Chapter 15 - Motivate the Team

It sufficed to say that by the time another Monday rolled around, the atmosphere in Hermione's office was beyond tense and awkward. As much as she tried to give the other occupant of the room some semblance of privacy, there was no escaping the heated discussion Ron Weasley was currently undertaking on the phone.

"Mum, things between Lavender and I are fine!" he snapped, neglecting to keep his voice down.

The conversation appeared to be very personal, and under normal circumstances, Hermione would have asked him to step outside to take the call. However, it felt insensitive to ask someone in a wheelchair to go through such an inconvenience, so she relented and allowed him to answer the call within her office instead. A decision, fifteen minutes after their session was due to commence, she now came to regret.

Turning her attention to the window so as not to appear nosey, she gazed out into the courtyard beyond. The small, grassy playground was full of excited families enjoying picnics on the benches or playing on the swings. The refreshing spring weather was the perfect combination of sun and breeze, making for a welcoming day out. She was just in the middle of contemplating whether to head out there to give him total privacy when his tense voice spoke once more.

"Well, of course, things can be just fine. We're fine because there's absolutely nothing to talk about."

The stability of his current relationship had been referenced several times already today and seemed to be the hot topic of conversation between mother and son. Each time she would broach the subject, his mood would turn sour, leading him to brush aside any further questioning in an irritable manner. Whatever his mother was saying to him, it seemed to be getting under his skin with precision and ease.

Hermione found this irascible state peculiar for someone in a supposedly committed and stable relationship. She had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps Ron wasn't being as open and honest in his responses to his mother as it appeared. Keen to explore her theory a little deeper, she made a mental note to raise this as a point of discussion with him later—if they ever got the chance to start the therapy session, that is.

Knowing it would begin to look suspicious if she remained still for too long, she turned her attention to her desk and busied herself with the clutter strewn across it. Upon it sat an assortment of pamphlets, each promoting various mental health charities, as well as the listed books she had recommended to Ron during their previous session.

A mishmash of rainbow coloured post-its and tabs stuck out of their pages, each marking noteworthy points she thought would be relevant to him. She had been looking forward to the opportunity to discuss his opinions on the reading materials but had a sinking feeling that he hadn't bothered to check them out. After all, he didn't strike her as the kind of man who enjoyed reading, nor was he likely to do any form of homework she assigned to him.

Pushing aside the tinge of disappointment, she spent the next few minutes going through the motions as she tidied her desk, occasionally pausing to venture a discreet glimpse of him. With each glance she took, a jolt of energy passed through her stomach, evoking the memories of her now reoccurring dream.

That past week had been hard enough for Hermione as she fought against her newfound realisation that he was the faceless man of her dreams. But, no matter how hard she tried to deny it to herself, there was simply no getting rid of Ron from her head. Wherever she went, whatever she did, the reminders of him seemed to follow.

So reminiscent of her favourite season of the year, his flaming red hair was like the vast array of colours seen on autumn leaves. Even now, in his flustered state, as he continuously ran a large hand through his hair, it remained immaculate in its style and appearance.

Whenever she watched television or stepped out for a stroll, every vibrant shade of blue reminded her of the dazzling colour of his eyes. To think, she had once lied to herself and regarded them as cold and calculating. When in reality, they were like deep ocean pools that she found herself yearning to swim in.

With her cheeks beginning to heat up, she averted her gaze and returned her focus to the mess upon her desk. She continued to tidy in silence as the minutes ticked on, resisting any further temptations to ogle. Yet, a coy smile remained glued to her flushed face throughout.

Eventually, Ron's conversation took another dramatic turn as he let out a low groan of frustration and fumed down the phone, "I don't care if Percy handles my PR. He shouldn't have told you about the bookshop!"

Hermione's eyes shot up at the mention of the word bookshop, the stack of pamphlets she was holding falling from her grip and cascading onto the floor. Ignoring the new mess she had created, her mind fired into overdrive as she began to speculate. Was this related to the books she had suggested? And did this mean he had indeed taken her suggestion on board?

She stared open-mouthed as he squirmed in his wheelchair, appearing agitated and out of his depth. There were beads of sweat forming around his temples, and his t-shirt clung to his flesh, looking as though he had completed a marathon. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion whilst he continued to listen on, his expression changing to stricken and hurt as he stared off into space.

What happened at the bookshop? And why did it leave him like this?

Compelled by a sudden urge to find out more, she held her breath and strained her ears in the hope of hearing more. As she inched closer to his position in the centre of the room, the sound of Ron's laboured breathing reverberated around it, growing louder and shorter with each passing second. She watched as he adjusted the phone to his ear and let out a resigned sigh that matched his defeated expression.

"Listen, Mum. I c-can't t-talk right now. I have to go," he declared, a slight tremble in his voice. "Yes, therapy, and I'm in her office right now."

For the first time since taking the call, he turned his attention to her, an apologetic look upon his face that caused butterflies to erupt within her stomach. Driven by his silent apology and assuming he was now ready to begin the session, she changed course, preparing to take her seat.

The blues of his eyes continued to bore into her as he spoke, "No, Mum. I hardly think that matters, and so far, Hermione's been brilliant."

She froze once again, her backside hovering above the cushion of the sofa. Ron had claimed she had been brilliant. She figured she ought to have felt disappointment at not finding out more about the bookshop, but instead, she was experiencing euphoria. Although it was never about personal gratification for her, hearing his comment was enough to leave her on cloud nine. Another attempt to make a difference in someone's life, and it was finally paying off for her—this was the reason for her second chance.

"Okay, yes, yes, I love you too," Ron replied before hanging up the phone.

The call had taken the better part of half their allotted session time, but Hermione hoped they could now make the most of the remaining time they had together. Her newfound state of elation further spurred her desire to help him succeed with therapy.

"Sorry about that," he said, looking sheepish before letting out a deep and exaggerated sigh.

She couldn't help but chuckle at his dramatic reaction but soon regained her composure. Knowing it wouldn't be prudent to comment negatively, she took her seat and tried to ease the tension between them.

"Don't worry about it. I have parents too."

"Do yours give you migraines?" he asked with a grimace as he rubbed his temple.

"Sometimes, but my parents are something I discuss with my therapist."

His eyes widened in surprise at the mention of her therapist. "I didn't—I assumed. Really?"

She had intended for it to be a joke, but he seemed to have taken it literally. Deciding to backtrack, she clarified, "I just meant it's something we can discuss. If you want to?"

He looked sceptical at the prospect of discussing his parents but nodded nonetheless.

"Let's do role-play. It'll help get your feelings out and express yourself," Hermione suggested. "I'll be your mother, and you can be yourself."

"That's disgusting!"

There was a look of repulsion across his face, and she regretted having made such a lacklustre suggestion. Despite this, though, she was keen to dig deeper into his thoughts on his parents. He just required some further encouragement to open up.

"Fine, no role-play, but you can still tell me. That's what I'm here for, and there will be no judgement whatsoever," Hermione explained, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Picking up her notepad and pen from the table between them, she made herself comfortable and waited for his response. She knew she had him convinced when he let out a huff of air and straightened up to speak.

He spent the next five minutes speaking in detail about his father, Arthur, and his injuries in the Sahara. Hermione just about managed to avoid rolling her eyes at the mention of the snake bite—what a ludicrous situation to get himself in.

Ron then moved on to detailing his mother's tendency to mollycoddle her children and her overbearing nature even after they had all grown up and moved out. Despite being calm and composed throughout, Hermione could detect a definite edge in his voice by the time they had concluded the topic of Molly Weasley.

"… And that's why my mum is off her rocker because she worries incessantly. Honestly, it annoys the shit out of me, and it doesn't help. I can't—don't want to talk to her," he concluded with a loud groan.

Hermione allowed herself a moment to absorb the information he had presented to her. Peering down at the scribbled notes she had taken, she attempted to connect the dots and form some conclusion or analysis that would help him.

With each review of her notes, a bubbling of anger within her seemed to brew with intensity. Recalling her training, she knew she would need to be delicate with the framing of her words—personal emotion shouldn't be a factor here.

"Well?" he probed, pressuring her for an answer.

"Well, I think you're a complete arse, Ronald Weasley!" she barked back in response, her anger boiling over.

She clapped her hands to her mouth in horror as comprehension of her outburst dawned on her. So much for personal emotion not being a factor. Meanwhile, Ron was eyeing her with a look she couldn't quite decipher. It was as if he was scrutinising her through narrowed eyes, ready to call her out on her lie. "No judgement," she had promised.

"Why do you think that?" he asked, his voice calm but firm.

Taking a deep breath and ensuring she made eye contact with him, she prepared her explanation. She would have to tell the truth. There was no walking back the previous statement.

"Your mother goes through the trauma of dealing with one near-death experience with your father. Then, once he's on the road to recovery, she finds out her son has a life-changing injury too. Except, this time, you refuse to loop her in and choose to keep her in the dark about everything," she explained.

Not content with her point, she chose to drive it home by adding, "No one, especially a mother, deserves to have their child's well-being kept from them."

Her tirade left her chest heaving and her breathing ragged. Ron's expression, meanwhile, was hardened and set. Yet, he seemed to be fighting an internal battle. Just then, for the briefest of moments, she was sure she saw the flicker of a smirk flash across his face.

"Well, I guess you've given me your honest medical assessment. What's the scientific term for complete arse, then?"

He continued to peer at her before bursting out into raucous laughter. As a result, her anger only further intensified.

"Someone had to tell you that you're being a bit of a dick," she shot back.

This time, her words had a profound effect on him as the blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and clammy. He slumped into his wheelchair, no longer towering over her, as his gaze fell to his shoes in apparent shame.

"I guess you're right. I am a dick and a shit son, too," he whispered to his feet. "I'm not good with feelings, but I thought I had a handle on it. I want mum to be happy, but everything I've given her doesn't seem to be enough."

Hermione pondered his statement before phrasing her conclusion as delicately as she could.

"Money won't solve all of your problems. Have you ever considered that your parents are who they are? And you can't just change that with money." She paused for a moment to gauge his reaction. He returned her look through reddened eyes but remained silent, so she continued, "The only thing you can change is how you choose to deal with them. No mother wants expensive gifts or a fancy lifestyle at the expense of losing touch with their child. All she wants is to know that you're happy and okay. Call her, be honest to her, but most of all, let her be your mother."

He gave a loud sniff before running a hand over his face to compose himself. Hermione chose this moment to feign interest in her notebook, allowing him the opportunity to dry his eyes.

"You know, I assumed you would use some psychological approach to make me aware of my faults," Ron said with a watery chuckle and wagging a finger at her. "But this? It's not some subtle manipulation. You're just outright calling me out as an awful son!"

"I think we're beyond that point. You needed to hear it."

He gave another chuckle, and with his glistening blue eyes fixed squarely upon her, he declared, "You're scary, you know? Bloody brilliant, but scary."

He flashed her a genuine smile as Hermione's heart thundered against her chest, trying to break free from its confines. For the second time that day, he had made it clear he held her in high regard, and it was enough to take her breath away. Unable to find anything to say, she returned his smile with a beaming one of her own.

"It's been a mental week, and you've helped a lot. So, uh—thanks," he said, his neck and ears turning red.

His offhand comment had unwittingly presented her with an opportunity to bring up the bookshop incident and delve further into what had happened.

"Is this because of the bookshop?" she inquired, watching as the smile slipped from his freckled face.

Ron stared at her through narrowed eyes, waiting for her to back down. Unfortunately for him, she had no such intentions and instead raised an eyebrow back, silently daring him to make the next move.

They were locked in a muted battle of maintaining eye contact, brown versus blue, therapist versus patient. Neither one of them blinking before, at last, he was the first to break. She had won the challenge and would now reap her prize.

"Fine, I'll tell you," he said through gritted teeth. He took a moment to prepare himself before speaking again, "Harry took me to a bookshop in Greenwich for the—"

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, interrupting him, "Was it Spellbound Books? They have the most delightful little café above the—"

She faltered at the glare he was giving her. Realising this was an inappropriate time to be interrupting him to discuss cafés, much less one that involved the very bookshop he was detailing a problem with, she closed her mouth and gestured for him to continue.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head at her rude interruption, he resumed the story and detailed his experience at Spellbound Books from the Monday prior. His description of the event was brief and to the point, but she still chose to take notes, should they be useful later.

"… After I got ambushed, the media and paparazzi were asking all these nasty and real personal questions. In the end, Harry had to get me out of there to escape."

The simmering of anger within Hermione returned as he concluded his retelling, but this time Ron was not the cause. She had always known the media and paparazzi in the UK were vile, hateful vultures, but ambushing someone in a bookshop? That was a whole new low.

"Ron, that's awful! I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

After a brief moment of hesitation, she leaned forward across the table between them to give his hand a conciliatory squeeze. Unfortunately, he had also chosen that exact moment to shift in his wheelchair, and she instead ended up squeezing halfway up his forearm.

Jerking her hand back and falling back onto the sofa, she let out a hiss of frustration and covered her face with her hands to avoid seeing his reaction.

"That was weird, wasn't it?" she moaned from behind her hands. "I shouldn't have done it. I Shouldn't have gone for it. The timing was completely off and awkward. I'm so sorry!"

She let out a groan of frustration and threw her head back against the sofa. Everything was going so well, and she had once again blown it.

"Honestly, no. It wasn't that bad," Ron replied.

Assuming he was being polite to dissolve the awkwardness, she shot back in response, "Yes, it was! It was so forced and unnatural."

"It was good, trust me. You didn't nail the execution, that's all."

She heard a rustling and removed her hands from her face, expecting to see his face filled with disgust. Ron, however, was reapplying the brakes to his wheelchair, having inched himself closer to the table and her.

"Here, try again. It was my fault for being too far. You come a little closer as well and try again," Ron advised, offering her a nod of encouragement.

Formulating a strategy for the task ahead, she whispered out loud, "I'm going to make it feel natural, no overthinking this. Count to three, then lean in, squeeze for two Mississippis and withdraw. Easy."

"Wow, wow, wow," he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Who said anything about counting Mississippi? Don't overcomplicate it. Just get in, squeeze, and get out."

A natural and comforting squeeze of the hand, that's all she had to do. Ready to take the plunge, Hermione shifted across the sofa into a better position and prepared herself. Leaning across to close the distance between them, she placed her small hand over his much larger one before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The effect was almost instantaneous, and before she knew it, her skin was alight with a warmth that filled her with joy. Despite Ron's advice, she couldn't resist counting the two Mississippis in her head, prolonging the brief contact between them before removing her hand.

"I did it!" she whooped, returning to her seat.

"Brilliant, Doctor Granger!" he exclaimed. "That was so much better."

"I'm not a doctor yet," she corrected.

"Ah, but with your emotional range and mastery of human psychology, it's only a matter of time before it's Doctor Hermione Granger. I'm just getting used to saying it early."

They both looked at each other, their faces lighting up in mirrored excitement. Ron continued to smile at her, his blue eyes sparkling, whilst wave after wave of pleasure and thrill coursed through her. Never before had she experienced such a feeling. It was stimulating, exhilarating, and new. But most of all, he had given her the motivation to make it a reality—whatever it took, she would become Doctor Hermione Granger.

This time, she was the first to forfeit the battle of maintaining eye contact. Tearing her eyes away from his, she gazed down into her lap, the significance of her feelings becoming clearer.

She was falling for her patient, Ron Weasley.