HERMIONE'S VALENTINE, by Eldrice
A/N: Well, I always hoped one day to come back and fill in that missing scene. And now, after four months of letting it stew, I got the idea and wrote it out in less than twelve hours. I hope it leaves everyone much more satisfied than the original ending I wrote! I certainly had a blast writing it, especially like the last few paragraphs, so make sure you read that far! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, but especially to wingsrookie, who got me thinking about this little story again after all these months.
Standard Disclaimers Apply: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & Co., Inc. in its entirety.
Chapter Six
"My heart is a bargain today. Will you take it?"
- W.C. Fields
Hermione Granger opened bleary eyes. Everything was spinning, so she stared dully and with determination at tiny chip in her wooden bed post.
Ugh, she thought.
Did she dare move? Groaning, she rolled over and yanked her quilt over her head. This was so humiliating. Not only had she embarrassed herself completely in front of Pansy Parkinson yesterday, but then she had to go and get sloshed on one measly half-cup of mead. Even Ginny – small, innocent, naïve Ginny – had drunk a mug without succumbing to the irresistible urge to climb up on her four-poster and sing a Latin translation of "Take Another Piece of My Heart Now Baby."
Hermione grimaced.
And I will not think about Ronald Weasley. I will not think about Ronald Weasley.
She flung the quilt to the floor and immediately wished she hadn't. She'd never noticed before just how much sun came through the windows in the morning. Her head throbbed with gleeful malevolence as she looked drearily around the room, lit dimly by the sun that was just breaching the horizon. Thank heavens, everyone else was still asleep. Company was the last thing she needed.
With a moan she tumbled off her bed and stuffed her feet into her slippers.
Her usual morning routine, unchanged since her first year of Hogwart's, made her feel somewhat better. She grabbed her robe and shampoo, showered, brushed her teeth, and pulled on her favorite pair of old jeans and a warm, chunky sweater her mom had given her for Christmas. There. Now she felt somewhat more human and a little less like the scum one finds in not-too-clean bathtubs.
She stuffed her homework into her shoulder bag and grabbed several quills and sheets of parchment. If she could make it through the day without having to see anybody (yes, not just someone in particular, but everybody), that would be ideal. And the best place she knew for that was the library. There was a tiny, hidden nook on the third level where she could curl up for the day with McGonagall's Transfiguration essay. She smiled. This would be a good day.
Careful not to wake the other slumbering Gryffindors, Hermione tiptoed across the room and opened to door, muttering Silentium and tapping the wood with her wand to keep it from creaking. She walked down the stone staircase of the girls' tower, watching her feet carefully as she went.
She reached the Common Room without mishap. Well, that's good, she thought happily. Now if only I could make it this easily to the –
"Ouch!"
Watching her feet instead of her path, she had run into something that was large and breathing and covered with a soft wool sweater that smelled rather good, like cinnamon. She looked up in annoyance, ready and willing to snap at the innocent blunderer, and then gulped.
Ron Weasley.
Damn, damn, damn and blast!
"Oh, hi Ron," she said, certain her cheeks were flaming. For some reason she couldn't lift her eyes any higher than his stomach.
"Hey, Hermione," he muttered, his face equally scarlet. He had both hands clasped behind his back, as if hiding something. He opened his mouth once or twice, and then brought his right hand forward and shoved something silvery in her direction. "Here, I was coming to give this to you."
Ron must have clenched the paper in panic when he saw her, for Hermione had to smooth out the rumpled paper to see what was written on it. When she did, she gasped.
The valentine she held in her hands, addressed to her (her!) in beautiful, flowing script, was probably one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. And where did Ron learn how to make fairy letters?
"Ron, it's beautiful," she breathed. She looked up and gave him a tiny, faltering smile. "Thank you."
"It's not as good as yours was."
"Yes, it is. It's better."
"But only because I cheated and used magic. You actually worked on yours."
"It's still lovely."
And that was that. They stood there looking rather foolishly at each other, grinning and not really knowing what to say. Hermione, without really articulating the thought in her head, knew that without either of them saying anything the horrible events of yesterday had been forgiven and forgotten. (Forgotten? Forgotten! Forgiven, yes, but, do you really want that to be forgotten . . .?)
The silence lasted until Ron's eyes flicked to one side and focused with a sudden interest on two figures curled up before the fire.
"Look, Hermione!" he said, his voice approaching the casual bantering tone that was habitual with him. "There's Harry and Ginny asleep. Wonder what they're doing here?" And he frowned.
Hermione's gaze followed the direction of Ron's pointing finger, and there, sure enough, were Harry and Ginny, each curled up in a stuffed armchair before the fireplace. Ginny's face was turned into a cushion so all that could be seen of her was a cascade of fire-colored hair. And Harry was sprawled loosely in the armchair across from her, his long Seeker's arms flung out on either side. His mouth was hanging open, letting a slight, wheezing snore escape. Sunlight glinted off his askew glasses.
"Should we wake them?" she whispered.
Ron shook his head. "No," he whispered, leaning close so that his breath tickled the hair tucked around her ear. Hermione tensed, but didn't move away. "Don't tell him I told you this, but Harry hasn't really been sleeping recently. Let him rest."
"Not sleeping? What do you mean?" She turned to look at him. He was awfully close.
Ron shrugged his shoulders. "That's it. He just hasn't been sleeping. I asked him about it one day and he nearly tore my head off."
"Oh."
Ron was looking hesitantly around the room. "Uh, look here, Hermione. I was, uh, going to go for a walk down by the lake . . . see the giant squid . . . and – er, d'ye wanna come?"
Hermione blinked. She hadn't expected this. Her brain fumbled furiously for an excuse as her mouth opened and shut. But she came up with nothing. For some reason, all plans to study in the library were forgotten. "All right," she finally said in a tiny voice.
Her eyes had fallen and fastened on the spot where Ron's belly button would be, so she hadn't noticed the happy grin that flashed across his face.
"Excellent! Look, go get your coat and stuff and meet me down by the kitchens? We'll nip a bite first."
She ran up the girl's staircase and flung open the door to her dormitory, not caring anymore who she woke up. But only Lavender mumbled and rolled over in her sleep. Hermione grabbed her coat, scarf, hat, and mittens, and tumbled downstairs and out the portrait hole.
Ron was waiting for her by the kitchen entrance. "Here, eat this," he said, holding out a large piece of pastry. "And the house elves already had this all prepared for breakfast, so don't start on about exploiting their labor or anything like that. You would have eaten it anyway."
"Thanks, Ron," she grinned, chewing happily. She was famished. And food would probably calm that funny queasy feeling in her stomach.
The giant clock chimed eight times as they walked through the entrance and made their way down to the lake. It was a beautiful morning, Hermione thought happily. Snow had fallen the night before, turning Hogwarts into a dazzling ice castle and the grounds into a gauzy wonderland. The air was chill and biting, and she breathed deeply in order to feel it tickle in her throat. She glanced sideways at Ron, noticing that the cold had caused his pale cheeks to flush slightly.
But the silence was beginning to unsettle her. Why wasn't he saying anything? Looking at him a little more closely, she saw that the corners of his mouth were uncharacteristically grim. Was he still angry with her?
They had reached the lake shore. Without a word, Ron sat down on a log that was conveniently placed several yards from the water's edge. He stared gloomily out in front of him. Hermione dropped down lightly on the other end of the log, preparing herself for the worst.
The giant squid was playing in the middle of the lake, ripping huge slabs of ice apart and hurling them one by one into a ring of seaweed in the middle of the water. It was an awesome display and made Hermione realize why no one ever went ice skating at Hogwarts. Ron was watching as if fascinated.
But she couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Look here, Ron," she began in a miserable rush. "I'm so dreadfully sorry about yesterday afternoon. Don't be mad, please? I mean, it's just that Parkinson girl, she made me so furious that I acted without thinking. It's the way she simpers actually, and that smirk. And really, she shouldn't be telling stories like that to first years. I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't approve. And, really, I was just doing my duty, and it could easily have been Harry or Neville, I didn't truly care and – "
"Hermione, would you be my girlfriend?"
"What?" The words had come out in a flood, all jumbled together, so that the only thing Hermione had heard was: "Hemee, wood be miguffin?"
Ron breathed deeply, closed his eyes, and forced the words to leave his mouth slowly, as if each one was a toe gingerly feeling its way into ice cold water. "I – uh – was just wondering, I mean – if you wouldn't mind . . . you don't have to say yes if you don't want to, but – but . . . I was hoping you'd be my girlfriend."
"Your girlfriend!"
"Yeah."
"Oh. I thought that's what you said." Hermione sat in shock for several seconds before reaching up and tucking a strand of hair beneath her woolen hat. "All right," she said slowly.
"Really?" Ron turned to her with a look of shock on his face. "Are you serious?"
"Don't be so dense, Ron! Of course I'm serious!" Hermione said crossly, not sure why she sounded so cross because she really felt dazzlingly happy. "I wouldn't say yes if I didn't mean it, would I?"
"I guess not," Ron said. "You're not really one for jokes."
Hermione decided to let that one go, and they kept themselves distracted from what had just happened by watching the giant squid toss glaciers like ice cubes for several minutes.
Finally Ron screwed up the courage to say something. "So, uh, now what do we do?"
"You want to go back to the castle already?" Hermione's voice sounded somewhat hurt.
"No! Definitely not yet. I meant this whole . . . girlfriend and boyfriend business. It's kinda funny, isn't it? What do we do? How does it all work?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I don't really know."
"What do you mean you don't know? I thought you and Krum were all . . . well, you know." Ron shuddered. "I was counting on you to be the expert here. And isn't there some secret club for girls or something, where you all talk about stuff like this?"
Hermione giggled suddenly and turned to face Ron fully for the first time. She smiled up into his eyes, and Ron felt his stomach turn into a trapeze artist and start doing aerial flips madly through his abdomen. "Ron! Victor and I were just friends, honestly! Nothing more. I only acted like we were sometimes so that . . . well, so you'd be jealous."
"Really?" Ron was astounded. Did girls actually think that way? Ginny was the only specimen besides Hermione that he really knew, and she wasn't like that at all. When she wanted something, she went after it, and no dithering about making people think one thing or another. With Ginny, you always knew where you stood. At least Harry was lucky in that respect.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "And there's no secret club. Or at least I'm not a member. So you see I'm just as lost as you are."
Ron felt a tiny butterfly of panic start to flutter in his stomach. "You mean we have figure this out all on our own?"
"Yep!" Hermione said cheerfully.
He swore.
They sat silent for several more minutes.
"Well," Ron said slowly. "I guess we'll have to hold hands, pass notes, study together, all that stuff, right? And I'll have to buy your drinks in Hogsmeade."
Hermione blanched, and Ron wondered why she got a sudden sick look on her face. "Just no mead!" she choked out.
"All right. Butterbeer's your favorite anyway, isn't it?"
"And you like Fizzing Whizbees!"
They grinned at each other in a silly manner until Hermione decided that such behavior was rather foolish.
"Right," she said briskly, folding her hands in a business-like manner. "As for the other stuff, we already study together, so that's taken care of. I'm not sure what kind of notes to write, but that's something we can save for next Valentine's Day." She gave him a sly glance. "But the hand-holding we should definitely work on immediately."
"Well, that's settled then. First step: hand-holding . . . you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. But do you think we should do it in public?"
"I don't know . . . aren't there public health ordinances about that sort of thing?"
Despite his serious tone, Hermione knew he was telling a joke by the way he held his breath, his cheeks puffing out with the effort of not laughing.
"Well, that would be very worrisome," she said solemnly. "I'll have to do some research on the issue. The library has the whole collection of wizarding regulations."
"Excellent idea. However, there's no one here right now, so I think we're safe. Do you want to practice for a bit?"
"Sure."
Hermione removed her left glove, Ron his right, and there were a few seconds of awkward fumbling.
"Ow, Ron, that hurts! You're twisting my fingers!"
"Well, if you'd keep your hand still for one bloody second, maybe I wouldn't have to! Honestly, Hermione, you're squirming like a flobberworm!"
She snatched her hand away and glared. "How dare you compare my fingers to flobberworms!"
"Hermione, it was a joke!"
"Not a very good one, I think."
They glared at each other with mutual frustration. Ron's ears were flaming red, and Hermione's hair was bushing out from below her hat.
"Ron!"
"What!"
"That note thing you were talking about? I don't like it. It's so silly, passing mushy letters about addressed to 'dear,' and 'darling,' and 'Sweetums.' And could you imagine, what would happen if Snape caught us?"
Ron blanched at the thought. But he also breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had seen Fred once spend an entire afternoon agonizing over the perfect way to write a letter to Angelina. It had been maddening to watch. He didn't want that. "I'm liking the way you think, Hermione. So we don't want any mushy love letters. Agreed?"
"Firmly. Not for us."
"Excellent. You know, I think we might end up being pretty good with this relationship stuff after all."
"Ron!" And this time, there was true warning in her face, and Ron could tell that something was honestly troubling her.
"Now what?" he asked somewhat nervously.
"Don't think that just because I'm your girlfriend now that I'll start letting you copy all my work."
"Hell, Hermione!" he groaned, admitting to himself that he had actually been hoping for that exact thing to happen. "That's what girlfriends are supposed to do: help their boyfriends. I mean, it'd look weird if you didn't. People might talk, or think you really don't like me at all."
"I don't care," she snorted, poking him in the chest before crossing her arms. "You can just go right on penning your own essays as always. And you better promise that you won't go cuddling up to any other girl for help, either."
"What, you think I'm desperate? I'm not that stupid, you know!" Hermione huffed in response, but Ron was laughing silently to himself. Cuddling up to some girl other than Hermione? The idea had been unthinkable for years. "But fine, I'll promise! But you have to promise me something in return."
"What?"
"Next time I go into Quality Quidditch Supplies, you have to come. And we get to stay as long as I want."
Hermione paled, and her mouth gaped. "No!" she choked. "That's not fair! It's against the rules to copy someone's work, and I wouldn't let you no matter what you gave me. You can't use something like that to bargain with!"
"Well, that's my offer. I promise never to ask you to finish my essays, but only if you go into Quality Quidditch whenever Harry or I want. Promise?"
Hermione wrestled with her conscience for several seconds. She knew she could keep Ron from copying her work regardless, but she also knew that he would keep pestering and badgering her with requests until she went mad. He could be damn persistent when he wanted to, and once he set his mind on something, that was that. Maybe it was better to substitute one afternoon of boredom for a guaranteed peace every night . . .
"I promise," she grumbled.
"Good." He reached out and snagged her hand, and Hermione was surprised to notice that this time it felt quite pleasant, really, all warm and soft. He wasn't clenching nearly as tightly as before.
But Ron was squirming nervously, and Hermione watched him with curious eyes. "Ron, what's wrong?"
He felt a slow flush was building under the collar of his sweater. "Well, there's just one more thing, Hermione."
"Which is?"
"Snogging."
"Ron!"
"Well, I mean, how do you feel about it? It's what people do, right? So we should discuss it. And after yesterday, I know we both have experience."
Hermione flushed deeply and turned with a proudly jutting chin to watch the giant squid. "That didn't count."
"What do you mean it didn't count? You had me by the freaking ears!"
"Ron, that was just a bet! It's a lot different, you know, sitting here and you smelling all nice like cinnamon. . . I'm so sorry, by the way," she hastily redirected the conversation from dangerous topics like cinnamon. "Did I say that before? It didn't hurt, did it?"
"It was like getting hit by one of Fred and George's bludgers," Ron grumbled.
"Oh."
"But snogging. Do you think we should do it?"
"Um . . . I don't know. Why, do you want to?"
"Er . . . maybe. But only if you do. I mean, I'm perfectly happy with a no-snogging relationship if that's what you want . . ."
"You are? Well, it does seem like a very practical way to approach the whole thing, doesn't it? Not nearly as messy. And no one coming upon you in dark corridors in compromising positions."
Ron felt something warm stir within him at the idea of compromising positions. But he kept a carefully non-committal face. "Yeah, I don't want that."
"So . . . no snogging?"
"No snogging."
"Well. I feel a lot better having talked that over, don't you?"
"Oh, yes. Absolutely."
Ron released Hermione's hand and drew his knees up into his chest, wrapping his arms around them for warmth. He was suddenly very cold. Hermione tossed her hair primly and stared fixedly at an evergreen branch that arched over their heads. Ron turned his head to look at her, and thought about the way her lips pressed firmly together in concentration whenever she was absorbed by reading, except for that one adorable corner that would twitch ever so slightly . . .
"You know what, Hermione? That's a bloody stupid idea!"
Hermione let out a sudden and breathy laugh, her whole body deflating with happiness. "Oh, thank heavens you said that! I didn't want to be the first."
"I mean, we aren't kids, are we? We can snog wherever we damn well please!"
"Well, not everywhere, Ronald . . ."
"So come on, turn this way. Let's try it."
"What! Are you insane? Here? Now? Outside? You?"
"Well, do you prefer the giant squid, milady? Dammit, Hermione, you're my girlfriend now. This is how these things work."
She started giggling at the thwarted possessiveness so obvious in his face. "I don't know Ron, I might have to reconsider. A girl doesn't come across eight sticky tentacles every day, you know."
He stared.
"Ron, I was joking!"
"Oh, good. I wasn't sure there for a second . . . "
Their eyes met and held, and Hermione felt her breath falter. Were those flecks of gold in Ron's eyes? And how had she never noticed before that perfect grouping of freckles right at the tip of his nose? And if she looked closely, she could see streaks of auburn where his hair was beginning to darken, and the slightest fluttering of pulse at the base of his throat . . .
Hesitating, she reached out one trembling hand to draw him close.
"No, Hermione," he said firmly, catching her hand and holding it fast. He blushed. "This time, I go first."
FINIS