Title: Outcast
Summary: Love is like riding a broomstick. Some people are addicted to it and others just can't seem to get the hang of it.
Disclaimer: I own the plot, which makes me very happy.
A/N: It seems like the last part of chapter 13 was slightly (or a lot) confusing. Harry was trying to protect Hermione from Lavender, because they recently found out what Lavender has done to her.
A/N2: Since the HBP has come out things have changed drastically, and so this story is considered to be AU. Just so you know then.
A/N3: Mucho thanks to avastarx for giving me the idea for this chapter. I know it has taken me a lot of time to write it in but there it is hun! And as always, even more thanks to quidditch7 who remains my ever-faithful reader & reviewer and has helped me on my way too many times to count. Thank you!
It would be difficult to sneak up to her room tonight. The fact that the stairs were charmed so boys couldn't go up to the girls' dormitories was the least of his problems. Ginny wouldn't understand; she had never known about his crush – being paranoid and all. Harry would understand, but would he approve? The wounds were still too fresh. Even now they knew that Hermione hadn't pretended, but really hadn't known what she had done to break up the happy couple, fact remained that she had. Lavender putting a memorycharm on their former best friend didn't undo the kiss. It just made them furious with Miss Brown.
If only Fred and George were still here. They'd know how to get to Hermione. Him, he was just thinking how difficult it was that she was never in the Common Room anymore. He was just hoping to catch her alone one day. No, Fred and George wouldn't wait for that. They'd find a way. But what if he did? What if he found a way? What did he expect to find? If she was awake she'd surely throw him out – and she'd be right to do so, after all wasn't he the one who had claimed not to be her friend? When she had opened up to him, something that must have taken a lot of courage, he had just brushed her off. After her big confession he had never really talked to her, had never admitted how proud he was and how for one second her brown eyes had made his heart skip. He had ignored her, unsure of his new yet so old feelings; wanting them to be just a momentary weakness as well as wanting to savour them. He had made her promise him not to hurt herself, yet that was the only thing she could possibly read a little love into.
It would be best if he could just forget the whole plan. He had no reason whatsoever to go see her anyway.
"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for not paying attention. I wasn't aware that you were so good in Potions you could afford to slack off Mister Weasley. In fact, I am fairly certain you have been failing miserably since your feud with Miss Granger."
Ron sighed inaudibly. He had heard less than half of what Snape had been saying the entire class. He had more important things to think about than how to make a Polyjuice Potion. After all, they had...
He shot up straight, earning a chuckle from the Slytherins and a whispered 'suck-up' from Harry. Ron grinned lazily at his best friend, happy that Harry was joking around again. Really, him and Ginny were crazy to have stayed apart so long! Yet that was not the point now. He had to get some potion. Now that he thought about it, hadn't Fred and George tried something like that earlier on? He vaguely recalled them bragging about fooling the stairs, to pull an idiotic stunt like throwing water over the Quidditch girls. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Blimey, was he really such an idiot?
"Ron?"
"Leave me alone Lavender. I know what you did."
A hand. On his arm. Pleading eyes.
"I loved you."
She admitted quietly.
"For you it was just a fling. I was just a girl. But you meant more to me. I couldn't deal with the fact that this was the end. That that kiss was all there was and would ever be. I'm not a girl who goes around kissing boys. You were my first. My only. I never meant for this to happen. I swear..."
Her eyes filled with tears. Real honest ones – unless she was an amazing actress.
"When you started fighting I assumed the memorycharm had gone wrong. So I just kept quiet. I didn't want you to hate me for what I had done. All I wanted was a chance."
A tear slipped down her cheek. Ron had wiped it away before he could stop himself. She leaned into his caress ever so slightly.
"You haven't told Hermione yet, right? Is it...is it okay if I tell her? She deserves a first shot at being angry with me..."
Lavender tried to smile bravely. Ron couldn't do anything but nod, overcome by a sudden wash of guilt, and possibly regret. He was the instigator of all this. He had kissed Lavender, half knowing – or guessing – her true feelings for him.
"I should be sorry. I knew how you felt about me. It appealed to me. It was nice to be wanted... to feel loved. You deserved better. Deserve better."
His hand still caressed her cheek, which somehow gave her the courage to softly press her lips against his for a second.
"Thank you."
She whispered, her mouth still close to his.
"I hope you and her work things through. I won't be in your way anymore, that's for sure."
This time it was a real smile, albeit a sad one. Ron smiled back, not altogether forgiving but not unpleasant either.
That evening, his luck seemed to change. After a day of getting himself into all kinds of trouble – leading to just as many detentions – he was finally on his way back to the Common Room. His detention, with Professor Binns was as boring as Binns was dead – which meant very.
Ron yawned the password to the Fat Lady, who let him in grudgingly, muttering something about 'unmannered Weasleys who never regarded the feelings of others'. He ignored her, stepping through the portraithole with his eyes already half closed.
After sweeping his eyes over the Common Room quickly he headed for the stairs, silently scoffing himself for thinking that she would be down here. She never was. She was always in her room doing lord knows what. He wish he knew. He wish he could just go up to that room and see with his own eyes how she was doing. If she was doing homework again, maybe even smiling as her cat purred. He'd love to see that.
A soft sigh, accompanied by a muffled thud made him turn around. There she was. Lying on her back on the sofa, her stomach covered in parchment; books and quills scattered on the floor. He tilted his head a little, looking at the serene sight. Why she had decided to come down here, he didn't know. Why tonight, of all nights, when he was coming in late? But maybe she did this every night and they just didn't know. Maybe she was still drawn to the fire like she used to be in the earlier years at Hogwarts.
He smiled, thinking back on those days when everything had been all right. She had loved to sit in front of the fire, watching him and Harry play chess. Sometimes her eyes were closed and it'd be such an attractive picture. Not near perfection, but just flat out charming and pretty.
It was nice to see her looking like this again, so calm and in place. She seemed to belong there, when for an entire year she had looked out of place pretty much everywhere. She had gained a little weight too; her face didn't seem so hollow and cold anymore. The smile lingering on her lips complimented her face. God, he had missed that smile. It made him feel warm inside. Just seeing her there, looking so...relaxed. It made him realise that maybe not everything that had happened was irreversible. Maybe there was still some hope. A chance.
The sudden desire to touch that face, to reassure himself that this wasn't all some dream or delusion brought about by his fatigue, made him walk over to her. His fingers were already outstretched, just an inch from her soft skin, when she moved slightly. He pulled back quickly, careful not to make a sound. From a distance he watched her, relaxing again and sighing softly. He bit his lip, not wanting to wake her but wanting to talk to her, touch her, at the same time.
He was about to slowly tiptoe his way back to the stairs when she moved her hand and her left sleeve pulled up a little. The sight shocked him, made him feel nauseous. Fresh cuts on her pale skin. Lines, not neat like she had cut herself before, but harsh and almost angry looking; like she was trying to punish herself.
Why? Why had she done this? She had promised him! She had made him believe in a second chance! He had believed that she could be better again. That she could be like before: perfect. Not torn and frayed and messed up. She had made him believe all that, and now, with her razor, she had slashed those dreams into little pieces.
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