Dirty Laundry

3

“All right, Granger, what the hell is your problem?” Ginny demanded angrily.

“What problem, Ginny?” Hermione asked wearily. She yawned.

“Don’t, ‘what problem, Ginny?’ me! You know what I’m talking about!”

Hermione stared into the pale, freckled face of her closest female friend Ginny Weasley, and knew she couldn’t pretend to be oblivious any longer. There was not a chance she could happen to forget the previous night, the engagement party and the little speech she’d made in front of a good forty guests. There was not a chance that Hermione could simply, casually play clueless; in this circumstance, there was not such a thing as clueless, for the basic reasons of believability. Ginny was in no way dimwitted or easily fooled. The jig was up.

Sighing, Hermione stepped aside from the doorway and gestured for Ginny to come in. Ginny hesitated for a moment, considering whether or not she was angry enough with Hermione to comply, but then remembering if she didn’t she wouldn’t get the chance to get in all of her angry words to Hermione’s face. She compromised by folding her arms and putting on the coldest, most callous expression she could.

“Ginny,” Hermione said, thinking desperately of how to word what she was itching to say. She settled for a simple question, “do you want anything?”

Ginny stared at her with clear aggravation, then nodded her head side-to-side. Hermione released a puffed breath, scratched the cornered of her forehead, and decided to elaborate.

“Do you want anything—to drink or eat, I mean. Coffee? Toast? I was going to make break-“

“No thanks,” Ginny interrupted, her tone steely. “I’m not hungry at the moment. You shouldn’t be either, Granger.”

Granger? So Ginny really was pissed off with her; very much so at that. In all of their years of friendship, through the many, many fights they’d ever had, Hermione couldn’t ever remember Ginny addressing her by surname; and they’d fought their hearts out before, on loads of different occasions. They’d bickered and rowed nearly as many times as she and Ron, and that was certainly saying something.

“Actually, I’m not hungry in the slightest.”

“So you just lied? Again! First with the rubbish you rambled on about last night, ruining our engagement party, and now claiming you were going to make breakfast anyway,” Ginny said, “I don’t want any excuses, fibs, lies; I want the truth from you. What’s your problem with Harry and me? Why did you ruin our engagement party? You know how happy we are; you know I’ve wanted this for years; so has Harry. How could you, Hermione? I thought we were friends.”

By now Ginny’s hard tone had softened considerably, switching to a much more marred and bewildered sound. Even her stance and facial expression had changed; no longer were her arms folded angrily, her dark eyes cold. She was quite the opposite, with lines of confusion on her forehead, as well as the same confusion in her eyes.

Hermione could barely bear looking into the pair of chocolate-colored things. She felt so guilty. “Ginny, look, I can explain. Really, I can. I was in no way trying to ruin what should’ve been one of the happiest nights of your life; to be frank, I was a bit under the influence and I wasn’t thinking clearly. If I could take it back, I would. I’m not one for public scenes, Ginny; you know that. I suppose I shouldn’t let another drop of fire whiskey touch my tongue ever again. I become much too honest and public.”

“Hermione, cut to the chase. The big laundry reveal? That wasn’t what you were going to spill to everyone, to Harry…about me.” Ginny seemed a little hesitant about continuing, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer to her next question, and if it could possibly come back to bite her in the bum. “What was it? What you really intended on revealing to everyone?”

“I think I need some time to think about it, Ginny,” Hermione said quietly. She laced her hands together in front of her to keep herself from her increasing urge to fidget. “Truth is, I drank an entire bottle of fire whiskey; well, that’s what I remember drinking anyway…there could’ve been more; there is more. I’m just drawing blanks on that now. I really need to sort out what I saw.”

Ginny looked threatened. “What did you see?” she asked carefully.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said, avoiding giving a solid answering. “Cho Chang was with me too, and I really think I need to talk with her about it first.”

Looking suspicious, Ginny folded her arms again. “You were drunk; you hardly remember a thing from last night! How can you even try and imply whatever you think you saw is reliable?”

“Well, that’s why I think I need to talk with Cho about it first,” Hermione replied.

“Fine!” Ginny said furiously. There were patches of red on her cheeks, a sign of her anger. And again, like with last night, there was a vein bulging on her right temple. “I’m going, only because this was pointless. I guess we’re not as good of friends as I thought, seeing as you won’t even tell me what your problem with me is! Whatever you saw, just come out and tell me already! Just spit it out for Merlin’s sake! And then I can tell you my side of the story, if I need to…whatever you saw.”

Hermione said nothing. Honestly, she couldn’t think of a thing to say, which was odd for her, being Hermione Jane Granger and all. Still, her mind was full of too many jumbled thoughts for her to sort them out so quickly, in enough time to reply to Ginny’s guilt trip.

Ginny nearly stomped her way to the front door of Hermione’s flat, and with emotion she wrenched open the door. She turned to face her former-friend for the last time.

“You know, Hermione, for being someone so logical and rational you’re being anything but at the moment!” she snarled. She gave her one final look of disgust, annoyance and anger, then slammed the door shut, hard enough to shake the walls.

Hermione sighed. She turned away from the door and took a seat on the edge of her favorite armchair, just near the empty fireplace. The brightness of her flat, with the sun slipping in even through the curtained windows, contrasted perfectly to how she was feeling at the moment: dark, gloomy, utterly lost.

She felt as if there was so much to do with so little time and with no idea where to begin.

###

By the time came around the weather hadn’t changed. Like in the morning, the afternoon was bright, sunny and humid. It was perfect conditions for enjoying a nice day outside, in the spring atmosphere. And, though not originally planned, that’s just what Hermione ended up doing.

She had spent the rest of the morning in her bedroom, a pounding headache distracting her from thinking as clearly as she would’ve liked; it was her own fault for going to the Three Broomsticks and acting irresponsibly; Hermione accepted the consequence, she just didn’t welcome the migraine and the nausea.

And so she ended up on the bright green lawns of a professional Quidditch pitch, just near the entrance to the changing rooms. She watched as the blue-robed, doll-sized player’s of the Puddlemere United team soared eighty feet above her, practicing for Saturday night’s match. It wasn’t long until they were landing onto the lawn of the pitch, in break from practice.

Hermione waited as seeker Cho approached the changing room. Obviously Cho didn’t see her waiting closely nearby, because as soon as Cho’s shiny black eyes landed on Hermione, she just about jumped into the air.

“Hermione Granger!” she exclaimed in a squeal.

Hermione nodded in confirmation, though that was unnecessary. “Listen, Cho, we need to talk.”

Cho looked as if what Hermione was asking was some kind of bothersome chore. She took her time to respond too. She exhaled a tired breath and checked over her shoulder; no one nearby could rescue her from the impending chat with Hermione Granger. She finally faced Hermione again, and then very reluctantly nodded.

“Fine,” she said with a shrug. “What do you want?”

“I thought…we could talk about last night’s engagement party,” Hermione said slowly, her eyebrows rising in suspicion as to why Cho was acting so coldly. “I was wondering if we could go over what we saw of Ginny, and why we went to the Three Broomsticks.”

Cho flipped her long, sleek hair over her shoulder, looking bored. “Can’t. I don’t really remember.”

“How can you not? I remember bits and pieces at least.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but I don’t,” Cho said simply. She shrugged for a second time. The hair she’d just bothered to flip over her shoulder had slipped back over the same shoulder once again. She ignored it this time, letting it hang over her shoulder, long past her chest. “I don’t remember a thing. I remember Roger Davies wanted to go upstairs to Harry’s room and snog-“

“Is that where you disappeared off to?” Hermione asked bitterly, annoyed with Cho by now.

“No! Well…wait—I mean, disappeared off to where exactly? Hermione, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cho said. And now she bothered to flip the same hair over her shoulder, doing an odd, side head-movement along with it. “I don’t even remember talking to you!”

“Cho!” Hermione said disbelievingly. “I know we’re not the closest of friends, but can you please put an end to the dim, unknowing act? It’s your fault in the first place I’m in the predicament I’m in!”

“What? What are you talking about, Hermione? You’re mental!” Cho retorted. There was a hint of pleasure in her voice at the chance of insulting Hermione.

“You coaxed and goaded me on!” Hermione said. “Cho, you know what I’m talking about.”

There was a sound of a whistle coming from the coach of the Puddlemere United, and all of the players began mounting their brooms and kicking off into the air, to continue with practice. Cho glanced over her shoulder, then looked back to Hermione.

“Sorry, Hermione; can’t help you. Anywho, I have to go,” Cho said, smiling apologetically; though her apologetic smile reminded Hermione of Professor Umbridge’s sweet tone back in fifth year; they had in common the fact that both came off as extremely fake. There was not an ounce of sympathy coming off of Cho, despite her efforts to make herself seem that way. When Hermione said nothing else, Cho turned and walked away, eventually mounting her broom and becoming a miniature, doll-sized, blue blob flying up above.

Hermione let out a deep, frustrated breath. She was getting nowhere.

###

Cautiously, Hermione exited the fireplace, dusting the soot off of her shoulders and shaking it from her coiled brown hair. She coughed a bit, still unused to travel by floo powder. Even after years and years of floo-ing she’d never quite gotten used to it. She could more than handle Apparition, Portkey and even broomriding, but floo-ing had never managed to cross onto her good side.

“Harry?” she said slowly, again cautiously. She peered around at the empty family room, memories of the prior night all too fresh and shameful. She blushed just thinking about it, just being back in the same room as last night when’d she made such a fool of herself. “Harry?” she called. “Are you here? Harry!”

She left the family room, and looked this way and that up and down the entrance hall. Harry was nowhere in sight; no one was. Thank Merlin Ginny wasn’t. Hermione didn’t know how she’d explain her presence in Harry’s home to her. Ginny would probably have a complete fit. Yes, thank Merlin Ginny was nowhere in sight.

“Harry!” Hermione called, walking down the hall. Her reflection on the well-polished, marble floor looked up at her as she walked; the only sound being the small heel of her ankle boots colliding with the marble floor, until she heard a distant humming. She stopped in her tracks. The Hermione in the well-polished marble floor did too. “Harry,” Hermione whispered under her breath, smiling to herself.

She recognized that hum anywhere; it was the hum of the dryer in the laundry room. Her smile widened a little as she gradually made her way down to the very end of the hall. She turned left through the open doorway, into the laundry room.

There he was, sitting on the empty wooden table Ginny had just over a week ago when Hermione had last done Harry’s laundry. At the sight of him, Hermione smiled. As if sensing her light, golden brown eyes on him, Harry looked up and met her gaze. She stood for a long moment in the doorway, then stepped fully into the room.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Harry muttered nonchalantly.

Hermione’s smile had lessened, now to an ashamed, meek one. “Yes, well, I figured you might need help with your laundry?”

She wasn’t sure if now was the best time for a small quip. Nevertheless, Harry smiled, nodded and chuckled.

“Yeah, I usually do,” he admitted. He waited a moment, and then said, jokingly, of course, “Who could I possibly go to for help with my laundry but you? Certainly not Ginny, right?”

Hermione laughed. “Yes,” she agreed, nodding, “certainly not Ginny.”

She couldn’t believe how nervous she felt compared to how offhand Harry appeared to be feeling. She was almost sure her voice was noticeably shaky and that her smile was anxious; and she couldn’t quite remember if she had been fidgeting when she’d walked into the room. She was making a point of not doing so now, but she couldn’t remember if she had when first entering the room.

“Listen, Harry. We need to talk,” she said.

His eyes had drifted off to the dryer as it continued to hum. He looked back at her, his striking eyes more than enough to make her cave-in and indeed fidget.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same. You first or me?”

“Me!” she said eagerly. She then smiled nervously. She couldn’t go on with all of this eagerness; it only made her look ridiculous. “I mean, I’ll go first. I just want to tell you I’m completely sorry for last night!”

He said nothing, so she continued.

“See, I somehow ended up at the Three Broomsticks after leaving yours and Ginny’s engagement party a little early, and strangely enough Cho was there; anyway, I drank far too much than I could handle, and I let myself make a fool of myself at yours and Ginny’s expense. I’m sorry I ruined your engagement party, Harry,” she said, all very fast and sincerely. “Really, if there’s anything I can do to make up for it-”

“I forgive you, Hermione,” he interrupted shortly. “Actually, there’s nothing to forgive, because…I was never mad at you in the first place.”

“You—huh?” Hermione said, at a loss for words.

“I was never mad at you,” Harry repeated. He jumped off of the wooden table and walked over to the dryer. He placed his hands onto the top of it, the warmth of the heat from within the dryer reaching his palms instantly.

“You were…never mad?” she said slowly. She wanted to make sure she had heard correctly.

“Yeah, why would I be?” he asked. He turned around to face her, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets instead; Hermione couldn’t help noting how good he looked then, always.

“Okay, well, that’s good to hear,” Hermione said with relief. “It’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

She couldn’t shake the feeling that all was not right; all did not feel right. Harry wasn’t mad at her, she didn’t have to worry about that anymore; it certainly gave her a bit more time to think over how and when (and maybe if?) she should tell him about what she knew of Ginny. Yet there was a distant feel in the laundry room, specifically from Harry’s end. Hermione frowned when she realized this and decided she’d pry.

“Err, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you—don’t you want to know what I really had to say about Ginny last night?” she asked quietly. “I know you know it wasn’t about laundry. Everyone knew it really wasn’t about laundry. Clearly. So…don’t you—aren’t you the least bit curious to know? I was expecting you to, I dunno, ask about it by now.”

Harry shrugged, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Harry?” she probed. “Don’t you want to know? Don’t you care to know?”

His eyes met hers, the look in them so piercing that Hermione felt like she was the one under interrogation; suddenly she was regretting her nosiness, her probing and prying.

“No need, Hermione,” Harry said.

“And why not?”

“Because,” he said, “I already know.”

###

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