DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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Sitting opposite Neville, Hermione was ladling steaming hot stew onto her plate. The ceiling of the great hall reflected an incredibly dramatic storm, turbulent enough in its motions and colours to induce shivers, despite the fact that the room was really quite toasty.
Warm comfort food was the need of the hour.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Ginny wearing a dour expression on her face. Behind her, Dean looked equally aggravated. They both collapsed onto the bench next to her, tearing ferociously into their dinner.
"Ron is a hellacious arsehole."
Ginny's declaration was bolstered by Dean's grunt of approval.
"Bad round of Quidditch?" Neville asked.
"Ugh," Ginny replied, "That's putting it mildly. I wanted to transfigure him into mound of dragon dung, but I suspect Harry would have objected."
She looked at Hermione; "Is he still being a shit to you?"
"Yes. And I cannot for the life of me figure out why..."
"Er... right. That may be my fault..."
Hermione just shrugged. She wasn't even surprised by her complete lack of concern about the whole issue. She had evolved, you see. Ron was a silly pubescent boy. Teenage drama was so far below her. Sod him. Sod them all. Sod everyone. Sod the world. She'd had this sodding mantra on repeat in her head all day.
She turned to Ginny, looking to change the topic of conversation, but Ginny's focus was fixed on something behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione saw... Harry.
Naturally.
With the way Dean was scowling down at his food, Hermione surmised that he was well aware of what had stolen his girlfriend's attention.
"I'm... I... need to talk to Harry... about tactics. Tomorrow's the game, you know.."
Ginny's voice had a dreamy quality that was almost Lunaesque, and Dean's nose scrunched in displeasure as she leapt off the bench. Across the table, Neville and Seamus wore near-identical looks of trepidation.
Hermione cleared her throat. "So, Dean. I hear West Ham had a bit of luck with a new defender...?" This was perhaps the first time Hermione was glad her dad rambled on about the Premier League in his letters.
"Yeah. Ferdinand," Dean grumbled back. And then fell silent. For good.
Well that was a failure.
Seamus gave Hermione a rueful half-smile. Something akin to a 'nice try, old girl'.
It was only after nearly the entire table had cleared that Dean spoke up again.
"She's going to dump me soon, isn't she?"
"Um..."
"Yeah. Any day now. I'm expecting it."
"I'm sorry, Dean."
He chuckled at that. "I always knew I was a filler. She's just been good at making me forget."
He turned to consider her speculatively for a moment, and then said- "But this is all small potatoes, innit? Hook ups and break ups and all that. Just us pretending to be normal kids before shit hits the fan. It's going to get bad for us muggleborns. Not that I need to tell you that..."
Hermione sighed. She would have preferred him going on about his broken heart.
"Yes. Bad." What more was there to say?
"You know, I really didn't think I'd have to face this fuckery around here. My dad's a big bloke. Imposing, you might even say. And it doesn't matter that he's a civil rights lawyer; white, sanitised, suburban mums still look at him like he's out to sell their children drugs. And then I learned that not only do I have the wrong skin colour... I have dirty blood too. Humanity sucks."
"Power, insecurity, and subjugation: a historically inescapable pattern," Hermione flinched almost as soon as she'd said that- it sounded pretentious and officious even to her own ears.
Dean, however, looked mildly amused, "What about your parents, then?"
"White, sanitised, suburban dentists," she quipped, and Dean laughed. "...but also godless, commie reprobates, if that helps."
"Oh, absolutely."
Later, Ginny asked her how she had got her boyfriend to talk more than she herself had managed to in weeks.
It took Hermione a lot of effort to stop her eyes from rolling.
"We were talking about being muggleborn, and what it means, and such. He probably feels you wouldn't understand..."
"Of course, I'd understand!"
She didn't though. None of them did.
Hermione almost didn't go down for breakfast the next day.
Mornings before a quidditch match were generally tedious, but ones before a Gryffindor-Slytherin match? Unbearable. The ridiculous chest-thumping was enough to kill anyone's appetite.
Predictably, the great hall was a riot of redgold and greensilver; the chatter and cheeriness was nauseating.
She paused when she spotted Ron. He looked vaguely sick and entirely uncomfortable. The sight of him sitting at the table not stuffing his face with sausages and eggs was so abnormal and disconcerting, that Hermione felt a little twang in her heart. Perhaps it was time she offered him an olive branch- he looked far too miserable for her to ignore.
"How are you both feeling?" she asked cautiously, unable to look away from a certain thatch of red hair.
It was, of course, Harry who deigned to answer her with a careless and succinct "Fine."
Harry… who seemed far too absorbed in the pedestrian task of pouring a glass of pumpkin juice. Hermione peered at him, and to her horror, saw a flash of gold disappear up the sleeve of his robe.
"There you go, Ron. Drink up."
She managed to stop Ron just as he was about to take his first sip. Both the boys looked bewildered. Ron's expression held a hint of anger, Harry's was overcompensating.
"Why not?" Ron barked at her.
Taking a calming breath, Hermione turned to Harry, "You just put something in that drink."
"Excuse me?" Harry's face was a mask of theatrical disbelief.
Hermione seethed with barely suppressed fury. "You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry, lightly. But he made a show of shoving a tiny bottle abruptly into his pocket.
She was bowled over. She blinked at him in disbelief, and then tried again to reason with the other one: "Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!"
"Stop bossing me around, Hermione." Ron drained the glass defiantly and returned his gaze to the sky above, wordlessly dismissing her.
One of the things Hermione hated the most about herself was that her tear ducts were very easily triggered. She could feel moisture building up in her eyes, and the anger in her blood gushed through her veins.
She bent to hiss into Harry's ear, "You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!"
The look he gave her was one part reproachful, and two parts condescending.
"Hark who's talking," he whispered back. "Confunded anyone lately?"
Hermione tore away from him and out of the hall. She marched aimless out into the grounds, across the pitch, where the crowd and excitement was building up, and... she couldn't stomach it. She found herself at the edge of the lake, and she paced, back and forth, furiously attempting to work out the pent up frustration.
These were her friends. Her BEST FRIENDS. How wonderful. One she considered her brother in all but blood, one she was fucking besotted with... and here she was brushed aside, shoved over, disregarded.
She couldn't think coherently. The anger was now being overpowered by hurt.
What was she to them? Did they truly only value her when she could be useful? Would they even miss her if she wasn't needed for homework or research purposes?
Hermione let herself cry then. And once she started, she couldn't stop. She could and would blame it on the fact that she was due to bleed in less than twenty-four hours.
As the sobs abated, she sank onto the grass, burying her face between her knees.
It was only a few seconds later that she heard the rustle of footsteps behind her. She hoped against all odds that it would be Harry and Ron. She felt the motion of a body dropping down next to her, and an arm looping around her shoulders. Peeking through strands of her hair, she encountered the sombre profile of Theo Nott. He was looking out at the lake, but feeling her eyes on him, he met her gaze with his own.
"Hello," he said softly.
"Hello," she croaked back.
He sighed, taking in her wrecked visage. "What happened? It was those idiotic friends of yours, wasn't it?"
He was rolling his eyes before she'd even started to deny his (on point) assumption.
"Don't bother, Hermione. I saw you storm out after talking to them."
"You... you followed me...?"
"Of course." He pulled her closer to his side, and rested his cheek on the top of her head, "I'll ask again. What Happened?"
"Just me coming in the way of quidditch, I suppose."
She felt his irate expulsion of air as it blew wisps of her hair asunder.
"Fuckers don't deserve your friendship, you know?"
Hermione could feel a fresh wave of tears welling up, and was unable to say anything in response.
"You'd think Potter would have the awareness and sensibility to understand how important you are. But he's too wrapped up in himself, isn't he? And you're the most reliable, useful support system a prat like that could ask for. I'm not even going to bother assessing Weasley. He's a right prick. Enough said. Everything else is expected. Why do you let them treat you like this, Hermione?"
She blinked furiously, begging the tears to retreat.
"An absolute treasure like you – brilliant, sharp, dazzlingly skilled – crying over a couple of mediocre tossers who have no refinement whatsoever..."
"Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said.
"...I'd hex the shit out of them, if I didn't know all the other senseless, brawny Gryffinfucks would pummel me to death in retaliation..."
Well damn. She was sobbing into his chest.
"... And we both know I'm far too gorgeous to die young. I need to be allowed to age gracefully. It needs to happen. You can picture it right? I will cultivate a batch of very sexy wrinkles, sport glorious salt-and-pepper hair, and women – young and old – will throw their knickers at me."
Hermione was a blubbering mess. Was she crying or laughing? But Theo didn't give her the chance to sort it out.
"We'd be married, you and I. Obviously. You'd have aged wonderfully too. It's inevitable, with the bone structure you have. And we'd have done something about your hair. Dear Merlin, Hermione, what is with your hair? You know, in the time we've been sitting here, it's slithered its way into my ears and made a nest for the Blathergouts in my brain."
"Luna's convinced you they're real?"
"She has some very compelling arguments in that regard."
"Been spending a lot of time with her, have you?" Hermione asked, amused, in spite of the lingering sniffles.
"Your fault entirely. YOU caused our paths to cross, and now I can't get rid of her. She's actually mad, you know? Bonkers. Deluded, and... mad. Mad."
Hermione chuckled softly, rubbing her eyes, and extracting herself from Theo's embrace.
"You like her, don't you?"
Theo balked. "I absolutely do not."
She blinked at him in astonishment, as realisation dawned. "Oh my god. You like her!"
A series of different expressions flashed on his face, before he settled on a deep frown.
"Absolutely. Not."
And Hermione began to laugh in earnest.
"Shut up, Granger!"
She squeezed her eyes shut, and fell back onto the grass, laughing and laughing, until the old tears in her eyes were all replaced by those induced by joy.
The game was over by the time Theo and Hermione made it back to the quidditch pitch. They stood at the edge watching the last few stragglers shuffle towards the castle- the ones in scarlet scarves were singing jubilantly.
"Congratulations, I suppose," said Theo, dispassionately.
"Hurrah," she replied in a similar manner.
"My common room is going to be insufferable tonight. Drunken losers having a collective bitchfit. Bleh."
"Um… Theo?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Why didn't Malfoy play?"
Theo answered too quickly. "Unwell."
"Right. Like that's ever stopped him."
"Heh. Right. So. What now?"
"Not the smoothest of segues, that."
"Oh hush. What are you going to do, Hermione?"
"I'm going to talk to Harry and Ron."
"Now?"
"Yeah. I'll catch them in the changing room before they get swept up in festivities…" she couldn't keep the nervousness out of her voice.
Theo gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, ("Find me when you're done") and trudged off towards the castle.
Hermione ran into Ginny, Dean, and Demelza just outside her destination. Her feeble words of congratulations were muffled by thick red hair, when Ginny flew in to hug her.
"Coming to the party, Herms?" she trilled.
"Yes, in a bit," she replied, faux-scowling at the obnoxious foreshortening of her name.
It was just Harry and Ron in the changing room, thankfully. Slowly and cautiously, she approached the two, and after a deep fortifying breath, she addressed Harry.
"You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal."
It was Ron who boisterously responded - "What are you going to do, turn us in?"
"What are you two talking about?" asked Harry, playing innocent – badly.
Hermione could feel her composure breaking. Her throat was closing up again, her vision was clouding, and her pitch was all over the place.
"You spiked Ron's juice with Felix Felicis at breakfast!"
"No!" sang Harry. He was grinning. Actually grinning.
"Yes. You. Did. You. Plonker." she gritted out, "And that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"
"No!" he said, again, and pulled out a tiny sealed bottle from his pocket. "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." Then he aimed a proud, saccharine smile at Ron, saying, "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself."
"Wait, really?" Ron gaped at Harry. "I was so sure…" he muttered, shaking his head in astonishment. And then he spun around to glower at Hermione, mimicking her shrill tone, "You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything! Fuck you, Hermione. I can save goals without help!"
"I never said you couldn't — Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!"
Ron shoved past her and left the room without a backwards glance.
Harry's grin had vanished, and he looked pained and uncomfortable.
"Want to head to the party then?"
Hermione shot him the most disdainful look she could manage while trying to hold back yet another bloody batch of tears. "No. You go."
And she walked back out into the dusky evening.
Her plan to make a neat escape into the nearest toilet was sabotaged by Theo who was waiting for her in the entrance hall. One look at her face had his mouth thinning into a grim line, and he dragged her into a shadowy corner.
"Well?" he asked in a clipped tone.
"It didn't go well," Hermione stated, weakly.
"No shit. I just saw Weasley go by looking mightily pissed off. Would that have something to do with your current state of distress?" He actually sounded so angry... at her. It stung.
"Yes. It was... And he... Ron said... Ron..." she was stuttering like a total moron.
Theo studied her face, his neck bent at a very uncomfortable looking angle. What he saw make his scowl more pronounced.
"I cannot believe," his voice was getting gruffer by the second, "that you laughed at my liking Luna, when you fancy Ron fucking Weasley. Fuck."
Hermione tried to lighten the mood – "So you admit you li-"
"Shut up. Are you serious?! Weasley? Ron Weasley?! Are you really that pathetic?"
She knew that this moment warranted anger and indignation, but she had none of those left in her. So she just shrugged and peered at ground. Her feet looked so tiny next to his.
"How to you justify that to yourself? Dear fucking Merlin, Hermione! He's so so so far beneath you, I just don't..." he broke his sentence off with a strangled sound of disgust.
"Go attend your party." He ordered.
"What? No."
"Yes. Go. Have a drink. Talk to your friends. Don't look at Weasley."
"Won't make a difference."
"Just stop taking his shit, Hermione. Look at yourself. You're a force of nature until you let him break you. WHY do you let him break you? He's such an inadequate little wanker. Stop it. You're Hermione Granger!" He grabbed and shook her gently. "Hermione. Granger. Alright?"
Hermione Granger chuckled softly, and pulled Theodore Nott into a hug. He held her tightly, stroking her hair.
"By the way, if you utter a word about your ludicrous and baseless allegations to Luna, I will kill you."
The usual casual airiness was back in his voice.
Oooooooh gosh.
Oh gosh oh gosh O !
Hermione hadn't felt such a bizarre mix of simultaneous elation and dejection before in her life. Sure, Ron and Lavender were apparently an item now. But she had set a storm of angry birds at him.
Oh gosh. She had made a flock of tiny canaries peck and claw at him. He'd come in with his newly acquired bimbo, all sheepish and pillock-like, and Hermione had directed a Tweety army to attack him.
I Tawt I Taw a Ruddy Twat.
She was laughing hysterically as she walked towards the library. But by the time she got to Padma she was feeling morose again. The Ravenclaw in question was watching her closely as she pulled books out of her bag.
"What?" Hermione snapped.
"So... Ron and Lavender, huh?"
"How on earth do you know about that?"
"Ha. My sister is the biggest gossip Hogwarts has ever seen. I got a bleeding Howler about Lav and her Ron about three minutes after it happened."
"Ah." Hermione hoped her manner would convey how completely she'd love a change of topic.
No such luck.
"What do you see in him, anyway? You can do so much-"
"Yes okay." She definitely didn't want to hear that spiel again.
"No, honestly. He's an idiot. I went to the Yule ball with him! He didn't even have the decency to act polite. He sat there all sullen and spent the whole evening staring at..." and then Padma's eyes widened and Hermione glared. "...Oh."
"Quite."
"So that's how it is."
"Can we please get down to work now?" Hermione all but growled.
"Yes ma'am!" Padma threw her hands up in mock surrender.
And for the next three hours, that's all they did.