A/N: CheeringCharm, Phoenix Song and myself are posting our new chapters on the Yahoo site first. They've had this one for about three days. If you'd like to read them a bit sooner, feel free to come on over and join! You'll find us at the following link!
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/triumvirateofverbosity/
A mentioned earlier there would be several ships floating on the ToR sea. If it's not already obvious-and it should be-Remus/Tonks is one of them. Another one will get a pretty big hint dropped here-not that you probably need one. This thing got so depressing over the last 2 chapters, happily I've worked in a bit of fluff!
As always-a big thanks to CC for her beta work! You are the best!
VL
Chapter 15- What Lies Beneath
Working with Professor Dumbledore was a distinct experience. He was clearly unlike any other teacher at Hogwarts. Most teachers proselytized from the front of the room, spouting their knowledge and expecting regurgitation on command. Some teachers, like Tonks, Madam Sprout, and even Professor Snape, focused a bit more on experiential learning. However, all the teachers remained the spring of knowledge from which the problems were solved. It wasn't like that with Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps it was because he wasn't trying to "teach" them anything. He was a partner in learning and hence they all occupied the same station, albeit an equally clueless one. He did have one thing in common with the teachers in his charge…homework.
Professor Dumbledore didn't really assign them homework, but when the Headmaster of Hogwarts is your study partner, failing to pull your share of the workload is not an option. Ron, Harry, and Hermione silently acquiesced to the same conclusion. They were going to have to work as hard as he did; and that was going to be a challenge.
"I never thought I'd praise the day I could be in class!" Ron said quietly.
"I'm just glad Tonks' is back," Harry replied as they walked through the doors to their Defense class. Hermione was scribbling rapidly in her homework planner as she walked. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her around a table to their normal seats in the classroom. He couldn't help but smile at her activity. "Hermione?" he began, watching her erase certain entries and scrawl new notes along the side of the notebook.
"Don't look at me like that Harry," she replied without looking up. Harry smirked at Ron while he dramatically rolled his eyes and sat down. "I saw that, Ron."
"What?" Ron asked with an injured expression as they all took their seats.
"My schedule was full enough before we started this little research project." She put her quill down and studied the array of responsibilities laid out in glittering colored ink. She looked up to Ron sitting across the aisle. "I simply don't know how I'm going to do all this without…" she stopped and smiled as Dean and Seamus walked between them to their seats. After they sat down, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "…without begging McGonagall for another time-turner."
"You might be overreacting," Ron said flatly.
"Only because you two were on the pitch and didn't see the stack Dumbledore left at the table for us last night. It was higher than the last three weeks combined!" Hermione's voice was growing louder.
"Hermione," Harry said warningly as he surveyed the room for attentive ears.
She expelled a quick breath and dropped her shoulders. "Sixteen books and seven feet of parchment. Honestly! I'm not even that bad!" she muttered. Both Harry and Ron snapped their heads in her direction with incredulous expressions plastered across their faces. Luckily for both of them, Hermione didn't have time to retort.
"Good morning class!" Tonks said brightly as she swept into the room from her office. She smiled as a mélange of various greetings returned to her from the class..
"I must apologize for my extended leave. I'm afraid my clumsiness got the best of me. If you should ever happen to fall out of two story window I suggest you choose more wisely than I and ensure you have a broomstick at the ready." The class laughed heartily as Tonks turned toward Hermione. Her smile wavered briefly as she and Hermione exchanged a conversation in a simple look.
Harry couldn't help but smile at Tonks' cover story. No one would ever think to question Tonks ungainliness. On more than one occasion even Peeves was blamed for debacles caused by Tonks inelegance. Harry surmised her story would satisfy the whole of Hogwarts without reservation, leaving only Harry, Hermione, Ron and the other members of the Order with the real explanation for her absence.
"Unfortunately, I'm afraid we're behind schedule in our study of N.E.W.T. skills. While I appreciate the other Professor's efforts to cover my class, we are sadly in arrears."
She instructed them to put their wands away and open their textbooks to the appropriate page. Normally, this would've conjured most unpleasant memories of Defense classes under Delores Umbridge. However, the students couldn't scramble their wands into their holsters quickly enough. Just prior to Halloween, Tonks embarked on the study of the most difficult N.E.W.T. skill in the curriculum. She'd skipped the others, and much to the students' excitement, jumped directly to wandless magic. However, her absence had relegated the class to textbook studies and enrichment exercises regarding telekinesis, directive defense spells, and patronuses (something Harry was quite proud to say appeared to bore the former D.A. students stiff-as they already mastered those skills). She appeared equally as eager to resume their study of wandless magic as the students were, no matter how impossible the task appeared.
It took a lot to frustrate Harry Potter in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Arguably he'd been excelling at the practice thereof since he was barely able to walk. But wandless magic was testing the limits of his patience. Not unlike Tonks' telekinesis classes from sixth year, the class spent the majority of their practical application staring at small objects. The only exception is that students were now shouting ineffective incantations and throwing their hands out in a futile effort to transfigure or charm the objects before them.
"No wonder Ollivander's has been in business for centuries, " Ron growled. If Harry wasn't so frustrated by his own lack of progress he would've found Ron's attempt entertaining. "Wingardium leviosa!" he barked. The feather did not move.
"Ron?" Hermione began.
"Hermione, I promise if you even think about correcting my pronunciation," he began hotly.
She appeared to choke back the laughter begging to erupt from her throat and answered timidly, "I was just going to say this might be easier if you didn't use the feather Seamus just cast a sticking charm on." Ron's head snapped to Seamus and Dean, standing one table over, as Seamus shoved his wand back into his robes and played, rather unconvincingly, innocent. As Harry's eyes met Seamus's the four of them dissolved into laughter as Ron stood by, attempting to decide whether he should laugh with them, or hex them all.
"Sorry, mate," Seamus chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "I couldn't resist."
"Oh, ha ha Seamus," Ron replied sarcastically. "You have no idea what you're dealing with Finnegan," he continued. Seamus' laughter fell quiet as he looked toward Ron interrogatively. "Or did you forget who my brothers are?" With that, Seamus' face fell to stone and Tonks called the students to attention.
"Alright class," she called. "Our time is up for the day. Please remember your essays. They are due in less than a week and procrastinating the Dark Arts is only helpful if your goal is to end up dead."
The class jumped to life as students gathered their things and clamored for the doorway. Ron, Harry, and Hermione stayed behind, helping Tonks put the course materials away and waiting for the room to empty completely. After it did, they stopped straightening the room and met Tonks at her desk.
Harry reached her first. Surprising even himself, he gave her a quick hug. "We're glad you're alright, Tonks," he said warmly.
"Me too," she replied. "Alright Ron?" she asked. He sat haphazardly against her desk and smiled brightly.
"I'm fine."
Her eyes drifted back to the young witch standing between them. "Hermione," she reached out and pulled her into a firm embrace. Before she let her go, Harry heard her whisper, "I'm so sorry." Appearing to fight back the tears, both of them released each other.
"It wasn't your fault Tonks," Hermione offered. "You did everything you could."
"I know. I just wish I could've done more. I wish I could've stopped them," she replied sadly.
"You nearly died yourself. You can't do more than that," Hermione said quietly. Out of sheer instinct, Harry laced his fingers through Hermione's and kissed her softly on the temple.
"Well," Tonks began, her voice growing stronger. "It's not everyday that someone pulls an ambush on me. Don't you think for one second were going to sit still for all of this. They got Kingsley as well and the Order doesn't take kindly to losing one of their own," she finished determinedly.
"Is the Order planning something?" Harry asked, giving a quick look to the doorway.
Tonks hesitated visibly. She surveyed the three faces before her and her expression softened. "I shouldn't be telling you this. None of you are in the Order and we've decided to keep all of our operations within our ranks to avoid any more surprises." She looked squarely at Hermione. "But, for you," she continued, "I'll give you the short version. Besides, I expect all of you to keep this to those you trust-even if that's only the three of you."
They nodded their silent assent and Tonks explained the general points of their plan. It was no secret that Lucius Malfoy was widely regarded as Voldemort's right hand. While the Order had been getting the impression for weeks that something was looming on the horizon, they never seemed to get any concrete intelligence on the matter. Riley, the Order's source high within he Ministry's ranks, that they'd come to trust, had fallen upon some recent information. He'd come to believe that whatever plan Voldemort and his cronies were espousing, Malfoy Manor had become the makeshift "war room." In short, the Order was devising a plan to infiltrate the Manor and acquire any and all information regarding Voldemort's latest scheme. Harry couldn't help but notice Tonks nonchalance as she mentioned the dangerous quality of the operation. She made it very clear that the Order had adopted a "curse-first-ask-questions-later" mindset on the mission. He got the distinct impression Tonks was looking forward to doing that very thing.
Although she was vague, the operation was scheduled for sometime in the days immediately preceding Christmas break. They planned to infiltrate the Manor before Draco returned for the holidays and while the family was supporting the whole of the wizarding economy with their annual shopping trip. The Order was going to a great deal of time and effort, in the week or so remaining, to devise avenues around the security wards, plan their mission, and consider every possible detail. Given the result of the Halloween operation, Tonks mentioned, every member of the Order had a vested interest that "Operation Ferret" be successful.
***
Hermione walked to Arithmancy feeling oddly free. Since her parents' death, Ron and Harry had scarcely left her side. Although she understood they had her best interest at heart, a month with no "alone time" gets tedious. Arithmancy was a nice escape, not only for her, but for them as well. She knew they used this time to discuss all things Quidditch - something they had amusingly avoided during the past several weeks. She might've walked to the classroom, but she was rather sure they were running to the pitch. Either way, it was nice to be "unreachable" for a while. If they wanted to find her they would require the use of the Marauder's Map as they certainly had no idea where her classroom was located. She settled down at her table and flipped through her textbook.
"Starting without me I see," a friendly voice broke her concentration.
Hermione looked up to see Merc dropping her bag next to the desk and settling down in her chair. "Hardly." She smiled. "I was bored."
"Only you would alleviate your boredom with a textbook," Merc replied laughingly. "I really should introduce you to the entire genre that is fiction, Hermione. Books aren't all about academics you know."
"I know what fiction is!" Hermione retorted, the smile already breaking across her face.
"Wait, don't tell me," Merc prompted.
"I read about it in a book once," they chimed together dissolving into giggles.
If there was one thing Hermione loved about her friendship with Merc is that it made her into a different person than who she was with Harry and Ron. She wouldn't be so easily inclined to mock her own study habits in front of them, because she always felt some strange obligation to be the "role model" for their education. She didn't have to do that with Merc. She also didn't have to hide the fact she was a girl. Admittedly, being best friends with two boys can limit the breadth of one's conversation. Boys just don't want to hear about hair, make-up, and the typical gossip most other seventeen year-old girls espouse. For those things Hermione turned to Ginny and Merc.
Professor Vector's voice interrupted their playful conversation and they quickly turned their attention to the lesson at hand. As was his habit, Professor Vector discussed arithmantic theory for nearly half the class, leaving the last portion for practical application. Both Hermione and Merc spent the lecture scratching down notes feverishly in preparation for both the practical exercise and their looming homework. When he finally set them loose with their classroom assignment, they got the opportunity to resume their discussion.
"So," Hermione began timidly. "You never told me your version of what actually happened between you and Ron that night."
"I'm aware of that."
Hermione cocked her head to the side and gave her an exasperated look. "Merc!"
"Hermione, I've told you before, I just don't think it's necessary to give you all the gory details. Besides, I've nearly forgotten the entire matter. It would be a distant memory if you wouldn't keep bringing it up."
"Bullocks," Hermione quipped. "I know you Merc. If he said anything to you on the scale of what he's said to me before, then I know you've committed the entire episode to memory." Merc looked at her and sighed audibly. "Tell me."
"Listen, I know what your friendship means to you, and I just don't want to impugn your impression of one of your best friends."
"He wasn't lying then. He was awful," Hermione said defeatedly.
"Pretty much," Merc replied quietly as she flipped through her textbook. Hermione hadn't moved a bit, as was her plan. Merc told her just enough to unleash "stubborn Hermione" and there was no way Merc was escaping now. She apparently understood the same thing. "Okay," she sighed. With a quick glance to Professor Vector, still seated squarely behind his desk, she told Hermione the story. Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She thought it sounded bad when Ron told her what happened. Merc's version, complete with the sound of her quaky voice, was far more disturbing.
"Merc, I'm so sorry. I promise I don't know what got into him," Hermione said dejectedly.
"It's not your fault. And besides, you don't have to apologize. Ron already did." Merc smiled. Hermione sat for a moment, staring blankly at Merc as she returned her attention to the parchment in front of her.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.
Merc looked up from her parchment quizzically. "What?"
"What do you mean, 'he apologized,'" Hermione clarified.
"Just that. The next afternoon he came down to the pitch as practice was ending and apologized for his behavior. He said he was in a right state and shouldn't have taken it out on me," Merc answered simply. Hermione stared, expressionless, in her direction. "Hermione, what's the matter?"
She shook her head quickly and snapped back to reality. "Nothing."
"What is it?'
"He's never apologized to me."
It was true. Hermione mused over the course of their relationship and couldn't think of a single instance where Ron had retracted any scathing remark he'd made toward her. Something about that gave Hermione pause. She didn't know if she should be angry, hurt, or just confused. After all, he barely knew Merc yet found the compulsion to apologize to her. He'd volleyed a virtual sortie of insults Hermione's way and never stopped to consider her feelings. It was unsettling to say the least. So much so, she barely heard Merc over her own internal monologue.
"So, um," Merc began hesitantly. "Why do you think he apologized to me?"
Hermione regained her senses and looked at Merc. "I don't know."
"Well, it doesn't really matter, water under the bridge and all that," she said flatly as she drew her matrixes on the parchment. "Let's get working on this so we don't have hours of homework to do later, I have Quidditch practice and you've got all that Head Girl rubbish to do," she said jokingly. Hermione nodded in agreement and they set to work together. They made rather impressive progress for the lack of time they spent concentrating on the assignment. When the bell heralded the end of class, they'd nearly completed half the requirements.
"So are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Hermione asked as she gathered her books.
"I don't know. I rather like Hogsmeade weekends at the castle, if only for the peace and quiet," Merc replied. "Are you going?"
"Yes, we're all going. This is the last weekend before the Christmas holiday and I'm afraid I haven't gotten Harry or Ron anything," Hermione said as they walked out of the classroom together.
"Hermione, given the circumstances I doubt they would expect gifts from you this year," Merc added.
"I know that. But I want to. They have both been so helpful. I don't think I could get through this without them," she answered. Merc responded with a smile. Suddenly Hermione recognized what had been bothering her since she and Merc started talking. She could feel that Merc was uncomfortable talking about Harry and Ron. For two girls that always found it so easy to speak to each other, it was thoroughly unsettling to Hermione.
"Merc?" she began. Merc looked at her with the same projected façade. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Merc said with false enthusiasm. "I should probably get back to my house common room. I'm seriously craving a hot bath before dinner." When Merc failed to maintain eye contact with Hermione, a unique feeling settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach. There was only one thing she could do to assuage it.
"You're not staying at the castle this weekend,' Hermione declared.
"What are you talking about?" Merc answered quizzically.
Hermione could feel her eyes brighten as her mood improved. "You are coming to Hogsmeade with me."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I have a lot of things I need to catch up on," Merc argued while she fidgeted with her bag.
"Then you'll meet me; one o' clock at the Three Broomsticks, I will absolutely not accept 'no' for an answer," Hermione beamed.
Merc's mouth bobbed open and closed. She appeared to run through her entire vocabulary in an attempt to find a word that would refuse Hermione's demand without being seen as some derivation of the word "no."
"You're trying to find a polite way to tell me 'no,' aren't you?" Hermione giggled.
"Well, I - er," Merc stammered.
"Merc I know you too well. You're incapable of saying no, least of all to a friend. I'll see you at one o'clock." Hermione winked at Merc and the two girls separated for their respective common rooms. As she walked back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione felt lighter than she had in weeks.
***
"It, just like the last four shirts, looks perfectly fine, dear," the mirror said exasperatedly as Remus continued to scowl at his reflection.
"You don't think the blue one looked nicer?"
"I told you the blue one looked nicer and you insisted on trying the burgundy anyway."
'Well, there's no need to get tetchy about it," Remus replied unamused. The mirror fell silent as Remus pulled the shirt off and retreated to his closet for the blue button down he'd tried on earlier. He felt a bit silly, it's not like Tonks had never seen him before. It's not like she'd never seen him in nearly every stitch of clothing he owned. But, something about today was different, and nerve-racking at that.
Today was a date.
It was a real date. A predetermined time and location where he and Tonks were going to spend time together for the mere purpose of spending time together. His stomach flipped over at the thought.
He couldn't understand why he was so nervous. Why should a "date" matter? He'd already kissed her and he knew from her response that she felt something for him as well. Yet, he couldn't stop the swarming butterflies from tickling his midsection. He slipped his shirt over his shoulders and buttoned the front, inspecting his reflection in the mirror. He gave himself a begrudging smile and grabbed his wool cloak from the armchair near the door.
Tonks' injuries had kept her from Hogwarts, and happily with Remus, for several weeks. Her desk was inundated with papers to grade, lessons to prepare, and various other school duties that had fallen by the wayside during her convalescence. As a result, she stayed in her quarters at Hogwarts rather than spending that time at Grimmauld Place. For as much as Remus offered, Tonks refused to let him out of their Hogsmeade date. She not only sang the praises of Poppy Pomfrey but also argued that she needed a break. Therefore, she arranged to meet him at the Three Broomsticks where they could not only enjoy each other's company but also supervise the throng of Hogwarts students that invariably passed through the establishment.
Remus walked into the back garden to the warded apparition point the Order established months before. He hesitated slightly, brushing his hands over his chest and picking invisible lint from his cloak as he fidgeted. Finally, realizing there was nothing more he could do to prepare himself, he pulled his wand from the pocket of his cloak and apparated to Hogsmeade.
Not surprisingly for the last Hogsmeade weekend before the holidays, the streets were filled with bustling Hogwarts students. Remus stepped out of the alley to see the smiling faces of many students he'd once instructed. They passed by, chattering brightly, carrying bags of merchandise that would invariably cause them to owl home begging for additional funds. Unlike the December visits of the past, the air was not bitingly cold. The blinding sun reflected from the glinting snowdrifts. In the distance he spotted an unmistakable fuchsia coif entering the Three Broomsticks. His heart flopped in his chest as he absent-mindedly started up the cobblestone street to meet his date.
"Whoa!" a voice sounded as Remus collided with a student.
"Oh! I'm sorry," Remus gasped as his thoughts were drawn from the lady awaiting him.
"It's okay Professor," the student replied.
"Ron? When are you going to start calling me Remus?"
"Right after I'm sure my mother won't hex me for being disrespectful," Ron replied.
"Right then. Professor it is," Lupin said flatly. Ron sniggered as he collected his bag and dusted it off. "Where's the other two thirds of you?" Remus asked.
Ron chortled. "If I know them, they're probably off snogging somewhere," he replied. Remus' face fell as he gazed at Ron inquiringly.
"How are you?" Remus asked pointedly.
Ron looked up to him and smiled. "I'm fine with it," he said. "Really," he added. "I do feel a bit left out, but I'm getting over it." He looked around at the passing students. "I guess it's just…different…than it was. All of us are different. I don't know that I'll ever be used to it."
"You're growing up Ron. All of you are. Things won't stay the same from one place in your life to the next," Remus said softly. "But, just because something is different, doesn't mean it's worse than it was. It could be better." Remus smiled at him warmly. Ron remained silent for a moment, appearing to contemplate his words before catching onto the bigger question.
"What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"
Remus blushed visibly, realizing his eyes had drifted back to Three Broomsticks' bustling entrance. "I, er - am meeting a friend for lunch," he said, tripping over his words. Ron's eyes gleamed as his face broke into a wide smile.
"A friend?"
"Yes, Ron, a friend," Remus emphasized.
"I guess different can be better can't it?" Ron said spryly. "Well, I'd better not keep you waiting from your…friend." Remus felt his face flush similarly to the times he'd been caught in other compromising situations.
"Really Mr. Filtch, these are not my dungbombs. I merely found them lying in plain view and thought to bring them to you before some misguided students thought to set them off."
He cleared his head of the memory, and Sirius and James' strangled laughter under the invisibility cloak, and nodded to Ron in agreement. They exchanged a few parting pleasantries and Remus set off for the Three Broomsticks, anxiously checking his wristwatch to ensure he wasn't too late…or too early.
***
Ron watched Remus walk up the street toward the tavern, momentarily forgetting where he'd planned to go before literally running into his former Professor. As he watched him disappear into the Three Broomsticks he smiled weakly.
Well, if anyone deserves to be happy it's Lupin.
What about you?
I'm happy.
Right. That's why you're standing in the middle of main street Hogsmeade …alone…planning to buy Christmas presents for your two best friends, who by the way, are blissfully happy with each other.
Ron looked around to the passers by. He saw every variety of witch and wizard imaginable. Some were short, some tall, some stout, others lean. He saw the old and the very young. But most of all, he saw his own classmates. They were everywhere. Girls giggled over Christmas secrets, boys followed along behind - whispering intently and pointing to the witch of their choice. Some walked hand in hand, some arm in arm. Others laughed as they disappeared into Hogsmeade's many alleyways for a clandestine snog. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Floating laughter and sweet smiles mingled with the enchanted bells playing festive Christmas tunes.
This was life. He stood there, drawn up his full seventeen years, realizing he'd never had occasion to pull a girl into one of those oft-sought alleyways. Ron realized he hadn't really started his own life.
He sighed audibly and thought to drown his self-deprecation in that which made him most secure….Quidditch. Fred and George owled a few weeks prior to the Hogsmeade weekend to announce Quality Quidditch Supplies had opened another location in Hogsmeade. As a congratulatory overture for being named Gryffindor captain, they'd sent along a certificate confirming an account in Ron's name. He pulled the parchment out of his cloak pocket and inspected it suspiciously as he walked to the new store.
The bell to Quality Quidditch Supplies was enchanted to mimic the sound of the crowd after a goal. Something about that didn't comfort Ron. He weaved his way through the racks, looking wonderingly around the store, and made his way to the counter.
"Good afternoon!" A middle-aged wizard (which is to say he appeared to be about 75) sat behind the counter in a faded Chudley Canons jumper and dusty jeans, hidden behind a recent edition of Quidditch Quarterly.
"Hi," Ron said hesitantly. "I was wondering if you could check on something for me?"
"Of course, when did you place the order?"
"No, it's not an order. I was wondering if…" The wizard's head popped out from behind the magazine and Ron, looking quizzically at his expression, stopped speaking.
The wizard's eyes lit up as he looked at Ron properly for the first time. Upon his apparently silent realization he burst into hearty laughter. His portly belly bounced happily as he stood up from the stool he'd been perched on.
"What?' Ron asked defensively. He was becoming rather agitated that the man found him so amusing. The longer the wizard laughed the more certain Ron became that he was hiding a "Weasley is our King" badge behind the counter for posterity.
"Oh, nothing," the shopkeeper said, regaining control of himself and wiping a stray tear from his eye. "They said you'd never believe the account was real. They even sent me a duplicate copy of the confirmation. They were sure you'd set it ablaze, convinced they'd hexed the parchment." He pulled out a duplicate copy of the certificate Fred and George had sent to Ron and waved it in the air in front of him.
Ron relaxed significantly and grinned. "Can you blame me?"
"Not at all Mr. Weasley," he replied. "They hexed mine," he said deadpan. "My hand was blue for a solid week." Ron couldn't help but chuckle. "Have a look around. Here's an account statement for you."
Ron took the parchment from the shopkeeper. When he saw the account balance he nearly fell out. "Is this accurate?" he asked incredulously.
"Entirely," the wizard said, settling back onto his stool. Ron could feel his gaze on him, but his eyes were firmly glued to the parchment in his hand. The shopkeeper laughed again. "Would you expect anything less from the most lucrative entrepreneurs in Diagon Alley?"
"I, just…" Ron tried to find the words.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say they were just a trifle proud of their little brother."
Ron looked up to see the shopkeeper smiling and nearly felt the tears well in his eyes. Not only had Fred and George opened an account for him at Quality Quidditch Supplies, they deposited 500 galleons as a gift. For the first time in his life, Ron was speechless.
He wandered aimlessly around the store. He debated the variety of things he could get for himself against the nagging compulsion to use the money wisely. A huff of air escaped his lips as he realized that nagging voice sounded exactly like Hermione Granger's. It wasn't long before he found himself standing in front of an array of new broomsticks. His eyes floated over the display as he brushed his fingers along the smooth handles of several models. For once in his life, he had the money to buy something ridiculously expensive. He stopped in front of the Firebolt.
It might've been the same model as Harry's, but it looked entirely different to Ron. He ran his hand over the handle and pulled it off the rack, inspecting it as though he'd never seen it before. His eyes crawled across the engraved production number and perfectly arranged twig configuration.
"Be careful not to drool, Red," a voice crashed through his musings and he snapped his head toward the intruder. He wasn't entirely prepared for who was standing in front of him.
"Hi," he said quietly. The embarrassment he'd felt the last time he'd spoken with Merc Thompson came rushing back and he placed the Firebolt back on the rack.
"Are you looking for a new broom?" she asked simply.
"Yes, actually I am," he said brightly as he slipped the parchment into his cloak.
"You're not considering a Firebolt are you?" she said with a furrowed brow.
"Well, it is a bit expensive, but I can afford it," Ron said smugly. He never thought he'd feel that good again. He could afford a Firebolt. He returned his attention to the broom on display, inspecting it carefully.
"Well, I'm quite sure you can afford it Ron," Merc said flatly. "It would just be a significant waste of money."
"Are you mad? This is a Firebolt!" Ron scoffed.
"I know that."
Ron puffed his chest in preparation of giving the "Ravenclaw" a lesson in quality broomsticks. "This broom is state of the art. It's so well-designed they haven't had need to improve on it in four years! This is the premier international standard racing broom in the wizarding world. Every World Cup Quidditch team rides a Firebolt!" Ron finished his lecture with an incredulous look toward Merc. She was supposed to be a Ravenclaw and she claimed to play Quidditch since he was barely old enough to walk. Certainly she should've known the finer points of this particular model.
"Not exactly," she said as her eyes searched the array of broomsticks in front of her.
"Excuse me?" Ron asked with wide eyes.
"World Cup chasers and seekers ride the Firebolt. You're a keeper Ron. What possible benefit could you derive from an international standard racing broom?"
It was the second time he'd fallen speechless. He couldn't determine exactly what bothered him most, the fact she questioned his knowledge of the Firebolt, or the fact she might have a point.
"If I may?" she asked timidly. Ron stepped aside, mouth still agape, as she passed in front of him down the display racks. She stopped in front of a broom Ron had paid little attention to and pulled it down. "This is the newest model in the Galactic Phantom line." She handed it to Ron. "It's the Quasar Mark V. It, unlike the Firebolt, is not designed for speed." Ron looked hesitantly between the broomstick and the girl in front of him. "It's designed for agility." She smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "You might not catch Harry Potter in the open stretches, but you'll out-corner him in every turn."
Ron couldn't help but smile at the mere suggestion. He refocused his attention on the broom before him, looking at it with renewed interest. "If it actually does what you say it does, I'll bet you don't score twenty-three goals on me again."
Merc scoffed.
"What?" Ron said taken aback.
"Your broom isn't the reason I could score on you." Ron could feel the heat rising to his face. He opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted him before he could start. "Calm down, Red. I have no intention of getting into a verbal volley with you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Merc sighed and leaned against the broomstick rack. "I mean, don't take everything so personally. You know you might actually learn something from talking to a chaser who'd beaten you before. I just might be able to help you improve."
"Improve?" Ron said incredulously.
"Yes, improve." Ron stared at her disbelievingly. "I only scored those goals because you told me where to throw the Quaffle."
"What?" Ron barked.
Merc rolled her eyes and crossed her arms simply. "Ron, calm down. I'm not going to argue with you." Something about her flat refusal to engage in a verbal attack took the wind out of Ron's sails. "You know as well as I do that half of goalkeeping in Quidditch is anticipating where the chaser will go before they do. It's educated guesswork." Ron nodded in agreement. "I only scored those goals because I waited until after you'd made your decision. You list, albeit slightly, toward the goal you've 'guessed' I've chosen. After you tell me where you think I'm going, it's not hard for me to go the other way."
Ron's jaw was planted firmly on the floor. He had no idea, as a keeper, he had any "tells." No one on the Gryffindor team either noticed or bothered to inform him of such. In thinking back over his games, he still had a difficult time believing he did what Merc said. But it explained her success against him perfectly. As Ron thought through his technique, Merc suddenly found interest in the floor.
"Well, I um, have to go," Merc said uncomfortably. "Good luck with your broom shopping." She gave him a short wave and turned for the door.
Ron finally found his voice. "Wait," she turned, the slightest tint of pink staining her cheeks.
Merc shuffled from one foot to the next and stared at the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit outspoken. It's one of my greatest flaws I dare say I have a habit of making people furious with me."
"No, I appreciate it. No one ever told me that before," Ron said sincerely.
"Well maybe, if you're not opposed, if I happen to run into you on the pitch I can show you what I'm talking about." She met his eyes briefly and looked at her watch. "I really need to go. I'm meeting someone."
The smile in Ron's eyes disappeared entirely as he remembered the exchange between Merc and her teammate the day after Halloween. "Oh, yeah. I'll see you around."
They exchanged a simple good bye and Ron watched her sweep from the store, the Quasar still gripped in his hand.
***
"I don't mind telling you this is the first time in ages I feel like things are back to normal," Harry said, briefly kissing the back of Hermione's hand. Her fingers had been firmly laced through his for the past thirty minutes. They sat quietly, nursing their butterbeers and watching the scene before them. They had been lucky enough to score the corner table at the Three Broomsticks. It was secluded from most of the tavern and afforded them the opportunity for a little privacy in an otherwise maddeningly public place.
She sighed and took another sip of her butterbeer, leaning into Harry's chest as he released her hand and wrapped an arm around her securely. "Me too," she said quietly.
"This is a question I really should know the answer to," Harry began. Hermione rolled her head up on his chest and looked expectantly toward his emerald eyes. "How are you? Really?" he asked.
She closed her eyes momentarily and drew a breath. "I'm okay." She smiled at him. "Really, I am. I just take life one day at a time. At first it was a struggle to get through minutes. Then it was hours. I'm looking at things in terms of days now." Harry nodded supportively. "But, I couldn't have gotten even this far without you and Ron. I know I've said it before, but thank you Harry, for everything."
He responded with a lingering kiss to her temple.
"This whole experience has given me a new perspective on life though," she continued. Harry pulled his lips from her head and looked toward her curiously. "Life is so short. You never know what will happen from one day to the next. For all my planning," she scoffed. "I could get impaled by an errant broomstick and leave nothing behind but a planner filled with the things I wanted to accomplish."
"Hermione," Harry began as he pulled away from her to get a better look.
"No, seriously Harry." Hermione turned her body toward him and looked to the ring on her hand. "What is this for?"
"What do you mean?' Harry asked, the fear evident in his voice.
"I mean this ring. Last year you asked me to marry you. I agreed. And we've never discussed it again."
"Hermione, I told you. It's enough for me to know that we are forever. The rest are just details," Harry reiterated as Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the ring he'd given her. Feeling the need to continue he added, "I know our age is an issue for a lot of people…maybe even us. But, time means nothing to me. All that matters is you."
"But time does matter Harry. When you boil everything down to brass tacks, time might be the only thing we really have." She looked up to him, her eyes glistening. "And I don't know how long I'll have you."
She didn't need to say anything else for Harry to know what she was referring to. Aside from the mounting pressure to find a viable means of defeating Voldemort, the prophecy had begun to weigh on him. Everyone seemed in agreement that the prophecy (for better or worse) would be realized by the end of term, and the year was half past. He pulled her into a near crushing embrace, hoping beyond hope if he held her tight enough any possible evil that might befall them could be repelled. Although he knew that was impossible, there was something else he was more certain of.
"I love you, Hermione."
She fisted her hands in his shirt and mumbled what he only assumed was a reciprocal sentiment. He kissed her on the top of her head, something that had become rather habitual with him lately, and she drew back.
"Did you hear me?"
"What?" Harry asked.
"I said I want to get married." Harry's stomach twisted into a knot.
"What?' he asked again.
"I don't want to wait," she replied. "We're not that young. We're adults in the wizarding world already. In a few months we will be out of school and working toward careers, living on our own and all that. Your parents got married right out of school. They were only eighteen." Her voice softened significantly. "Think what would've happened if they'd decided to wait." Harry closed his eyes to the thought. "Harry," she whispered. "Our world is so uncertain; our future so unsure…I don't want regrets. I don't want 'should have' and 'would have.' I want to be your wife, and I don't want to lose a single moment with you because people might think we're too young."
Harry couldn't stop the tears from welling in his eyes. He'd felt this way since the end of last year. It's why he'd been compelled to ask her in the first place. But, he'd also been scared to death that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life. That he'd gone too quickly and frightened her off with his forwardness. As a result, he'd taken the exact opposite position and tried desperately to convince her he didn't want to marry her the second their time at Hogwarts was through. In truth, he laid awake nearly every night. He thought about their house in Godric's Hollow. Although he's never seen the interior, he'd redecorated every room in his mind, some twice. He'd imagined walking in the front door to the sounds of his own bushy-haired green eyed children and scent of supper wafting through the house. Some nights his thoughts wandered (as they are prone to do for any seventeen year-old hormonal teenager) to the variety of places he'd imagined consummating their marriage. He also thought of the ways to do so. Frankly, he had no experience in that department at all, and Hermione would be totally flabbergasted to know he'd been clandestinely reading up on the subject. Truth be told, for all the reasons she just listed, he didn't want to put off marriage any longer than she did. But, somewhere inside, that ten year old boy, locked in a cupboard beneath the stairs, couldn't believe his own ears.
"Are you sure?"
He felt her hands softly turn his head toward her and he opened his eyes. She caught a single tear with her thumb as trickled down his cheek. "I love you, Harry."
He curled his hand through her hair and crushed his lips against hers. She leaned into him bodily and returned an equally passionate kiss. Neither seemed to mind the glaringly obvious display of affection, or the looks they'd begun to attract from other Hogwarts students. They saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing - except the love they felt for each other and the sounds of their own hearts, beating as one.
***
Hermione drew back at the weak sound of someone clearing their throat expectantly. She looked up and remembered the invitation she'd extended. Suddenly realizing more eyes than Merc Thompson's had been watching the scene, she inconspicuously dabbed her mouth with a napkin and offered Merc a seat.
"I can come back," Merc said hesitantly. "I really don't want to interrupt."
"Nonsense," Hermione replied, feeling Harry's shoulder slump against hers. She glanced at him warningly as Merc settled into a chair. The awkward silence was broken quickly as Madam Rosmerta arrived at the table.
"Well, I should thank you for interrupting our young couple. The tavern was becoming far more interested in the happenings at this table than ordering more spirits from the bar." She winked at Merc and smiled brightly. "What can I get for you?"
"I'll have a butterbeer, please," Merc replied. With an affirmative nod Madam Rosmerta made her way back to the bar to fill her order. Hermione could barely contain the blush erupting on her cheeks. She nursed her butterbeer embarrassedly as Merc addressed them both. "Oh, please. It's about time you both found some happiness again. There's nothing to be coy about."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a blushing glance and he looked at Merc Inquisitively. "So, what brings you to the Three Broomsticks?" Merc, apparently taken aback, looked at Hermione.
"I invited her to meet us." Hermione smiled. "I thought a more formal introduction might be in order for you and…"
"Hi, Ron," Harry interrupted. The exuberant smile slid from Ron's face as he realized who was sitting at their table. Hermione could feel the confusion wafting from him but it was tangled among a variety of other emotions she couldn't disseminate. In either case, neither Harry nor Ron masked the disappointment stamped across their features.
"Really, Hermione. This isn't one of your better ideas," Merc said with an obviously forced smile. "I should go."
"You will not," Hermione declared. "Ron, sit down. What kept you?"
He looked at the packages in his hand and held them up. "I also ran into Ginny outside of Honeydukes. I, er- lost track of time." Ron looked between the three and dropped into the chair adjacent to Merc. He dropped his packages on the floor next to them and placed a long wrapped package against the wall.
"Ron?" Harry's eyes widened with comprehension. "Did you get a new broomstick?"
The exhilaration Ron sported as he entered the tavern came back in full measure. His eyes sparkled and his face brightened like a child who'd just heard the faint music of the ice cream vendor in the distance. "Yeah, I did!"
"Wha..how?" Harry stammered.
Ron shot Harry a derisive glare as he inclined his head toward Merc. Hermione looked between the two wonderingly. "Well, my Cleansweep was getting a bit dodgy and I thought I might replace with something a bit more suited to my position."
"You never mentioned your Cleansweep was giving you fits," Harry said with concern.
Ron cleared his throat and waved Madam Rosmerta to the table. "Well, it's been kind of recent." Madam Rosmerta set a butterbeer in front of Merc and smiled at Ron. Before she could ask the question, he answered it for her. "I'll have a butterbeer as well, please." She nodded and made her way through the crowd. "So, did you see who's over there?" Ron began, appearing desperate to change the subject.
Merc turned around and scanned the tables where Ron had pointed. "Is that Professor Lupin?" she asked.
"Yes," Harry replied.
"I haven't seen him in years," Merc added as she turned back to the trio. "Until Professor Tonks, he was the only Defense teacher that was worth his salt."
"You think Tonks is better?" Harry asked, fixing his eyes on Merc.
"I don't know. They're different. But, they're both good." She turned back to catch another glimpse of them. "I didn't realize they knew each other," she said wryly. She turned back to the table and sipped her butterbeer.
"So do you like Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Ron asked.
"Not particularly. That, among other things, is the reason why Hermione was never able to persuade me to show up for that ill-fated meeting at the Hog's Head." Merc winked at Hermione.
"It wasn't for lack of trying. You're as stubborn as a mule," Hermione joked.
"Not unlike you, dear," Merc replied. They laughed together and Hermione felt the tension ease.
"So, what is your favorite subject then?" Harry continued.
Merc dropped her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, for the bunch of Gryffindors that you are, you'll probably think this is incredibly boring," she began.
"History of Magic," Ron interrupted. Merc looked at him squarely for the first time since he sat down.
"History of Magic," she affirmed.
Ron scoffed. "That is incredibly boring. At least Defense class can get your adrenaline pumping." He gratefully accepted the butterbeer Madam Rosmerta handed him and took a sip.
"Well, I'm not as much for adrenaline-pumping classes as you all might be. Professor Lupin's class might've taken years off my life, rather than adding to it," Merc said quietly as she glanced over her shoulder at he and Tonks.
Ron narrowed his eyes curiously and turned to her. "So what was your boggart?" Silence stifled the air. Hermione felt the discomfort flow from Merc. However, she noted impressively, Merc's demeanor didn't change in the least. She remained silent for a moment longer and slowly turned to face Ron. Harry and Ron leaned on the table awaiting her answer as her eyes gleamed mischievously.
"Which broom did you get?"
Now Ron was the uncomfortable one.
***
One thing about a good supper is its propensity to keep conversation to a minimum. That was one of the things Ron cherished about dining in the Great Hall. Frankly, he'd had enough conversation today to satisfy him for months. He'd planned to ramble on to Harry and Hermione about Fred and George, Quality Quidditch Supplies, and his new broom until he realized who had joined them at the Three Broomsticks. Suddenly he'd felt the nagging compulsion to avoid the subject entirely. He'd been rather pleased with his ability to steer the conversation away from his shopping trip until Merc asked him the one question he was hoping she'd forget. Although Harry and Hermione had no idea why his face caught fire with his answer, the smug grin from Merc Thompson was enough to boil the very blood in his veins.
Merc Thompson, there's someone I'd prefer not to talk about.
"So," Hermione's voice floated across the table. "What did you think of her?" She looked between Ron and Harry as she took a bite of her corn.
"Who?" Harry asked as he scooped another helping of mashed potatoes on his plate.
Hermione glared at him. "Harry, don't be daft."
"Oh." He smiled. "You mean Merc," he answered, winking at Ron. "She seems nice."
For an insufferable know-it-all.
"Ron!" Hermione barked. Ron's head snapped up from his dinner. Judging from Hermione's reaction, he'd made his last comment aloud. He dropped his eyes back to his plate as Hermione's glare bored a hole through the top of his head. "Well," she scoffed. "You think I'm an insufferable know-it-all too," she said flatly.
"It's not the same, Hermione," Ron clarified. He looked across the table and saw Hermione studying him with a look he'd not seen before. "What?"
"Ron, can I ask you something?" she said softly.
He looked at Harry hesitantly and replied, "Go ahead."
"I spoke to Merc the other day about what happened on Halloween," she began.
"Hermione, I already told you about that. I really don't want to get into it again," Ron said warningly.
"No. That's not what I'm getting at. She told me what happened. It was basically the same story you told me. But she told me something else. Something you left out." If Ron could've crawled under the table he would have. This was not a subject he was eager to revisit. "She said you apologized to her."
That's exactly what he thought was coming. He had a feeling he'd have to explain himself to Hermione sooner or later. "Later" always seemed more appealing. "Yeah, so," he responded nonchalantly.
"It's just that," Hermione stopped. "We've argued for years. We've had some terrible rows before." She stabbed a kidney bean with her fork. "You've never apologized to me."
Ron drew a deep breath and put his fork down. He'd thought about this very thing for weeks. He still wasn't sure he'd come up with a suitable answer, and whatever he said probably wouldn't suit Hermione. He pushed his plate away and crossed his arms on the table. "I don't know, Hermione."
She put her fork down and leveled her eyes at him. He looked to Harry for support, but he seemed as interested in the reply as Hermione. "It's was different," he began. More thinking aloud than spouting a canned answer, Ron began to talk. "I was really horrible to her. I said things I don't think I would've said to anyone; things I shouldn't have said to anyone." He ran his fingers over the roughened table as he continued. "It wasn't the same as fighting with you. She didn't fight back. She didn't scream. She didn't yell. She didn't try to hurt me the way I hurt her. I think that's how I knew I had hurt her in the first place." Harry and Hermione were staring at him, silently urging him to continue. He looked at Hermione directly. "We have a line Hermione. I almost see it like rules for our rows. Although we've come close, we've never crossed it. No matter how terrible our arguments are, I know I'm not going to lose you as a friend. I know that whatever we say will be forgotten in a matter of minutes and things will go on as normal. It wasn't like that this time." Ron noticed Hermione's brow furrow. "I might feel depressed after arguing with you Hermione, but I've never felt guilty." He looked back to the table. "I've never felt so guilty in my life. I couldn't stop thinking about the look on her face. I had to apologize." He took a sip of his pumpkin juice as looked over the goblet. "What?"
Hermione was smiling.
"Nothing Ron," she replied. "It would sound rather condescending if I told you I was proud of you." She fell silent and looked between them both. She drew a breath and lowered her voice. "Er - about our project," she said quietly.
"What about it?" Harry responded quizzically.
"Well, you know we've not gotten anywhere in the last several weeks." She looked around the Great Hall. "Even with Professor Dumbledore's help, we've not come any closer to a defense yet."
"I know," Harry said heavily.
"Well," Hermione began hesitantly. "I was thinking about Merc…"
"You can't be serious," Ron interrupted.
"Why not?" Hermione said exasperatedly.
"Hermione, I can't be in the same room with that girl without feeling like a complete idiot! What with Quidditch, and what happened on Halloween, and…I don't know…everything, she just makes me thoroughly uncomfortable," Ron snapped.
"Aside from that, Hermione," Harry added. "This project isn't something we're doing for extra credit in Binn's class."
"Exactly," Ron chimed.
"She can help without knowing about the prophecy," Hermione clarified.
"How?" Harry said incredulously.
"I don't know." She slumped her shoulders defeatedly. "You both think I'm the smartest witch in the school." She looked at them decidedly. "I'm not. Merc is a lot smarter than I am. What I slave hours for, comes to her in minutes. History is her favorite subject. Ancient history fascinates her. You should hear all the anecdotes I've sat through during our study sessions!" Ron rolled his eyes. The mere thought of Hermione being bored by someone else's knowledge was a bit incredible to say the least. "I just think she might be able to help us, that's all."
"Hermione," Ron felt the need to point out the obvious. "Dumbledore is working on this with us. I hardly think the addition of Merc Thompson would make a significant difference."
"I have to agree, Hermione," Harry added.
Hermione crossed her arms. "Well, if you're waiting for me to suddenly find the silver bullet it's not going to happen!" she said hotly. "I need help!"
"What are we?" Ron retorted, feeling the heat rise under his collar.
"You can research and look in the books with the best of them Ron, but you aren't analytical. I need someone to debate theories with, to analyze what we're looking, at and theorize how to make effective use of it!"
"We can do that!" Ron felt his voice rising.
"Shhhh," Harry hissed looking around to the attention they'd started attracting. Hermione gave him a fleeting glance and dropped her voice.
"No, you can't Ron."
Silence fell between them. For as angry as Ron wanted to be, he knew somewhere in the depths of his soul, Hermione was right. The mere thought of engaging in that type of conversation, not only bored him to tears, but made him feel thoroughly inadequate. He wasn't one to analyze anything more than a chessboard or a Quidditch strategy. He looked at Harry inquiringly.
Harry sighed. "Hermione, I trust you completely," he said quietly. "If you can find a way to include her, without telling her about the prophecy or the Order, then I'll agree to it." He looked at Ron questioningly. "What about you?"
"I don't know. I'm still leery of including anyone else in this. Like Harry said, this isn't some extra credit project." Hermione slumped her shoulders and gave Ron the one look he could never stand up to. Nearly chastising himself for being weak, he continued, "But, if Harry is okay with it, I guess I am too."
Hermione nearly leapt the table to hug him. As she couldn't reach Ron, she settled for Harry. He clutched her tightly and mouthed, "thank you," to Ron over her shoulder. He gave him a simple nod as he felt the third-wheel syndrome wash over him again.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry asked with concern. Ron looked up to see Hermione stiffen in his arms. She pulled back, staring over his shoulder. Both Ron and Harry craned their necks to see what had caught her attention. Ron was at a loss. The only thing he saw was Ginny dropping onto a bench a bit farther down the table. He watched her scoop some food onto her plate just as the desserts were replacing the entrees on the table.
"Hermione?" Harry reiterated.
"Er, it's nothing,' she replied, innocuously waving her hand. Ron wasn't sure about Harry, but he wasn't convinced. It also hadn't escaped his attention that Hermione's eyes were still fixed on his sister.
***
"So are you going to tell me what that was about at dinner or not?" Harry inquired as he and Hermione patrolled the corridors.
"What do you mean?" she replied.
You know what I mean.
Hermione stopped in her tracks leaving Harry to walk a few more paces before realizing she had not kept pace. He turned to see her standing rooted to the spot. Something about the look on her face humored Harry. "Did you forget we used to do that?" He sauntered back to her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Honestly? I think I did," she answered. Harry chuckled briefly and kissed her on the forehead. "Harry?"
"Hmmm?" he mumbled, his lips still pressed to her skin.
"How do we do that?"
He pulled away and studied her expression. "I think it's like Dumbledore told us when we first arrived this year. I think its both of us. I can say for my part I haven't really tried since everything has been so…well…complicated this year."
Hermione laced her arms through his and curled into his chest. "Thank you," she whispered.
He kissed her lightly on the top of her head and replied, "Among everything else you had to deal with, I figured you might like to keep your thoughts to yourself." He could sense her smile against his chest. "Come on, we've got loads of homework to finish after our rounds."
She pulled away from him as they turned to walk the staircase to the sixth floor corridor. They laced their hands together relying on the fact all students were supposed to be in their houses over an hour ago. "Something is going on with Ginny," Hermione said suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I'm still so unsure if what I think I'm feeling from them is actually what they're feeling," she answered.
"They who?" Harry asked.
"Ron and Ginny," Hermione replied. "I've been getting something from both of them. I just don't know what to make of it, or if I'm interpreting any of it correctly in the first place."
"Have you asked Madam Pomfrey?" Harry offered, he was trying his best to be supportive. In truth he was dead interested in what Hermione could do, if only for his own benefit in their relationship. Somewhere down the road he was sure he'd want to know if Hermione could feel what he was feeling - for better or worse.
"It's really been something I've worked on only recently," she said.
"So what are you getting?" Harry inquired. Hermione slowed to a stop and leaned against the corridor wall. She crossed her arms and seemed to process her thoughts. After a moment of thoughtful silence she answered Harry's question. "Well, Ron has been very uncomfortable at any mention of Merc Thompson. I've never known him to be so out-of-sorts over a simple argument. I know he said some awful things to her but I get a variety of things from him. He feels guilty about it; he's completely self-conscious around her. More than anything I get streams of confusion from him. I don't think he knows why he's so uncomfortable around her. He just is."
"Is that why you were smiling at him at dinner?" Harry prompted.
"Yes," she said with a giggle. "In part, I was happy to have some of my inclinations validated…especially his raging guilt complex. But also because I've got other speculations about his behavior," she added wryly.
"He fancies Merc," Harry said flatly. Hermione's eyes snapped to Harry's and she looked at him questioningly.
"What? So now my inner monologue is open for discussion?" Hermione said scathingly.
Harry let out a burst of laughter. "No," he walked to where she stood and leaned against the wall with her. "Hermione, everything you just mentioned about Ron is exactly what I went through with you at the Burrow last summer." Her eyes softened at his words. "Do you agree he's got feelings for her?"
"Yes," she said reservedly. "I also get the same mix of emotions from her."
"Really?"
"Well, she might act tough on the exterior, but she wears her emotions on her sleeve. She gets completely discombobulated when he's around. It's not like her at all. What's more she's doing her dead level best to ensure no one sees it."
"I don't see it," Harry replied.
"Neither do I," Hermione said. "I feel it."
"Okay, so that's Ron out of the way. What is the matter with Ginny?" Harry asked.
"That is a bit more difficult," Hermione said quietly. "I can't help but get the feeling she's hiding something." Harry's brow furrowed at her concern. "I don't mean hiding the fact she failed a test, or that she's gotten a body piercing behind Molly's back," she looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow. "Both of those I suspect by the way. I think she's hiding something big." Harry searched his own thoughts for a manufactured list of things Ginny Weasley might be hiding. However, nothing of importance came to mind.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. When she came into the Great Hall tonight I caught her eye. She had been staring at Ron and I was overwhelmed with a sense of betrayal. Not lies, or deceit…betrayal. It was so strong it nearly took my breath away."
The corridor fell silent as they both processed Hermione's words. Harry didn't know what to make of it. Ginny had become a good friend to all of them. He trusted her as much as any other member of Ron's family. Sometimes when he looked at her, he saw the sister he never had. It was a lot for him to accept the fact she might be hiding something from Ron. But then again, he'd never had a sibling…and for the record neither had Hermione. Who's to know if such feelings weren't just par for the course? Who's to say a sister wouldn't feel like she'd betrayed her brother by misplacing his favorite jumper she'd nicked from his closet?
"We'd best get moving if we're ever going to get through Snape's essay tonight," Hermione's voice drew him from his thoughts. They walked off in silence, fingers intertwined in each other's. They followed the normal route they'd set up for their rounds and eventually made their way back toward Gryffindor Tower. Harry was just about to comment on the lack of students they'd caught in the hallways after hours, when the sound of hurried footsteps approached from an adjacent corridor.
As they turned the corner they were greeted with a gasp from an unsettling source. "Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing out in the corridors? You know curfew was well over an hour ago!"
Harry couldn't help but notice how Ginny looked. She was normally a very well assembled witch. Not that he'd ever let Hermione know it, but she had grown into a rather stunning young lady. She took quite a bit more care with her hair, make-up, and wardrobe than Hermione ever did. Not that Harry minded Hermione's girl-next-door quality. Frankly, he thought Ginny might bee too 'high-maintenance' to have ever been compatible with him. However, given her current state of dishevelment, he had to admit his concern. Her hair was haphazardly thrown in a clip on the top of her head and her clothes were hanging sloppily under her robes. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days and it didn't take an empath to know she was hiding something.
"Where have you been?" Harry asked, feeling the need to assume the role of her brother in Ron's absence.
She looked at him scathingly. "If you want to give me detention then go ahead, Harry. But, where I've been is not your concern."
Hermione was visibly taken back by her words. "Ginny, we're worried about you. You were late for dinner and now you're skulking about the corridors after hours? What's going on with you?" she asked.
Ginny barked a laugh that was nearly reminiscent of Sirius. "That's rich. Like the two of you have never been late for dinner and out in the corridors after hours!" Harry resigned himself to the fact he couldn't comment on that. She was right. Their escapades after hours were as much a part of Hogwarts history over the last seven years as treacle pudding and Quidditch. "Listen, if you're not giving me detention, I need to get back to the common room before Filch or that blasted cat finds me," she said as she pushed past them.
Neither Harry nor Hermione moved from their spot. They merely watched her disappear around the corner. After returning to his senses, Harry looked at Hermione. "Same thing?" he asked.
"Yes," she muttered. "But there's something else as well. She's scared to death about something." With a heavy sigh, she and Harry looked at each other and finished their rounds of the castle.