Chapter Two: Paranoia
Setting: Gryffindor common room, Monday evening at 8 o'clock. During Harry's second meeting with Dumbledore.
Ron.
Eh . . . yes, 'Mione?
Don't look at me like that! I'm not accusing you of anything.
Who said anything about being guilty?
You did. Just now.
No, I—
This doesn't have anything to do with that Fanged Whizbee from a while back, does it?
No, I—
You're ears are turning red.
No, I—
You aren't looking me in the eye.
I haven't done anything wrong, alright?
Then why are you blushing?
(Silence)
I changed my mind. I don't want to know.
Then what do you want to know? You're the one who started his conversation.
Oh. Yes. About that.
Well?
Harry's getting a little . . . strange, don't you think?
Strange?
Oh, I don't know . . . paranoid, maybe?
Paranoid?
Yes, Ron, paranoid.
Paranoid?
Are you repeating my words on purpose to annoy me or are you trying to reinforce every detail so that you can go tell Harry about me fraternizing with the enemy again?
Fraternizing?—ah, never mind. No, it was funny because—well, quite frankly, you're being paranoid right about now.
I'm just worried, Ron.
About Harry? If you ask me, he just hates Malfoy on a deeper, more determined level than us.
Do you really think that Malfoy is a Death Eater?
N—no, not quite—
But you think it's a possibility.
Now why would we even entertain such a theory? Hmm. Let's think—yes, Hermione, I can think—the guy spits "Mudblood" at you every chance he gets. His dad is locked up in Azkaban. He's got silver hair.
Apart from that last bit—I can't even begin to think what sort of connections your brain makes—it makes sense that he could be. But Harry's really convinced. He's not even trying to get our opinion. It's like he takes it as a fact of life.
I still don't know what you're getting at, Hermione.
It's just making me nervous.
He hasn't cracked, if that's what you mean.
I'd expect you to be a little more concerned about your best friend.
Don't get me feeling guilty just because you are about suspecting that Harry's gone over the bend.
I was just asking what your opinion was. Goodness.
Since when did you start asking for my opinion?
Since we're all in danger of being killed, tortured, or ordered around by Voldemort. It's positively driven me mad, hasn't it, resorting to asking for a friend's opinion! And I wish you wouldn't cringe like that every time I say Voldemort.
I don't cringe . . .
VOLDEMORT!
ARGHH! I mean . . .
If anyone should act like you, Ron, it's Harry, but I don't see him running to his giant teddy bear. Oh, wait, you don't have one . . . got turned into a giant spider, hasn't it?
(Pause)
Why do you always compare me to Harry?
I don't always compare you to Harry!
Yes, you do. I'm not Harry, you know.
Does this have anything to do with me saying that Harry was getting fanciable?
NO! Well—
If you want frothy little compliments from a girl, go see Lavender. She's been eying you like a demented hawk for the last month or so.
Really?—NO, Hermione—
You can't possibly be jealous of Harry.
I'm not jealous of Harry!
And for your information, I don't fancy him.
Then who do you fancy, Hermione! You bristle up like a Blast-Ended Skrewt around every guy except Harry.
I do not.
—And Vicky. Whatever happened to Krum, anyway?
(Silence)
That was horrible. I take it back.
No—no—it's okay. You're right.
I—I am?
I'm the one who's been horrible to you, Ron.
What?
I am resisting saying sarcastic remarks even now.
Oh.
As for Krum—our letters sort of petered out. It's hard to keep up something over a distance of hundreds of kilometers and a sea of Death Eaters and Dementors.
So you did have something?
I can't lie that he really just, you know, swept me off my feet.
He swept you off your feet!
I've stopped resisting those sarcastic remarks momentarily, sorry. No, Ron, I was fourteen and foolish. He means nothing more to me than a friend that's kind of hard to understand.
Oh—good—er—
You always hated him after that Yule Ball. Why was that?
Do you really want me to answer that, Hermione?
(Silence)
No. Not—not yet.
(An uncomfortable half-hour passes, in which Hermione turns pink at intervals and Ron's ears become steadily redder)
Think Katie Bell will be up for the next match?
Ron!
AN: For future reference, this fic will not completely consist of Hermione and Ron bickering. I don't want you guys to get sick of it. This was a lousy chapter, I admit, because I tried too hard (and I'm too lazy to rewrite it). Next time, I'll just let the characters go off on their own.
