Chapter 9 - Post-Match Review

If ever there was a new definition for self-sabotage, this would be it, Ron thought to himself as the door slammed shut behind him. His master plan to protect himself from revealing too much about his thoughts and feelings had backfired spectacularly.

To make him feel even more like shit, he was sure he could hear Hermione crying through the now-closed door. Ron was stuck in two minds—knock on it and try to apologise again, or forget the incident and move on.

Sighing to himself, he reached out before hesitating, leaving his fist hanging uselessly in the air. What would he even say? Would she even listen or agree to continue the sessions in the future?

"Forget it," he muttered to himself, allowing his hand to drop and deciding it wasn't worth the trouble.

"Forget what?" came the voice of Harry behind him.

Ron turned his wheelchair to see Harry standing there looking puzzled. Just as he had promised, Harry had waited in the reception area and must have seen Ron exit the office.

"Nothing," Ron replied a little too quickly, causing Harry to raise an eyebrow. So as not to arouse Harry's suspicions, he added, "I wanted to ask when my next session would be, but they'll just tell me when they book it, right?"

This seemed to be enough for Harry, who let out a chuckle and said, "You really do love your routines. Of course, they'll tell you when your next session is. Come on, let's get out of here."

With a relieved sigh, Ron took one last glance at the office door. For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't shake the sensation forming in his stomach. It was like a magnet, forcing him back towards the room, or more specifically, the occupant within the room.

It was ridiculous because Hermione Granger didn't deserve any sympathy or attention. She had been the one who was unprepared, messy, tardy and completely mental. No, she most definitely didn't deserve anything from Ron, and to be frank, it was unlikely she had what it took to ever become a therapist.

Wrenching his eyes away from the door, Ron followed Harry back to the car park, the force in his stomach persisting for the journey home.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Hermione Granger sat balled up, crying into the sleeves of her cardigan. However much she tried to blame Ron Weasley for this disaster of a first session, deep down, she knew she had failed.

Obsession, she thought to herself, that's all it came down to. Hermione's obsession over Cormac and Pansy caused any rationality she possessed to go out of the window, and the results were terrifying. Here she was, a PhD candidate offered a second chance at achieving her dream, and what had she done?

Blown it on distractions and relationship drama.

Well, that was all about to change. Scoffing to herself, Hermione got to her feet, determined to right her wrongs. She walked over to her desk, sat down and pulled her laptop towards her. With a deep breath, she logged out of her Facebook and Instagram accounts, vowing to never view them again during work.

Looking around at the room, Hermione reflected on the patient she had ejected from her office and the events surrounding him. Struck by a growing sense of bitterness, she pictured his face and felt herself start to shake at his earlier behaviour.

Ronald Weasley had to be the most obnoxious person she had the displeasure of meeting. What she had previously believed was a good-humoured smile, she now regarded as the callous smirk of a man determined to see someone fail. She no longer considered his eyes bright and blue but as cold and menacing as he sought to chop down Hermione's progress.

Clearly, he was afraid of therapy. Afraid of opening up and allowing himself to be scrutinised, he had set out from the get-go to rile Hermione up and chose to focus on her mistakes. All to avoid someone who may see him for what he was—an overpaid, egotistical and cowardly man.

Between her bitter thoughts, Hermione was struck by a realisation. If he didn't want to partake in the therapy, that meant Hermione could probably be assigned a different patient. Professor McGonagall couldn't hold it against her if the patient in question no longer required or wanted the sessions.

For the first time since she had slammed the door on Ronald Weasley, Hermione found herself smiling. If he was happy to no longer be receiving therapy, she was more than happy to no longer provide it. You can't help someone who doesn't want it—she learnt that from Dave.

Standing up from her desk, Hermione walked over to the sofa space and decided she should push the armchair she had moved earlier back into its place. The additional space was no longer needed, and so what if she had failed to make the most of their first session? Other patients would come along.

Failed.

The word cut through her like a dagger, and before she knew it, the tears were already flowing again. Unable to muster the strength needed to heave the chair, she gave up and collapsed into it.

She really had failed. It wasn't the kind of failure you experienced after a long slog or when your hard work just didn't pay off. Instead, she had stumbled at the very first step of the process and couldn't continue. Hermione knew Professor McGonagall definitely wouldn't be accepting of her giving up after one session, a session that didn't even make it to the allotted hour.

Ronald Weasley was not a man Hermione liked. Determined to not give him the satisfaction of thinking she would give up or bow down to his intimidation tactics. Eager to wipe the cocky smirk off his face, Hermione pulled out her phone, cleared her throat and dialled Moira at the reception desk.

"Hi Moira, It's Hermione. Can you schedule Ronald Weasley for me for Monday at four? Oh, and every subsequent Monday after that too?" she asked, her confidence growing as she enacted her plan.

Moira confirmed the date and time and assured Hermione she would notify the patient before hanging up. Not satisfied with just continuing the sessions, Hermione was now set on making sure Ronald Weasley opened up or faced some of his own medicine.

Walking back over to her desk and taking a seat, Hermione set about a task she should have carried out when she first found out about him. Research Ronald Weasley, Chudley United goalkeeper.

Whatever Ron was feeling before the car ride home only worsened when he returned to his flat. The second they crossed the threshold of the flat, the questions had begun. Lavender, who had been working on her dress designs, had rushed over, whilst Harry, having remained quiet during the drive, now bombarded him with questions about the session.

"So, how was it, mate? What did you discuss? Did you talk about me?" Harry asked.

"Was it helpful, Ron? What did you think of it all?" Lavender added.

"We uh—" Ron started before realising he hadn't used the ride to come up with a suitable lie about the events of the session.

Panicking, he wracked his brains to come up with a suitable excuse to avoid having to discuss the sessions with them or anyone else for that matter. It was then that the memory of a chaotic and bushy, brown-haired face appeared in his mind and spoke the words, "doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Honestly, I wish I could, but they sort of have a rule. No discussing the sessions just in case it interferes with the process," Ron lied. "They don't want me to hold back or be influenced by other people's opinions just yet."

Lavender looked disbelieving but nodded, accepting the excuse. She rose from the couch and gave Ron a quick peck.

"Well, if it's for the best," she said before heading towards the kitchen. "I'll get started on dinner."

Harry, meanwhile, looked hurt. His face was scrunched up, and his gaze was directed towards the floor.

"But I'm your best friend. We tell each other everything," he whispered.

"I know, mate, but I promise, once it's all over, I'll tell you everything," Ron said, trying to sound convincing.

Harry seemed to perk up at this as he looked up and smiled. However, the reality was that Ron had no plans to ever reveal the happenings of his therapy session with Hermione Granger to anyone.

"So, was she?" Harry whispered after a glance towards the kitchen.

"Was she what?"

"Hermione Granger. Was she a dinosaur or what?"

"Oh uh—" Ron stammered.

He couldn't exactly lie about this bit, so Ron opted for the simple truth and said, "She's not an actual doctor. She's twenty-four and doing her PhD. So no, not a dinosaur, although she had the cardigan to match one."

"Is she fit?" Harry asked, leaning forward to hear the answer.

Eager to avoid this topic, Ron snapped, "Don't be stupid. I'm there for therapy, not to try and get a leg up."

If he was being honest with himself, he would have answered differently. Whilst fit wouldn't be the exact word he'd use to describe her, Ron couldn't help picturing the smile she had when he had paid her a compliment. But what did it matter anymore? He wouldn't be seeing Hermione Granger again.

Ron was torn from his musings by the ringing of his phone. Picking it up and shushing Harry, who was about to speak up, he listened to the voice on the other end, "Hello, is this Ronald Weasley? My name is Moira, I'm calling from S.P.E.W."

"Yes, speaking," Ron answered, his heart beating faster.

"I'm just calling to confirm your session with Hermione Granger has been scheduled for Monday next week, at four, and each subsequent Monday after that."

"Oh, thank—thank you, Moira," Ron replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'll be there. Goodbye."

Ron hung up the phone and looked at Harry with a smile on his face. The force that tugged within his stomach had now settled into a light rustling sensation. He was unsure why his sessions with Hermione would be continuing but was glad all the same.

"Well, they've confirmed my sessions for every Monday at four," he informed Harry.

Harry gave Ron a pat on the back and said, "So that's therapy on Mondays, physio on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Seems like you've got a great little routine going for yourself there."

"Seems so," Ron replied before wheeling himself towards the kitchen to check on the progress of dinner.