Lavender: "What is she doing here?"
Hermione: "I might ask you the same question!"
Lavender: "I happen to be his girlfriend!"
Hermione: "Well, I happen to be his . . . friend."
Ron was in the hospital wing, and nobody had thought to tell her. She was his girlfriend, he had been poisoned, and not one of his friends or relatives had considered letting her know about it! Was she really so inconsequential? Didn't they know she cared?
She found out overhearing Harry and Ginny, lurking uncomfortably around the perimeter, part of their group but not really. She was getting up the courage to say something—what if they thought she was intruding?—when Ginny said, "I stopped by to see Ron. He's doing better, but Madame Pomfrey won't let him get out of bed. Says he still needs to rest."
Lavender suddenly didn't care about whether or not they thought she was interrupting. It took two minutes to get the story out of them—the two exchanging looks like they couldn't believe how much she was overreacting—and then she was gone. She waited outside the hospital wing for a few moments, catching her breath and smoothing down her hair. She didn't want Ron to see her looking like a mess. Once she'd deemed herself acceptable, she slipped into the ward, hurrying to his bedside with the practiced model-stride she knew showed off her legs best.
It didn't matter, though; he was fast asleep, and the only one there to admire her was Hermione. To her annoyance, even she didn't look up as Lavender approached, all of her attention focused on a book. For a moment she didn't speak, studying Hermione carefully with jealousy simmering like acid in her stomach.
She wasn't ugly by any means, Lavender had to admit. Her hair was a nightmare of fuzz and frizz, but it was full and a much richer brown than her own, and her skin was the kind of pearly translucence that came of spending all day indoors. She had nice big eyes, framed with long eyelashes that Lavender had been dying to put mascara on since their first year together (though now she wouldn't do it for anything). In general, she looked a lot like the "before" image of many romantic heroines, the kind who just need a little makeup and fashion guidance to transform into a Serena.
Lavender had never felt like a Serena, and she couldn't help but wonder if Ron had made similar comparisons between the two. If this really was a fight for the heroine role, she honestly didn't know who would win.
"What are you doing here?" The words slipped out without her permission, but she wasn't going to take them back now. Not when he had been poisoned and his best friends hadn't said anything about it.
Hermione seemed taken aback for a moment, but she composed herself quickly, marking her place and setting the book aside before meeting her gaze with those large brown eyes innocent of any wrongdoing. "I'm one of his best friends."
"But I'm his girlfriend! I'm the one who should be sitting there! W-why didn't anyone tell me about this?" When the other girl simply stared, seemingly at a loss for words, she added, "We share a bedroom, Hermione. How could you not say anything?"
"I . . ." She glanced down at Ron, as though wishing he would wake up and distract them from this conversation. "I didn't think of it."
Lavender didn't hate Hermione. They'd never gotten along, no, but there had always been a part of her that had admired her fellow Gryffindor's intelligence. And although she didn't like to admit it, if Hermione had abandoned her loner-tomboy thing long enough to ask Lavender to hang out, she would've felt honored to have captured the attention of someone so special.
But for the first time, it actually seemed like the genius had been stumped. And by her—the stupid, gullible one! For a moment she actually felt like the "other woman," and she couldn't resist tilting her chin up so that she could look down at Hermione, reveling in having the upper hand for once. "Really? The brainiac didn't think of something?" But as soon as she felt Hermione's eyes on her again, she lost her courage, and feeling stupid for having been so melodramatic, she looked away and muttered, "There's a first time for everything, I guess." She sat down on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through Ron's tangled curls and refusing to look at Hermione. "Poor thing," she murmured to him. "I got here as soon as I could, darling."
She didn't know how long they sat there, her smoothing out Ron's sweat-matted hair, Hermione doing Merlin-knows-what. But eventually she heard the other girl stand, gathering her things and ducking out of the hospital wing without a word to Lavender, who let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
I'm not disposable, she thought, taking Hermione's seat and wishing she'd brought a book of her own to pass the time. I don't care if I don't "deserve" him, I won't be thrown away.