Chapter 1

A/N: Welcome and thanks for reading! I've been working on this fic for the last several months and I'm excited to post the first chapter. This is going to be a Muggle AU set in the American Midwest. The story will be split into roughly two parts. A quick note about format - for the first part of the fic (Chapters 1-10), each chapter will detail events taking place in the "present" and will also have a flashback scene explaining how our favorite protagonists got to where they are. As the chapters go on, the events in both timelines will proceed chronologically and divulge more of the current events and backstory. I've timestamped every section in case there's any confusion about where you are in the timeline. I hope you enjoy it!

As always, a big thank you to accio-broom for giving this the old once over!

September 15, 2012, 6:00pm

The car door slammed as I was putting the finishing touches on the bruschetta. Her shrieking voice carried into the apartment through the small kitchen window framed with red and gold drapes, which was propped open just enough.

"Asshole!" she cried, her screams echoing down the narrow Lakeview side street. "Nobody cares about your fucking great uncle!"

I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I dried my hands and meandered over to the entryway.

Not again.

Swinging the door open, I found her standing barefoot on the welcome mat, one of the spaghetti straps of her short black dress sliding down the side of her shoulder and a pair of black stilettos hanging from her pinky. A wrinkled eggshell jacket hung asymmetrically over her right arm, a large red wine stain adorning the lapel. Her long brown hair was pinned up in a messy, loose bun on top of her head, curly locks escaping in every direction, and the thick eyeliner under her lower eyelashes had mixed with tears and smeared all the way down to her cheeks.

Behind her, a tall, muscular man wearing dark sunglasses and dressed in a bright yellow mesh tank top and black skinny jeans flipped her off as he climbed back into the driver's seat of his silver BMW convertible. I sneered at him as he revved the motor and attempted to peel out, only to stall the engine. My friend stepped forcefully over the threshold, slamming the door behind her as Friday night's douchebag tried to restart his car.

She leaned back against the wall next to the door frame. Her feet extended out away from the baseboard, and she dropped her head into her hands, releasing a frustrated growl into her palms. Stepping in front of her, I straddled her legs so I could look her right in the face. I placed my hands on her cheeks and ducked my lanky frame to meet her eye line.

"Frizz. Why? Just…why?"

"Oh, fuck off, Ron," she said in an exasperated tone, swatting my hands away. "You're not perfect either, so don't try to get high and mighty on me again. And for the last time, stop with the Frizz bullshit. My name is Hermione, not fucking Frizz!"

I snickered as she glared at me, keeping my eyes locked on hers the whole time. Her face scrunched up even further in anger as I continued to smile at her misfortune, and she reached out and slapped me on the shoulder.

"Ow!" I cried, taking a step back. "No need to be so hostile about it!"

"Dammit, Ron, I've only been awake for two hours and this day is already the worst! I'm not in the fucking mood!"

"First of all, it's six o'clock in the evening…your sleeping habits are atrocious. Secondly, don't take it out on me! I'm the one who can help make your day better. I'm the one feeding you tonight, you'll recall. And you're going to love tonight's dinner."

"Well, if I'm going to have to deal with this all night, please tell me now and I'll just…go to Taco Bell or something."

"Oh really, Taco Bell?" I goaded.

"Yeah, Taco Bell! At least they won't judge me at Taco Bell!"

"I can't believe you'd compare my cooking to Taco Bell. I know I'm no professional chef or anything, but I can do better than Taco Bell."

"Yes, you can. But I could do without the side order of snark."

"Fair enough. But, c'mon, don't crucify me here. It's not like I made you…trip over your shoelaces or anything," I said with a wink.

Hermione tilted her head to the right, throwing me a sidelong glance as she failed to withhold the smile that was creeping onto her face. All at once, she burst out laughing as she pushed herself off the wall and dropped her shoes at her side. I beamed at her and stepped forward again, wrapping my arms around her as she dropped her insulted facade and fell forward into my embrace. Her fingers crawled along my side to my back, sending a shiver down my spine. Small puffs of her breath warmed my skin through my t-shirt as her giggling subsided.

"It's completely unfair that you're still able to manipulate me like that after all these years," she said into my chest.

I laughed and gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head before stepping back and holding on to her shoulders at arm's length.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my expression sobering.

Her smile faded, but she nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. He was actually nice to me…for a minute or two, at least."

When I raised my eyebrow at her in disbelief, she frowned back at me, crossing her arms over her chest.

"He really was! But, in the end, he turned out to be a prick. Why do they all turn out to be pricks? Is every guy in Chicago just…just a massive, egotistical prick?"

"Certainly every guy that dresses like that."

"Ha ha, Ron. I'm serious, though! It's like every single one of you mouth-breathing Y-chromosomes banded together and decided to use as little of your brains as possible."

"Well, sure," I answered, trying to keep a straight face. "I mean, how else would we have enough blood to run our dicks?"

Hermione stared at me with a deadpan expression, her eyes narrowed to thin, caramel slivers, holding my gaze as long as possible before smirking at me. She shook her head and chuckled as she slid past me towards the dining room.

"I fucking hate you sometimes. We've been friends for almost twenty years, and I actually adore you, but I really fucking hate you sometimes."

September 6, 1995, 8:25am

Ron was late. The morning sun was shining as he dashed along the first base line of the school baseball diamond and up the sidewalk to the front door of Hillside Middle School. As he ran, he made a point of stepping on the first crunchy orange leaves of the season, freshly fallen from the row of large oak trees lining the drive up to the building.

When he burst through the doors, the school nurse eyed him with a weary expression and shook her head.

"Mr. Weasley, it is your first day of sixth-grade. How is it that the year has just started and you've already managed to be tardy?"

Ron flashed her a big, goofy grin and shrugged. "Years of practice?"

Mrs. Pomfrey rolled her eyes at him and made a mark in the attendance log as he took off down the long hallway. He knew vaguely which direction he was headed, but this was his first time going to the lion wing of the school, the section that would be his home for the next three years. As he skidded around a corner, he came face to face with Mr. Filch, the janitor, and slowed down.

"In an awfully big hurry, Mr. Weasley?" the greasy old man taunted.

"Umm, I'm just looking for room 713. It's my sixth grade classroom," Ron replied as he tried to catch his breath.

Mr. Filch pointed his crooked finger down the hall before grunting, "Third door on the left. Better not be late."

Ron gulped and nodded, furious with himself for already having a run-in with the most odious person in the whole school.

His mood improved as he entered the classroom, though. Mrs. McGonagall, his new teacher, seemed strict, but his face lit up when he saw his best friend Harry sitting near the back of the room, an empty desk beside him.

"Saved you a seat!" Harry called out over the chaos.

Ron jogged back towards him and tossed his backpack on the desk before plopping down in the hard plastic chair.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked, turning in his seat to face Ron.

"Alarm didn't go off this morning. Then Percy stole the shower before I could get in. He said it was his right because he's in high school. He's such a jerk sometimes."

"Sorry, man. Hey, have your brothers told you anything about this teacher? She looks kind of mean, don't you think?"

"Fred had her a couple years ago. He said she was fine, actually. Although, now that I see her, I wonder if he was lying to me again."

"Well, we'll find out soon enough."

"Hey, who's that?" Ron said, squinting as he looked up towards the front of the room. He pointed at a girl with bushy brown hair who was seated near the teacher's desk.

Harry craned his neck to look around Dean Thomas, who seemed as though he had grown four inches over the summer. "I dunno. Never seen her before. She must be new."

"Everyone settle down and take your seats, please!" Mrs. McGonagall said. "And I suggest you do not become too comfortable as we will be utilizing a seating chart in just a moment!"

The whole class groaned. Ron and Harry glanced at each other, their shoulders dropping and faces melting into frowns at the same moment.

"I knew Fred was lying," Ron grumbled.

"Now, in this pair of desks in the front, I would like Mr. Finnegan and Ms. Patil. Behind them, Mr. Potter and Ms. Brown. Behind them, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Longbottom. And, in the back row, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger."

Ron looked at Harry in confusion as Mrs. McGonagall continued to rattle off her list of names. "Granger? Who's that?"

Harry nodded toward the front of the room. "Must be the new girl."

Ron slumped down in his chair, his mood turning sour. He had sat next to Harry every year of school so far. Having his best friend by his side was the only thing that made school tolerable in the first place!

"Alright, class, please get up and arrange yourselves," Mrs. McGonagall called.

Ron slung his backpack over one shoulder and traipsed over one row to his new assigned seat. At least the back of Harry's head was still visible, but he was too far away for any legitimate conversation.

The new girl sat down in the seat next to him and pulled a slim black pencil case out of her bag, placing it neatly along the top of her desk before turning to face him. She was short and had a petite face and hazel-colored eyes. She turned to face Ron and smiled at him, displaying her large front teeth.

"Hi, I'm Hermione," she said in a bouncy tone.

"Her…what?" Ron asked.

"Hermione. Hermione Granger. And you are?"

As he stared at her, his forehead wrinkled with apprehension. He had already been late on the first day, dealt with Mr. Filch, and got separated from his best friend. Now he had to sit next to the new kid with a weird name? Sixth grade was getting off to a miserable start.

"I'm Ron Weasley."

"Pleased to meet you, Ron," she said with a smile. "My family and I just moved to Northville a few weeks ago. Have you lived here long?"

"Only my whole life," he said with a shrug, turning back to the front of the class.

"I've lived in lots of different places. We've had to move a lot for my parents' jobs. I've lived in Washington, DC, San Francisco, and, just recently, Paris for a whole year! It was fascinating! The history, the art, the food…every day was something new and exciting! Parlez-vous français?"

"Huh?" he asked, his vacant expression proving that he was even more confused than he had been when she had pronounced her name.

"Nevermind, that's okay," she replied with a chuckle. "I think I'm going to like Michigan as well, but for different reasons. There's certainly not as much going on here. I haven't been able to find a decent croissant, either. But it's quiet, and I find it refreshing. I'm looking forward to being able to focus on my schoolwork without feeling the pull to stroll the Champs-Elysee if you know what I mean."

Ron's mouth was agape. He hadn't understood most of what she had said, and he was starting to feel that his new partner was going to be insufferable. There wasn't a single thing to say to her. All he could do was nod at her and face forward again, thinking for the first time in his life that class couldn't start soon enough.

"What did you say your name was again?" he asked, trying to hold back a scowl.

"Hermione Granger," she replied, her hands folded on the desk in front of her.

"Herm…what?"

"Hermione. Her. My. Own. Knee."

He shook his head, still shocked that she didn't realize how ridiculous she sounded. "I think I'm just going to call you Frizz. You know, because your hair is kinda frizzy."

Hermione frowned at him, her lower lip sticking out in a pout. "Frizz? But that's not my name! It's Hermione. It's really not that hard."

"So," he said, pointing his finger guns at her, "Frizz, then?"

With a small huff, she crossed her arms over her chest and spun away from him.

Before the pair of them could continue their argument, Mrs. McGonagall called the class to order, introduced herself, and discussed their plan of study for the year. Ron leaned back in his chair and looked out the large window to his left as she talked, watching a class of eighth-grade students playing basketball outside in their PE class. On his right, meanwhile, Hermione was scribbling furiously in her notebook, writing down everything Mrs. McGonagall was saying verbatim.

Ugh. And she's a teacher's pet? Why am I not surprised?

The rest of the morning was torture for Ron. Working alongside Hermione didn't get any easier, and he found himself growing more and more frustrated with his partner's know-it-all nature. During their math lesson, he was having a particularly hard time manipulating the fractions and tried to sneak a glimpse of her paper. She had finished almost as soon as the rest of the class had started, but she kept her worksheet covered by her left arm for the rest of the time the others were working. At one point, he even tapped her on the shoulder to ask for help. In response, she turned away from him and continued looking through the textbook, working on the next unit's problems ahead of time.

Later, they were working on a science experiment together. Mrs. McGonagall had asked them to share the responsibilities of evaluating the salinity of water needed to make an egg float. Hermione kept the large beaker and salt compound right in front of her, meticulously adding small amounts of the salt and taking notes about the effects on the egg.

"Are you gonna let me do anything?" he asked.

She turned to him and scoffed. "You don't seem to want to do anything."

"I mean…I don't, but I probably should."

"Yes, you probably should. But you aren't doing anything, are you?"

"Because you're not letting me!"

"Well if you don't want to help and I'd like to do well on this assignment, maybe it would be best if I just handle things."

Ron sighed, making sure she could hear him as he slunk down in his chair. He occupied himself by scribbling on the desk, scraping a geometric design into the plastic surface.

"Ahem," he heard from above him. Slowly, his eyes rose to find Mrs. McGonagall standing right in front of him, watching him as he defaced school property. "Having fun, Mr. Weasley?"

"Ummm…sorry, Mrs. McGonagall."

"Mr. Weasley, I know we are just meeting for the first time today, but I urge you not to follow the example of your older brother. I think you know what I mean. Now please ensure that you are doing your part in this assignment."

If it were possible, Ron thought that steam might actually pour out of his ears. The new girl's bossiness had already managed to get him in trouble with the teacher within the first couple of hours of the school year. Why couldn't she just let him help? It's not as though he had no idea what was going on.

"Thanks a lot," he mumbled under his breath.

"You're blaming me? You're the one not doing anything!"

"Because you won't let me!"

"Well, what do you want to do? Add the salt? Watch the egg? Keep notes?"

"Ummm…I don't care, you tell me."

She slid the bowl of salt over toward him, her eyes still fixed on the beaker. "Go ahead, add it in the small increments indicated in the packet."

"Wait, what? What increment? What packet?"

"Do you mean to tell me that you have no idea what we're doing?" she asked, her narrowed eyes glaring back at him.

"How can I when you don't let me help?"

"By actually reading the assignment! Like I did! While you were just sitting there!"

"You're impossible! You know that, right?"

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual."

By the time the class was released for recess, Ron was fuming. He followed Harry outside, sitting next to him against the brick wall of the school as they waited for a football game to organize. But he was too irritated to stay seated for long, hopping up and kicking the wall before pacing back and forth across the blacktop, his fists clenching and unclenching over and over. Exhaling forcefully from his nose, he let out a growl and a string of expletives.

"I can't take it anymore, Harry! It's only been one morning and she's already a nightmare! She's so smart, and it's like she needs everyone to know. And then she's not even willing to help me! She's so annoying!"

Just as Harry was about to open his mouth, Hermione came around the corner. She was wiping tears from her eyes and speed-walking as she hurried into the school.

Harry and Ron turned toward each other, both swallowing hard before lowering their gazes to the ground. Ron kicked a rock across the pavement in frustration. "She must have heard me."

Harry nodded as he shifted his eyes away from his friend as Ron sat back down next to him.

With a sigh, Ron leaned back and banged his head against the wall repeatedly.

"Come on," Harry suggested, "Let's play. Get your mind off things."

But even a half hour of football couldn't make Ron feel better. He was still feeling remorseful when the class trooped inside for lunch. After loading up his plastic tray with a sloppy joe, french fries, and a large brownie, he paid for his food and entered the cafeteria, looking for Harry. But his friend was nowhere to be seen.

As he was surveying the room, looking for another spot, he spied Hermione sitting alone in the back corner of the cafeteria. He could barely see her eyes over the top of the book she was reading, but her eyes were still puffy and red. Yet another wave of regret swept over him, and he decided to at least try to rectify the situation. He marched towards her, his hands growing sweatier the closer he got. As bad as he felt about making fun of her, Ron hated apologizing. With five older brothers and a younger sister, he ended up having to apologize a lot, and it never got any easier.

Before he made it to her table, though, he groaned as he watched the rotund school bully, Vincent Crabbe, walking up to her and pushing her book into her face.

"Hey nerd, why are you hitting yourself?" Crabbe taunted.

Hermione sneered at him for a second before turning back to her book and attempting to ignore him. Ron sped up a bit, knowing that her disinterest wouldn't deter Crabbe one bit.

Ron had disliked Crabbe since the day he had stolen Ron's favorite truck in kindergarten, and Ron had never forgiven him for it. The two had been at odds for years, having gotten in plenty of fights along the way. As annoying as Hermione was, nobody deserved a meeting with Vincent Crabbe on their first day.

Besides, maybe she'll be nicer to me if I help her out of this pickle she's gotten herself in…

"Hey! I'm talking to you, new kid!" Crabbe continued, poking Hermione in the arm.

"Hey, Crabbe!" Ron shouted, "Why don't you pick on someone your own size? You'll probably have to go to the zoo, but it's not that far of a walk."

Vincent Crabbe's lips drew in as he spun around to face Ron. "What did you say to me, Weasel?"

Ron's bravery was dwindling, but he was in too deep at this point.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Dad always says. Might as well see things through.

"I said leave her alone, Donkey Kong. Go back and eat with the other gorillas."

Crabbe advanced on him, grinding his fist into his open palm. "You're going to regret that, Weasel. Time for a pounding."

In what he would later describe as a moment of sheer brilliance, his eyes lit up as he said, "I don't think my two older brothers would like that. They're in eighth grade. You remember? They're both going to be linebackers on the varsity team next year. If anything happens to me, you'll have to answer to them."

It was an unfair fight. Crabbe towered over him, rising at least 4 inches above Ron's eyeline and staring down at Ron, his nostrils flaring in anger. To his credit, Ron stood his ground, staring right back at the larger boy. The rest of the cafeteria was quiet; everyone's eyes were glued to the potential fight. After several seconds, Crabbe snorted and stepped back.

"You better watch yourself, Weasel. I've pounded you before and I'll pound you again," he spat, before skulking away to join his friends.

Ron sneered at him as he walked away, then looked back towards Hermione. He was dismayed to find that she seemed disinterested in his display of heroism, her body language remaining the same as she chewed on a carrot stick and continued to read her book.

"He won't bother you anymore," he offered.

Hermione raised her eyes at him over her book, still unimpressed. "He was barely bothering me before."

Knowing that the hard part of the conversation was still to come, he kept standing in front of her, holding his lunch tray and not knowing how to begin.

"Something else you want?" she asked, not even looking up from her book.

"W-Well, do…do you mind if I sit?"

"It's a free country."

He sat down and placed his tray in front of him, ignoring his food for the moment. "Look…I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have said those things."

"You can say them if you mean them." She still wouldn't look at him.

"Okay….look, I'm trying to apologize. Do you want an apology or not?"

"Are you yelling at me while trying to apologize?"

He groaned, clenching his fists in frustration under the table. "Right…anyway, I'm sorry. I feel really bad about it."

"You feel bad? Take a wild guess how I feel then, why don't you?"

"You're right…sorry, I'm bad at this. What I meant to say is that I shouldn't have made fun of you, especially not behind your back."

"Well, thanks for that. I'll just be going back to my book now."

"I just…well, you know, you can be a bit of a…you know, a bit snobby at times. All that talk about living in fancy places and how our town doesn't have anything nice. How would you feel if it were your town and I just showed up out of nowhere and said those things?"

"That's not what I said!"

"You basically called it boring here."

Hermione stopped reading and looked up to the ceiling in contemplation for several moments, then marked her place in her book with a scrap of paper, set the book down, and finally met his gaze across the table. "I suppose you're right," she said with a sigh.

Ron's jaw dropped as his eyebrows flew upward. "I am?"

"I'm saying that I can see your point. It wasn't fair of me to judge this town by the standards of some of the other places I've lived. They're different cities, each with their own good and bad features. I'm sorry for saying impolite things about the town where you grew up. It's…certainly not what I'm used to, but that doesn't mean it's a bad place."

"Oh. Well, thanks, I guess. There are some fun things around here, you know. For example, we just got an awesome new arcade at the mall. It's even got Mortal Kombat 2. Me and Harry go at least once a week…costs us our entire allowance, but it's worth it."

For the first time since their first meeting earlier in the morning, Hermione cracked a smile. "That's…never really been my thing in the past, but who knows? Maybe someday I'll give it a try."

"I think you'd like it. Maybe not that game in particular, but they have lots. You could come with me and Harry sometimes if you want."

"Thanks, that actually sounds like a lot of fun."

Ron smiled back at her before plowing on, intent to get out the remainder of his apology before he lost his nerve.

"OK, you're clearly smart…much smarter than me. I'm sorry I called you a know-it-all; honestly, it's great that you're smart. I'm really not very good at school. My older brothers are, but…I don't know, I guess I didn't get those genes or something. Anyway, I'm also sorry if I'm slowing you down…I'll try not to get in your way too much."

"I appreciate the apology, but you shouldn't say that about yourself. And if you're ever having trouble, I'd be happy to help you when I can. That said, I'm really not that smart, I think I've just already covered some of the material you're doing."

"Did you skip a grade or something?"

"No, but grade levels work differently in different places. I'm quite familiar with fractions because we did a lot of work with fractions in my math class in France. We haven't even started geometry yet, though, and I know you did some of that last year. I'm sure it'll even out in the long run."

"Well, you still seem pretty smart to me."

"I have always done well, but, truthfully, it can lead me to be a bit…set in my ways at times…I'm rather particular. It's something I'm trying to work on."

"Tell you what? Going forward, I'll let you know if you're being too…whatever you said. Know-it-all-y, I think. In return, you let me know or slap me or something if I'm not pulling my weight. Deal?" he proposed, sticking out his open palm.

"Deal," she agreed, giving his hand one firm shake.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Frizz."

Hermione chuckled and shook her head. "Still not my name…"

"It'll grow on you."

Ron remained at her table for the rest of lunch, and Harry joined them a few minutes later. Initially, he was shocked to see them getting along so well and seemed hesitant to sit with them, but by the end of the half-hour lunch period, they were all talking and laughing together. Hermione told the boys all about life in a foreign country, their jaws both dropping when she explained the Metro system and told them about all the pastry shops within a 2 block radius of her old apartment. Ron and Harry, on the other hand, tried to sell Hermione on some of the more pleasant aspects of living in suburban Michigan such as Little Caesars pizza and the presence of a real American football team. By the time they had to return to their classroom, Ron had convinced Hermione to come along with them to the mall the following day after school.

After their reconciliation, the rest of the afternoon went much more smoothly. Ron and Hermione took turns reading and critiquing each other's short stories during writing time, and they even received a compliment from Mrs. McGonagall for working well together on the social studies activity about Mesopotamia.

As the final bell rang, the students jumped up out of their seats to make a dash for freedom. Ron waved goodbye to Hermione and met up with Harry to talk about the Detroit Lions football game scheduled for the upcoming weekend.

"So you'll come over, then?" Ron asked as Harry zipped up his backpack.

"Yeah, that sounds great. I'll be there around noon or so as long as my aunt and uncle don't have a problem with it," Harry replied, groaning at the mention of his relatives. "God, I wish I had somewhere else to live."

"The season just started, we have to watch it together!"

"I know! But sometimes they make me do chores and fix things around their house and stuff. It's almost like they know I have something I want to do and they purposefully give me jobs to do right then. It's miserable."

"Sorry, man. I still hope you can make it, but I understand. I bet Barry Sanders runs for two hundred yards!"

"Maybe more!"

The two boys chatted about the game until they reached the exit of the school. As they split apart, Harry went through the parking lot and hopped the fence around the school grounds to head home while Ron walked back along the baseball diamond. Just when was passing first base, he saw a familiar head of unruly brown hair bobbing down the sidewalk ahead of him.

Frizz must live right near me.

He took off running to try to catch up with his new friend, his backpack jiggling up and down as he called her name along the way.

"Frizz! Hey, Frizz!"

Just as he saw her stop and spin around, Ron's foot stepped on his untied shoelace. His arms flew out to the sides and he tumbled to the ground, sliding a short distance across the grass along the sideline of the school soccer field.

Hermione hurried back to check on him, finding him sprawled out on his back, his bag underneath him, laughing hysterically.

"Ron, are you okay?" she shrieked.

He tried to respond, but he couldn't stop giggling long enough to piece together an answer.

Sitting down next to him and seeing that he was unhurt, she started chuckling along with him. When Ron saw her, it only made him laugh harder. Soon, both of them were rolling on the ground, howling with laughter.

"I'm sorry, but…you should've seen…the look…on your face!" Hermione cried.

"What, like this?" he said, recreating his startled expression from a moment ago before devolving into another fit of laughter at his own mishap.

Hermione was openly crying, wiping her face with one hand and trying to cover her mouth with the other. The sides of his ribcage were now aching as though he had just done a hundred sit-ups, and he tipped over onto his shoulder. Other students walking past looked at them with confusion, but the pair barely noticed, their eyes squeezed shut, tears occasionally leaking out.

As the laughter died down, he sat up, tied his shoe, and rearranged his backpack. Hermione stood up and dusted herself off before offering a hand to Ron to help pull him back up.

"That's better," he said, still snickering as he brushed some grass off of his jeans. "They probably think we're crazy, huh?"

"Maybe we are! Oh, you missed a spot," she said, pointing to the back of his knee. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

After licking his finger, he rubbed his nose to remove the dirt. "How do I look?" he asked her, doing a poorly balanced pirouette in the grass.

She giggled. "Much better."

They started walking down the path together again, Ron telling Hermione all about other fun things to do in the area along the way. After a few minutes, Hermione stopped and looked around, getting her bearings.

"Is your house over there somewhere?" he asked.

"Yes, right over on Oak Lane," she replied.

"Oh, cool! That's only one street away from my house. We live on Maple Street," he said, pointing down the road.

"Nice to know."

"Well, I'm sure I'll see you around the neighborhood, then! Have a good night, Frizz! Err, Hermione! Sorry…see, I can say it, though!"

"You know, Frizz doesn't sound so bad. Kind of cool, even," she said with a smile as she took a few steps backward toward her house.

Ron grinned back at her and gave her a thumbs up. "Then Frizz it is! Night, Frizz!"

September 15, 2012, 6:05pm

Hermione dropped her sequined clutch on the round dining room table, her CTA fare card and a tube of dark red lipstick spilling out onto the plaid tablecloth. With a check of her phone for messages, she sat down on the plush cushioned chair. I sat down next to her, folding my hands on the table in front of me.

"Do you want to talk?" I asked her.

She tossed down her phone and shrugged. "Not really much to talk about, is there? I fucked up again. I just…can't stay out of my own way."

"Don't say that. You need to stop with all the negative self-talk, it's not healthy."

"Look who's talking? I seem to remember you shitting on yourself all the time back in the day."

I shifted my gaze down to the tablecloth and pulled at one of the loose threads. "You're absolutely right. But I worked hard on stopping all that during my first year of grad school. I went to therapy, I reframed the way I think about things, and I'm doing much better now as a result. I think you would, too."

"Ugh, no way. I don't think I can lay on a couch and pay someone just so they can confirm for me that I'm a washed-up nobody."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, trying to push her words out of my mind. It was almost painful to me when she said things like that about herself. Words like that made me feel like I was losing my best friend all over again, and it was scary.

"That's not how it works," I said, trying to rein in my frustration. "And that's absolutely not who you are. Just…you're one of the best and smartest people I know!"

"Was one of the smartest people you know at one point, maybe."

"I still believe that you can do anything you want. I mean it. For instance, what happened to your idea? The store, remember?"

Hermione's eyes glazed over as she stared out the bay window. "That was a long time ago."

"It wasn't that long ago, and it was a great concept. That store could actually help save the world!"

"Bullshit! And, even if you're right, I've…I've just…lost momentum, Ron. One minute I was about to graduate and was considering getting my Masters and the next…everything happened so quickly. And now…it's just too late."

"It's never too late," I said, my eyes pleading with her.

"It certainly feels like it is."

"But why? You're twenty-seven years old. Plenty of people change careers far later than that."

"Plenty of people aren't me."

"Look, I can't understand what it really means to be famous-"

"I'm NOT famous," she interjected.

"You know what I mean, you've been in TV shows and movies for years. I admit that I can't understand what it's like to…have to live your life under a microscope like that, but can you honestly tell me you still like what you do?"

Hermione squirmed in her seat, bringing her leg underneath her and sitting on her foot as she turned to face me. "Sometimes it's fun. And the parties are great."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"Ugh, whatever, Ron. I just…it's fine. I've made a good living over the last five years and…it's just easy at this point. Don't judge me."

"I'm not judging, and that's not fair," I said with a grimace. "You know that I've never passed judgment on you about your work. Plenty of other people have, and I've defended you, have I not?"

"Okay, fine. So then why can't you just accept that I'm good with this?"

"I just wish…I don't know, Frizz, you just…you don't seem happy these days. I've known you for a long time. I know what you're like when you're happy, and I know what you're like when you're not. And…you don't seem happy. As your friend, it worries me."

"Fortunately, I'm not your responsibility. My happiness isn't your responsibility, either."

My eyes shifted away from her as I leaned back in my chair. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you."

"I'll be fine."

The sound of the oven timer cut through the silence as we sat at the table, neither of us knowing what to say next.

"Whatever," I said, exhaling the breath I'd been holding and shaking my head. "You know how I feel. I don't want to fight with you about it anymore."

"Hey," she said, reaching across the table and clasping my hand in hers. "Thanks. Honestly. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't in my corner. But maybe tonight's just…not the best time, you know? It's hard to feel super motivated when I took the walk of shame not ten minutes ago."

I placed my other hand on top of hers and gave her fingers a squeeze before getting up from the table.

"Can I get you a drink or something? I have to go check on the lasagna anyway."

"Sure, that would be great. Just…something actually hydrating, preferably. My head is killing me."

"You got it, Frizz. Can I call you Frizz?" I replied, flashing a grin back at her.

"You can call me Frizz," she said, smiling at me as I turned and walked back to the kitchen.