Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Chapter 24

Hermione opened her eyes to an unfamiliar sight, sunlight streaming through the window and filtering through a crack in the curtains surrounding her four-poster. For a moment she wondered why she was in her dorm instead of in the tent, but then she remembered: She'd been unable to focus the night before in the lab, and opted to sleep in Gryffindor Tower for a change. She took a deep breath and sat up in bed.

"Sunday," she thought, "Valentine's Day."

Her thoughts turned to her mokeskin pouch and the two items within. One was her copy of 12 Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches. The other was a small envelope containing a card and tickets to the Chudley Cannons' home opener, which she'd spent not an insignificant portion of her remaining galleons on purchasing. Anxiety twisted her gut and she forced her fingers to stop massaging one another.

"One step at a time," she thought as she pulled the bed curtains open and gathered her toiletries and towel for a shower. She spent a little extra time under the water, but eventually had to exit and face the day. As she stared at her rosy cheeked reflection in the anti-fog charmed portion of the mirror, she waffled between taming her hair down and leaving it as she usually did. Twice she almost started the charms but then changed her mind, until ultimately, she decided against doing anything special. She opted for a relatively (for her) low-cut red shirt and dark skirt and stockings beneath her robes. As she checked her tights, she noticed a ladder up the length of her left calf. A reparo repaired the gash, but a long lighter patch remained. She huffed as she stripped them off and vanished the ruined garment, then braved the chill of the dormitory to retrieve another pair.

Hermione decided on a light breakfast as she had brunch scheduled with Neville, Harry, Ron, and Ginny at the three broomsticks a little before noon. Even the single spoonful of eggs and piece toast remained uneaten; she had no appetite. Chatter in the Great Hall seemed more lively than usual, but Hermione blocked it out and spent the time between bites rehearsing. She had spent days thinking about what she was going to say to Ron when they were finally alone. She had no idea how the conversation was going to go though, and ended up inventing several imaginative ways it could go wrong. Finally, the time she was supposed to meet Ginny and Neville arrived.

First of their group to the main entrance of the castle, Hermione stood just inside the large double doors. The drafts from the winter day and glimpses of the snow-covered landscape beyond failed to distract her from what promised to be, at the minimum, a serious conversation.

"Hi Hermione," Ginny said as she arrived down the marble steps opposite the double doors. The redhead had curled a few ringlets in her hair to frame her face and added a touch of makeup charms to bring attention to her eyes, nothing that Hermione would notice if she didn't know her so well. Aside from that though, Ginny beamed at her friend, and the mood was infectious as Hermione felt herself smile back despite her apprehension.

"Morning Ginny," she replied, "have you seen Neville?"

"Hermione, Ginny," Neville called out before Ginny could respond. Hermione glanced up to see the subject of her question as he descended the steps, then felt whatever good mood she had evaporate when she noticed who hung off his arm. Long blond hair impeccably braided and styled, head girl badge gleaming on her robes, Daisy Vane gave them both a victorious smile.

"Good morning Ginny, Hermione," she said in a sickeningly saccharin voice as they approached, "isn't it a lovely day?"

"All the better now you're here," Ginny replied in a tone just sarcastic enough for Hermione to get it.

"Neville?" Hermione asked.

Neville smiled.

"I'm sure you know Daisy, we started dating last week," Neville said, "hope it isn't a bother."

"Oh, none at all," Hermione said, though internally she rolled her eyes hard enough to see the back of her skull.

"Great, now I have to deal with her bloody passive aggressive nonsense on top of everything else," she thought.

Hermione stewed in her annoyance as they followed Neville and Daisy off towards Hogsmeade, with Hermione studiously observing the stones of the bridge beneath her boots until Ginny bumped her from one side.

"Forget about her," the redhead whispered, "it's Valentine's Day."

Hermione mustered up a smirk she didn't feel as she gave Ginny a sideways glance.

"Right, Valentine's Day," she replied.

They arrived at the Three Broomsticks and made their way to the rear, to the same booth they'd occupied several weeks ago when Harry and Ron had last visited, to find the two Aurors had already sat down. Ginny slid in next to Harry and Hermione next to Ron, who gave her a peck on the cheek in greeting. Neville and Daisy were forced to sit opposite one other, with Neville mercifully sitting next to Hermione.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Ron said as he handed a small, red paper bag with printed roses on the side to her.

"Thank you," Hermione said as she accepted the gift, then reached inside her mokeskin pouch and felt around, ignored the relationship book as her hand thumped into it, and pulled out the envelope for Ron.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she said as she handed it to him.

"What's this?" Ron asked, "mind if I open it?"

Hermione motioned for him to proceed as she pulled out a card and a box of chocolates, complete with professionally tied red ribbon, from the paper bag.

"You want to go see the Cannons, with me?" Ron asked before she could read the card.

Hermione paused for a split second.

"No, I thought you could use an empty seat next to you," she replied, "of course!"

He pulled her close for a less chaste kiss on the lips.

"Brilliant," he said as he eyed the tickets again, "thank you."

They ordered a round of butterbeers and Hermione picked at her food while she drifted in and out of paying attention to the conversation. Her thoughts turned towards the sensation of Ron's arm about her shoulders contrasting with the knowledge of the book in her bag. People laughed, and she smiled even though she wasn't sure what they were laughing about.

Daisy's faux sweet voice uttering her name brought her back to the present.

"…Hermione's managed to score top marks this year on top of working on her project, so it's probably a good thing she doesn't also have Head Girl or prefect responsibilities," Daisy said, "she doesn't speak to hardly anyone at all these days as it is, and the added stress would be enough to drive anyone batty."

"Does she know I'm seeing Madam Shultz?" Hermione thought in a panic.

"Wait a minute, is she rubbing in that she's Head Girl and I'm not?" Hermione added to herself, "that bitch! Quick, come up with a response!"

"Yes well, I'm sure you worked very hard last year to earn it," Hermione replied.

"While we were saving the world, thank you very much," she added to herself as she sipped her butterbeer.

Neville coughed politely.

"Last year wasn't easy for anyone," he said, "here's to everyone who didn't make it; we owe it to them to live the best lives we can."

"Hear hear," Ron said as they all raised their glasses and took a drink.

Across the table, Ginny whispered something to Harry, and his face flushed almost immediately.

"Right, we're going to make a move first," he said, forcing Daisy to stand while he and Ginny slid out of the booth.

"Us too," Ron said as he dropped a few sickles on the table, "Nice meeting you Daisy."

They said their goodbyes and left Neville and Daisy at the booth. Hermione didn't look back at them.

"Ron, Hermione," Harry said, looking at the both of them. When they didn't respond, he apparated away, followed closely by Ginny.

"Shall we?" Ron asked, holding out his arm.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked.

"It's a surprise," he replied.

"I hate side-along," Hermione thought, but she obliged and took Ron's arm. The nausea hit her like it always did, and she doubled over in an attempt to keep her brunch from making a return appearance. Wherever they were, the floor was made of wood. When she'd recovered, she stood up to look around, and found herself in a bedroom. A king-sized bed with pristine white sheets sat at the centre of one wall, flanked by a pair of simple night tables. A wooden desk with a single chair stood against the wall. In one direction, a short hallway led to a closet and a pair of doors, one of which led to a loo, and opposite, curtains hid a large window, presumably.

"A hotel room?" she asked.

"Overlooking Diagon," Ron said as he pulled curtains aside to reveal the bustling street below, "one-way windows."

"Sorry about the side-along, but this way nobody knows we're here," he added, "we won't have to worry about press or any other interruptions."

Two long strides and he was next to her again, crushing her into a tight hug.

"I missed you," he whispered as he brushed hair away from her face, then his lips were on hers, hands cradling the sides and back of her head.

"Stop him now," she thought.

"Wait," she said, and Ron pulled back as she swallowed and resisted the urge to wipe her mouth. She reached into her pouch.

Hermione withdrew the book and studied Ron's expression as it turned from apprehension to comprehension, then concern.

"Where did you get that?" he asked as he continued to stare at the cover.

"Flourish and Blotts," she replied.

"Why… would you even…" Ron said, "you read the whole thing?"

Hermione nodded.

"'Course you did," Ron replied with a pained smile.

"I… it doesn't matter," Hermione said, "you were using this book?"

He paused and tore his gaze away from it to look at her sheepishly.

"Maybe, a little," Ron replied.

"More than a little, but we'll let that go," Hermione thought.

"Why?" she asked as she tossed the book onto the bed.

"Well, nothing was working, and besides, how else was I supposed to get you to date me?" Ron replied.

"Get me to… I'm not some… prize or, or chess game to win if you make all the right moves," Hermione said as she crossed her arms.

"I know," Ron said as he gently held both her upper arms, "I know that, I just… I really love you, and nothing I was saying or doing was making it any better, so I needed a little help, is all."

"That actually makes some sense," Hermione thought.

"What matters is I love you, I don't know how to explain it any better than that," Ron said with a lopsided grin.

Then he was kissing her again, but Hermione found her mind wandering rather than focusing on what was happening right in front of (or rather, to) her face.

"What if he's just saying that to try and gloss it over?" she thought.

"Wait," she said again as she put a hand on his chest.

This time he actually groaned in frustration and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yes," he said, refocusing on her.

"Let's, err, talk a little bit," she said, motioning him over to the bed. He sat down next to her and took a long, steady breath.

"What do you think about the proposal for expanding goblin rights?" she asked.

Ron scrunched up his eyebrows and squinted his eyes in confusion.

"Wha-? Goblin rights? Wait…does this… turn you on or something?" Ron asked, his voice dropping to near a whisper, "I won't judge, honestly."

"What? No, of course not," Hermione replied as she felt the corner of her lips turn down in disgust.

"Then why would you want to-" Ron said.

"I just… want to talk a little bit," Hermione replied, "we've barely spoken."

Ron puffed out his cheeks as he blew out a long breath towards the desk.

"That's definitely true. Goblin rights, okay, umm, yes, I think they should have more rights," Ron said.

"And you think they should have seats on the Wizengamot?" Hermione asked.

Ron nodded.

"Yes, of course," he replied, "err, but not too many."

"And you think they should be able to own businesses and purchase properties just like wizards?" Hermione asked.

"Seems fair, yes," Ron replied with a nod, "absolutely, why not."

"But what if they start giving each other exclusive favourable business deals, don't you think it would drive wizarding business down?" she asked.

He grit his teeth and Hermione sensed an imminent explosion just a second before it happened.

"Merlin's balls Hermione, it's Valentine's Day and you're grilling me about goblins and economic policy, really?" Ron asked.

"Ron, this is important," Hermione said.

"Maybe, but you know what else is important? This, us," Ron said, motioning back and forth between himself and Hermione, as his face turned a deep shade of crimson, "what the bloody hell are we even doing?"

"We're… dating, and trying to have a meaningful conversation," Hermione replied.

"Are we? Because it sure doesn't seem like it," Ron replied, "we've barely spoken in nine months, and you've written me all of one letter in the last six months, and only three since the Battle. Now you want to talk about goblins, really?"

"No, that's not-" Hermione said, but then she realised it was, in fact, true.

"I mean, do you even fancy me at all?" Ron asked, "if you don't, just be honest and admit it, it'll be easier that way."

"Of course I do," Hermione replied, but it was more of a reflex than anything else and she only recognised that after the fact. Did she love him romantically? Did she even fancy him? She wasn't so sure any more.

"Got a funny way of showing it," Ron said, "whenever we get some alone time, you're pushing me away, sometimes literally. Is there someone else or something?"

"No! Of course not," Hermione replied, "and you know what I'm trying to do. I have to focus on getting my parents back."

Realisation at the unfairness of the situation, of the position Ron was putting her in, of having to sacrifice time working on the project to give him more attention, for even suggesting she might have been unfaithful, seared through her. Rather than try to push the fury away or bottle it up, she felt herself sink deeper into the fire. She almost physically felt it bubble over, and leapt to her feet.

"Really Ronald. Yes, I've been distracted, what did you expect?" Hermione asked as she gestured forcefully with one hand, "now you're saying I should be focusing less on them and more on you? Could you think of something other than yourself for one moment?"

Ron also stood up and Hermione found herself craning her neck as he towered over her, but she stood her ground rather than take a step back.

"Don't put bloody words in my mouth; you're the one with enough time to track down and read a sodding relationship book but not enough time to write a bloody letter," he said, index finger pointed at the centre of her chest, "a bloke's bound to ask a few questions don't you think? Any normal bloke would've been asking months ago!"

She shoved his hand away.

"After everything we've been through, you don't trust me?" Hermione asked and ploughed on without giving Ron a chance to respond, "obviously not, if you're even asking that question. What about you then? Projecting a bit? Got someone on the side while I'm busy trying to put my life back together?"

Ron made a 'pff' sound.

"No, but I could in about two seconds if I wanted to," Ron replied.

"The nerve!" she thought.

"Oh, sure Ronald, I bet they're just banging down the door," Hermione replied, pouring as much sarcasm as she could muster into her voice.

Ron narrowed his eyes.

"You might not realise this, but you're looking at the number three most eligible bachelor in Britain," he said, "I can have my pick, models, even the Greengrasses approached me about a match with Daphne."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock, only for it to be replaced by blinding rage two seconds later.

"If you've got so many choices, maybe you should try dating one of THEM instead!" she shouted.

"Maybe I will!" Ron shouted.

"Fine, go!" she shouted.

Ron paused for a second, then blinked.

"I paid for the sodding room," he said, "you go!"

He turned towards the window and folded his arms. Hermione pulled out her wand and for a split second considered exactly what was happening.

"Alright, I'm going," she said, her voice hoarse but no longer shouting.

"Good, go," he replied, coldly, without turning around.

She turned on the spot and apparated back to Hogsmeade, back to the Three Broomsticks. The cold February air hit her like a knife and she exhaled a shuddering breath.

"Things didn't go so well with Weasley?"

That saccharin sweet voice again.

"Levicorpus," Hermione thought as she pointed her wand without even looking. She stalked towards the castle and left the shouts of indignation and pleas for explanations behind. Halfway there she realised her cheeks were streaked with tears, and she angrily wiped them away as the argument replayed itself in her mind. Her footsteps, on automatic pilot, took her down to the dungeons and the deserted potions lab; Julia was probably off training with Michaels, but Hermione was glad for the privacy. In the tent, she stripped off her outfit and switched to her usual jeans and sweater, then headed out to the lab to work on the memory recovery charm. She got about five minutes into it before she realised she was far too emotional to get anything done, and returned to the tent to sit on her bunk. She withdrew the box of chocolates from her mokeskin pouch and slammed it on the night table, then stuffed the card beneath without reading it.

"You're alone, it's okay to cry," she thought.

She didn't curl up on her bed or wail or anything like that; it hurt, but not nearly as bad as she thought it might.

"I think I'm more angry than anything else," she thought as she considered destroying her pillow. Eventually, she decided the poor pillow didn't do anything to deserve such treatment.

Hermione sat on her bed with her feet on the floor, put her elbows on her knees and her forehead in her hands, and watched her tears splash onto the floor as she wept and sniffled while she mentally ran through their good and bad times from Hogwarts. That's where Julia found her an hour later. The pureblood didn't say a word as she spied her from the entrance of the tent, but she did walk over and knelt to look Hermione in the eye.

"Let me know if you need anything," she said.

"Just to be alone for a while," Hermione replied quietly, her voice still raw from shouting.

Julia nodded and conjured a box of tissues to set on the night table, then left without another word.

Hermione opened the door to the lab a few hours later only to dodge a parchment folded into a paper plane as it zoomed into the classroom. She unfolded it and frowned as she read.

"Hermione Granger, report to detention with Professor Winthrop next Sunday evening, 7:00pm."

"Detention, on a Sunday? I suppose Professor Winthrop is simply more dedicated if he's choosing to work on a Sunday night," she thought.

Hermione sighed as she crumpled the parchment.

"Perhaps hexing the Head Girl in broad daylight wasn't a particularly brilliant move," Hermione thought, "still, it's only one evening, and it's with Professor Winthrop so it won't be too bad, crime definitely worth the punishment."

The following day, Hermione felt almost normal. She woke up, attended class, and only found herself thinking about Ron and their fight a few times.

"Emotions were high on both sides, and every couple goes through fights, or so I've read," Hermione thought, "I bet even Harry and Ginny argue sometimes. My timing wasn't very good either, I can admit that; it was Valentine's Day after all. I'll give it another day or two and then maybe try some kind of reconciliation."

Ginny caught up with her at lunch.

"I heard from Harry," the redhead said quietly, "do you need me to hex him?"

Hermione coughed into her lemon juice and tried to smile, but it came out as sort of a half-grimace.

"That won't be necessary, I do appreciate the thought though," she replied.

Ginny nodded.

"You know where to find me," she said.

On Thursday morning though, Ginny surprised her and Julia by finding them as they exited the lab. The redhead wore a serious expression.

"Morning. Julia, give us a moment?" she asked.

Julia nodded and walked a respectful distance away down the dungeon corridor and occupied herself by twirling her wand between her fingers with the occasional glance towards Hermione and Ginny.

"Thought you should know before you find out in the Prophet, Ron's started dating some Witch Weekly model," Ginny said quietly.

That hit her like a punch to the gut. Ron had actually been telling the truth about his prospects. So soon though? Plus, he was hers, how dare he?

"He's not yours anymore, no more than you're his, not after how you left it," Hermione thought as she tried to convince herself, "and he's free to date whatever vapid clothes hanger he wants. You have more important things to focus on anyway, and worrying about a relationship is just another distraction."

All of a sudden, she felt very, very alone, but she put up a brave front, at least as much as she could.

"I might be reconsidering that hexing offer," Hermione said. Then she sighed when Ginny raised an eyebrow as if to ask if she was serious.

"No, don't," she said, "it's fine. I'm fine, I'll be fine."

At breakfast though, she found herself studying the picture of Ron and said model, whose name turned out to be Miranda Appleton, as they exited a theatre in Diagon. She was beautiful, of course, tall, with flawless brunette hair and skin, and fashionable as well, if her glittering designer dress, bag, and shoes were anything to judge by.

"Everything you're not," Hermione thought.

"Wonder if they're sleeping together already," she thought as the picture cycled through the couple stepping out to flashing bulbs, and both of them smiling for the cameras. The thought of Ron sharing a bed with this woman made her physically nauseous. She'd seen her, Miranda, in pictures before, and she knew Ginny must know who she was as she read the magazine regularly. Hermione definitely appreciated her friend's reference to her as 'some model' rather than by name.

"She is really beautiful," Hermione thought as she studied the woman's figure and visage and compared them to her own, "who are you kidding Hermione, you can't compete with that. Maybe Ron doesn't want someone who reminds him of the war, or who talks about goblin rights and economics. Maybe he wants someone who will smile for the camera flashes instead of blacking out, and who fucks his brains out every night.. and that's definitely not you."

Her shoulders slumped slightly as she sighed heavily and placed the magazine on the table, then very deliberately aimed her wand and incinerated it to ashes. She ignored the stares and focused on refuelling, then on what was important, the next step in the project.

The following Sunday, Hermione again knocked on Winthrop's office.

"Enter," he said.

"Ms. Granger," he said as she closed the door behind her.

"Good evening, Professor," she said.

"Do we need to discuss anything about your behaviour before we get started?" he asked as he once again wordlessly and wandlessly pulled a second chair out for her to sit.

"No, I don't believe so, Professor, I know what I did wrong," Hermione replied as she took her seat.

"…but completely justified," she thought.

Winthrop shifted the stack of essays on his desk closer to her so she could reach more easily.

"And I thought you'd determined to avoid duels going forward," he said.

"It wasn't really much of a duel," Hermione replied coolly as she took up a quill and the top parchment from the stack and started marking a third year's essay.

"Touché, Ms. Granger," the Defence professor said with a small smile.

They got to work. Winthrop was apparently less inclined to chat than the last time, and they graded essays in silence for a good two and a half hours.

"I wouldn't dwell too much on it, your work is far more important and consequential," he said suddenly.

"Professor?" Hermione asked, looking up at him.

"Your brilliance isn't in doubt, Hermione," he said, switching to her given name as he pinned her with his gaze, "you have so much potential, and can accomplish truly great things, but only if you choose to."

She smiled as the praise from the DADA professor buoyed her spirit, and Hermione opened her mouth to ask a question, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Enter," Winthrop said and he smiled as it opened, "ah, to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Potter?"

Hermione whipped her head around to see Harry standing in the doorway, looking quite dashing in black and white dress robes, save for the grave expression on his face.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" she asked.