Remember, anything you recognize of this is not mine, and I'm not making any money from it. Just playing in J.K. Rowling's back yard and hopefully not making too much of a mess. Please read and review; I am a new fanfic writer and would love to learn how to write better. Thanks!

STORMY WEATHER

Hermione was writing in the Charms classroom when the house elf arrived with a note from McGonagall. Hermione smiled and thanked the elf, who said nothing, only glancing warily at the scarf Hermione had slung over the back of her chair as if it were a python. The rather nervous creature pattered away, leaving Hermione alone once again.

She had dressed simply today, as she had spent the morning organizing the classroom and the library. She hadn't quite outgrown Muggle clothing at all, and still felt most comfortable with her jeans and sweaters. There had been another trip to Diagon Alley to purchase appropriate robes for teaching and a few outfits for going out, but they felt too new to be working in.

Hermione turned her attention to the note, which was written with a sumptuous green ink; no purple for McGonagall! The note was to inform Hermione that she had a visitor waiting for her in the Great Hall. Hermione rose eagerly, expecting that Harry was her visitor, and wondering why McGonagall didn't simply say so. She rushed down to the Hall, leaving her work behind her without a backwards glance; it had been so long.

She fairly skidded to a halt as she approached the open doors of the Hall, for it was Ron, rather than Harry, waiting for her, and he didn't look at all pleased. Hermione slowed her pace a little and glanced around quickly in case Harry was nearby somewhere to save her from a sudden awkwardness she felt emanating from Ron. Ron scowled and stepped closer to her.

"Harry had some extra training to do today. It's just me."

Hermione latched on to the absent Harry as a lifesaver.

"If he would read his material ahead of time instead of going to Quidditch matches he wouldn't have to do so much catching up. You didn't need the training?"

"No, I got by alright, though the examinor was giving me a funny look as I left today...I think he would've dragged me back too if he'd had the chance. It wasn't important stuff though."

"Ronald, ALL of your auror training is important! If you miss something, you could be killed and put your fellows in danger as well; you make sure you learn everything properly and you tell Harry that I said to do so also. I can't lose the two of you on top of everything else that's happened."

"So you do care, Hermione? Then why did you write that letter to me?"

Hermione sighed, immediately seeing where this conversation was going. It was inevitable. Ron had always needed things spelled out for him very carefully and it took forever to get unwanted information through to him. She drew in a shuddering breath and began.

"Of course I care, Ronald, but I don't care in the way that you want me to. I told you that."

"Yeah, in a letter. A letter, Hermione! And I don't believe you really mean it. Just remember the night of the battle...there was something there, Hermione."

"That something was fear, and I thought that it was the end of our world, Ron. People do things that they later regret when there's a war on. I'm sorry Ron, but I want more to life than romance. I want to make my way and find some substance to life before I committ to someone; I have ambitions and I want to focus on them without distractions."

Ron stepped even closer to her and gently toyed with one of her curls.

"So you find me distracting, do you," he asked before bending his head in to claim a kiss. Hermione stepped back from his grasp, resisting the urge to slap his face in her anger. Honestly, he could be so thick sometimes!

"Ronald, I am not interested in you! I am your friend; always have been and always will be, but I am a different person now and I want to get to know that person without you or anyone else stepping in to tell me who that person should be! Don't you get it?"

She turned around quickly to leave, but Ron was quicker, and he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him, gripping her other arm in the process. He stared into her eyes, and she saw his desperation and anger, as well as the dawning of despair. She couldn't bear to look but there was nowhere else to look.

"We were meant to be together, Hermione! Always have been! I'll keep coming back again and again until you see that."

"Ronald, leave me alone!"

Hermione wrenched her arms from his grasp and ran, not seeing or caring where she was going, until she felt a fresh breeze coming through an open doorway, which she immediately followed to the Whomping Willow. She glanced back to the castle, tears streaming from her eyes, to be sure that she had not been followed, and when the coast was clear, she ran down the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, where she threw herself into one of the chairs and cried stormily.

When she was finished crying, she still felt an incredible pain and restlessness, and hardly knowing what she was doing, she began to cast spells angrily, sending books and mugs and other objects crashing to the floor. When she had completely destroyed her sitting room, she collapsed, realizing what she'd done, and cried again.

Waking up a few hours later, Hermione numbly reversed her previous spells and restored the room, then she sat down and calmed herself, though she could not calm the ache inside.

Deciding she needed a cup of tea to ease her now raw throat, she trudged to the kitchen, and began to boil a kettle of water. She could conjure a cup of tea easily, but she felt a certain peace from the Muggle ritual and was tired of magic for the moment. As she waited, she wiped the counters, which is when she saw the small sheaf of plant matter on the edge of the counter. She hastily drew her wand and checked it for curses, and then walked over the entire shack, checking for intruders and ensuring that her protective spells were still in place. There was nothing.

Hermione turned off the kettle and returned to the castle hurriedly. There was an intruder in her retreat and she had to find out if they were friend or foe immediately. She glanced at the plants, which she had slipped into her pocket. Neville would know what they were.