Chapter 24: Face to Face Once Again
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you, Ron?" Harry offered, a forcefully light note in his voice. "You might need someone to act as a mediator between you and Hermione."
Ron frowned un-approvingly at his friend as he continued to pace the length of the deserted common room, periodically running his fingers through his hair. He was well aware that Harry's comment was not entirely in jest. He knew his friend was worried that Ron might say something else that would bring Hermione to tears and he wanted to be there to make certain that it didn't have a chance to happen again.
Ron ignored Harry however as he continued mutter to himself incoherently about nothing that made any sense to Harry. Something about hands and lines and how absurd they were. Ron had been this way for days now, his mood constantly shifting between excitement and dread. making it difficult for Harry and Ginny, the only other two Gryffindors their age to stay over Easter holiday, to be around him.
He found himself thinking about the talk he had with Rane more and more often, accounting for the strange mutterings Ginny and Harry were constantly overhearing, as the time to see Hermione drew closer. He still wasn't entirely certain that Rane was right about what she read in his palm. Like Hermione was likely to say, divination was a very wooly discipline, whether the diviner was gypsy or not. The only thing that he was certain of was that Hermione had been true to her word and had written to him every day for the past two months. He now knew as much about her and her time in Bulgaria as he would have if he had actually been there with her. Each time he read one of her letters he could almost forget everything else that had happened. All the hurt feelings and painful exchanges between them. Almost. Then someone would say something that would remind him and force him to remember. It was all so confusing and frustrating and his emotions were constantly swooping in proverbially rollercoaster. He didn't know what to think anymore.
And his confusion had only grown worse when Ginny had let it slip two days earlier when he had asked about Harry's seemingly short temper as of late, that Hermione had cried when she and Harry had told her about what had happened with him and Rane. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel about that. A part of him felt guilty of course for making her cry. He always felt guilty when Hermione cried, accounting for why he was so awkward around her when she did. Another part of him however was thrilled that she cared enough to cry. And then there was that third, small part of him that he was ashamed of. That small part that felt a bit of perverse pleasure in knowing that she now knew how he felt when he had learned about her and Bjorn.
Harry sighed heavily. "Ron, will you relax." His exasperated voice drawing Ron back to the present. "It's just Hermione. It's not like you're about to face the entire Wizengamot, is it?" when this seemed to make no affect on Ron's frayed nerves Harry pushed himself out of his seat and forced Ron to stop his pacing to look at him. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, or maybe I can," Harry shook his head randomly, "I don't know anymore. But Ron, you don't have to go if you don't want to."
"What?" Ron's eyes bugged slightly. "Was is it just my imagination, or was it not you who has been trying for months to get me and Hermione to talk?"
"No," Harry sighed. "That was me. But if you going to see her is going to cause more harm then good…"
"For me or her?"
"For both of you." Harry insisted, "Then I don't want you to go." He shook his head sadly. "You're my best mate Ron, and I know this has been hard on you. On the both of you. So if you going to see her is going to make things worse or be to much for you to handle, then I don't want you to go."
Ron opened his mouth to comment when the clock standing across the common room struck the hour. Ron reached inside his pocket and pulled out a sheet of parchment. He tapped the page against his open palm smartly. "I have an appointment to keep." He unfolded the parchment to search for the line that would act as his portkey.
"Ron," Harry placed a hand over the parchment to block his vision. The red head glanced up at his friend, his brow arched questioningly.
"Please don't make her cry again." Harry's face softened dramatically as he let his hand drop. "I hate watching her cry. She's so strong and level headed most of the time that when she does…it's really rather scary."
Ron felt a fresh pang of guilt in his stomach but he quickly pushed it away. He was finished with feeling guilty. They had both made their apologies and they had both forgiven the other, it was in the past now and that is where it should remain if they had any hopes of being…friends.
Not bothering to give Harry an answer he found his place and read the portkeyed line. He felt the familiar sensation of the tug behind his naval followed by the awareness of his body spinning and tumbling madly through open space, stomach lurching from side to side inside him, churning the contents until he was ready to wretch. When he thought he couldn't stand the random movements a moment longer he felt himself drop out of the air. Anticipating his landing surface he just managed to turn over so that his backside made contact with the mattress instead of his face. He bounced twice on the soft surface before his body came to a full stop.
Brushing the wrinkles free of his robes Ron swung his legs over the side of the bed before tucking the letter safely in his pocket. After a quick glance around the room he determined Hermione was not in it and it was only then the sound of running water registered in his mind. Brows scrunched, he ducked his head to check his watch. The hands read two minutes after five. He wasn't early and Hermione was still in the shower. Ron's eyes twinkled with delight. It was 5:02 and Hermione was still in the shower. That meant she was running late. Hermione Jane Granger was actually running late. A wave of joy washed over him and a broad smile lit his face. He didn't understand why something as petty and insignificant as her running late brought him such joy, but in that moment it didn't matter. For only the second time to his knowledge she was running late.
Feeling bored, Ron took the opportunity Hermione's absence presented to examine her room more thoroughly. He hadn't had much of a chance the last time he was there due to the shock or his sudden transportation and seeing Hermione here in London, a place she wasn't suppose to be for another few months, and the fact that most of the room had been bathed it darkness. Now immersed in the bright light of early evening it wasn't much different then he remembered.
The bed coverings were still a cheery butter yellow, matching the four walls perfectly. Turning in a slow circle, he noticed for the first time that her room had a hardwood floor polished to a bright shine with a welcoming throw rug spread in the center to offer warmth in the winter and a comfortable place to lie and read during the summer. Her book shelves were just as crammed with books as before, but now that there was full light in the room he was better able to read the titles on the shelf closest to her bed. He was surprised by what he found. Hermione had quiet an eclectic taste in books.
There was a wide variety of stories and genres filling the bookcase, falling anywhere between The Brother's Karamazov to works by a bloke named Plato, who ever he was, as well as several collections of fairytales, mystery stories including several titled, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and horror stories. The book Jane Eyre sat beside another titled Frankenstein. She had a small section on mythology from different parts of the world and an entire shelf dedicated to a playwright by the name of William Shakespeare.
Growing board with her book case he moved to her desk where there was yet another stack of books but this time he found that he could not read the titles for there were in an entirely different language, he assumed Bulgarian as the top book looked like it might be a Transfiguration text. Sitting beside the stack of books were several rolls or parchment, some of them blank and some of them filled. He recognized Hermione's handwriting but once again found that the only words he could read on the page were those that made up her name. Sitting off to the side was a mound of quills, all of them warn down to the nub and in desperate need of sharpening.
Ron reached for the top most quill and the sharpener lying near by, intending on sharpening the points for her while he waited, when something sitting in a small dish at the top of her desk in the center caught his eye. He set the quill back where he found it and reached instead for the ball of spun glass that looked extremely similar to the prophesy they had tried to retrieve last year in the department of mysteries. He brought it close to his face and through the light spilling in from the window he saw that there was a small object suspended inside. He brought it up to his ear and shook it slightly. The small object made a pinging sound as it clanged against the fragile glass.
"Be careful!" Hermione cried, appearing suddenly in the room and rushing forward to take the spun ball out of his hand. "You do not want to break that."
"Why?" Ron asked as he watched her set the ball gingerly back in its dish. "What is it?"
"An emergency portkey." She explained pushing wet strands of hair out of hre face. "Dumbledore made it so that if Harry needed me I had a way to get home."
"Oh," Ron said with understanding as he turned to better face her. He froze in place, his blue eyes bulging slightly. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing but when he did his mouth gaped open and his eyes grew to the size of teacups.
Hermione Jane Granger, the acknowledge prude of Gryffindor, was standing before him dressed in nothing but a fluffy, pink dressing robe. Before he realized what he was doing his eyes were traveling appreciatively down the length of her body comparing what he saw now to what he remembered and committing the new image to memory.
He was delighted to find that her hair hung in wet strands around her shoulders, tiny wisps of it framing her face and curling tantalizingly under her eyes. The front of her dressing robe gaped open enough to reveal the expanse of smooth, white skin of her chest and the slight swell of her breasts. The pink robe was shorter on her then it had been the last time he had seen her wear it and it now hung to just above her knees, leaving the rest of her legs exposed to his sight. For the first time in his memory he saw the creamy white skin of her calf and ankles; they were usually covered by either her school stockings or trouser legs, and found that they were quite shapely and attractive.
Ron could have continued staring at her for hours but was brought abruptly back to reality with the sound of an amused little couch coming from the object of his attention. His ears went pink with the realization that Hermione knew exactly what he had been doing and undoubtedly what he had been thinking.
Feeling the heat spread from his ears to his face he forced an angry look, hoping it would explain away his rosy color, and barked. "For Merlin's sake, Hermione. Would you put some bloody clothes on?"
Hermione couldn't help but beam with pleasure when she saw the uncomfortable manner in which Ron shifted from foot to foot. She crossed her arms over her stomach, copying a move she had seen Maj use many times on Yorick, and tilted her head playfully to the side. "You're early." She said lightly, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.
"No." Ron forced himself to look away knowing that if he didn't he would only succeed in embarrassing himself further. "You're late. You said to be here at five. It's now…" he glanced down at his watch, "twenty-eight after."
"It is?" Hermione asked genuinely surprised. She reached forward and took hold of Ron's wrist, turning it so that she could look at the time. She cursed silently under her breath. "I didn't forget to turn the time back." She looked up into his questioning blue eyes and explained. "I've been so frazzled as of late and I couldn't remember if I turned my watch back to England's time or not." She reached around him to pick her own wristwatch up from the desk and show it to him. "I was going off of Durmstrang time not London. I thought I sill had two hours."
Ron shifted uncomfortably out of the way as Hermione leaned around him once again to put the watch back on her desk before turning and walking briskly to her dresser pushed up against the far wall. "Wait here while I go and change." She commanded as she pulled out a few appropriate garments before shoving the drawer shut. "I'll only be a moment." She assured him as she slipped out the door and into the hallway, presumably to go and change in the lavatory.
A few minutes later she was back, this time dressed in a pair of grey trousers, a soft, pink jumper, and white wooly socks. Her hair was dried and Ron was thrilled to see that while not back to its formal glory, she had simply dried it without taking the time to use magic and form precise curls.
"You're letting your hair grow out." He said observantly.
"Yes," she said mischievously, running her fingers through the mahogany strands. "I decided I didn't have enough time to bother with curling it. Besides," she shrugged a dainty shoulder. "Someone once told me they preferred my hair better the way it was." As she spoke her cheeks stained a shade of red to challenge the Weasley's.
"Right." Ron shifted from one foot to the other. He wasn't sure what to make of Hermione today. Of all the things he expected when coming here, he hadn't expected to find her to be so happy and comfortable with him or to be, dare he think it, flirting with him. And she was flirting, he was almost certain of that. He just wasn't as certain as to why. Ginny said and Harry confirmed, albeit reluctantly, that Hermione had cried when they told her about the rumors concerning him and Rane. If he were to go on her behavior of the moment he would have to conclude that his supposed escapade with Rane was either the farthest thing from her mind or that she simply didn't care. What ever her reasons were he decided that despite his confusion, he quiet liked her this way, relaxed and playful.
"So I was thinking," Hermione turned and walked the few short steps to her bed and sat down, "that after we talk you could join me and my parents for an authentic, Muggle dinner. I thought perhaps you could take notes so that when you next see your dad you can give him a synopsis with vivid details." Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she looked at him. "He would like that I suspect. What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Hermione nodded agreeably. "I think you're acting very strange." He said very bluntly.
"What do you mean?" She gave an almost convincing presentation of someone confused.
"You can stop with the act Hermione. Ginny told me you cried when they told you."
The curly haired girl instantly sobered, her eyes scowling at an item over his left shoulder, tempting him to turn and look at the object of her contempt, as her spine stiffened. "Apparently Ginny needs to learn to keep her mouth shut."
"No," Ron disagreed. "I'm glad she did tell me, otherwise I wouldn't know why Harry is still made at me and I wouldn't have known that I hurt you." Through the strands of his fiery red hair she saw that the tips of his ears had gone quiet pink. "I am sorry Hermione. When I followed Rane up to that dorm room my intention was not to hurt you."
"Oh," she bit the corner of her lip with her front teeth. "Thank you for that." She looked away from his eyes to her hands which she held clenched in her lap. After a minute she asked. "Do you mind me asking why you did follow her up there?"
Ron debated for a minute telling her. He didn't owe her any explanation, but something in her posture spoke of vulnerability and Ron felt himself responding to it. Blushing sheepishly he turned and looked out the window. "Rane just wanted to talk somewhere where we didn't have to worry about being overheard."
Hermione nodded with consideration. "I can understand that. What with people like Seamus and Dean around… But Ron," she paused to gnaw on her lip. "The next time you want to talk to a girl alone you might want to think about finding a different venue. The boy's dormitory?" Her eyebrows lifted pointedly, "No wonder Seamus, Dean and Neville came to the conclusion that they did."
"Yeah," he could feel heat spreading to all visible areas of skin, making his freckles indiscernible on his flesh.
"Ron," she began tentatively, "As a mater of interest, what were you and Rane talking about? Up in the dormitory." She clarified.
Ron sighed, his head shaking from side to side, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes. "I don't even know why I'm even thinking of telling you this." He muttered as he turned away from the window to face her once again. "It's foolish really. You tell me all the time that you think Divination is a useless and unreliable field of study."
Hermione's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, of course. That makes perfect sense." She bent forward and propped her chin on her fist. "So what method did she use?" Ron could tell her curiosity had been piqued. "Tarot cards? Tea leaves? I highly doubt it was the crystal ball."
"She read my palm." He responded instantly. "Wait. How did you know…"
"That Rane's a gypsy?" she provided helpfully.
"Yeah." Ron agreed. "Did Ester tell you?"
Hermione scrunched her face as she tossed her head from side to side undiscernibly. "In a manner of speaking. I had to confront her about it before she admitted to it." Hermione rolled her eyes at herself. "I can't believe how long it took me to figure that one out. The signs were in front of me all the time and I…I just didn't see them."
"The signs?" Ron asked curiously.
"Yes." Hermione rose from the bed and flounced over to the desk, moved aside the stack of parchments and hoisted herself up to sit in the place she had made. "From the moment I first met her I knew there was something special about her. She knew things about me, things she shouldn't possibly have known, and she learned them from simply looking at me. She calmed me and made me feel relaxed in her presences, enough to open myself to her and pour out bits of my soul."
Ron leaned back, resting his hip against the edge of the desk, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms wrapped comfortably around his chest. Now that she mentioned it, Ron had noticed some of the same things about Rane, though he had never given it a second thought. He had simply taken it for granted that she was able to do these things.
"Ester always knows what to say to me," Hermione continued. "Sometimes, whether I want to hear it or not. And there are times when she knows what you're going to say before you have a chance to say it, or she knows what you're thinking while you're thinking it." Ron watched as Hermione swung her legs gracefully back and forth out of sight under her desk then into sight in front of her, ankles crossed similarly to his.
"I asked her once how she was able to do it and at first when she answered I thought she was joking." She looked up at Ron. "She said magic." Hermione clarified. "I thought she was just being cheeky. It wasn't until some time later when I got to know her better that I realized perhaps she really was telling the truth. Maybe magic really was the reason she was able to do what she did. So I started doing my research."
"And you discovered that she was a gypsy." Ron finished.
"Yes, but it took me some time." She picked at her pants absently, with her head tilted to the side, obscuring Ron's view of her face. "There are surprisingly few books on gypsy's, even in the Durmstrang library. And my first instinct wasn't even to look for information on gypsies, it was to look for information on empaths. I was going through this incredibly long and dreary tome on the Empath, I'm still not certain how the author managed that because Empaths really are fascinating, but the point is I was almost to the end of the book when he mentioned briefly that gypsies were said to hold different forms of empathy, but that because the gypsies as a people kept their secrets to themselves it was impossible to confirm this."
"So that's when you went looking for books on the gypsy." Ron said with understanding.
"Exactly." Hermione agreed. "I took out every book the library had on the subject, which is a copy of every book written about them in existence. Do you know how many there were?" She didn't wait for him to hazard a guess. "Five! Five books in total, and all of them filled with rubbish according to Ester."
Ron listened intently as Hermione continued to regale him with the information she had learned about the gypsy nation and to his surprise found himself interested in what she had learned for probably the first time since he had known her.
"Did you know that the gypsy magic only manifests itself in females? It's really very interesting. There are male gypsies. They travel with their mothers and wives and daughters, but they will never be able to perform gypsy magic. And let's say that a gypsy male decides to marry outside the caravan, which many of them apparently actually do. Ester says that it's even encouraged. You know it keeps fresh blood among the people." Hermione paused, her brow furrowed in thought. "You know, regular witches and wizards could learn a few things from them, don't you think?
"Sure." Ron agreed readily.
"Anyway," Hermione waved her hand dismissing her own question. "His children will inherit the magic of the gypsies, even the sons, who will be able to pass it on to their off spring. But like I said, only the females will be able to manifest the active powers."
"That's very interesting, Hermione." Ron broke in when she stopped to take a breath, "And I really would like to hear more about it…but did you really ask me to come here just so that we could discuss the powers of the gypsies?"
"No," Hermione hung her head so that she wasn't forced to look at him. "I didn't bring you here just for that reason. I just…" she looked up at him once again, a determined set to her chin. "We're supposed to be friends, aren't we? And isn't this the kind of thing friends do? Talk about their interests and share the things they find fascinating?"
"Well," Ron scrunched his brow a moment in thought. "I guess so."
"Look Ron," Hermione hopped down from her perch on the desk and went to stand before him. It wasn't until that moment when she was standing so close he would only have to move his hand a little to reach out and touch her that he noticed how much she had grown since Christmas. She was taller, her head coming to a stop at the top of his chest.
"I know you said that you needed time and that I have to earn your trust again." Her words snapped him back to the moment. "And I understand that. I really do. But what I want more then anything is to be your friend again. I know I've made horrible mistakes," she ducked her head and locked her eyes on the tips of her sock clad toes, "and I don't really deserve your forgiveness, but I'm going to ask you for it anyway."
"Hermione," Ron reached out and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "You asked me for my forgiveness the last time we saw each other and I gave it to you." He shook his head slightly. "You don't have to ask me again."
Hermione licked her lips which had suddenly gone dry and blinked several times up at Ron. He was still holding her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger and heat was radiating from that spot to the far corners of her body. "Ron," she asked tentatively. "Do you think…could you possibly ever…what I mean is…" she took a calming breath. "Do you think you could possibly forget what a horribly wretched idiot I've been and start over?"
His hand fell away to land by his side. "Hermione…"
"Do you know how much I hate what I have done to you?" Her question took him back. Tears glistened in her eyes as she smiled sadly at him. "I miss my old Ron. I miss the boy who would stand up for me no matter what. The one who could effortlessly make me laugh by the ridicules things he allowed to come out of his mouth." Her voice caught painfully in her throat as more tears welled behind her eyes and threatened to fall silently down her cheek.
Ron felt a painful tightening in his chest. "Hermione, please don't cry." He pleaded, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb that managed to work its way out. "I hate it when you cry."
"But mostly," she continued, determined to have her say, "I miss the boy who believed in such things as the One and Only, even if he would never admit it." She reached out and placed her hand tentatively on the wrist of his hand still holding her chin. "Please tell me he hasn't gone forever."
"Hermione I…" Ron was cut off by the sound of the front doorbell ringing piercingly through the house.
Hermione instinctively turned toward the sound breaking the hold he had on her. Her eyes furrowed in inquisitiveness. "I wonder who that could possibly be." She took a step towards her door, curious to see who could be calling this close to meal time. She stopped herself however before she took her second step. Who ever it was it couldn't possibly be for her. The rest of her family wasn't coming to visit until Sunday, Easter morning, and she was going to go and see her friends at Grimmuald Place for a few days before she left, so they wouldn't be here. And none of her neighbors knew she was home as of yet, so they wouldn't be calling for her either. The only conclusion she could draw was that it was a friend of her parents and seeing as for the moment they were expecting Ron to stay for dinner they would be making excuses and ushering them hastily to the door.
Hermione shook her head as she looked back at Ron. "What were you saying?"
"I was saying…" but before he could finish there was a roar of sound from the floor below, instantly drowning him out. There was the loud thud of something being thrown against the wall fallowed by the shattering of glass and the smashing of wood. And then came the blood curdling sound of a woman screaming in agony.
"Mum!" Hermione spun on her heel, fear mounting in her chest. She raced for the door, grasping madly for the handle, unable to find it in her unexplainable terror. Her fingers had just encircled the silver knob when Ron's hand clamped around hers, halting her from opening the door.
She looked up at him widely, unable to comprehend why he wasn't letting her go to her mother. Then she found the answer for her unprovoked panic there in his eyes. He had realized before she had. He needn't have spoken, she knew as well as he did.
"Death Eaters." He whispered, reaching inside his robes for his wand, thankful he had had the forethought to bring it with, not that he went anywhere without it these days.
Hermione pulled her hand free of Ron's and ran back across the room to where her wand sat harmlessly on her bedside table. She rushed back to him, her eyes never leaving his. Her heart was racing madly with panic. She couldn't think straight. Her mother was still screaming. Images of her withering in agony on the floor flooded Hermione's brain making it impossible to think. In desperation she looked to Ron and found there what she need. Understanding the look in his eyes, she nodded her agreement and stepped in behind him as he made to open the door. It was at that moment that Mr. Granger's scream of agony joined his wife's.
