DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
"McLaggen is a stonking great arsehole," Harry grumbled, "I'm going to fix him onto the highest goalpost with a permanent sticking charm, and leave him there forever."
"Someone would notice, sooner or later," Hermione said, regretfully, "he has a way of making himself known. I say we give him the Umbridge treatment..."
Harry shuddered, "I'd rather not go anywhere near those Centaurs again. Chuck us a chocolate frog, will you Ron?"
"Sure. Well, I reckon he'll take care of himself, gnormless troll that he is. All we'll have to do is sit back and watch the show. You remember how he fucked up his trial, yeah?"
Hermione blushed, immediately looking away from Ron, who was leaning back against the headboard of his sickbed with a dreamy smile on his face.
"No, I'm pretty sure that was a onetime occurrence," said Harry, pointedly.
Hermione refused to look at him as well.
"Hmmm," she mused, pretending to be utterly transfixed by the play of sunlight on the ward curtains, "Want me to design a pimple-tattoo? I'm sure Dean will gladly chip in... We can create something really spectacular..."
"Blimey," Ron muttered, "Why do I keep forgetting how dangerous you are?"
She arched an eyebrow at him. "If you'd like, I can conjure a bird or two to remind you."
They were approaching dangerous territory. Ron visibly gulped, searching for something appropriate to come back with. Hermione stared at him in anticipation...
Harry cleared his throat loudly. "I think it's time to go, Hermione. Don't want to be late for McGonagall."
"Right, yes," she hastily stood up to leave, suddenly embarrassed, "Bye, Ron. We'll come by again soon..."
"Yeah," he answered tetchily, "See you."
Harry grasped her upper arms once they'd exited the hospital wing.
"Listen. Hermione," his eyes bore into hers, "Please, please, please –"
"Let you get what you want this time?"
"What?" he asked, blankly.
She shook her head. "Nothing. Sorry. Go on..."
He gave her a 'jesus, you're mental' look, and said, "Can you please not fight with Ron again?"
"Can I not fight with him?! Well, excuse me, but –"
"Yes, yes, I know, he's um... but, just... please, Hermione. I'm asking you because you're obviously the mature one here..."
"Oh. Nice. Flattery. If this is how you appeal to Slughorn, it's no wonder he hasn't given up that memory yet."
"Cheap shot, Herms!"
"Oh, bugger off."
They got stuck on a moving staircase, pulling them away from their destination. Hermione sighed in resignation, crossing her arms. Victim to the whims of a flighty flight of steps... wasn't she suffering enough?
Harry decided to take advantage of that gift of time, and pulled out the Marauder's map. He shoved it away only moments after.
"In the DADA classroom," he huffed impatiently, "For fuck's sake."
"Haven't had a breakthrough yet?" she asked him in what she hoped was a casual manner.
"No!" he wailed, "I'm bloody stalking him, and still... nothing! I go out of my way to be where he is, and so far, all I've seen him do is walk between classes with various girls, or Nott... one time, I caught him having a row with Zabini, but they both shut up when I got close enough to hear. Oh, and once I caught him with his tongue down Parkinson's throat."
"Lovely."
Harry made a sound of deep disgust, "And he's disappearing more and more often. He's almost never in bed, even when I check in the middle of the night, or way early in the morning..."
Hermione twitched involuntarily, once again reminded of how lucky she was that Harry hadn't been glued to his map 'way early in the morning' two days ago.
"Hermione..." he continued, "I don't think Nott is being completely honest with you."
Oh shit. She had been dreading this moment for a while.
"He hasn't got anything do with this," she answered immediately.
"Maybe," he allowed, "But he has to know something. Maybe I should talk to him..."
"What? No!" she said in alarm. She was aghast at the mere thought.
"Why not? If he really is on our side, he should be glad to help!"
"Things aren't so cut and dried, and you know that. I mean, of course Theo is on our side as you put it... but he isn't going to spy on his friend, who –"
"Who's a manky Death Eater! And surely if they're so close, Malfoy must have told him some stuff!"
"...He hasn't. I... I trust Theo implicitly, okay? If he knew anything, he would –"
"Would he, though?"
"YES," she stated emphatically, "Remember, Harry... the… the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters!"
She knew it was absolutely awful of her to throw Sirius' words in his face like that, but she was frantic. She needed to get him off Theo's back.
Harry was quiet after that.
In a desperate bid to lighten to the mood, Hermione said, "You know, of all the ways in which the Dursleys mistreat you, depriving you of muggle music is probably the worst."
Harry gaped at her. "Yep. That's definitely the worst."
"Oh god! I didn't… that wasn't what I…"
He grinned slowly at her horrified expression, "Good thing I'm getting a heavy dose of the stuff thanks to Seamus' gramophone, right?"
"Yes," Hermione muttered, mortified, "Remind me to put on The Smiths sometime. They're a great guilty pleasure for moments of weepy self-indulgence."
"Oh yes please," Harry intoned monotonously, "I could really do with some of that in my life."
As usual, on Wednesday evening, Hermione sauntered over to the library to spend an hour absorbed in good, wholesome research with Padma. Keeping with the other girl's Healerly ambitions, they'd been studying magical medicine in great depth. They met just outside the library doors, and walked over to their usual table, passing Madam Pince, who was actually feeling generous enough to offer them a ghost of a smile.
Hermione passed over Moste Potente Potions to Padma, and picked up Important Modern Magical Discoveries, quickly flipping over to the section on medicinal inventions.
Fifty-six minutes later, she stretched. Something around her shoulder blades cracked audibly, causing her to grimace. She really hated when that happened.
"Mind if I take off a bit early, Padma?" she asked, "I promised Neville I'd help him with his water-making charm."
"Sure. But, um..." Practical Padma had turned into Piteous Padma again that day after a long time, and Hermione was annoyed. "I was just wondering... er, my sister was telling me about how upset Lavender is about the fact that you and Ron are on speaking terms again..."
"Your sister needs to find better things to do with her time than gossiping mindlessly," Hermione said with a scowl.
"Ha ha, oh yes, I agree. But, um... it's true then?"
Hermione arched her eyebrows, and bluntly began packing up to leave.
"So you still... you're still interested in him?"
"I do believe that's none of your business, Padma."
"It is though!" Padma rushed out. Hermione looked at her in surprise, and saw that her face was flushed. "You need to know... you have to know... You shouldn't have to settle for him! You... you... you have options, alright!"
"What," Hermione breathed, startled, "are you talking about?"
"I don't do things out of the blue, Hermione," Padma's speech picked up momentum, and she kept her overbright eyes fixed on Hermione, "I think about everything. I always make sure. I know what I want before doing anything. It's never impulsiveness, or alcohol, or… or…" she huffed in an agitated manner, "You have options."
Hermione felt an icy tremor make its way up her spine. She stared down at her hands that were clasped together on her lap: her stupid tiny and narrow hands, with their ink-stained fingers and uneven nails. She knew what she had to say next, and she dreaded it. She wished she would spontaneously disappear. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She wished someone – anyone – would rush over and demand she leave with them.
Swallowing thickly, she said, "Maybe. But they aren't options I would consider."
"…I see."
Hermione tentatively looked up from her hands, biting her lip, bracing herself…
Padma had looked away. She had turned her face to the side, and Hermione could see that she was blinking desperately to keep the sheen in her eyes from leaking out.
"I can't do this anymore," she declared hoarsely. "I've been trying really hard. I've been compartmentalising to the best of my ability, because I know what we've been doing is important, and it's helped me a lot... but... I just can't do it anymore. I can't. I can't. I'm sorry."
"I understand," Hermione said softly.
When Padma sniffed and nodded, she knew it was time for her to leave. There was something about that gesture that evoked farewells and finality.
When Hermione reached the Gryffindor common room, she told Neville she was feeling too unwell to study.
"Since when has that ever stopped you?" he called out wonderingly to her back as she climbed up the stairs to her dormitory.
She felt completely out of sorts the next day. By early afternoon, guilt and disquiet had acquired a sombre note, and when she stepped out of Greenhouse two, she took an abrupt turn towards the lake, rather than going back into the castle. Nobody noticed her slip away; most people were excitedly discussing how large and dangerous the Venomous Tentacula plants had become. (Neville had been an unlikely hero that day, shielding an unsuspecting Hannah Abbott from being struck by a spore-ball by deflecting it with his watering can.)
The weather was atrocious. Immense grey clouds portended a brutal downpour, and the wind was beastly and cold, scraping at the skin of her nose and cheeks. Hermione tightened her muffler around her neck and walked to the edge of the lake. It rippled and churned, aggravated by currents of air.
She was mesmerised by the cacophony of colours. Focusing on one isolated patch of water, she severed it from its surroundings and context until it was just a piece of marbled volatility and tremendous beauty: Thick grey streaks warped by shots of steel blue, celtic blue; thin frills of frothy white; a sudden bloom of deep gunmetal; blue and grey overlapping...
Then an unexpected weight on her shoulders dragged her back into the real world.
"Hello, buddy."
Hermione looked up to her right. Theo's nose was red, and his hair was tucked into his hat, baring his seldom-seen forehead. He was wearing the scarf again.
"Hi," she replied blandly, and was irrationally incensed when he presented her with a grin.
"I've come to rescue you, fair princess! The elements are cruel and determined to drench and freeze you to death... but do not fret!"
He spun them around with a jaunty turn, and keeping his arm around her, began briskly leading her back towards the castle.
"What are you doing here?" she asked cantankerously.
"I told you, I came to rescue –"
"What are you doing here?"
He sighed, squeezing her into his side, and said, "I haven't seen or heard from you in three days, Hermione. If you think you can give me the sulky silent treatment like you do to Weasley, you have another thing coming. I don't care if you're throwing the most awful, Merlin-be-damned wobbler. You cannot ignore me. It's against the fundamental rules of our world. You can have a look in Primordial Laws of Magic. It's right there – chapter one. You and I are simply not allowed to cold-shoulder each other."
"You and I specifically?"
"Oh, yes."
She didn't know why she thought a disagreement with Theo would go the way it usually did with Ron, or Harry. Everything about her friendship with him was unprecedented. For once, the issue wasn't being buried and ignored after a long, tormented period of silent fuming; Theo had acknowledged it, and wanted to move past it. They hadn't been forced to reconcile over some death-defying situation. He had sought her out, and was being warm and silly and himself, and she hadn't had to do a thing.
God. He was amazing.
Hermione planted her feet firmly onto the ground, bringing them to a halt. They turned to face each other in a strangely synchronised manner. He gave her an anxious, questioning look, and she responded by taking in a huge gulp of air, and...
"Thank you."
"Huh?"
"... Thank you, Theo. I didn't know how...; I mean... You. You're just... just..."
He was visibly fighting a smile as he watched her.
"Yes," he said, cutting short her moronic babbling, "I am. I know."
He sounded very smug, and Hermione allowed it. She also allowed him to pull her back under his arm, and pilot her across the grounds.
They were only a few meters short of the entrance hall, when the corner of her eye saw a flash of... something... on Theo's wrist, as it rested limply on her shoulder.
"What's this?" she enquired, moving to pull his sleeve back to have a proper look. At once, he tore his arm away from her and hid it behind his back.
"Nothing!" he exclaimed, far too loudly, far too quickly.
It was such an alarmingly extreme reaction.
Hermione reared back, "What the hell?"
"It's nothing Hermione. Just a rash. Rather frightening looking one, I'm afraid. I don't want to traumatise you..."
"It most certainly did not look like a rash!"
"It is... a rash..." Theo spluttered feebly.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, and surged forward, tugging at his arm.
"Let me see."
"No!" he fought against her, and unfortunately, battle of strengths were not her forte.
"Theo!"
After a minute-long struggle, he relented. Greedily, Hermione pulled back his sleeve...
He was wearing a bracelet. It was a rather chunky, obviously handmade one, consisting of some sort of iridescent pieces of bark strung together.
"It's Wiggentree bark, dusted with powdered moonstone," Theo informed her snappily with a supreme blush on his face, "It's supposed to be restorative and lucky, and it... wards off Blibbering Humdingers."
He was so, so red. Hermione grinned ear to ear as she examined the bracelet.
"It's quite pretty," she offered consolingly.
Theo glared. "I like it."
"So do I!" she gushed, "I'll be looking into the healing properties of this combination. Luna actually might be on to something."
"You should tell her," Hermione said after they'd resumed walking.
His high colour hadn't completely receded, and at that statement, it came right back into prominence.
"Don't be stupid," he gritted out.
"I'm not! You should tell her. Come on, Theo... You know she feels the same way."
"Or she doesn't. And she'll laugh, or turn away, or... fuck. She might blame it all on some seedy little parasitic beasties that have colonised my brain, and then I'll just die, Hermione. I'll fucking just die."
"Oh come now. She won't do any of those things," Hermione rebuked him playfully.
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"For god's sake, Theo. Everybody knows I know everything."
He laughed and it was like he had done so in spite of himself. "Ah, yes. The biggest, most successful case of mass delusion that world has ever seen!"
She pushed him, hard, and laughed as he exaggerated his resulting stumble.
He tucked her under his (bracelet-free) arm, and pulled her along up the wide marble staircase, offering a wide, shit-eating grin to a cluster of fourth year Slytherins that had stopped to stare at them.
It was no wonder, with all the ups and downs and emotional turmoil she was experiencing, that she should forget that Harry and Ginny had quidditch practice that evening.
Hermione was genuinely shocked to find nobody else at Ron's bedside when she went to visit him. He looked up at her, equally startled, and they gawked at each other in silence.
"Oh," she gasped, after a stretch.
"Hey," he mumbled uncomfortably.
Keeping her eyes lowered, she gingerly settled on the side of his bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he said blankly. Then he shook his head, and after taking a moment to gather his wits, went on, "Bored. I wish Pomfrey would let me out of here already. I'm going mad staring at the ceiling all day."
"Oh stop," she said with a laugh, "You have enough people coming by to keep you company."
"Eh," he grunted dismissively, "Neville looked in yesterday. Ginny and Dean were here in the afternoon, but like Harry, they don't really have time..." he suddenly grinned euphorically, "McLaggen's giving them hell."
"I've heard. Many times. Many, many, many times."
"Yeah well, if that dowdy, dried up old matron would just let me out..."
"Ron!" she chastised, but he saw through her facade of disapproval and laughed.
"Anyway. Point is, I'm bored to death, Hermione. I don't s'pose you could come by more than once a day? I survived being poisoned; it'll be really sad if boredom kills me."
Predictably, she felt hot and bothered after his endearing request.
"If I do that, I'll bring homework. Assignments. Tons and tons of thick, dusty books..." she warned.
He laughed again, and she wondered if he was in this good a mood when other people visited him.
"And that might kill me too. Bugger it all, looks like I'm doomed to die one way or another."
Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.
He certainly looked completely healthy. Right then, he was her favourite version of Ron Weasley: that lovely, dishevelled ginger hair, that easy smile, and best of all, those twin orbs of cerulean splendour beaming down at her, glowing like they were backlit. He was warmth, comfort, and an unexpected jolt to the heart. She wanted (and how she wanted) to curl up by his side, breathe in the smell of his skin, have him turn around and cup her face, kiss her forehead, kiss her cheeks, kiss her...
Ahem.
They both looked away from each other awkwardly.
"So, um... Lavender must come to see you often enough?"
Ron grimaced; "I donno. I mean, sure, she must... but I think I was asleep and missed her."
She looked at him sceptically, "Every time?"
"Er, yeah."
"Right. Well, I guess I'll go now..." she burbled, standing up slowly.
"Hermione, wait!"
His hand shot out and grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her down unceremoniously.
"Ow, Ron!"
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he rushed out, "You, erm... alright?"
"Yes," she said, more curiously than curtly, "What's the matter?"
"Listen," he started, "I wanted to say..." he puckered his brow earnestly, "...er, these past few months have been total bullocks. I've umm missed you."
Not quite an apology, but he was making those solemn, penitent eyes at her, and seriously... was she still solid?
"I've missed you too, Ron."
He smiled, pleased and relieved. Did he know he was still holding on to her wrist? With the way his thumb was slowly tracing her veins, he probably did. And he definitely knew exactly what he was doing to her pulse.
"One more thing..." he murmured, "This thing with you and Nott..."
"What about it?" she asked guardedly.
"Are you... I mean, are he and you... together?"
"He's my friend. A very good friend, but that's all."
"How the hell did this happen, Hermione?" His ears were turning redder by the second – a sure indication of his temper.
Hermione bristled. "It doesn't matter how it happened. He's my friend, and he's a wonderful person; that's all you need to know."
"Look, Harry and Ginny told me he's uh... okay, and that I shouldn't get up in your face about it. Ginny threatened me something awful over the hols," he laughed humourlessly, "I just want to understand..."
She sighed. "He needed to distance himself from his family and its associations, so he sought me out, because he knew I'd listen. And I did listen, and... I've got to know him really well, Ron. He's important to me. Just like you're important to me."
Ron didn't seem to appreciate the parallel at all. He scowled, and took a moment to collect himself.
"He's still friends with Malfoy."
"Yes."
"And Malfoy's fine with him being your friend?"
"Yes."
"You're fine with Nott being friends with a tosser who thinks you're scum?"
"Yes. Just like he's fine with me being friends with people who think he's scum."
"Are you friends with Malf –"
"Absolutely not."
"Alright."
"...Alright...?"
"Yeah. I mean, he was never as bad as Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and the rest of that lot. And Harry's vouched for him."
Of course. The Potter Certificate of Approval was all Ron ever needed.
Nonetheless, she pushed down her resentment and said, "Thank you."
He smiled again and squeezed her wrist affectionately.
"Maybe he'll give out the Slytherin team's secrets. Make it easier for us to hammer them in the next match."
She sat with him for another hour, until Madam Pomfrey came around to send her away her. She floated out the door.
The Gryffindor quidditch team wore a fascinating variety of aggrieved looks on their faces when they joined the rest of their house at dinner. All except Cormac McLaggen, that is.
He loomed over Harry as he trailed behind him, talking his ear off.
"...thing is, Potter, you're not using your beaters to their full potential. Now if I was captain, I'd have 'em both circle the outer –"
"You're not the bloody captain," Harry snapped, plonking down opposite Hermione, "Now let me eat in peace."
McLaggen didn't bite back – he was too busy leering at Hermione.
"Watcha, Granger," he said slickly, sliding onto the bench next to Harry, who looked livid, "Long time no see."
"Yes, well, looks like my luck's run out."
She glowered fiercely at him, a look which usually left her peers quaking in their boots. However, it appeared that McLaggen was too stupid to comprehend its dangers.
"Aw, you don't mean that, doll."
Dean, Ginny, Demelza and Neville were chortling into their plates. Hermione looked down at hers – it was still partially piled up with food. But nothing – not even the prospect of pudding – was worth spending another second in the company of that unrepentant letch. She rose smoothly and walked towards the doors leading out of the Great Hall.
McLaggen garbled a few words around a mouth full of food, she flipped him a dismissive V-sign, and Ginny put down her fork and applauded.
Nobody witnessed the pièce de résistance, though. She'd wandlessly, non-verbally tied his shoelaces together.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
Hermione had honestly lost count of the number of times she'd reread the brilliant first chapter of A Tale of Two Cities. But this time, it pulled at some deeply visceral part of her, and her reaction went beyond a profound appreciation of the artful spin of words – it was her time, age, epoch, and season at play here. Dickens was using these words to set the tone for the rest of his novel - to lay an ominous shadow across his reader's consciousness… well, she felt that dread towards her here and now. He'd unwittingly stomped all over her grave.
The time was to come, when that wine too would be spilled on the street-stones, and when the stain of it would be red upon many there.
Hermione shuddered, burrowing deeper under her quilt.
"Hermione. Hermione!"
Someone outside her bed-iverse was calling for her, and she chose to take the noble path of feigning sleep.
"Hermione!"
Her curtains were brutally, callously pulled apart, and a breathless Parvati stared down at her recumbent form. An involuntary spasm shook her at the sight... they were identical twins after all. That guilt she'd been carrying around all day intensified. She promptly sat up.
"What is it?"
Parvati looked acutely unnerved.
"You're pretty good friends with my sister, aren't you?" she asked urgently.
"Er..."
"Did she talk to you about Anthony Goldstein?" Parvati was too agitated to bother waiting for replies to any of her questions, "Did she mention anything about fancying him? Do you think it's been going on for longer than she's letting on? Did she –"
"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione cut in, "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Padma is apparently going out with Anthony Goldstein! Did you know? I mean, she did tell me that he was, like, constantly pestering her, but I was so sure she wasn't interested... and now Romilda just told me that Aisha just told her that she heard Mandy telling Terry that they're together. And she asked him out! I can't believe this!" she stomped her foot on the ground like a toddler throwing a snit.
Hermione was staggered. Well... that was one way to cope, she supposed. It was much like the advice she'd given Ginny over a year ago...
"Well, um... good for her, I guess..."
"Good for her?!" Parvati choked, "No, this is not good. My own sister, and she didn't think to tell me that she's planning to get herself a boyfriend. Oh Merlin! She has a boyfriend. My prudish, swotty sister has a boyfriend, and... and... I'm just going to be alone forever!"
She was on the brink of an utterly fatuous meltdown, and Hermione was too bleeding tired to deal with anything of that sort.
"Good grief, Parvati. Get a grip. And look at yourself, you can easily get yourself a boyfriend if you're gagg-ahem-so keen on it. I know for a fact that Seamus is –"
"Don't make me cry, Hermione. Seamus? Are you serious?! He might end up making me explode if I get him too excited, like... you know..."
Hermione couldn't help it. She pictured the scene: Parvati and Seamus are wrapped up in an embrace, snogging heavily. He has her against a wall, and she has her hands in his hair, and it's getting more and more heated... suddenly... ka-boom!... and there's empty space where Parvati's head once was. Seamus is covered in bits of brain and skull and blood. He blinks, looking stunned. "Cor..." he says.
The image was enough to break her overwrought composure – Hermione threw back her head and laughed till she felt tears leaking out of her eyes. Sometime in the middle of her fit, Parvati had closed her curtains violently (and with a muted shriek), and marched away while ranting irritably and incomprehensibly.
Eventually, her laughter mellowed into soft chuckles... and then died down entirely. What followed was quiet, and not just in her surroundings; her mind had mellowed. She welcomed the lull with tremendous gratitude. As she slowly succumbed to sleep, she thought back to the summer she'd spent in the south of France with her parents, when she was thirteen. She saw her mum and dad sitting on a blanket under the sun, against a backdrop of the rugged mountains of Provence that Cezanne had immortalised. They were laughing at nothing in particular while feasting on cheese and wine, and the last thought Hermione had was... it was the best of times.