance isn't at the top of Harry's list."
