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The Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off this site, and is for entertainment purposes only.
This chapter has been revised as of April, 2005 and contains new content. It has also been modified from the original NC-17 version is located at Checkmated, and is rated R.
Of Hearts and Heroes
Chapter Eight
Most of Gryffindor showed up for Ron and Hermione's surprise welcome home party. Dobby provided large piles of breakfast and lunch foods, pastries, sweets, and dozens of bottles of Butterbeer. It was just the sort of attention that Ron loved. Usually.
Today, he wasn't exactly in the mood for a celebration. Harry was nowhere to be found. And Hermione… Ron seemed to be having trouble forming even the simplest of words in her presence. Actually, he was having trouble speaking at all, which didn't exactly make him the life of the party.
Ron hid himself among a throng of laughing blokes, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that he was staring at Hermione. Ever since he had woken up this morning with her wrapped in his arms Ron hadn't been able to think of anything but her. Now, as she sat across the room, he wasn't able to look at anything but her.
It wasn't just Hermione he couldn't get off his mind. That Ron could deal with. The problem was, he had become completely fixated on her body. His mind was tormented with memories. The feel of her bushy curls against his chin and neck, her thigh wedged between his, her amazingly soft breasts pressing against his arm.
Her breasts. Ron could honestly say, that in the past he had managed to spend very little time thinking about Hermione's breasts. It might have taken monumental effort not to, but that wasn't the point. The point was, that now, he was obsessed with them. He was constantly dragging his eyes away from them. His hands itched to touch them.
Which was just great. Hermione was going to kill him. Ron would deserve it too. He was treating his best mate like the animal he was.
The thing that got him, though, was that she wasn't treating him like that…like an animal. Last night, she had been warm and giving and wonderful and so incredibly forgiving. There was nothing about him that deserved her. Hermione should be livid with him, not softly concerned.
Though, it did seem that something was wrong. She seemed more... shy maybe, embarrassed, even a little sad. Was Harry right? Was she thinking that touching her had made him sick to his stomach? That he found her repulsive? Ron had trouble thinking someone a smart as Hermione would think that. The idea was laughable. Maybe it was just the madness that had overcome him today, but Ron couldn't imagine anyone being more beautiful.
His eyes traveled her form. Hermione was sitting with Ginny, talking privately in the window seat. She was wearing a simple Muggle t-shirt and jeans. It showed every amazing curve. The arch of her shoulder, her supple breasts, the dip of her belly that peeked at him under---
"Ron, mate, you awake?"
"Huh?" He blushed, looking up to see Seamus addressing him. Dean, Neville, and several fourth and sixth year Gryffindors were all looking at him expectantly. Shite. Did they notice that he had just been staring at Hermione? Ron realized that he had a Butterbeer in his hand and took a long swig while he tried to calm himself.
"I asked you if you were ever going to tell us where you got those wicked scars," Seamus repeated eagerly.
Bloody hell, didn't one of them have a lick of sense? Why the hell would he want to talk about that? "I really don't remember much, I was cursed and all. Neville knows the story better."
Neville blushed. "You tell it Ron, you tell great stories."
It was true. Ron loved telling a good story. He loved the feel of all eyes on him, hanging on his every word. He had learned just how to weave a tale over the years, for maximum effect.
"Nah," Ron shook his head. "You go ahead. You'll tell it better," he encouraged. He was infinitely grateful when Neville finally started to haltingly tell the story, distracting all the prying eyes away from him. He hoped his friend would have the sense to leave most of the details out.
Now, where was he? Right, he was about to indulge in an incredibly inappropriate fantasy about his best friend. Ron was going to imagine what it would have been like to have kissed Hermione yesterday. He pushed away the nagging thought that it would have been wrong, instead…
Ron would have leaned down, just a bit. They had been so close. He could still feel her amazing breasts crushed up against his chest. He would have just needed to drop his head an inch. At first, he would have brushed her lips lightly with his. Then, he would have pulled back to meet her eyes, just to make sure it was all ok. Instead of the revulsion he feared, her beautiful brown eyes would have been warm and welcoming and full of desire. For him.
Next, Hermione would put those small, strong hands in his hair and draw him back down. This time she'd kiss him back, her soft lips sucking, biting… Blimey, would she open her lips and let him in? Would she let him taste the inside of her mouth? Would she let Ron touch her? Run his hands over the breasts that he couldn't get out of his mind?
The answer to those questions was obvious. No. No, she wouldn't let him touch and kiss her that way. And if she did, then she shouldn't, because she didn't deserve a quick snog and if it were to be more…like a relationship….
Damn, being in a relationship with Hermione. The thought made it hard to breathe. Is that what Ron wanted? It was a terrifying thought. It would be so intense. He didn't think he was mature enough for a relationship like that. Especially not with Hermione.
He'd just end up disappointing her. How could he not? And after that, he would lose her and there was one thing he knew for certain. Ron couldn't live without Hermione. He slumped farther into the chair. Now, he was depressed.
Where the hell was Harry? You would think he could at least make an appearance at his best mates' party.
Neville's story drifted to him. Thankfully, he was leaving out most of the details, but still it was a bloody dismal tale. The more Ron listened, the more he was convinced that the story was going to drive him barking. He was hanging on by a thread as it was.
Two figures climbing through the portrait hole caught his eye. Ron sighed with relief. "Oy, Neville, that's enough, mate." Ron gestured toward Harry and his cousin with a sharp jerk of his head. Neville flushed, understanding. There would be no more stories.
Ron looked over Harry. He seemed to be frowning and looking around in a daze. His cousin pointed at Ron and dragged him over. She pushed him into the sofa opposite Ron. Kicking off her shoes, she climbed onto the sofa and sat behind him. Harry seemed grateful that she took charge.
"Sorry, we're late," Adrianna said. She poked Harry, probably to get him to apologize as well. He didn't.
Instead Harry asked, "What's going on with Hermione and Ginny?"
Ron shrugged. They were most likely sharing the moment of his greatest humiliation and talking about what a prat he was. "Girl stuff?"
Harry gave him a sympathetic look and Ron was glad that he had finally shown. Especially since…Oh shite, the girls were coming over. Now what the hell was he supposed to do?
Ginny took the seat next to Harry on the sofa and… Bloody hell. Hermione squeezed next to Ron. Shite, oh god.
She was leaning forward asking Harry how he was feeling…or something. Ron had lost all ability to form language, or understand it apparently. Hermione's leg was pressed up against his, like it had been a thousand times before, but now... now all he could focus on is the powerful sensations originating in that one spot.
She was touching him. Hermione was touching him. Ron should have known something like this was going to happen. He should have listened to his instincts and gone on avoiding her touch. Now the flood gates were open and she was driving him mad.
A loud, "Whoa!" jerked Ron back to reality. He tried to shift away from Hermione to clear his head. There wasn't much room to shift. When he glanced at her he instantly regretted his move. He saw hurt on her face. He had insulted her. How could he make her understand that he simultaneously craved her touch and hated it? He didn't even understand. It was completely daft.
"Er…" Ron stammered, not sure what to say to make it right again. He looked around at his fellow Gryffindors. Had something just happened? "Um, what's going on?"
Hermione's expression turned from wounded to concerned. "Adrianna just… Are you all right, Ron? You seem really out of it?"
Out of it? He was out of his mind was what he was. Why was she leaning closer? He began to breathe faster. Oh god, Hermione was touching his forehead, checking for a fever. It never felt like that when his mum did it. It never burned. Maybe he was delirious. That would explain a few things.
"I'm fine," Ron choked, trying not to pull away from her but unable to stop himself.
Fortunately, Hermione became distracted, turning the painful intensity of her gaze away from him. Ron tried to follow the action around him. Through the fog, he realized that Seamus had a bottle of Firewhiskey. In front of Hermione? How thick can he be? Not even Ron was that daft. Or brave.
"Seamus Finnegan, what do you think you are doing with that?" Hermione demanded. Fury radiated from her. Shite, she looked good when she was angry.
Seamus scowled at her, pulling the bottle back. Now he realized his mistake. A little late. Hermione was going to flay him alive. "Drinking it. Having Fun," the Irishman shot back mockingly. Ron would have shook is head if he'd had the energy. So Stupid.
"Not any more you're not. Hand it over!" Hermione held out her hand and tapped her foot. She looked like McGonagall. God help him, she looked adorable. What did that say about Ron? He grimaced.
"Why should I?" Seamus argued, digging himself deeper and deeper. Maybe he was just drunk, Ron had never seen his dorm mate act so recklessly. The Irishman held the bottle where Hermione's five-foot three-inch frame couldn't reach. Didn't he realize she could still hex him?
"You will give it to me, because I'm a prefect and if you don't you'll spend your last three nights at school in detention."
Ah, so that was the mode of attack Hermione was going with. Ron would have preferred the hexing or punching strategy, much sexier. God, he was a pervert.
Seamus scowled at her and slapped the bottle into her hand. "You are such a bloody prude, Hermione."
Ouch! Now he was definitely going to get hexed…or punched. But Hermione did neither. She maintained her calm, huffing off to the stairs.
"Hey, where are you bringing that?" Seamus demanded. Apparently, he hadn't learned his lesson.
Ron was hoping he'd goad her good. He was somehow itching for a battle. He didn't have the strength for one himself. Besides, the idea of Hermione being even angrier at him right now made him ill.
"To throw it down the girls' toilet," Hermione responded primly and flounced away, as if embracing her prude label and flaunting it. Ron noticed the way her hips swayed when she flounced. Blimey, he lusted after a prude…prim, proper, perfect. It only made him hotter.
"I can't believe her," Seamus griped, angrily.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, it wasn't very smart to pull that out in front of her."
Dean chimed in, "You know how she is, mate."
"Yeah, a goody-goody, a prudish old-maid, a cold-fish. She wouldn't know a good time if it bit her in the arse."
Ron felt a strange combination of anger, indignation, and embarrassment. Hermione was straight-laced, but Seamus was taking it too far and the last thing she was cold. Shite, if he defended her, would they all know he how he felt about her? How did he feel about her?
The Irishman was on a roll. He slurred a bit when he said, "Can you imagine anyone wanting to kiss her? It would be like kissing ice!"
That was enough for Ron, now he was going to have to pummel the prat. Ice his arse---
Adrianna laughed, "You are kidding, right? Hermione?" Confusion and curiosity brought Ron's eyes to the Empath.
"She is rather prissy," Harry said to his cousin. Was he defending Hermione or Seamus? Adrianna looked at him as if he had no sense at all.
"It's just," Neville chimed in to explain. "She's not like other girls. She's not passionate---"
Adrianna's loud incredulous laugh reverberated through the room. "Not passionate? What are you talking about? How long have you known her? Have you even met her?" She looked at Ginny, seemingly expecting Ron's sister to agree with her.
Ginny shrugged. "They don't get it. They're only boys." As if that explained everything. Ron wondered if he should be insulted.
Adrianna slid down from her perch on the sofa and sat between Harry and Ginny. She rubbed her hand on her forehead, shaking her head with frustration. "Ok, I'm going to give you boys a tiny, but much needed, lesson in women and passion."
Every bloke in hearing distance perked up and came closer. Ginny gave a sound of disgust and leaned back into the sofa, away from them.
"Passion is the capability for intense emotions," Adrianna began, as if giving an important lecture. "When someone is passionate about something or someone, a guy for example, they focus all of that energy on them. That display, with Hermione, that was passion."
The Gryffindor men looked skeptical, but Ron had a sudden image of Hermione pushing him against the wall, crushing her lips to his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth…
"Seamus, did you see that spark, that fire in her eye when she demanded your Firewhiskey? That fire is in her soul, right under the surface."
Ron turned fantasy Hermione and lifted her against the wall, as he tore off her shirt. Her skin burned him.
"That intensity that she directs toward being a prefect, or getting good grades, that's passion."
He imagined her studying him like one of her books. She would pull off each piece of his clothing slowly, examining him, running her hands over him, reverently.
"She's also the kind of girl that thinks for herself. She only enforces the rules that she believes in. The rest, she shreds as suits her."
The scene changed, Ron and Hermione were in the Transfiguration classroom. She was clad only in knickers, sitting on a desk, kissing him, and clutching at him vigorously. Oh god.
"You boys really need to learn to look below the surface."
Ron's image of removing Hermione's knickers with his teeth was interrupted by a flurry of bodies as they backed away from the tight circle. He looked up to see Hermione walking down the stairs, a look of suspicion on her face. Six blokes stared at her with new appreciation. Only Harry had the grace not to drool. Ron's hand flew to his face. Was he drooling?
"This is your bag, isn't it Ron?"
He turned slowly, realizing that Adrianna was addressing him. Ron stared at her in confusion as she placed the bag he had brought back from the infirmary in his lap. She then turned her attention away from him as if it were nothing.
He flushed even darker as comprehension dawned. She knows. She read his thoughts… Ron clutched the bag to him to hide the evidence of his arousal from the rest of the room. It was just in time, as Hermione was crouching in front of him, looking into his eyes. Oh god.
"Ron, are you sure you're all right? Your eyes are all glazed over and feverish. Are you sick?" She took his head in both of her hands. It felt so good. "You feel warm… and sweaty."
Sweaty? Sweaty Hermione… He was sick. A sick, sick puppy.
"Ron you should go upstairs and rest. You've had too much excitement," Adrianna told him in a commanding tone, wrestling his attention away from Hermione.
He nodded gratefully and staggered to his feet. Ron couldn't string two words together, so he grunted at Hermione as he passed her, on his way to the stairs. He was careful to hold the bag in front of him.
Halfway up the stairs, he looked back and saw Hermione staring after him with concern. He had a flashback to the classroom fantasy and he walked more quickly up the steps. What Ron needed was a shower…and a really really cold shower.
Hermione leaned against the common room window. She had been there practically since the beginning of the party, the party supposedly in her honor. But instead of celebrating she was listening to Ginny tell her about the information she had gathered on Adrianna the day before.
Hermione eyes unwittingly wandered across the room to Ron's form, hunched in a comfortable chair, surrounded by rowdy Gryffindors.
"He's staring at you, you know."
Her eyes jerked back to Ginny. Hermione smiled forlornly and shook her head. "No, he's just staring." She looked him over, feeling confident that he wasn't seeing her. "He's actually rather dazed. I'm a little worried. He's been glassy-eyed and out of it all day."
"Dazed with lust for you," Ginny drawled melodramatically, then giggled at Hermione's obvious discomfort. "Seriously, he's been checking you out."
Hermione really needed Ginny to stop giving her false hope. It was making her heart ache. Ron had been distracted and distant since they had woken up together that morning. He had merely blushed and stammered when she woke and mumbled an apology, scrambling back to her own bed before Madam Pomfrey could arrive. He hadn't mentioned it since. He hadn't said much of anything since. Not to her anyway.
It wasn't a good sign. Looking at him now, Hermione worried that he might be seriously distressed that they had slept together…slept in the same bed, that is.
Maybe he felt that she had taken advantage of him or maybe the idea of being so intimate with her had left him mortified. That or he his health was regressing. Hermione didn't know which possibility upset her more. Actually she did, and she didn't like the kind of person that made her.
Desperate for a diversion, Hermione asked, "So, what was that thing with Snape?"
"Shirty, aren't you?" Ginny rolled her eyes. Hermione wondered if she'd be so flippant if she understood how dismal the situation was. "I didn't get a chance to ask Adrianna about it. She up and left to go find Harry. You can ask her yourself, though. I ran into her this morning and she said she'd bring Harry to the party. Actually, I think she said 'haul his ass,'" Ginny said the last part in a reasonable imitation of an American accent and broke off laughing.
Hermione cracked a small distracted smile as she scanned the room. This time she managed to not linger on the object of her affection. The party had been going on for quite a while now. Adrianna certainly hadn't done a good job 'hauling' anyone. She thought of how disappointed Ron must be that Harry wasn't there. "Is she really the best person to ask?"
"Hermione," Ginny said with a sad but resolute expression. "She's the only one who can find him these days. Not to mention, make him do anything."
The older girl frowned deeply. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. "These days? She's only been here for three."
This Adrianna thing was already spiraling out of control. Harry was far too vulnerable. Somehow, Hermione was going to have to get her mind off the boy whose bed she shared last night….oh heavens, had he smelled good this morning….and back to more important matters. If she didn't do something soon… She didn't want to think of what the Empath could do to Harry.
"Yeah, I know. She better be for real or I'm personally hexing her to next Tuesday." Ginny grinned cheekily, but the older girl knew that fear was not far from the surface.
"Oh, thank heavens." Hermione placed a hand on Ginny's knee. "There they are, climbing in now." She watched Adrianna guide Harry into the room and over to the sofa across from Ron. Harry looked drawn and pale…thin. "You haven't seen him in the Great Hall at all?"
Ginny shrugged. "I dragged him there myself yesterday morning, not that he ate much. Otherwise, no. I haven't even seen him talk to anybody but us…and Adrianna."
Adrianna had perched herself above Harry on the sofa. It looked very relaxed and casual, but Hermione could tell from the position she could see most of the room. She was wearing what amounted to white pajamas and her hair was in a long black ponytail. She looked like she had just come back from a yoga class, but to Hermione she looked like his samurai bodyguard.
"Come on, let's go." Hermione and her friend made their way over to where the others were sitting. Ginny took the seat next to Harry on the sofa. Probably to guard Harry from his bodyguard, if Hermione knew her friend at all.
There was plenty of room on Ron's big chair. Forcibly pushing away her reservations, Hermione squeezed in next to him. She was determined to act normal. She couldn't go acting shirty with Ron now. It would only raise his suspicions higher. The last thing she needed right now was him realizing just how much she fancied him and how much it was hurting her that he didn't fancy her.
She sat pressed up next to him, as she had a hundred times before. Why did it feel so different? Hermione swallowed and forced herself to concentrate on Harry. "All right, Harry?" she asked earnestly.
Harry gave her a panicked face and muttered, "Er... all right."
Hermione immediately recognized her mistake. Fortunately, so had Ginny, who quickly offered a distraction, asking, "Harry, want a Butterbeer?" She was already leaning over the coffee table and trying to find a full bottle. Hermione was grateful for the Weasley capacity for subtlety and diplomacy, for it was something she often lacked. What would she do without Ron to keep her from barreling forward?
"You're out of luck, mate." Seamus grabbed a bottle of the table. "This is the last one."
Ginny frowned, seizing the bottle out of his hand and saying with exaggerated sweetness, "So nice of you to save it for us."
"Hey, give that over." Seamus lunged for the bottle as Ginny held it out of his way.
"Not a problem." Adrianna lifted the Butterbeer out of Ginny's hand. "Entire Bacchetta." She snapped the fingers of the other hand and her wand appeared in it.
Hermione's heart raced. Did she just Apparate her wand? Without a wand?
"Who are you?" Dean asked, awe in his voice.
Wasn't that just the question of the hour? Harry made introductions as Hermione watched Adrianna carefully. The witch placed the bottle on the table and waved her wand, "Duplisis." The younger girl's stomach clenched as she watched the bottle double and double, until sixteen bottles sat on the table.
"Whoa!" Seamus exclaimed, taking a bottle and chugging it. "It's good."
"Same as the original," Adrianna said, as if they should all know. As if it was the most common magic in the world.
Hermione felt Ron jerk and pull away from her. She felt an instinctive pang of hurt. Was she that repulsive? "Um, what's going on?" he asked, looking around.
Her brow furrowed. Ron was flushed. He must really not be feeling well. "Adrianna just… Are you all right, Ron? You seem really out of it?" Concern overcame self-preservation and she placed a hand on his forehead. He was warm.
Ron jerked away, making Hermione regret the rash way she had touched him. "I'm fine," He snapped.
He was not fine. He had better not be allowing his discomfort over her attraction to him affect his health. Hermione was just about to tell him so, when her attention was diverted by Seamus pulling out a bottle of…
Firewhiskey. Firewhiskey. What the hell did he think he was doing? And right in front of her and Ron. At their party. Did no one have any respect for their position as prefects?
"Hey, could you double this for me?" Seamus asked Adrianna.
"Yeah and how old are you?" the Empath laughed.
Hermione was not about to let that woman address the issue. That was her job. "Seamus Finnegan, what do you think you are doing with that?" she demanded.
The pompous prat pulled the bottle back. "Drinking it. Having Fun."
As if he was the only one who knew how to have fun. Hermione knew how to have fun. Sometimes. In her own way. "Not any more you're not. Hand it over!" She held out her hand.
"Why should I?" Seamus held it up in the air, out of her reach.
It was a cheap shot, using her height against her. Did he think she was going to reach for it like an idiot? Hermione was going to hex his arse back to Ireland if he kept this up. As unfun as it was, she took her position as prefect seriously. "You will give it to me, because I am a prefect, and if you don't, you'll spend your last three nights at school in detention."
Seamus angrily slapped the bottle into her hand. "You are such a bloody prude, Hermione."
Prude! Prude! She was not…. She'd… Hermione turned, her head held high, and made for the stairs before she lost her last bit of self-control and did hex him. That or burst into tears. She wished Ron wasn't listening to this. Though, he probably agreed. He certainly wasn't defending her.
"Hey, where are you bringing that?" Seamus screamed after her.
Hermione rolled her eyes. She was going upstairs to get drunk, what did he think she was doing? How thick could you get? "To throw it down the girls' toilet."
She was fuming as she stomped up the stairs to the girls' dorm. But try as she did to focus on the anger, the hurt kept coming through. This is what they thought of her. They thought she was a prude, no different than a professor, barely a girl. Certainly not capable of enjoying herself.
Why would anyone want her as a girlfriend? They probably thought she'd do nothing but nag and order them around. Probably thought she wasn't even interested in kissing. Well, she was. Hermione wanted a good snog as much as anyone. Though at this rate, she was never going to get one.
Hermione paused at the entrance to the girls' lavatory and looked down at the bottle in her hand. Her hand clenched around it, involuntarily. She had the sudden, frightening urge to drink. It was absurd. She would be throwing away everything being a prefect meant to her, just because of something Seamus Finnegan said. Did she really think that would make Ron fancy her more?
On the other hand, just because she was a prefect and couldn't allow drinking in the dormitory, didn't mean…that it was never ok. Hermione wasn't a prefect during summer break for example. She was curious just like anyone. She wanted to have fun. She could be down right adventurous if she wanted to be. On occasion.
Feeling liberated and quite proud of herself, Hermione snuck into her dorm room. She placed a cloaking spell on the bottle, making it appear to be a notebook, and hid it on the bottom of her trunk. Right next to her day planner. Prude, indeed. Take that Seamus Finnegan! Not that he'd ever know it was there. Anyway, it made her feel better.
Her confidence wavered as she descended the stairs back to the common room and felt all eyes on her. Well, not all…but the group gathered around Harry and Ron. They had clearly been talking about her. Hermione cringed, thinking about what they may have said.
She took a deep breath, determined not to let anyone see her flustered. Chin up. Hermione made her way down the rest of the stairs. Prude or not, at least she had her dignity. The blokes dispersed in a futile attempt to appear as if they hadn't been gossiping like a bunch of old maids, laughing at her.
Hermione got a better look at Ron. He looked positively dreadful. Now, she was really concerned. This was almost certainly a reaction to the brains. Madam Pomfrey shouldn't have allowed him out of the infirmary.
Ron didn't even seem to see her as she made her way toward him. This was more than a little embarrassment. Hermione crouched in front of him, looking into his eyes. The bright blue depths seemed cloudy. "Ron, are you sure you're all right? Your eyes are all glazed over and feverish. Are you sick?"
Hermione reached out to cup his clammy cheeks with her hands. This wasn't good. "You feel warm…and sweaty." She needed to take him back to the hospital. The brains could have affected his metabolism or they---
Adrianna spoke before she had a chance. "Ron, you should go up stairs and rest. You've had too much excitement."
Hermione tensed as fury welled up in her. How dare she! That…that…really annoying woman! Bossing about Harry was one thing, but Ron. Ron was hers. Before Hermione could tell Adrianna exactly what she could do with her unsolicited 'concern.' Ron was nodding and pushing past her, mumbling something incomprehensible.
She watched open mouthed as he ascended the stairs. God, Hermione hated that Empath. This was her business. Ron could be seriously, mortally ill. "I should go upstairs and check on him," she said, standing.
Then she had the nerve to say, "He just needs some rest." Adrianna wasn't at all concerned.
Well, Hermione was concerned. "I need---"
"That's not a good idea," the bossy, doesn't-know-how-to-stay-out-of-other-people's-business witch said. Then Hermione realized. Adrianna had read Ron's emotions. She knew he was repulsed by her and that he needed to get away.
"That's really not it," Adrianna stated calmly.
Now she was responding to Hermione's thoughts, which ticked her off to no end. Fire flashed in the teenagers' eyes. She locked them with Adrianna's. "Who do you think---?"
"Blimey," Harry interrupted, wonder in his voice. "You're right."
Adrianna had the nerve to smile, "Of course I'm right."
Hermione heard a muffled giggle from Ginny and rounded on her. "What?" she demanded.
Ginny didn't flinch. "Oh, nothing. It's nothing." She was lying. Of that, Hermione was certain. She wasn't even trying to hide it with that grin of hers.
"You were talking about me," Hermione bit out. It was a statement of fact. She turned her hot gaze to Harry, who withered and shook his head rapidly. Adrianna just shrugged. Everyone else in hearing distance moved even farther away.
Hermione took a deep breath. Carefully, she gathered the hurt, the worry, and the desperation, and focused it on beautiful fury. She looked between her friends and tried to decide exactly where she was going to start her angry tirade.
A clanking noise moved all attention to Adrianna's wrist. The older woman moved back her sleeve to reveal a charm bracelet heavy with medallions. One such charm was whirling wildly, hitting into the other coins and talisman. The Empath was very serious when she grabbed the medallion. Peering at it closely, she finally rubbed it so it stopped spinning.
Adrianna looked up at Harry. "It's the MIA. I've got to take care of this." She placed a hand on his shoulder as she walked past him. Harry looked panicked at the prospect of her leaving and she paused. "You three should go get some air. It's awfully…stuffy in here." She turned her gaze to Hermione. "I'm sure Ron would appreciate a visit after he's rested."
The woman's gall knew no boundaries. If she thought she could dictate to Hermione---
But catching Harry's relieved expression, Ginny had already agreed to the plan. "Sure, that sounds great, right Harry?" He nodded, gratitude clear in his expression.
"Good," his cousin nodded, heading for he portrait hole.
Hermione watched her go, bile rising. She really, really disliked that woman. She didn't care how many books she owned.
Ron was sitting on the hard floor, clasping Hermione's cold limp body against him. He forced his mouth open to scream and instead, a rush of air came in. His eyes snapped open. Instead of the fogy halls of the Department of Mysteries Ron saw the familiar burgundy of the velvet drapery surrounding his dormitory bed. It should have been comforting.
But even thought this wasn't the first time Ron awoke gasping from the image of holding Hermione's lifeless form. This time, he couldn't roll over and touch her. This time, there were only the cold sheets and the filtering moonlight and the still forms of his dorm mates just beyond the curtains.
Ron sat up, needing to put distance between him and the sleep that brought on the nightmare. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He needed her. He needed to touch her. He needed to know she was all right. He needed it now. God damn it!
Yet, when Hermione was with him, Ron couldn't stand it. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't think. In less than two days, he had gone from mildly preoccupied to completely obsessed. She filled his every waking hour…well, not just waking.
He wasn't even making sense any more. He'd be in the loony bin by the end of the summer, just from the strain of not seeing her.
Ron wondered if there was anyway to get into her dorm. Maybe he could run to the Owlery and send Hermione a message to meet him in the common room…
Ugh! This was crazy. Meet her downstairs? He couldn't even be alone with her anymore. If he met her downstairs then Hermione would be wearing a thin nightgown and her hair would be all wild from sleep… Ron'd do something stupid. He'd just have to touch her and then he wouldn't be able to stop and then…then he'd ruin everything.
Just like he almost ruined things today…yesterday. What time was it exactly? After he left the common room, Ron had taken a cold shower, but the cold had done nothing to relieve the ache. In the end, he just gave up and had himself a nice wank.
Well, not just a nice wank. Imagining his best friend naked and wet, pushed up against the shower wall, Ron had the best bloody wank of his life. He was a pervert. It was official.
Yet, when he went back to his dormitory and lay down on his bed, Ron finally felt sane. His thoughts were clear. He had thrown himself across his bed and pulled out that lovely massacre book. It had been such a relief to let the stories of blood and mayhem wash his mind of Hermione.
It was working brilliantly, until she came up to make sure Ron was all right. Why did she have to be so damn caring? Didn't she know she was driving him mental?
Hermione had sat on the edge of his bed, his bloody bed. Home of adolescent fantasies. Dirty adolescent fantasies. She had looked so innocent, so concerned, and so god damned beautiful that Ron couldn't stand it. He knew that he had to touch her. He knew he was going to pull her down onto his bed and pin her there like the animal he was and crush her lips to his and…
He had jumped out of bed like it had caught fire. Ron saw that Hermione was hurt and confused. He tried to cover it up with saying he needed some fresh air. He even asked her to go outside with him. It didn't matter. It didn't lessen pain in her warm brown eyes.
What was it he should he have done? Ron didn't have a choice. He had to get her out of there. Away from the place where he slept and dreamed and god damn wanked! They needed to be around witnesses for god's sake. If she didn't want to be ravaged then they needed a… a barrier.
If she didn't want… That was the rub. The problem was that hurt on her face. That could mean that Hermione did want him. Maybe not to ravage her, but maybe to kiss her. Bloody hell. What if she wanted him to kiss her? Did that mean he should? Even if she wanted him now, how long could it last? Where would it go?
On and on the questions went. One thought after another, chasing its own tail. Confusion was the only thing that he felt that made any bleeding sense. In the end, all he felt was fear. Fear that he'd end up alone and miserable, alienated from Hermione forever.
So trying to see Hermione was out, then. Ron was stuck in this oppressive bed, his thoughts racing, knowing that when he eventually fell asleep, the nightmares would begin all over again. He didn't think he could stand it. Ron was suffocating in this velvet prison.
With more energy than anyone should have at this hour of the morning he climbed out of bed, intent on taking yet another shower. It had worked this afternoon to relax him. Ron wondered what his mother would think when he came home and started taking showers every few hours. He'd cause a bloody draught by the end of the summer.
He emerged from behind the curtains, expecting to find a still and empty room, his dorm mates safely tucked away, their prying eyes hidden from Ron's shame. He froze as his eyes came upon Harry sitting on the wide window ledge, his knees drawn up, and his forehead against the pane.
Harry stiffened at the sight of him and for a moment they just stared at one another, each having been caught vulnerable in the dead of night. They had nothing to be ashamed of, yet they both were.
Finally, Harry sighed, breaking the stare. He turned his eyes back to the grounds below. When he spoke it was in the quiet tone of someone too tired to bother with embarrassment for long. "What are you doing up?"
Oh, Ron was going to the loo to wank off thinking about his best mate. But don't worry, it wasn't Harry. No, it was the other best mate. That wouldn't bother him, would it?
Ron swallowed. "Couldn't sleep. You?"
Harry smiled a bitter smile. "Same."
Ron felt himself drawn to the window and he sat with his back against the glass, staring out at the quiet room. The humiliation faded and he began to feel comforted by Harry's presence. It had been a long time since it was just the two of them.
After a long silence Ron asked, "Nightmares?"
Harry gave a short bitter laugh. "I didn't get that far."
Ron echoed his wry chuckle, looking down. "You're lucky."
A beat of silence followed. "What are yours about?"
Ron took a deep breath. Did he really want to tell? "Hermione."
"The vomit thing?" Harry asked in a much lighter tone.
He looked up to see a small smile on Harry's face. Ron blushed and smiled back. The smile only lasted a moment. "No, the Avada Kadavra thing."
A sharp hissing breath came from Harry and they lapsed into their longest silence yet. Ron turned his head and studied his friend. Misery tainted Harry's every feature. His best friend caught him looking. He met his gaze with a strange intensity.
"I can still see it," Harry said. His voice had a rock-hard edge to it. "His lips moving without words, then a streak of blue and she crumpled. Just collapsed on the floor. I was sure she was dead. One of the worst moments of my life," Harry said the last in a whisper and turned his eyes back out to the grounds. "And that's saying something."
Ron had to close his eyes against the image Harry had created. They stung with threatened tears. He bit them back, finding anger instead. "Why did she have to use that god damned silencing spell?"
"She…" Harry sighed softly, shaking his head. "He was trying to call for the other Death Eaters. That's why she silenced him. She wasn't trying to block the spell, it was just a coincidence."
Ron gritted his teeth, taking in the new information. He shook his head sharply. "She still should have stupefied him."
Again Harry laughed that laugh. The bitterness was harsher this time. "She should have stupefied him. I should have stupefied him. We shouldn't have been there in the first place." He paused seeming to struggle for control, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them he met Ron's gaze directly. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."
Ron shook his head rapidly, guilt coming over him. He shouldn't be taking to him about this. Of course, Harry would blame himself. Ron hadn't meant to make him feel worse. "It's not your---"
Harry cut him off sharply, "Then whose is it?"
"The Death Eater's. The one who cursed her," Ron said quickly, realizing it was true only after the words were out.
Harry's gaze turned below again. Ron watched his jaw work, watched shame and self-recrimination turn to rage. Harry nodded. "Dolohov."
Ron sucked in his breath. "He was the one?"
"I can still see his twisted ugly face."
Fury consumed Ron, it's presence cleansing. "If I ever get my hands…" he trailed off as Harry's head turned sharply and their eyes met with an angry ferocity. In that moment, their fellowship had never been stronger.
Harry gave a sharp nod. If Ron didn't know better, he would have sworn the two friends had just made a pact to kill the Death Eater on sight.
After about two hours of staring at her canopy, Hermione had moved to sitting on her window ledge, staring out at the Hogwarts grounds. It amazed her that after only one week she couldn't sleep without Ron beside to her.
The scene below her was still and boring, leaving her mind free to reflect on things better put aside. But Hermione's body wouldn't let her forget. It was restless, it seemed to crave Ron's touch, if only his hand lightly surrounding her wrist, feeling for her pulse.
Though the thing that really kept Hermione tossing and turning was the thought that at this very moment Ron could be calling out for her and she wasn't there. She winced, remembering the horror in his voice from the night before. Then she became warm and flushed thinking about the way he had held her tightly for the rest of the night. It was horrible how much pleasure Hermione had received from that embrace when she knew it was born out of Ron's pain.
Even so, Hermione couldn't help but crave those moments of mutual comfort. They were the only times that Ron would let her near him. During the day, he couldn't stand to be alone with her. He shrank from her touch. But at night, at night Ron was hers.
Hermione seriously considered sneaking into to his dorm room. But then what? Climb into bed with him? Spend the night? It did sound wonderful.
Of course, he wasn't exactly alone in that room. Hermione could just imagine the look on Seamus' face. Oh, yes, his dorm mates would love that. Ron wouldn't be able to tolerate the teasing. He'd stop talking to her all together. Or get himself expelled for fighting. Or both. Most likely both.
No, sneaking up to his dormitory, as enticing as it was, was not an option. Besides, they would be home in less than three days. Why continue to feed her addiction when she was going to have to live without it.
They would be separated for weeks or months. There would be no midnight rendezvous…not rendezvous, that was far too suggestive. No opportunity for any nighttime comfort. Yeah, that was better, she thought sarcastically.
The summer. Hermione knew it would be one of the hardest of her life. They hadn't even discussed visits with all that had been going on. Maybe Ron would want the time apart. It might be more than two months before she saw him again.
She let out a lung full of air at the thought. Even though part of her was looking forward to being free of the constant, maddening, push-pull from Ron, the idea of being separated made her heart hurt. She was so vastly pathetic.
Hermione sighed, looking over the emptiness of the Hogwarts grounds one more time. There was no point in contemplating this any longer. There was nothing Hermione could do about it tonight. She might as well do something useful.
She climbed down from the window ledge and came around to her bed. Hermione pulled down her heaviest draperies, the ones that shielded all light. She fetched her wand and the Empath diary from its hiding spot and climbed up into bed. Hermione placed her lit wand above the book, at the head of the bed, and rolled onto her stomach to read herself to sleep.
The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was reading about the birth of Adrianna Brookfield's first child. When she awoke, sunshine was coming through the cracks in her drapery. Her wand was still lit.
And the diary was gone.
Thank you to RedMoonChick, kjcp, JenB, and Texasmagic.