Chapter Eight
(The Tales Of Beedle The Bard)
Hermione Granger
Hermione was trying to understand what her feelings meant and why they were even there. The Yule Ball was the day she realized what she felt for Ron. She had accepted that she liked Ron, but it was still hard for her to wrap her head around the idea because, until that moment, she had never really felt that strongly—or rather, she had, but she just ignored them, unable to understand them. It wasn't the first time she liked a boy. She had liked Viktor Krum just a year or so ago. She went to the last ball with him, and she shared her first kiss with him. They were in a sort of relationship for the next couple of months. She never put a label on it then, and when he left, she didn't really want to continue a relationship with Viktor. She liked him, but she wasn't ready for that kind of commitment and distraction, especially in her OWL year.
Why now, of all times, when her exams were just a few months away, was she liking a boy she shouldn't like? It wasn't because she believed in that Potter-Weasley grudge garbage. It was just that Ron was Ron. She had just started getting to know him; they had nice chats—okay, maybe not just nice—good, even some of the best. Ron wasn't some academic prodigy who discussed theorems and advanced magic or anything of that sort. Most of their conversations included just plain nonsense. So why was she feeling this way toward him?
It had been almost a week since she got home. It was Christmas the next day, and for that very reason, right now she was thinking about Ron. She had parchment and quill in her hand, deciding whether to send Ron something for Christmas or not. They were friends, right? She could send him a gift, but were they supposed to? What if Ron didn't feel the same way, and her sending him a gift would make him feel obligated to send her one too? Or what if sending a gift to him right now would look like she was making a move on him? So many ridiculous things were going on in her head when she heard a knock at her door.
"Hermione?" She heard her mother's voice. She replied as she stood up and opened the door, "Yeah, Mum?"
"What are you doing? Don't you want breakfast?" Lily said, her voice laced with worry as she looked at Hermione.
"Um," Hermione said as she looked at the clock. She realized she had just wasted the last hour contemplating writing a letter she never managed to write. So, for the last hour, she was obsessing over Ron to the point she even forgot her breakfast—at least she knew Ron wasn't thinking about her; she didn't think he would ever forget his breakfast.
"When did you wake up?" Lily asked as she looked around Hermione's room. There were crumpled parchments, and one parchment sitting on Hermione's desk to be written on. Hermione realized too late she had written "Dear Ron" on top of that one. For the last hour—apparently, she had been trying to write something for Ron, but she just didn't like anything written so far. Now she wasn't even able to make sense of why she had even tried to write anything. She saw Lily's eyebrows rise a bit as she read Ron's name.
"Just a couple of minutes ago—writing a small letter to—um, one of my friends," Hermione said nervously.
"So you're telling me that right after waking up, the first thing you wanted to do was write a letter?" Lily asked as she went to sit on the bed. Obviously, her mother was going to have a chat now.
"Not that—it's just last night I forgot to write him one, and after waking up, I thought I should write the letter," Hermione said.
"Alright—so first you woke up late, then instead of having breakfast, you decided you needed to write a letter to Ron before anything else?" Lily said, her lips curving up a bit as she said "anything else." Hermione nervously nodded. Lily just lightly smiled at her before patting the bed beside her, a gesture for Hermione to sit, which she did.
"Now? What is it, Hermione?" Lily asked softly.
"I don't know—it's just the wretched ball—before that, I didn't feel this way, but since that night—" Hermione said, looking frustrated.
"The wretched ball? I thought your date was Neville, not Ron?" Lily asked, looking curious.
"Neville was my date, but Ron was the one I wanted to be with that night. I didn't realize it at that moment, but when I saw Luna kissing him, I just felt jealous, and everything just hit me—that's why I was feeling awkward and angry at him for having a date. I just made myself believe it was because he lied to me, but no—it was just because he had a date," Hermione said, flustered. "I mean, I know I'm being a hypocrite—I also had a date—it's not like he likes me the same way. I shouldn't expect anything, but I don't know, I've just been feeling this way for the last few days."
"Hermione, it's alright to feel this way. You shouldn't blame yourself. These are your feelings," Lily replied soothingly as she rubbed Hermione's back.
"I don't know, Mum," Hermione sniffled.
"It's alright, sweetie," Lily said. Hermione looked a bit better, and then she said, "I didn't even feel this way last year."
"Last year with Viktor, you mean?" Lily said. "I'm glad you didn't feel this way about him."
"You too?" Hermione said, looking surprised at her mother's words. Last year, everyone disapproved of Hermione's relationship with Krum. She received plenty of letters discouraging her from going out with Krum, from her father and her uncles, even Uncle Remus, who was always so understanding. But her mother's letter was not disapproving. Her mother really treated the whole Viktor situation by not talking about it even for a bit. This is the first time her mother had said something about Viktor. Now Hermione could see that even her mother didn't like Viktor for some reason. Lily nodded before saying, "I don't mind you dating Viktor, Hermione, but not right now. He is a legal adult, and you are a minor. Yes, if you both were adults, your relationship wouldn't bother me, but right now he is, and you are not."
"Okay," Hermione nodded along at her mother's words. "I never really liked Viktor that much." Lily smiled at her pityingly. Lily understood her. She knew that Hermione, at this moment, was worried about her exams, and she wouldn't compromise on that with anything. But now there was a guy in her head who she was finding difficult to ignore. For her, ignoring any other guy had been easy, even Viktor, for these very reasons. But ignoring Ron was something she was finding troublesome. It had been just a week since she knew she liked Ron, and she just wanted to see him.
"Hermione? Is this the same Ron?" Lily asked. Hermione knew what her mother was asking. In her family, everyone was aware of how Ron treated Hermione in their first year, courtesy of Harry. He told everybody how awful Ron was, and Hermione, at that time, agreed with everything. She didn't really know that, in the future, she might like the same boy she had disliked. Hermione nodded. She felt like defending Ron and said, "He apologized. He's not the same anymore, and if anything, it wasn't like I was great at that time. He is really kind and sweet once you get to know him."
Lily smiled at Hermione as she nodded and said, "Understandable, Hermione. I disliked your father very much during our first few years at Hogwarts too." They had heard that story multiple times, about how her father and mother didn't really get along. But her father was always confident about himself, so he always told her mother about his feelings.
"Yeah, I know," Hermione replied.
"See, Hermione, it's okay to like him. You don't have to be worried about your feelings. Now, if you want to write a letter, you can, but I want you downstairs in a few minutes to have your breakfast," Lily said as she stood up and walked to the door. Hermione nodded. Her mother left the room with a smile at Hermione.
Hermione just sat there for a couple of minutes, contemplating whether to write a letter or not. She just stared at the parchment and decided against writing one, giving herself the reasoning that it would come across as hitting on him. They never asked each other to write letters; she couldn't do it first. She couldn't look desperate, especially to someone she liked.
Later that evening, Hermione found herself surrounded by her family. She was helping her mother set the table with Sirius, who was joking around. Her day had gone like any other Christmas day. In the morning, she had breakfast with her family. She was the last one to have breakfast, and everyone, including Harry, reminded her of that, as she was never late. In the afternoon, there was a small Quidditch match between her father and his friends. Harry joined, as always, and she mostly tried to keep her three year old sister from grabbing a broomstick to join the others as the game progressed. Now they were going to have dinner.
After setting up the table, she called her father, Harry, and Remus, who were currently on the duty of handling the three-year-old demon of the household—her little sister, Violet. They called her Vi (she heard it as "weeee"). She had always been a handful, and the only person who could calm her was her mum. Soon enough, they were all sitting and enjoying their meals.
"Harry? How was the ball this year?" Remus asked. This was a question no one had asked until now, but it looked like it was going to be the topic of conversation. Harry just choked and coughed at Remus's words. Her mother, who was sitting beside Harry, Violet in her lap, rubbed his back. Harry's cheeks turned red as he said, "Not bad."
"Not bad, eh? Why are you blushing then?" It was Sirius who asked cheekily. Harry just blushed harder as he said, "Yeah. Not bad."
"Guess what, James? Kids these days are calling it 'not bad,'" Sirius said, winking at Harry, who was really embarrassed now. Her father just laughed, and hearing her father laugh, Violet also started laughing in Lily's lap.
"Sirius, mind your manners. We have three kids here," Lily admonished him for his suggestive language. Sirius just charmingly smiled at Lily. Hermione saw Remus just shaking his head. At least for the rest of the dinner, there was no further mention of the ball.
A young girl of six was sitting in the backseat of a car, looking out of the window. The girl looked like she had cried a lot that night. Her father was driving the car, and her mother was sitting beside him. Mr. Granger looked at his wife worriedly, then looked at Hermione, who was still silent after crying so much. It was snowing outside, and the visibility on the road was low.
Hermione was just angry at her parents. She was going to spend Christmas with Harry, but they wanted to spend it with her grandparents. It wasn't like she didn't want to meet her grandparents, but her father had told her they didn't have to go to Grandpa and Grandma's this year, so she was excited about spending Christmas with Harry and having a magical Christmas. But at the last minute, that afternoon, they changed their plans. Now, Hermione was just angry with her parents. She didn't want to go, and she had shown her displeasure plenty over the last few hours. She had even shouted at them that she was never going to talk to them again. She looked at her mother, who was smiling at her, but Hermione just glared at her before looking out of the window at the falling snow, ignoring Mrs. Granger. But it was just a minute or so before everything became so bright and loud; there was a blinding light. When Hermione looked at her parents, she saw nothing but the light and heard a loud sound. Suddenly, everything went blank.
Hermione woke up with a start. She was panting and sweating on the cold night of December. She got out of her bed and walked downstairs into the living room, where she found her dad sitting on the couch. He just smiled at her. She took a seat beside him. James Potter said nothing to her, just waved his wand, and two steaming mugs appeared full of hot cocoa in front of them.
"Another?" James asked her as he passed a mug to her. Hermione gladly took it. She just nodded. It was a kind of ritual between them since she had lived with the Potters. She always found her dad at night whenever she had a nightmare.
"You didn't have to be up," Hermione said. She always had a nightmare around Christmas; it was the day she lost her parents.
"I do, though," James replied, warmly smiling at her.
"I don't like worrying you," Hermione said.
"I'll always worry about you, sweetheart," James replied.
"Sometimes I feel like I'll never stop having these nightmares," Hermione said.
"Even if you are sixty and you need me, I'll be beside you," James said, and Hermione chuckled at that. She knew how her father could be, and she didn't even doubt him. Since the night she lost her parents, she had gained two more. Both of them had always been wonderful. She knew she didn't deserve this much love. When she lost her parents, she was being an immature brat over something that she shouldn't have been. So after losing them, she always felt undeserving of love. The way James and Lily Potter showed her love was just overwhelming. They never left her side. They always took care of her when she had a nightmare, when she was being a brat, and when she was scared.
"I don't know what to say," Hermione replied as she sipped some hot cocoa.
"You can say anything" James said
"I feel like I'm always losing them by being happy," Hermione said. "I feel like I shouldn't be happy."
"By being happy, you are not losing them," James said. "If anything, you are making them happy."
"Really?" Hermione asked, hoping for her father to say yes, which she knew he would say. This is a conversation they've had over a hundred times; his answers never changed.
"Of course," James said as he smiled at her.
"I remember them vividly. I know I was just six, but some of their memories are just always there in my head," Hermione said. James just nodded at her for her to continue. "It's just, I- I don't know how long I'll have these memories. What if I lose them too, just like them?"
"You are never forgetting them, Hermione. Don't be afraid of that," James said as he pointed at her heart. "They will always be there."
Hermione just nodded and hugged her father as she wept. After some minutes, she just sat there with her father in complete silence.
The morning she came downstairs and found Harry and her mother in the living room, Hermione was feeling much better. Her late-night conversation with her dad always cheered her up. She saw the Christmas tree surrounded by presents, and soon enough, a sleepy James joined them, grumbling about how waking up early in the morning should be a crime. She chuckled at her father and looked apologetically at him, as he had stayed up late because of her the previous night. He just chuckled back and messed up her hair.
Lily sent James to get Violet downstairs, as Vi was a heavy sleeper who usually spent most of her energy causing chaos in the house. Hermione and Harry knew by now that there was never a Santa coming down the chimney to give them their presents, but she still liked the thrill of opening them. When James brought Vi downstairs, she looked full of energy and was squirming in her father's arms the moment she saw the presents. Vi was shouting, "Pesents, pesents!" That was their cue to open their gifts.
Hermione had already finished opening all of her presents except the last one, which was wrapped in brown paper. The wrapping paper had creases on it, as if someone had tried to wrap it multiple times. She knew what the present was—it was a book. She could see that from the wrapping itself, and most people sent her books, knowing she liked reading. Still, she felt intrigued and opened the present. She was surprised to see the book; it was *The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the original Latin.
It was hard to find this book in Latin. She had always wanted a copy in the original language in which it was written. She already knew the stories, but she wanted this edition. She had never really told her parents because she didn't want them to go through the extra work of finding this book. She herself had tried multiple times to find it, sending a few mails as well, but she was always disappointed, as there were never any Latin editions left in the stores. Those who had the book wanted to preserve their copy. She realized she might find it abroad but was afraid of the price; she didn't want to spend that much money, at least not now. But now, she had the book in her hand.
As a note slipped out of the book, she picked it up and started reading it. She already knew who it was from.
"Dear Hermione,
Hope you are doing well— Hope your break at home is going wonderfully. And hopefully You are not just constantly trying to keep up with OWL work, just try to relax for the next few days, yeah, Hermione? As for me, I'm not doing much; Christmas is as usual. As always, my whole family is gathered, and we are all having fun.
And I hope you like the book. It was not that difficult to get it.
Ron."
She was reminded of their last conversation that night when she had mentioned the book to Ron, who remembered and got her one. She was just speechless as she adoringly looked at the book.
Ron Weasley
Ron was sitting at his table that evening with a quill in his hand and a parchment on his table, a "Dear Hermione" written on top of the parchment in his messy scrawl. There were heaps of crumpled parchments in his dustbin. He had written multiple notes by now, but nothing seemed genuine or perfect to him. He needed to write a note that would not sound lovely, or sweet, or funny. He just wanted to sound like a normal friend, but he was finding it difficult. As he crumpled another parchment and threw it in the dustbin, his room's door swung open.
It was Ginny, who walked into his room and plopped onto his bed, sitting comfortably and staring at him, sweetly smiling as she said, "Trouble in paradise?"
"Sod off, Ginny, will you?" Ron said, annoyed at his sister for invading his room.
"Language, Ron. What will Mum say if she hears you?" Ginny replied.
"Yeah, still, just go and annoy someone else," Ron said.
"There is no one else," Ginny said in her bored tone. "I thought you might need my help."
"Why would I need your help?" Ron asked, confused.
"Um—the letter?" Ginny said as if it was obvious.
"What letter?" Ron asked.
"The one you want to write, um, to—" Ginny replied, took a pause, and added with a cheeky smile, "Miss Granger."
Ron blushed but sputtered, "What—um, what do you mean? Why would I write to her?"
"Oh—I don't know, maybe because you like her," Ginny said sarcastically.
"What are—you on about—uh, who says I—li—like her?" Ron replied, stammering and blushing.
"That's very apparent, Ron," Ginny said, and she stood up and picked up one of the crumpled parchments, opening it and showing him "Dear Hermione" written on it, continuing, "as apparent as this."
"I a-am just writing to her as a friend," Ron said, trying to keep his voice even.
"Yeah, friend, right," Ginny snorted as she looked at the heaps of parchment.
"Never mind, just get out of my room," Ron said, looking embarrassed.
"Really? Ron, I have helped you until now; why don't you just let me help once more?" Ginny said.
"What do you mean you have helped me?" Ron asked, looking confused.
"Ron, sometimes I don't know if you are being thick on purpose or you are really just thick," Ginny said, looking annoyed. Ron just glared at her. "You know what, just get out."
"Don't you want to snog Hermione?" Ginny said cheekily again. She was enjoying this; she always enjoyed his torment.
"I told you I don't like Hermione that way!" Ron shouted at her.
"Yeah, yeah. Calm down. I mean, I had to do a lot of work for you, you know. I even had to ask Luna to help out," Ginny said, enjoying the look Ron was giving her. He was coming to a realization.
"Don't tell me you told Luna to kiss me. You know what? It doesn't surprise me. You are capable of doing such things," Ron said as he accusingly pointed at her.
"I didn't ask her to kiss you. I just asked her to make Hermione jealous," Ginny said.
"Why would Hermione be jealous?" Ron said, looking confused again.
"Why wouldn't she be? To me, it looked like she liked you too. The whole Three Broomsticks meeting made me realize that, as she was annoyed at Luna," Ginny said.
"Hermione wasn't annoyed at Luna; she tried to be friendly. She was just weirded out by Luna's weird behaviour," Ron replied.
"No, it wasn't just that," Ginny said. "Even if it was, Hermione was obviously annoyed at Luna at the ball, especially after your kiss. Oh, how I regret not seeing that!"
"I don't think Hermione was jealous. Why would she be?" Ron said, exasperated.
"Whatever, Ron. Just write the damn letter and send her whatever present you got for her," Ginny said.
"Just get out of here!" Ron snapped at her, as he started pushing her out of his room.
"Glad to help, Ron," Ginny said one last time. As he managed to get her out of his room, he shut the door behind her. He fumbled back to his chair, looking at the quill and parchment. Then he looked at the gifts he had brought for Hermione. One was a perfume that smelled like strawberries, just like how her hair smelled. He had bought this during his visit to Hogsmeade; he initially wanted to send her this. Now, looking back at it, he thought it might come across as something too personal.
So he looked at the book sitting beside the perfume. His brother Bill had brought it home that morning as Ron had requested of him, when Bill came home from Egypt to celebrate Christmas. He stared at "The Tales of Beedle the Bard."
He remembered the night after the Ball. When he got back to the common room, he was too tired, his thoughts of Hermione swirling around in his head as he sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. He dozed off on the couch. He suddenly felt a heavy weight on his chest. He felt a bit suffocated and heard a shriek. As he groggily opened his eyes, he saw someone standing over him, something bright pointed at him, someone staring at him. It was all blurry, but within a few seconds, everything came into focus. The person in front of him was mumbling something. It was Hermione, he realized.
It looked like she was about to run upstairs to her dorm. As she was about to, Ron grabbed her wrist, not wanting her to go away for some reason. He saw she looked surprised at his sudden action. She was staring at him. He could see her questioning gaze, but at the same time, she looked a bit tense. Her cheeks were red. As he stared at her, he realized what might've happened. Whatever weight he had felt on his chest was someone trying to sit on the couch, not realizing someone was sleeping on it. As he realized this, he saw that it was pitch black in the common room. The fireplace fire had died out long ago, with only moonlight coming from the windows and Hermione's wand's bright light. It was Hermione who had sat on him. Realizing this, he let go of her wrist, becoming embarrassed at what had happened.
"'M sorry," he mumbled.
"What?" she asked, looking shocked.
"I am sorry. I shouldn't have slept here on the couch," Ron said as he looked at the floor.
"Oh no. It's alright. I mean, it was my fault—if anything, I'm sorry for just sitting—" Hermione said as she trailed off her last words and looked at the floor. Both of them just stayed that way for some time, awkwardly looking anywhere but at each other.
"What were you doing here in the common room this late at night?" Ron asked, trying to break the awkward silence.
"Oh—I just couldn't sleep—what were you doing here, sleeping here?" Hermione said.
"Nothing, was just sitting on the couch and dozed off."
"Okay."
"Yeah. Why couldn't you sleep?"
"Don't know, just couldn't."
"Um, yeah," Ron said. He was not going to press her any further. She might have had a nightmare. He changed the topic, asking something that might help him. "What's your ideal Christmas present—as Christmas is around, you know?"
"Um—an ideal present? It's a book," Hermione responded.
"Yeah, a book—no surprises there," Ron chuckled at Hermione's answer. Of course, she would want a book for her present, and here he had bought perfume for her. What was he thinking?
"Not just any book—I want *The Tales of Beedle the Bard*" Hermione replied.
"That's an ordinary book, Hermione, for children," Ron said, surprised at what Hermione wanted, even if it was a book.
"Not any though. I want the Latin edition. Believe me, it's tough to get your hands on it. I have tried, but nothing worked," Hermione said, looking a bit annoyed.
"Yeah, but you can ask your parents," Ron said, really not seeing any difficulty. It might be here, but maybe in another country, just an international owl order away.
"No. I don't want them to do extra work for my present," Hermione replied and then asked, "What about you? What's your ideal present?"
"Mine?" He asked, taken aback by the sudden change, but recovered quickly and added, "Um—mine would be something Quidditch-related."
Now it was Hermione's turn to chuckle and say, "Yes. Of course, it's Quidditch-related."
"Yes, I want a broomstick, not just any, though. I want the Firebolt," Ron said dreamily.
"I don't know what boys' obsession is with flying," Hermione said.
"Oh, Hermione, it's a wonderful feeling to fly," Ron replied.
"I don't like flying that much."
"Why?"
"Because I'm afraid of heights."
"You are afraid of heights?"
"Yes. It's silly, I know—"
"It's not silly," Ron cut her off. She looked surprised and asked, "Why?"
"Because I'm scared of spiders," Ron confessed, looking embarrassed.
"You are?" Hermione asked, a bit surprised at his admission.
"Yes. I am," Ron admitted.
"Oh, but I have never seen you scared of spiders in Potions class," Hermione said, confused. She had seen him working with spiders multiple times.
"I don't mind them dead—I hate it when they are moving," Ron said sheepishly.
"Okay," Hermione said. Then she asked, "Why are you afraid of them? Did something happen?"
"Um—it's nothing, really. It's stupid. Fred turned my favorite bear into a giant spider when I broke his broomstick," Ron said.
"Oh—so since then you have arachnophobia," Hermione said. Ron just nodded. "Yes."
"I had a nightmare," Hermione suddenly said. Ron was taken aback but realized she was talking about why she had come down from her dorm.
"About what?" he asked her.
"About the accident in which I lost my parents," Hermione said, her eyes shining in the moonlight.
"Oh—you were there when they..." Ron trailed off.
"Yes, I was, and my magic only protected me at the time," Hermione said, her head bowed. He could sense she was sobbing. As her shoulders shook a bit, trying to comfort her, he awkwardly patted her on her shoulder. After a few minutes, she recovered and looked at him with teary eyes as she said, "I always see them, and I just hate myself for surviving alone."
Ron, not knowing what to say, just looked at her straight in the eyes, trying to convey that it wasn't her fault.
"I—I just—don't know. I always felt this guilt," Hermione said as her voice shook again.
"Hey," he said softly. "I am glad you survived. I can't possibly understand what you feel or what your parents might think, but I think they are glad too."
"I don't know," Hermione said. "I have got this amazing family—which loves me. That makes me feel more guilty that I'm living happily while they are dead—I don't think I deserve love."
"You deserve love," Ron said firmly. "Don't ever think otherwise." Hermione just stared at him. Seeing the determined look in his eyes just made her nod at him.
"You are a great friend, Ron," Hermione said, smiling tiredly at him.
"You exaggerate," Ron said, looking embarrassed.
"No. I mean it," Hermione said, smiling brightly at him. The tear stains still on her cheeks, he wanted to reach out and wipe them clean, but that felt like invading Hermione's space, and he didn't want to upset her. He just shook his head at her. They sat there for how long they didn't remember, chatting, but Hermione, after a while, said he looked too tired. He tried to tell her no, but she could see his yawn. He gave up and decided to go back to the dorm after he managed to send her back to hers.
The next day, when he woke up to get ready to board the Hogwarts Express to take him back home for the winter break, he wrote a letter to his brother Bill and asked him for The Tales of Beedle the Bard Latin edition as his Christmas and birthday present. He practically begged his brother for the original Latin edition.
to be continued...
Author's Notes :
The reviews inspired and motivated me enough to write this chaper.
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