She can't believe him.

She honestly cannot believe him.

She's going to murder Harry.

"Didn't spike his drink, my arse," Hermione mutters to herself, shivering when the cool breeze whips around her. She tugs the scarf around her neck more tightly, letting out a stream of air through her mouth when she places her hand on the door to the changing room.

An end of the scarf suddenly catches on the handle, and she turns around to tug it away. The scarlet and gold scarf is warm in her hands, worn out from constant use. Only Hermione knows one of the ends is slightly ripped from when Ron had gotten it tangled around his neck once. She hasn't had the heart to mend it.

Her grip jerks around the scarf as if she'd been burned.

She shakes her head, pushing open the door, finding Harry and Ron laughing in the room. They both turn to face her the moment she enters, Harry still with a wide grin on his face, Ron's smile melting away immediately.

She forces down a wave of anger and guilt. Focus. Hermione focuses her gaze on Harry's, whose expression suddenly turns defiant. "I want a word with you, Harry," she says, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. Her eyes flit to Ron's, observes the irritated expression on his face. She takes in a deep breath, tries to keep her voice steady, focuses on Harry once more. "You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal."

"Yeah?" Ron demands loudly. "What are you going to do, turn us in?"

His voice is mocking in a way she thought she'd never hear, at least not directed at her. She wouldn't call Ron the nicest person to exist, not by a long shot, but one thing he's never done is use that tone with her. Fuck all their fights and squabbles, that tone has never been used in regard to her.

Perhaps that's what helps her recall her own anger. "Shut up, Ron."

"What are you two talking about?" Harry asks, turning away to hang up his robes in a pathetic attempt Hermione is sure to hide his satisfied expression. She could kill him.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!" she retorts, her voice coming out shrill. "You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!"

"No, I didn't," Harry, the absolute prick, says calmly, turning back to face them both.

"Yes, you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"

The regret she feels after saying those words is instant.

Hermione feels something warm at the back of her neck, goosebumps erupting on every surface of her body. She tentatively lifts her eyes to meet Ron's thunderous expression, hurt and indignation crossing his face.

She wants to tell him she didn't mean it. She only meant the first part, about the Slytherin players. Not about him, she never doubts him. He's an excellent Quidditch player, it's only his nerves, she believes in him, really, she does, he has to understand…

"What?" Ron asks, his voice deathly quiet.

He looks at Harry, his face looking betrayed, and Harry has the nerve to laugh. Hermione could throttle him right now, she really could, how dare he—

"I didn't put it in!" Harry grins, and before Hermione can berate him for lying in addition to cheating, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny vial of glittering golden potion they'd seen him accept after their very first potions lesson.

It's…full. And sealed.

She can't believe it. He didn't put it in.

Harry, completely oblivious to her horror, continues blithely. "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." He looks at Ron, pride shining in his eyes. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all by yourself."

Ron looks astounded, all traces of hurt wiped from his face. "I…there wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?" he asks incredulously. "The weather, and Vaisey out sick…that wasn't the potion?"

Harry shook his head, still grinning. Ron gaped at both of them wordlessly, before his eyes settle on Hermione. His gaze darkens, something mean settling behind his eyes.

And then, then, Hermione realizes how much her words had unintentionally hurt him.

One thing Ron has always struggled with was his feelings of insufficiency. With his brilliant curse-breaking, dragon-taming older brothers, even the twins, with their innovative tricks and skills, Ron has always had a voice in him, one that told him he wasn't enough, that he wasn't special. A voice that told him he wasn't good at anything.

A voice Hermione has desperately tried to silence over six long years.

And now, to hear her spitting back hypocritical statements about him…no wonder he's looking at her like that.

The worst part is, she can't blame him. So she lets him lash out, lets him have the first hit.

Ron's face twists into something cruel. "You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything!" he parrots her voice. "See, I can save goals without help, Hermione!"

"I never said you couldn't—" Hermione breaks off exasperatedly. "Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!"

"No, wait," Harry cuts in, his face ashen. "This wasn't supposed to—"

"I'm not completely incompetent, Hermione," Ron says, the mocking tone back in his voice, and that's it, all her sympathy's gone, she wants to kill him now, the arse, and why in Merlin's beard does her throat feel so tight?

"I know that, Ron, would you listen—"

Ron completely ignores her, striding past her and Harry, walking out the door with his broomstick over his shoulder. Harry turns to look at her, aghast. "Hermione, I—"

"No, shut up, shut up," she says furiously, blinking back tears. "Just shut up about him."

Harry looks lost for words, scratches the back of his head. "Well, shall…shall we go up to the party then?"

"You go!" she spits at him. "Just go, I'm not coming, I'm so sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done—"

She does, though. In part, she does.

She knows that niggling insecurity Ron so carefully hides around Harry, knows that he won't understand what Ron feels.

Harry places a hand on her shoulder, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "You know, I'm sure if you just told him—"

"Go!" she screams at him, and Harry takes his hand away as if burned, and she spits a curse at him, turning on her heel when he doesn't move, slamming the door to the changing room.

She marches up the steps to the castle, furiously wiping tears from her eyes, hoping no one crosses her path at the moment. She's not in a social mood, will probably hex someone if they try and speak, or worse, comfort her.

She's just so bloody done with Ron Weasley. Disgusting, bloody prick, fuck him, and his stupid smile

A fresh wave of tears make their way down her cheeks, blurring her vision. She lets out a choked sob, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Students all around her turn to look at her curiously, and honestly, she is this close to spitting out a hex—

"In here," a voice mutters in her ear, taking her by the arm and dragging her into a nearby classroom.

Normally, she would've hesitated. Letting her guard down and letting a boy drag her into an abandoned classroom isn't something Hermione does. She usually hexes the boy, tells him to stay away from her, and walks away with a threat to his dick if he corners her again when she leaves.

She doesn't, this time. Mostly because her vision is blurry with tears and she recognizes the stupid owner of the stupid voice.

She gulps in a breath, rubs her eyes until her vision clears and watches Ron come into focus, the look on his face a mixture of defiance and guilt. One of his hands is on her shoulder, the other on her back.

He looks…bad. Not in the physical sense, nothing's wrong with him, but his eyes have a faraway look in them, mostly diluted with guilt.

She can see so much guilt. Why?

The first thing Hermione registers after the familiar comforting feel of his hand on her shoulder is that it's his hand on her shoulder. "Get off me," she says quietly, and Ron nods, taking his hands off immediately. He takes a step back, too, sitting on the bench opposite to her, his eyes never leaving hers.

She takes in a deep breath, doesn't say anything, knows that his stupid pride will also prevent him from saying anything. "Couldn't stand to see me humiliated?" she says after a while, hating the cracks in her voice.

Ron's eyes don't shift from their position. "Yes."

"Come off it," she mutters. "Just lash out, will you? I hate this, what you do."

"What I do?" he asks, his voice rising. "What I do?"

"Yes," Hermione snaps. "Would you just yell at me already? At least Harry isn't here to witness it this time, you can do it for as long as you want. It's not like I've got somewhere to be, anyway."

"What is the matter with you?" Ron snarls at her.

Hermione gapes at him, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish. Ron takes advantage of her silence, continuing. "Do you think all I want to do is yell at you? Do you think I want to see other people make fun of you, to see you cry? I'm not the villain here, Hermione!"

"No, you never are, Ron!" Hermione shouts. "You're never the bloody villain, you're always innocent in this story, aren't you!"

"I never said that! What are you—stop crying."

"I'm not crying," Hermione says furiously.

"Just…don't cry, alright, don't. I don't like making you cry."

"Well, seems you're very good at it anyway," she retorts, pushing back tears. Ron's ears redden, a sign of his impending anger.

"How is it that you're lashing out at me? I didn't even do anything wrong!"

"Don't even try, Ron!" Hermione snarls. "You're been absolutely horrible to me since the last few days for reasons I don't even know! I deserve one awful comment too!"

Ron scoffs. "I haven't—I—"

"No, really, go ahead," Hermione taunts him. "Try to defend yourself, Ron, go ahead. We'll go to Harry right now and see who he agrees with, go on!"

Ron grits his teeth. "I just…" He shakes his head. "I just didn't want people to see you cry."

Hermione jerks back involuntarily. It's the first time in years Ron's backed down from one of her challenges, something the git follows through on even when he knows he's wrong. He's never been the first to stop their bickering, even when it's good-natured. His eyes are still chock-full of guilt, for what, Hermione doesn't know, it's not like it's ever really directed at her.

It's not an apology, though, and she's sure not waiting for one. She doesn't want to speak to Ron Weasley, at all.

"Just go to your stupid party, Ron," she says quietly. "Just, please…go."

"Oh, I see," he says, his tone turning unpleasant again. "You make me feel like garbage and I do the same, I apologize and you decide to contemplate forgiving me. Nice."

"You didn't apologize."

"Neither," he snarls, walking to the door, "did you. Get off your bloody high horse, Hermione."

He slams the door behind him as he walks out.


"Where'd you go off to?" Seamus yells in his ear when he reaches Gryffindor common room. "I looked for you, and Harry, I couldn't find either of you!"

"I had some stuff to do," Ron says shortly. "Where's Harry?"

"Hasn't come up yet, he might be searching for Hermione, she isn't here either. Say, have you seen D—"

"Hi, Ron," says a voice behind him suddenly, snapping him out of the scene of red he can only see in his field of vision. Ron turns around to see Lavender Brown standing in front of him, smiling widely. "Congratulations on the win."

"Oh, er, thanks," he says uncomfortably. "It was a team effort, though, not just me."

"I don't think the entire team was guarding the hoops, though," Lavender laughs, the sound tinkly and high-pitched. "I was watching you the whole time, very well done. Your form was so…impressive."

"Thanks," Ron says absent-mindedly, scanning the room desperately for Harry or someone to save him now that Seamus had left.

"Who are you looking for?" Lavender asks, and Ron turns back to her so quickly that he cricks his neck.

"No one," he answers moodily, rubbing his nape. "Have you seen Harry?"

"No, I haven't," Lavender answers, looking at him furtively. "Where's Hermione Granger?"

Ron's eyes narrow, and he looks at her suspiciously. "I don't know. Why?"

"Oh, I suppose you're always with her," she trills. "Laughing and talking…some might think she's your girlfriend. She always acts so perfect anyway, all she needs is a bloke to—"

She spits out Hermione's name with such vitriol that it sends a flash of hot anger through him. "What's Hermione done to you?"

"Nothing, she's just—"

"Then don't talk about her like that," he snaps. Lavender scrunches up her nose, looking a little hurt, but then ploughs on anyway.

"Does that mean you aren't dating her?"

He raises an eyebrow. "No."

He pretends the word doesn't feel like acid in his mouth.

Lavender brightens considerably, her cheeks pinkening. "Well, then, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? On a date?"

Ron stares back at her dumbfounded. "Are you—really?"

"Yes," she smiles. "Would you like to?"

That's the question, would he like to?

It's not that he's not attracted to her. Lavender's very attractive, not bad-looking at all. He's never heard a bad word about her from the other boys, or even from Hermione, regardless of whatever fault she's committed in Lavender's eyes. She's not a bad person at all to go out with.

Lavender stares at him hopefully, her wide smile still on her face. "Well?"

"I—" he trails off, looking at her. His mother would have his head if she knew how rude he was being right then, but he can't help it. Because all he can think of while looking at Lavender is not you.

It's horribly rude, yes, he knows. He isn't blind to his own faults. Lavender's very pretty, yes, he's attracted to her…except he can't really find anything beyond that that he's attracted to.

"It's fine if you don't want to," Lavender says, her smile now wavering.

Five seconds and she's already coming to her senses, Ron, Fred and George's voices sound in his head.

Bound to happen someday, Ron, Ginny's sneering voice follows them. Sooner rather than later is best, don't you think?

Really, Ron, Hermione's laugh echoes, making him freeze, did you honestly expect anything else? You'll never be enough, not really

"Yes," he says forcefully. "Yes, I'll go out with you."

Lavender looks ecstatic. "Great! I'll meet you at the entrance hall—"

He isn't hearing her, really, he's more focused on the way Hermione's voice had sounded in his head, the way she had sounded when he had seen her last, left her alone in that stupid classroom, the slight tinge of guilt on her face, the way they had snarled at each other and how he had slammed the door on her, feeling absolutely horrible leaving her after a fight like that, how she looks with tear tracks etched on her face, how her eyes shine even through her tears, her eyes, her hair, her face, her gorgeous face…

"Yes," he cuts across Lavender, desperate to get his mind off Hermione, to think of anything but her. "Let's do that. I'll meet you at the hall, we can go to Honeydukes or something—"

But then he sees Hermione again, her cheeks flushed and pink with cold, bundled up in a pile of jumpers in the winter, some of them even his own old ones…

"Fizzing Whizbees," she had said last winter, handing him a large box, red in the face. "I know you like them."

"You've already given me a present," he says, astonished.

"You like them," she repeats. "Take them."

"Hermione—"

"Happy Christmas, Ron," she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek and running off to where Ginny is waiting for her.

"Ron?" Lavender's voice breaks him out of his trance, pulling him back down to earth.

Let him think of anything but Hermione, anything but her, anything…

He doesn't know what possesses him, but he leans down and kisses Lavender, placing his hands on her shoulders hesitantly. She makes a small squeak of surprise, but then cups his face in her hands, pressing her hips into his. Ron hears a cheer from behind him, most probably from Seamus, but he can't care, can't think, can't bloody concentrate on Lavender because she is not Hermione, not Hermione, not Hermione.

The voice is like a chant in is head, growing louder every minute he kisses Lavender, and people are still cheering, what the fuck, and Merlin's pants, she's moving his hands to her waist, and Hermione, Hermione, Hermione

No, no, no. He can't—

He pulls away from Lavender with a gasp, looking around frantically. Lavender laughs breathlessly, flinging her arms around his neck. A loud cheer erupts around the room, and she whispers, only so he can hear into his ear, "You are the best kisser I've ever met."

Oh, good bloody god. What has he done?

And he sees Harry, standing at the door, a strange look on his face, half-amused, half…

He can't tell what is it, but he doesn't care, he wants out, out, of this room, with all these people looking at him and Lavender kissing like they're zoo exhibits, and, yes, he acknowledges it's his fault for kissing her in the first place, but he couldn't—he didn't think, and fuck, fuck, fuck, what is Hermione going to say?

Lavender takes his hand and leads him to the common room door, where Harry stands, clutching a butterbeer in his hands. "Let's go somewhere more private," Lavender giggles, quickly muttering something to her friend.

"Harry," Ron stutters when he sees him. "I—I—"

"Good show, Ron," Harry grins, something in it looking forced. "Happy for you, mate."

"Harry, where's Hermi—"

But Lavender drags him out of there, climbs through the portrait hole first, and when he looks back, Harry's looking at him with a look in his eyes that's akin to disappointment.


She's never really considered herself stupid, but, well, there's a time for everything.

"Oppugno," she chokes out through her tears, waving her wand. Nothing happens.

Brightest witch of her age. You are the brightest witch of your age, she reprimands her shaking hand. You don't get fucked up over a boy.

Certainly not when that boy happens to be Ron, of all people.

"Oppugno," she says again, her voice sounding the same. Instead of birds, pictures of Ron fly inside her head, smiling at her, holding her hand, laughing, bickering, good-natured teasing, in lessons, during breakfast when he has jam on his nose sometimes and Hermione can't bear to tell him in fear he'll wipe it off, on the pitch, during breaks, kissing Lavender, wrapped around her—

"Oppugno," she sobs. No birds.

She supposes this is what had finally pushed him. This one last horrible fight in which any hope she had nurtured of him feeling the same way towards her, a way that he could've, maybe, possibly, even felt, it had all been ruined. Who wants her, where there's Lavender Brown, with lovely hair and sweet smiles, her grubby little hands all over Ron as she pulls him to her when he kissed her

He kissed her. He kissed her. In front of everyone else. In front of Harry, and Seamus, and Ginny, and Dean, and Hermione. No hiding it, she thinks, letting out a watery laugh.

"Oppugno," she says, hating the word.

She never should've gone to the party. She should've stayed in this classroom, alone, practicing.

Alone.

"Oppugno," she repeats, the word coursing with her hate and her tears.

Yellow canaries twitter around her head, and she laughs, the scene almost ironic. If someone came in they'd think her a madwoman.

No one will come in. They're too busy at the party, just like Ron.

"Hermione?" comes Harry's soft voice behind the door of the classroom, and Hermione looks down, not bothering to hide her tears. Harry walks in, his expression unreadable.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she says, hating how brittle her voice sounds. "I was just practicing."

There's a horrible, billowing silence; Hermione can't think of anything to say to Harry after what she's seen, and clearly neither can he. He looks very uncomfortable, not because of her, Hermione knows, but because they've just witnessed their mutual best friend snogging a girl neither of them is very fond of.

Of course, that's only part of the reason for her.

Hermione's hates silence, always has. She strangely seems to work well in it, either way, but hates it when she's in a room with someone and nobody says anything to fill the cracks. She just can't think of anything to say to Harry at the moment. Harry's eyes dart towards the door, and she can't bear to have him leave her out of pity, so she says quickly, in a voice that doesn't sound like her own, "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

"Er…does he?" asks Harry, looking tortured.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," she mutters, looking up at her birds. "He wasn't exactly hiding, was he—"

The door bangs open, and Harry's head swivels to the door, so does hers. Ron stands there with Lavender, traces of laughter quickly disappearing from his face. "Oh," Ron says, looking abashed, clearing his throat, letting go of Lavender's hand as if she'd burned him.

"Oops!" Lavender giggles, quickly backing out of the room. Hermione's never hated a person more at that very moment.

Ron stands up straighter, looking at Harry, his expression awkward. "Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd gotten to!"

Harry doesn't smile, doesn't even say anything. Ron doesn't even look at her, his eyes fixed resolutely on Harry.

Something horrible envelops her, covering her entire being from foot to toe, so much so that she can't even see or think straight. All she can see is Ron, Ron, Ron, him and—no, it's just him, just Ron, nothing else, Ron who refuses to look her in the eyes as if this is somehow her fault

Jealousy. And fury.

Hermione slides off the desk wordlessly, her back erect. Ron finally looks at her as she walks to him, his eyes meeting hers. Blue meets brown, except she's sure his aren't filled with as much anger as hers. Justified or not.

"You shouldn't keep Lavender waiting outside," she says quietly. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

The words that she's saying don't seem to be spoken voluntarily, yet she's framing every word directed at him. Harry glances at Ron from beside him, looking terribly uncomfortable. Hermione brushes past him and walks to the door, waiting for something, anything that could give her an indication of the fact that he still—still—

She doesn't know. Anything. She just wants something.

And she gets nothing.

So she turns around and whips out her wand, pointing it at him. She pours every drop of her anger, her resentment towards him—her jealousy—and shrieks, "Oppugno!"

The birds around her head speed towards Ron, twittering and chirping madly. Harry scrambles away from them when they near, and Ron yells and covers his face with his hands, batting the birds away to no avail.

"Gerroffme!" he shouts, and Hermione watches with grim satisfaction as they peck and scratch at him. She wrenches open the doorknob and runs out without a second look at him, biting back the tears that finally come.


Thanks for reading!