A/n: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I've got a couple of new reviewers, and I feel so extremely flattered just hearing (or reading, I suppose) you guys say "please write more!" Okay, this chapter gets things rolling. I'm really sorry for taking so long to put this up, but it's a complicated chapter. I'm expecting some rotten tomatoes thrown at me for this one but…well, I'll just let you read, shall I?
Disclaimer: Don't own this; am desperately in love with Ron. The "son of a witch" pun is taken directly from the brilliant mouth of Bart Simpson, and POTC fans will recognize the Jack Sparrow line…I couldn't resist! 8 )
NSH
Chapter 7: Back to Normal—Of Sorts
Snow was falling lightly outside Hermione's window. It wasn't heavy; it would stop within minutes. Good, Hermione thought, picking up the scarf draped around the back of her chair and securing it around her neck. She picked up her hand-held mirror, adjusted the scarf absentmindedly, and then sank down into the chair, her eyes fixed on the snow.
Not that she had any interest in it. She hadn't really been aware of much since the previous afternoon.
Harry was slightly annoyed with her, and she really couldn't blame him. She'd been on pins and needles after he'd regained consciousness. Ron had suggested they stay at home the rest of the day, and Hermione had been the first to agree. Harry had been against it, because he said he was fine and should not ruin the day, but he'd given in and they'd spent the day watching television. Even so, every time Harry had made a sudden movement, she'd jumped and glanced over at him.
I worry too much.
But Harry's state hadn't been the only thing on her mind. She'd also been pondering about the incident that had occurred with Ron only seconds before Harry had awoken. Just the thought of it made her stomach do odd twists and turns, and one look into her mirror told her she was blushing profusely. Ignoring the warmth in her cheeks, she let her mind wander to the few minutes before Harry had sat up.
It was odd, how she could still feel the prickling of Ron's skin on the tip of her fingers. Her breath had caught in her throat when her fingers touched the scar. She'd anticipated that something might happen to her, but all she felt was a pinch on the tip of the fingers touching the scar. She also felt her mind go blank for a nanosecond, but then she went back to thinking about how she felt tiny electric shocks going through her from being so close to Ron. While she tried to keep hidden that she was enjoying the closeness very much, she saw Ron's eyes light up for a moment. That's when he had jumped and she'd dropped her fingers from his arm.
Then he'd looked over at her, incredulity etched all over his features. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were unfocused, as if he was looking at something that wasn't there. His ears were turning red at the tips, and his mouth was hanging open slightly. When he told her he'd seen something, her heart had begun beating faster. She had edged ever closer to him, not too much so that it was a subtle change. With her leg pressed against his, she'd asked him what he'd seen. But he didn't tell her. He seemed to be mesmerized by his own thoughts or his feelings or whatever it was he had seen—a mixture of both.
That's when she'd grown a bit frightened. The look on his face, of utter confusion and what seemed like a battle within himself, made her begin to worry. Maybe she shouldn't have touched the thought scars. Thoughts leave deep scars. That's what Madam Pomfrey had said. As she watched Ron's eyes start to grow clearer, she wondered whether maybe she'd caused more scarring, inside of him rather than outside.
But then her entire body had gone rigid, because she'd seen Ron's head move towards hers. It was slow and cautious, but nevertheless determined. Her whole mind froze, barely registering the thought of what he might be doing. All she could do was gaze at his freckles—how she loved his freckles—as they drew nearer. She found herself making eye contact with her and holding his gaze. She felt her own head moving as well…
"Dammit," she muttered, snatching her blue gloves from where they sat atop her desk. Roughly, she slipped her fingers into the gloves, gritting her teeth and trying to ignore all thoughts about the incident. The memory of it was pressing down onto her; her room was suffocating her with the gaping hole she felt inside at the mere reasoning of what could have happened but didn't. Gloves on, she grabbed her jacket, toppling the stuffed dog Pygmalion off from the bed, and rushed out of the room, biting her lip furiously.
Why had Harry woken up at that moment?
"Stop it," she said to herself to clenched teeth. "It's stupid."
"What's stupid?" said a voice behind her.
She turned and saw Harry leaning on the door of his room, buttoning his jacket over his emerald jumper. He was looking at her with one eyebrow slightly raised. She felt relief seep into her; his cheeks had already regained their natural color and he looked normal. Well, as normal as Harry Potter could be, anyway.
She gave him a weak smile. "Nothing."
He smirked. "Oh, please, Hermione. You know how Ron knows when Ginny's lying and can get it out of her in no time? The same goes for me and you. I can tell when you're not telling me something. So tell me."
"It's you and me, not me and you." She started walking away, hoping the warm feeling in her cheeks wasn't noticeable as a blush. Harry laughed and fell into step beside her, shaking his head.
"Just like you to give me a grammar lesson to change the subject," he said, grinning at her sideways. She couldn't help but notice that the smile didn't completely reach his eyes, which still looked clouded. But she didn't mention it; she didn't want Harry to get the wrong idea and perceive her concern as an opinion of him being weak.
Instead, she laughed softly and said, "I was just worrying about one bit of extra credit I was planning to do for Professor McGonagall that I haven't had a chance to get started."
Harry raised his eyebrows as they descended the stairs. "Well, I'll be a son of a witch. I'd never think I'd live to see the day when Hermione Granger dismiss schoolwork as stupid."
Hermione shoved him sideways gently. "Oh, please, Harry, it's extra credit. I don't necessarily have to do it."
"But you want to."
She rolled her eyes and said, "Drop it." Then she stepped down into the main hallway and saw Lennie standing in front of the ornate mirror on the opposite wall, setting a hat jauntily on top of her head. She apparently saw Hermione in the mirror, because she grinned and said, "Gotta keep the ears warm."
Hermione and Harry laughed as Lennie walked over and gave each of them a hug. Hermione smiled and said, "Are we all set?"
Lennie shrugged. "Ron was down here a minute ago, but he seemed a bit restless. He's in the kitchen, I think." Lennie glanced at Hermione strangely, and Hermione was suddenly aware that she was biting her lip and fidgeting with her hands. She looked at Lennie and said, "Er…he probably just didn't get enough sleep last night. He's always grumpy when he's at a lack of rest." Lennie laughed and Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief.
"RON!"
Hermione shot Harry a reproachful look. "Harry, why don't you just go get him? Is it really necessary to yell? Especially in my ear?"
"Better than walking," came Ron's voice from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him scratching the back of his head with his right hand. "You can't blame the poor guy; it's not like he can appear from one place to another." Ron and Harry exchanged grins at the casual reference to magic.
"You've been spending too much time with the twins, Ron," Hermione said, not looking at him and instead walking to the door. Lennie looked confused, but Hermione didn't bother trying to make up for Ron's oddness; she really wasn't in the mood. "All right," she said, sounding as business-like as ever. "My parents are in their library right now. They like to stay indoors when it snows. Anyway, they said we shouldn't stay out too long or we'll catch a bad cold. I think an hour will do."
"Sure," Harry and Ron chorused. Lennie nodded and said, "Good, let's not waste our hour by standing here and talking! Outside, people!"
Everyone laughed and walked out the front door, into the snow-covered front yard. Every inch of the floor was covered with perfect, white snow. Hermione smiled; she loved being home during Christmas holidays. The snow had stopped falling, and the sky was clear. There was only a slight breeze tickling their faces, and plenty of snow for…ammunition, of course.
"Ah, it's a winter wonderland," said Lennie, grinning. Harry and Hermione sniggered. Ron, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered. But Hermione ignored him. She really wasn't in the mood to explain.
Squeals reached Ron's ears as he dived behind a bush in front of Hermione's house to avoid being bombarded by snowballs. Lennie apparently had a fondness for snowball fights—one could only guess why—and had started one just minutes after they'd stepped outside. She was obviously quite the expert on snowball fights, like Ron to chess and Hermione to schoolwork and Harry to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"To each his own," Ron said to himself, sniggering quietly. He crouched low behind the small bush, regretting for once being so tall; his entire body frame could not be hidden by the petite shrubbery. Soon enough, Lennie had thrown one rather large snowball at his side, and she'd hit her target.
"Not bloody fair!" Ron said, grinning as he craned his head over to see what damage had been done. A large wet spot had appeared on the right side of his jumper, with bits of snow still embedded in the fabric. He was still inspecting the "injury" when another chunk of snow hit the side of his head. "Dammit, Harry, that's just inhuman!" he shouted as his best friend, rubbing the spot where the snowball had hit.
Lennie and Harry were standing a few yards away from him, clutching their stomachs; clouds of vapor rose from their mouths as they continued laughing. Ron gave shot them a conniving look as he bent down. He gathered as much snow as his hands could hold and packed it together, so that it created a large, hard snowball. "Oh, revenge is sweet," he said, as he drew his arm back and threw the snowball at the two giggling loons. It hit Harry, who pretended to crumple to the ground from the impact.
"Ron!" came Hermione's scolding voice. He turned to see her looking at him through narrowed eyes, her hands on her hips. Sniggering, he said, "I've got great aim, eh?"
She raised her eyebrows dangerously, and the smile he'd had on his face vanished. He knew he'd said the wrong thing, and he was most definitely in for a chastising session. "Can you get any stupider, Ron? You could have hurt him!"
Ron felt his ears begin to burn. Stupid, was he? "Sweet Merlin, Hermione, he was kidding. I didn't really knock him out or something."
Hermione gave him a withering look. "Oh, I suppose you think that's funny."
"He does!"
"That doesn't justify that!"
"It's a game, Hermione, can you relax?"
Her eyes grew narrower as she said, "You might be over what happened yesterday, but I'm not, and I would really appreciate if you acknowledged that. But since that isn't going to happen any time soon, I'll just sit out on the game, shall I?" With that she turned and trenched through the snow, leaving Ron standing there, looking incredulously at her retreating back.
"Sure, go ahead, it's your loss!" he yelled, and turned back to see Lennie and Harry watching them, a half finished snowball in Harry's hands. He knew he must have a sour look on his face. Managing to twist the grimace into a grin, he said, "What, lost your nerve, Harry?" His friend was still looking at him warily, and Ron knew he wanted him to make up with Hermione.
"Oh, throw the snowball, Harry, he's off-guard," Lennie said in a mock-whisper that was perfectly audible to Ron. He forced a laugh, but ignored the pair. His eyes wandered to the right side of his vision, where he could see the large tree that sat in front of the Grangers' house. He saw a dark shape beneath it, hugging her knees and apparently holding a book. Trust Hermione to bring a book out when they were supposed to be having fun.
"Incoming!" yelled Lennie, and he turned in time to see an airborne snowball flying towards him. It was slow, though, so he moved out of the way at the last minute and let it hit the snowy ground with a lousy thump. Lennie laughed and said, "Nice of you, Ron, to ruin the fun!" Harry shook his head, pretending to be disappointed in him.
"Haha, yeah. Er, guys, you think we could take a break?" His eyes met Harry's and he knew his friend understood; he wanted to try to make Hermione's mood better. Harry gave him an apprehensive look, one that was almost like a warning, before he nodded slightly.
"Well, Lennie, we could make some snowmen while the weakling takes his rest," Harry said to Lennie, grabbing a handful of snow. Ron shot him a grateful smile and left the two of them as he made his way toward the tree under which Hermione sat.
The minute he got within hearing range of her, he knew she was avoiding his presence. He could see her eyes firmly planted on the pages of her book but her eyes were not moving. He held back a small smile that was tugging at his lips as he plopped down next to her. Despite the fact that he was not too close to her, he felt her tense up, and mentally cursed himself for making her mad.
"What are you reading?" he asked gingerly, opting for small talk as the first choice.
"My favorite book. And no, it's not Hogwarts, A History. And no, your idea of small talk will not make up for you being inconsiderate." Her answer was curt and distanced. Ron bit back the retort that almost left his mouth.
"Oh." That was all he managed to say. Maybe if he just sat with her, she'd give in to his company and start talking to him normally again. In the meantime, he settled for placing his arms on his knees and relaxing, his back against the hard trunk of the tree. Trying to ignore the silence that fell over them, he watched Harry and Lennie begin to build the bases of their snowmen. He smiled; it looked fun, but somehow, despite the fact that she was in a foul mood, he was content sitting her with Hermione.
Without meaning to, his eyes moved over to her. She seemed calmer now. Her eyes were moving back and forth across the page. She was obviously immersed in the book, and his heart fell. She probably wasn't enjoying the warm feeling that came from the closeness of their bodies like he was. Slightly disgusted with himself, he shifted his eyes back to Harry and Lennie.
But no sooner had he started watching his friends than he felt his eyes tug towards Hermione. Weakness, Weasley, weakness. When he moved his eyes to rest on Hermione, he found to his surprise that her chocolate brown eyes were looking up at him. In the brief second they made eye contact, he knew that he had been wrong to think that his presence made no difference to her. She snapped her eyes back to her book before he could hold her gaze and she was still.
Ron let his head turned slightly, not caring that it was obvious he was looking at her. Because it was cold out, her face was paler than usual and he could see her freckles stand out again. He felt his mouth begin to turn up in a smile. He watched as her eyebrows flew up from something she read in the book; then she grew serious again, concentrated on the words she was reading. His stomach churned pleasantly when he saw a small smile placed on her lips as she continued reading her book. Must be some book.
Absentmindedly, he lifted his hand to rub a spot in the middle of his chest. For some reason, he felt an odd sensation stirring inside his chest, like if his lungs weren't allowing him to breathe properly. His hand traveled from his chest to his right arm, the arm with the scars that Hermione had touched the day before. The hand resting on the jumper sleeve of his arm made him think about the blissful moment he'd had with Hermione. He felt the feeling in his chest intensify, and he recognized it.
He'd had this feeling before, when he'd been with Hermione but hadn't been with Hermione. He smiled to himself; as usual, he was making no sense. There had been times when they'd been together and he had wanted to tell her, just come right out, make things easier. But there was an overwhelming part of him who feared that their friendship would crumble if the feelings weren't mutual.
Oh, bloody hell, they had to be! It was in her eyes; in the way she looked at him like she wanted to kill him but couldn't bear to have him gone and in the flash in her eyes when he did something that surprised her, whether it made her angry or excited. It was in her smile sometimes, the way she showed just how much she cared but demonstrated all too clearly how sheepish she was to admit it. It was in her hands, when she slipped them into his or caused fire to spread on his skin when she touched him.
But then there was the chance that he was lying to himself, that he was creating all those "signs" out of desperate hope and desire. It wasn't fair…he'd lasted this way for three years, and he didn't think he could last much longer. Especially not with arguments like these that they had. Not that they happened as often as before, but they were still occasional and just as disrupting.
"Are we friends?" The words had left his mouth without his consent, and he saw her turn her head to look at him. She looked taken aback by the puzzling question. You should consult me before you speak, you git.
"What? Of course," she said, looking at him curiously.
He sighed and turned his head away. Looking somewhere other than her eyes made it much easier to talk to her sometimes. "I'm just—just making sure." Her silence told him she still didn't understand, and he mentally cursed himself for bringing up the subject. "You know, the tables have turned since first year."
"Ron, you lost me. What are you talking about?"
He picked up a bit of snow in his hands and shrugged. "It's just that before it used to be me making you angry, you know, putting you down. In first year I did it constantly, always pointing out some flaw about you. But now, it's you who does that to me. And that just makes me wonder, sometimes, if we're really friends."
Hermione gave a soft sigh. He turned to look at her and saw that she looked at a loss for words. She took her gloves off her hand brusquely, threw them in the snow, and set stray strands of her hair behind her ears. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking her head gently. When she finally let her eyes meet his, she made a noise between a groan and a whimper.
Ron shifted his eyes away from hers. The image of the kiss from the thought scars flashed in his mind's eye. Why wasn't it real?…Why didn't he just tell her? You're too much of a bloody coward…it's a wonder you know your brain is in your head, Weasley. Her answer rang clear as a bell in his mind.
"We're friends." It was the most sincere thing he'd ever heard, and it made him want to take her and just hold her and ignore the world and hate and time. But he couldn't, and that made that strange pain in his chest worse than it had ever been before.
Then she did something that stayed in his mind forever. In later years, it made him think of chess, because of the subtle way of starting the game. It was the faint act of pushing a pawn to a new square, a new territory unknown to it but necessary to traverse to advance in the game.
Delicately, she nudged his knee with hers, letting hers linger on his for a second longer than necessary. When he managed to turn and look her in the eye—ignoring the small bursts of what seemed like Filibuster Fireworks in his stomach—he saw a new depth to the brown of the pupils, and he felt himself smile.
This nudge, her eyes…it was a completely new sign, and Ron could not think of a time when he had known he cared about her more than now.
Sunlight poked through the darkness behind Hermione's half-closed lids the next morning. She tried to ignore the spiderwebs of light that were bringing her away from sleep but her eyes opened against her own will. It took only a few seconds for her to realize that her throat felt dry and parched; a loud, raspy cough escaped her mouth. She noticed she was breathing through her mouth and realized she must have a stuffy nose.
Rubbing her face with her cold hands, she slipped out of bed onto the cold wood floor. She sneezed and felt the pain in her throat grow. "Oh, no," she croaked, feeling her eyes burn. Being out in the snow must have made her sick. "Mum was right," she muttered to herself, her throat on fire by the mere effort of talking. She sank back into her bed, closing her eyes to stop the burning sensation.
A few minutes passed before she lapsed back into sleep. When she awoke once more, she saw Harry and Ron talking in undertones at the end of her bed. Harry noticed that she was no longer asleep and greeted her. She waved a hand weakly and said, "I'm sick. I think I might have sat in the snow under that tree for too long yesterday."
"Are you serious? Aww, man, Lennie's already here!" Ron groaned.
Hermione shot him a reproachful look. "I appreciate your concern, Ronald."
"Sorry," he mumbled. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "Well, what are we gonna do?"
"We could stay here with you if you want," Harry said. "We wouldn't mind having a Chess Day."
Hermione smiled. "You don't have to do that. You guys play chess enough already. We need to be careful with feeding Ron's ego, or else he won't be able to walk by the weight of his big head."
"I'm right here, you know."
She ignored Ron's protest with a small smile and said, "Spend the day with Lennie. It's a few days till Christmas, anyway, so you deserve to have some fun. And, don't worry, she'll be nice about having to entertain the likes of you two for a day."
Harry laughed. "All right. I'll go tell her that, and I'll have your mum bring you breakfast."
"Thanks," Hermione said, her voice already losing its sound.
Ron watched Harry leave and then turned to look at Hermione. Feeling a bit self-conscious with his gaze upon her, she reached for the book on her nightstand and flipped to the page marked by her dragon shaped bookmark.
"Er…so do you feel really bad?"
Hermione looked up. Ron was walking across to her window, not looking at her. She put the book in her lap and said, "Not too bad. My throat just really hurts, that's all."
Ron looked over at her, his eyebrows raised, "Well, you just look like—"
She narrowed her eyes. "Ron, I know I probably look like I've got a tomato for a nose. I don't need you to point that out, thank you very much."
He scowled. "I was going to say that you look like you might want to rest a bit. You need to stop underestimating me, Hermione, because it's getting pretty annoying."
She bit lightly on her lower lip, disgruntled with herself. "Sorry," she said, rubbing her nose softly.
Ron turned his head to look at her. She looked up to see him giving her a lopsided smile, and she knew he wasn't angry. He turned to look back out the window, and it gave her a chance to study his eyes against the light streaming in. The iris looked almost transparent, the blue turned crystalline. There was something in his demeanor that made him seem happier. It was an extra spark in his eyes that made her stomach feel like she had swallowed several tiny birds and they were tickling her insides.
She was a bit disappointed when he started to leave. However, he paused at the door and leaned against the frame of it. He locked eyes with her and said, "You know…you're getting pretty good at chess."
Her eyebrows flew up. It was an unexpected comment—and one she didn't think true, for that matter—but accompanied by the intense look he was giving her, she felt pleasant chills go up and down her spine. "Thanks," she said, smiling.
He grinned back. "Get better," he said, "Harry and I will check up on you later." His eyes held the contact with hers for a few seconds longer than normal, and she felt a jolt as she was caught in the memory of touching his scar and being so close to him…
"Hey…Ron?" she said softly, just as he was stepping out the door. He looked back at her, expectant. She felt her throat close up as she realized what she'd been about to do. Her fingers shook in her lap as she said, "Um…say hi to Lennie for me."
Ron watched her for a minute, then said, "Sure," but his eyes remained serious. "I'll see you later then."
And when he closed the door with a soft click, an empty feeling resided in Hermione's stomach that made her realize how powerful a few words said could be.
Or, in her case, a few words left unsaid.
Hermione held one of Pygmalion's paws in her hands. She'd been softly stroking the cotton material of the stuffed animal. Her day was growing lengthy and tedious. She'd been sitting in her room, mostly reading but plenty of time staring into space, for a few hours now.
It wasn't even noon yet.
She set Pygmalion off to the side and lay her head back on her pillow. But her plans of sleeping some more were put off when her mother walked into the room gingerly. Hermione didn't have a chance to feign sleep, and a voice in her head actually encouraged her to stay awake.
Mrs. Granger sat at the end of her bed, watching her with a small smile. "How're you feeling, honey?" she asked, smoothing the covers over her daughter.
Hermione shrugged. "All right, I suppose…my throat doesn't hurt as much, except when I talk too long." She glanced out the window. Resenting that she could be spending the day with Ron, she sighed and said, "Mum, I need…well, I wouldn't really call it advice, because I know what I have to do, but it's not an opinion because that would just explain your views and not what you think I should do and—all right." She gave her expectant mother a sheepish smile and said, "It's Ron."
"Oh, I was hoping it would be him!" came her mother's almost immediate answer.
"I beg your pardon?" said Hermione, slightly taken aback by the delight evident in Mrs. Granger's voice. Her eyes were sparkling as she looked at Hermione.
"Well, you know…Harry's a dear, but I was quite taken with Ron ever since I met him," she said, her smile widening. "And he's a cute one, with those freckles!" She was very much on the verge of squealing.
Hermione felt her cheeks begin to burn. "Sweet Merlin, mother. This is not what I wanted my discussion to be about!"
Mrs. Granger attempted to look serious (although, Hermione noted with a bit of exasperation, she was still looking gleeful). "All right, tell me what this is all about."
"I just…" Now that she had her mother's attention, she was again at a loss for words. "How do I go about telling him?" she finally said, letting her shoulders droop by the weight of the task she'd mentioned.
Mrs. Granger raised her eyebrows. "Just the fact that you're willing to tell him is a good sign." She smiled and said, "Do you think he likes you back?"
Hermione looked away. The sunlight streaming in through her window turned into a light of projection, throwing into sharp relief many memories of spending time with Ron, when she'd been close enough to point out every freckle on his nose and decide the exact hue of the pale pink of his cheeks. She almost felt as if she were in those moments again, feeling Ron's hands against hers…She started. Glancing at her mother, she saw she'd left her waiting for an answer. Taking a deep breath she said, "It's quite complicated. At times, yes, but then…" She shook her head. "Maybe it's a stupid idea to tell him."
"But Hermione, if you really care about him, you don't want to spend your time longing for something and keeping yourself from having it!"
She watched her mother warily, looking for some change in her demeanor that would reveal that she didn't really mean what she said. But there was none.
"So it's best if I just come out with it?" Hermione said softly, reaching for Pygmalion again.
Her mother placed a hand over hers and said, "I really think so, darling. You'll never accomplish anything unless you try. Look at Hogwarts for a perfect example."
Hermione gave a small laugh. "Well, if it wasn't for me going to Hogwarts, I wouldn't be in this dilemma."
"Don't be too quick to pessimism," her mother said with a grin. "If I can read signs of young love—and I pride myself in being able to do so very well—then I doubt you'll regret 'confessing' to him."
With a slight roll of her eyes but a smile nonetheless, she said, "I hope you're right…" She paused for a moment and then said, "I think I'll go downstairs for a bit."
Mrs. Granger nodded. "Hermione, don't rush yourself into it, though. Just…wait for the opportune moment."
Biting her lip, Hermione said, "I will." Then she slipped out of bed, letting her feet fit into her blue slippers, and pulled on her bathrobe. "I'll talk to you later, Mum." With that, she began walking out of the room.
When she was at the door, her mother called her name. Hermione looked back to see her grinning. "But tell me," she said, almost mischievously. "You do like his freckles, don't you?"
Hermione smiled and felt a blush settling into her cheeks. She bit her lower lip once more and said, "Yes, Mum…they're absolutely endearing." Then with a laugh, she left the room, leaving her amused mother behind.
Walking on the cold floor of the stairs felt refreshing on Hermione's warm feet after having been under a blanket all morning. She tucked her hair behind her ears, attempting to hide the fact that it was a tangled mess. Glancing briefly at the mirror at the end of the stairs, she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Honestly, it doesn't even resemble hair…"
She was about to continue walking when she noticed Crookshanks was in her way. The way he was purring and stretching himself out in front of her made it quite plain that he was trying to distract her from where she originally intended to go. She grinned. "Not going to happen, Crookshanks." She picked him up and scratched him behind the ears. He purred loudly and licked her hand. "Oh, I spoil you too much," she said softly, putting him down. He gave her a reluctant look—obviously, he liked her arms much better than the wooden floor—and then prowled away, his ginger tail high in the air.
How is it that you can see anything and think of him?
"Ridiculous," she said to herself, watching the last signs of her cat-kneazle slipping into the kitchen. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she walked towards the living room, where she suspected her friends were. She was almost at the doorframe when she thought she heard her name. Turning, she found no one was there. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she entered the living room.
Her heart skipped a beat, and her blood turned to ice. She knew her mouth must be hanging open and that she was completely frozen on the spot, but she couldn't help it. Her friends were in the living room, all right. Ron had his elbows on the table where a chessboard was set up. Lennie was in the same position across from him, and they were exchanging grins.
Then something shifted and she felt her blood boil. Ron's eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she felt anger well up inside her. She was in no way angry at Lennie, but Ron…she closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lower lip. She saw herself in Ron's arms, and the anger intensified. When her eyes snapped open, she saw Ron standing, a concerned and mildly terrified look on his face.
"Hermione, what's--?"
She shook her head. Let him go away, far away, I don't want to see him. "Sorry to have disturbed you." Her voice was harsh, and she did not regret using that tone with him. She wanted to penetrate his skin so he could feel just how angry she was. Exactly why are you angry?
The voice that was usually clear and reasonable in her head had vanished, and she wasn't entirely sure why she was so hostile. But she let her words hang in the air, ringing like an invisible bell. She felt like she was watching a stop in time as Ron watched her, at an utter loss for words. Then she realized she was still standing there, as if waiting for an answer, and she most certainly didn't want one; not now, at least. So she turned and sped out of the living room as fast as she could, not glancing back once.
Ron felt his feet firmly planted to the floor. He didn't fully comprehend what had just taken place in Hermione's living room, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was not good. He'd seen the hurt look in her eyes when she'd seen him so close to Lennie. You great moron. You've been pushing her to the edge, and now you've gone too far.
His throat felt dry and his entire body felt numb. At a loss of what to do, he ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. But when he exhaled the deadened feeling in the pit of his stomach was still very present, and he felt choked.
"Ron." Lennie's voice reached his ear and he turned. She looked disappointed. "What are you doing?"
He held his hand out, palms upward. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"
Lennie's features were marked with incredulity. "Are you mad? You're supposed to talk to her, of course!" She let her head fall into her hands, and it was the first sign of discomfort he'd ever seen her show. With her hands still cradling it, she shook her head. "Oh, God, this is all wrong…I should have known better…I should have seen it…"
"What are you so bloody upset about? It's pretty obvious that she's mad at me!" Ron said, his words short, still feeling like his lungs were contracting.
Lennie looked up at him. "You don't understand, and I don't know how you can't, but that's not for me to figure out. One thing I do know, though, is that Hermione very well expects you to apologize."
"For WHAT?" Ron said, his voice rising with his temper. "I didn't do anything."
Lennie, for some reason, let a small smile cross her face. "No, it wouldn't seem that way. Go." When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand to stop him and then pointed to the door which Hermione had left through.
His face burning, he shook his head in confusion and walked briskly out of the living room, his entire being focused on figuring Hermione out. Or attempting to.
He found her outside, under the tree which both of them had been sitting under the previous afternoon. I always knew she was nutters. She had no coat on and she was barefoot, but nonetheless there she stood.
"What the hell, Hermione?" he said when he was in hearing range. She looked up at him sharply, her eyes colder than they had ever been. Just seeing their icy depth made Ron stop where he stood, still a few feet away from him.
"You are just despicable, Ron. I cannot even begin to understand how your brain works, if there is one inside your thick skull." The scowl on her face was hurt and irritated and he knew it would take much more than an apology to make amends.
He sighed, looking away. "Sorry, I missed the part where I did something wrong!"
She shook her head in disgust. "You know, I haven't seen as much of you as I'd thought this holiday. Now that I really think back on it, you've been neglecting Harry and me, and I finally understand why."
"Neglecting you? Hermione, I've been around you the entire time!"
"Sure, the few days you haven't been with Lennie!"
He paused, not knowing how to respond. He tried to think reasonably but the part of his brain that was fuming at the injustice of it all took over. "Me?! You're the one who left us almost 2 entire days to be with her! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were looking for a really good excuse to be mad at me!"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You are just…." She growled in exasperation, and that aggravated him some more.
"Why do you always have to do this?! Why do you always find it so hard to go one day without fighting with me?!"
"I have good reason to this time, Ron! I'm tired of having you as a friend most of the time, but the minute you find a pretty face, you go after her and forget that you even have friends! Do you know how that feels? To be ignored by your own best friend because of a girl he's interested in? I'm really tired of it, and I'm not taking it anymore!"
She's wrong. "Stop lying to me," he said. "Drop the act and just tell me why the hell it makes you so angry that I'm spending time with Lennie."
"You—"
"The truth, Hermione!"
She looked at him hard for a few moments. He felt his confidence weakening under her glare, but he held eye contact until she blinked and looked away. "You're so selfish," she said, no longer yelling. "You can't bear to think that you've done something wrong. You can't admit that you've been overlooking us, the people who have been loyal to you for years now. But you have, and I'm not going to ignore that anymore." She looked at the floor, and he saw that her hands, hanging limply at her sides, were shaking. "It's getting really difficult being your friend."
"You have no idea, Hermione," he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice for the sake of making up. But her words stung him, and he couldn't hide that.
"All right, Ron, tell me this: do you truly think that I'm wrong and you're right? Do you really believe that you haven't been disregarding us because you're so taken with Lennie?"
She'd looked up at him, and her eyes held no barriers. But she was testing him, and he knew it. Give in, dumbass, is you want her to even consider forgiving you. Who cares if she's wrong? Just say she's right! He swallowed his true words and said, "Fine. Yes. You're right. I like spending time with Lennie and I haven't been considering what you two think of it."
Her reaction was unreadable, but he knew she was surprised. However, he couldn't tell if she was surprised that he'd admitted to her being right, or surprised at the answer he'd given. "There you have it!" she said, intruding his thoughts. "Now do you understand why I'm so angry?! You're just as bad as you were in fourth year, Ron. All of you are." And then she looked him in the eye, and said, "That's why I've never, and don't intend to, take an interest in any guy at Hogwarts, because you're all just as selfish and loathsome!"
The words rang in his head. In that moment, with the snow about his feet and one of the people he most cared about standing before him with fury still in her eyes, he felt that no spell, no Unforgivable Curse, could cause him more damage than the words she had uttered. Unaware of every movement he made and every thought that raced through his mind he stood, and tried—but failed—to ignore the deep chasm that was forming within him. If he had stopped breathing, he wouldn't have been surprised.
"Checkmate," he said, the single word causing him more strain than he had ever felt before. And he held her eyes—wide and lost—for a short moment before letting his feet lead him back to the house.
The abyss he felt tearing him apart did not ease as he moved away from her.
A/N: ….review? Please!