SPECIAL THANKS to my beta reader Aurabolt! I tell you, he played a particularly special role in this chapter. His comments were so important that I had to revise SO MUCH in this chapter and the chapters that followed it! Aurabolt's the best. And he's such a gentle guide, too. He's never mean about pointing out the flaws. ::sobs while dramatic music plays in the background:: This story would've crashed and burned without him.
Standard disclaimers apply.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Five - Bring Down the High
In which Harry tells all; Ron tells a bit and Hermione tells them off.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Leaky Cauldron was always alive with activity, more so on Saturday nights, and you can always count on seeing several familiar faces. It was a waterhole of old friends, ancient rivalries and yes, ex-girlfriends, whether in person or by memory. In many ways, the Leaky Cauldron had more ghosts than the Shrieking Shack ever did.
When Tom, the barkeep and owner of the Leaky Cauldron, sat Ron and Harry down in a relatively (and this term used loosely) isolated corner of the bar, Harry wasn't expecting to get ambushed by his failed relationships.
Cho showed up with Marietta and three other witches. Harry didn't know any of them, and Ron looked like he knew at least one too well, judging by the way he tried to hide behind the whisky bottle.
It seemed that whatever possessed Cho to resent Harry Potter in the fifth, sixth and seventh year had all but been exorcised from her system, and that now she was more than ready to take him up on his fifth year crush on her.
She was still as pretty as ever, of course, but Harry hadn't thought of her in the last two and a half years all that much.
Upon seeing her approach, he managed to impart a sincere smile. "Hi there, Cho. Hi, Marietta… ladies…" He half expected to see the word "SNEAK" imprinted on Marietta's face. That was just the way things worked: Get turned into a ferret once and you'd be called Ferret forever. Splinch your eyebrows and you'll be called Mr. Splinch-It for the rest of your life. Tell on the D.A. and you'll never be trusted again.
Cho flashed her signature, dimpled smile. That cute grin had felled many a sighing Hogwarts boys during its time. It made her look precious and lovely, almost unattainable. That was her allure. "Hullo Harry; Ron."
Marietta merely smiled shyly, reddening as their eyes fell on her. The other witches smiled more confidently. Maybe Marietta was remembering she was a sneak, too, or maybe his eyes were reminding her. Harry certainly couldn't look at her any other way.
Ron's half-smile was unmistakably acidic. "Fancy seeing you two… and-err-your companions here. Unwinding?"
And so the small talk began. Harry and Ron seated in their booth; Cho, Marietta and a bevy of witches standing above them. The women weren't offered seats. Harry wondered if Hermione would chastise them for it; ungentlemanly, she would call it, but then he remembered how Hermione had lied for them to keep them out of trouble with the professors; lied for him to get him out of detention; confunded Cormac McLaggen for Ron's sake and possibly his, if Cormac's insufferable control-freakishness was any clue.
Hermione would disapprove of their inability to offer Cho the simple courtesy of joining them on the table, but if Hermione were there, she wouldn't rat them out to Cho either. Hermione was just so loyal that way.
And as if Cho had read his thoughts, she turned to him and asked, "So, where's Hermione?"
Harry could see Ron's eye-roll. It always boiled down to Hermione when Cho was concerned, it seemed.
Stifling a sigh, Harry replied. "It's just us boys tonight, Cho. She's out doing her own thing."
Cho raised an eyebrow. "On a date, is she?"
"Aren't you the concerned one," muttered Ron, loud enough for Cho to hear.
Cho shot him a glare and Harry wondered how Ron managed to charm his dozen or so women with the kind of cheek he had sometimes. He supposed Ron was charming when he wanted to be. Hard to imagine, though.
Ron deflected her glare with a beatific grin. "If you really want to know, ask her. Harry, why don't you lend Cho that mobile telly-foney Hermione gave you. You know, the one she got you so you can call each other wherever and whenever?"
"There's no need for that," said Cho, raising a superior eyebrow. "Anyway, the girls and I have to be going. We'll see you around. Harry, we should catch up. Floo me?"
Ron kicked Harry under the table.
Having seen just how much Ron seemed to despise Cho's being there-and being snitty about Hermione, besides-, Harry assumed it meant he wasn't supposed to encourage Cho. "Maybe… but I'm really busy these days, so it probably won't be anytime soon."
"That's fine," said Cho, her smile reappearing without looking the least bit discouraged. "Just floo at your soonest convenience, alright?"
Harry nodded and Cho finally left with Marietta and the other witches following behind her.
Ron poured himself a whisky. "Still jealous of Hermione and always will be."
"And how very nice of you to insinuate that I'm involved with Hermione these days."
Ron scoffed. "Got rid of Cho, didn't it? I just wanted her to go away and bring her petty little manipulations with her."
Harry had to admit that Ron's ruthlessness was handy; better than squirming their way out of the situation.
"So, Harry, speaking of old girlfriends… Ginny's asking about you."
Enter ex-girlfriend number two.
Harry knew it was going to come up. "She owled, actually."
"Answered her yet?" Ron poured him a shot.
Harry fiddled with his shot glass. "No."
"And why not?"
Harry sighed. "Look, I don't mean to be a prat, but is that really any of your business?"
"Well, she is my little sister, mate."
"And so?"
Ron frowned. "What do you mean, And so? I'm watching out that you don't hurt her!"
Merlin, why do these things happen to me? thought Harry as he downed his first shot of whisky. "That's the last thing I want to do."
"D'you want to go back to her? Are you even considering it?"
Harry didn't know if he should even be telling Ron. It would have been alright if Ron and Ginny weren't brother and sister, but they are, and it just seemed awkward, but as Harry looked Ron's facial expression over, there seemed to be no animosity; just a frank curiosity. Against Harry's better judgment, he answered.
"No. I'm not. I can't have a relationship with her anymore; not without-without messing something up very badly."
Ron nodded. "Sorry to hear that, mate, but you should tell her this is how you feel. She's waiting. Least you can do is tell her she's waiting for nothing."
Harry did feel a measure of relief. Part of the reason he couldn't go about turning Ginny down was Ron. He didn't want Ron taking it the wrong way; as a slight to their friendship, because Ron had a tendency to be sensitive and protective about his family. Harry couldn't blame him for that, but it didn't make the situation any easier before. Now it was.
"I'll tell her. I'll tell her soon," said Harry.
"I'll hold you to that." Ron tossed his whiskey.
Harry poured them their next shot.
"So, who is it then?" asked Ron, taking his glass.
Harry raised an eyebrow, not sure about what Ron was referring to. "Who's what?"
"Who's the girl? There has to be one, right?"
For some reason, this caused Harry's heart to beat very fast. "Don't know what you're talking about, Ron."
"It's Hermione, isn't it?"
Good lord, he DOES know! Harry downed his shot and began to pour himself another one. "What? Now, Ron-"
"Don't deny it. You think I haven't noticed? The special way you treat her? The cute little looks? The touching?"
"Touching!"
Ron drank his whisky, eyeing Harry with the expression of Mad-Eyed Moody. "Yes. And tonight, Harry. What's all this about? Are you worried about Lysander, or are you worried she'll fall in love with him?"
Harry felt trapped, not because he didn't have a way out, but because he could never lie to Ron. Ron was his best friend; they'd take an Avada Kedavra for each other if the situation called for it. You just don't ruin that kind of trust by lying.
"I just want Hermione to be happy," he said desperately. "I want her to find someone who'll take care of her and give her the treatment she deserves. He has to be perfect. But this guy… there's something wrong with this Lysander bloke. He's too perfect. It's like he knows what she wants, and he's giving it to her. It's like he's luring her."
Ron shook his head. "Harry…"
"You have to trust me. I'm not just being some jealous prat-"
"Aren't you?"
There it was again; that feeling of getting trapped. "Ron," he said weakly. "Don't ask me that."
Ron made a motion to say something, hesitated then went on. "There's nothing wrong with fancying her, Harry. If there's any guy I'd want for her, it's you. You don't have to keep it from me."
Harry took his whisky shot. "She doesn't see me that way."
"That's… beside the point. You fancy her, then?"
"It's… a little bit more than that." He felt the heat rise in his face, and he wasn't sure if the whiskey had more to do with it. Admitting his feelings for Hermione to Ron of all people was spectacularly disconcerting.
Ron sighed, but it was one of sympathy. "Mate, you should've said something… when did you start-"
"Seventh year, I think, but I didn't realize it until after her coma. I didn't use your sister, alright?"
Ron managed a grin. "I know. So, you knew after the coma, but figured you've-liked her a lot since seventh year…. were you DAFT? How hard was it to figure out? I mean, honestly! Stewing on it for two years? Talk about major denial…"
"You fancied her, Ron. I didn't want to be thinking I fancied the same woman my best friend did, so I just sort of closed my mind to the idea completely."
Ron seemed to have been struck by his words before he shrugged. "So you knew about that?"
Harry shot him a sardonic frown. "Ron, mate, the hints-they were anvil sized."
"That bad, eh?"
"Yes. And then you did nothing. I sat back and watched you and Hermione duke it out like an old married couple but you never got together. I wanted to kill you."
"All this time you've been plotting my demise."
"Why didn't you tell her, Ron? I mean, I think she fancied you back. Canaries and everything!"
Ron leaned back on his seat, giving it a brief thought. "Many reasons… there was the war to worry about, then there's the fact that she hates Quidditch. She still calls Krum's move a-"
Harry laughed. "Wonky feints?"
"Yes! And then she gets angry because the whole world is nuts about Quidditch! Angry at-"
"You?"
"Yes, at me! As if I was responsible for it! Not that she gave me credit for much else. She doesn't mean to do it-sometimes, but I couldn't help but feel daft when she takes that high and mighty tone with me. Anyway, after the war there were just all these… "
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Easy women?"
"Could you please stop finishing my sentences?"
"Sorry… so, we were talking about easy women…"
Ron shot him a sardonic grin before continuing. "Least I don't have to worry about them correcting my Latin."
Harry supposed almost a decade of Hermione pointing out Ron's academic shortcomings would inevitably drive Ron into the arms of more amicable and accommodating women, but then again, Hermione's best assets were definitely worth the intellectual acrobatics, in Harry's humble opinion. Woman's a genius! And she makes books look good. Harry was so down with that. "Do you still fancy her?"
"I still hoped to measure up some time last year, because damn, Harry, she has that sexy, sophisticated, high and mighty walk going that-I didn't know whether to snog her or yell at her! I think it's because of those legs of hers. Fine pair, those. If her genius mind weren't so bent on pissing me off… Wingardium levee-YOH-sahhh! She was a nightmare!"
Harry managed to laugh. It was exactly those very words, with that same retching diction, that led to that fateful meeting with the Troll. It was a precious memory, wrestling the troll, if not a bit terrifying. Of course, it was the only way Hermione would've given them the time of day. A couple of average blokes like them couldn't have hoped to get her full attention if they hadn't saved her life. She was just so special that way.
Ron shrugged. "I guess I just realized that I enjoyed watching her walk away more times than I liked watching her walk to me, if you get my drift. She's our best friend, you understand, but if I were to consider having a serious relationship with her, that means I'd have to consider marrying her, and if I had to consider marrying her… Merlin, I don't think I can stand to be 'Ron and Hermione' 'til death do us part. Know what I mean?"
"I actually do," said Harry after a pause. The "Ron and Hermione" thing meant "Arguing, Nagging and Forever Disagreeing" thing which, one had to admit, was the basic ingredients for "Miserable Marriage".
Ron nodded. "It just went from there, mate. I can't look at her that way anymore. I really can't imagine having to put up with her as someone more than a friend. I think I overdid it with Lavender-thing, to begin with."
"You think?"
"Oh, shut it with your cheek, Harry. It's not like you're doing any better by dating all these strange women…"
Harry frowned. "I was just trying to find a way to move on, Ron, and it's not as if I did any of that hoping to make her jealous. I went out with those women hoping one of them would manage to-I don't know-" He made a helpless gesture "-make me fall in love, or something… but as you may have noticed, I've failed miserably at it. Or they have. Pathetic, yes? But I don't think it's going to happen, at least not right now. Hermione's just-she's just so there. How can she not be when I see her every blessed day? She's just-I can't stand it, Ron. One day I'll attack her from behind and snog her, and it'll be all over…"
"And you think she doesn't see you that way?"
"She doesn't. Told me she would've wanted Ginny for me and everything."
"And this is the only reason you're not telling her?"
"Merlin, Ron, how much does it take for you to understand? She never saw me that way. Remember how she gave me advice about Cho Chang? And how she gave advice to Ginny; about how Ginny could get me to notice her? And how about the time she knew, ahead of everyone else, that there was something going on with Ginny and I? She thinks of me as her best friend, and if I tell her how I feel in spite of how she obviously sees me, I'm just ruining everything altogether. She'll move out; I just know it. She wouldn't want to keep hurting my feelings so her solution would be to 'give me space' or shite like that. I just can't lose her completely; not like that, so if it means I have to be her best friend to keep her, then that's just the way it's going to be."
Ron winced. "I don't suppose your 'Gryffindor Courage' applies in this case."
"Sod off, Ron. Fat lot your Gryffindor Courage did you when it came to Hermione."
"You have a point…" He paused a bit. "Now she's going out with the dashing billionaire."
"Yes. He can't have her, Ron. There's something wrong with him."
Ron gave him a skeptical look.
Harry sighed. "Maybe I'm a little jealous-"
"A little? You had us follow her on her date, Harry. And if you hadn't lost your cool in the gallery, we'd still be tailing them. And you thought she looked sexy in her dress!"
"Well, so did you!"
Ron looked affronted. "I did not. I thought the dress was too revealing. I'd have reacted the same way if Ginny were wearing it. You thought it looked too good on her. Don't deny it. You said it was 'stupidly sexy'."
"Okay, so maybe I'm more than a little jealous, but I don't trust Athanasius, whether or not he's dating Hermione. I just need for you to be on my side in this."
The worry on Ron's face was worthy of Molly Weasley's son, but after a long moment, his gaze guarded while Harry's remained pleading, he nodded. "Fine, then. I'll stick by this hunch of yours for as long as I can."
Harry actually felt relieved. He couldn't stand it if he was at odds with both of his best friends. He tried to go it alone in sixth year and that had turned out to be disastrous.
Ron glared at him and pointed a finger at Harry. "You know I trust you Harry, so don't be playing me! And don't be playing Hermione! Or I'll kill you. Got that?"
"Yes, yes! I'm not playing. Just… just give me some time to work out something solid, alright?"
"Alright. Now, I see Neville over there. Mind if I call him over?"
Harry grinned. Neville was always good company. He turned in his seat and called Neville over himself.
0000000000000000000000
Hermione felt her heart racing to the beat of salsa. The rhythm and earthy voices that accompanied the red-hot tunes lent an intoxicating flavor to the atmosphere, and for the few minutes she danced with Lysander Athanasius, everything was right.
When she first laid eyes on the salsa dance floor, the rich colors and smoldering movements heating up the scene, she was more than a little hesitant. The thought that she would ever be pressed so close to another man-practically a stranger-and be expected to move like that where everyone could see, was intimidating in the extreme. She literally stepped back from the sensual arena and began to formulate an excuse as to why she didn't want to do this anymore.
But perhaps sensing her discomfort, Lysander had gently slipped his hand around her waist and coaxed her forward as he walked back, drawing her in with the honeyed tone of his voice.
"It will be fine, Miss Granger," he said, smiling as the kindness of his eyes washed over her. "We'll… take it slow."
Hermione had blushed at the way he said it. It was embarrassing, but it also made her want to try.
It was little surprise that when he raised her arm above her head and pulled her close, she yelped awkwardly and made to resist with an outraged, "Mr. Athanasius!"
He found it all extremely amusing, reminding her again that she should call him by his first name, and that she had to relax if she wanted to enjoy dancing at all.
It was then the music raised its beat to an overwhelming crescendo and Hermione found herself getting swept, pulled and swirled into all of it. She was still so very uncertain about it all at the beginning, the sweat beading out of her temples causing her discomfort, but then his touch on the skin of her back, the firm grasp of his hands on her hips to guide her movements and his breath warming the crook of her neck, began to penetrate through her nerves, igniting the tingles that coursed throughout her body.
When she finally let herself, she was suddenly in the swing of it, smiling and moving with near expert ease. She felt euphoric; lost in the dance, lost in his touch, and she let him put his hands where he deemed it proper, which probably wasn't proper at all in many instances. But then, it was just salsa, right? Everyone seemed to be doing it. Everyone seemed to be lost in it. She could get lost in it too, and Lysander was so very good at what he was doing, whatever it was.
They could have been dancing for hours, but she was having the time of her life. It was only when she finally looked at her watch and saw that it was two in the morning that she realized that it was way too late for one such as herself to be out at all.
She begged her leave of Lysander Athanasius who did a very convincing job of expressing his reluctance to let her go.
He was so close to her. It was because of the noise, really. The music was so loud one couldn't have a proper conversation face to face. Shouting did not become Lysander, so he didn't even try. The alternative was so much more pleasant, anyway, with his breath grazing her ear as it slid down her neck.
"You want to stay," he said. "You know you do."
It wasn't a question and it almost sent bolts of shame through her. But she regained her senses, and instead of lying about wanting to leave, she pressed her point. "I really have to go."
"And so you must," he finally said.
He escorted her out of the club and just as they left the intensity of salsa behind them, he began to engage her in light conversation, asking her about Harry and Ron as if he had been interested about them all along.
She found herself talking freely, telling Lysander about their accomplishments. She was immensely proud of them, and she was glad Lysander was much more responsive about it than Ms. Northanger.
The limo brought them exactly where Grimmauld Place was, squeezed magically between 11 and 13.
Her car door was opened and the chauffer helped her step out. He was an unimposing individual, and Hermione couldn't even remember what he looked like.
Behind her, Lysander stepped out with her.
Then the chauffer was gone, and she only had Lysander to deal with.
She felt awkward all over again. Did she have to kiss him now? After showing her such a wonderful time, he certainly deserved one. Just something casual. Nothing that promised too much. She liked him, but she didn't know a thing about him except for what they wrote about him in Business of Magic.
Blushing, she tiptoed and kissed both his cheeks, one after another and then a third time. "Thank you for the wonderful evening."
He smiled at the kisses, looking amused. He knew what her kisses meant, and he was a gentleman for appreciating it. "I do hope to see you again, Ms. Granger."
She reddened again at what she was about to say. "Please call me Hermione."
"Hermione." He squeezed her shoulders and heat coursed through her at the contact. He knew it, by the smoldering look in his eyes, but he did not pursue it. He let her go and stepped back into the limousine.
She turned around, walking to 12 Grimmauld Place.
Don't look back. It would be terribly cool if you don't look back!
But she wasn't exactly of the "cool" variety. She did look back and caught him watching her from his window. He chuckled visibly, rolling up his window as the limousine drove away.
She smiled, unembarrassed. They had both caught each other looking; but he had been looking first.
0000000000000000000000000000000
Hermione apparated into the living room, flushed and grinning. She didn't know if it was right to be so pleased with herself.
She was exhausted; really exhausted, like she had used up all her energies in the dancing. She felt the familiar wobbling of her legs, but she was happy; or high on something. She hadn't felt that way in a long time so she welcomed it.
Even the sight of Harry and Ron, playing chess in the living room, didn't upset her. The anger she had for the both of them earlier was gone. She was ready to forget that their fight had even happened. It had been a stupid fight, anyway, and now that she had proven that all their concerns were unfounded, that was satisfaction enough for her. Bygones!
She grinned broadly as they looked up from their game. "Hullo, you two! You're back early, Ron. I'd have thought you'd-er-be all night."
Ron frowned. "Do you know what time it is?"
Hermione was completely caught off guard by the hostility in his tone. "Er-yes. It's a bit past two thirty in the morning. You usually get back in at around five or six-"
"Where have you been?" he asked, cutting her off.
She was shocked to realize that Ron was upset, and it was because she was rather late coming home.
"Harry said you went to an Art Gallery," he continued, getting up. "I didn't know they stayed open until two in the morning!"
Her shock withered and anger began to suffuse her. Her head spun at the sheer effort at being furious. It seemed her dancing had taken more from her than she thought possible. But she was riled enough to ignore the exhaustion.
She scowled and her stance stiffened. "Well sor-ree, Dad! I didn't realize I had a curfew seeing as everyone else can stay out as late as they want. At least I don't come home banjaxed out of my skull unlike some people!"
At that Ron blinked rather uncertainly, as if just now realizing he didn't have much on him to lecture her about coming home late.
It was then Harry rose out of his seat, looking even more displeased than Ron was. "Wherever you were, you should know better than to let that prat Athanasius fool you, Hermione. Do you think he hasn't had a lot of practice winning over someone like you? He's like-forty years old! He's had a lifetime of an advantage over you!"
For a moment, she marveled at how Harry found out about Lysander and some of her suspicion that evening crept through her mind.
No. They WOULDN'T! They simply wouldn't! But how did Harry know…?
She remembered how she had forgotten the gallery invitation in her hurry to leave Grimmauld Place. Her resolve to be furious rose anew in a terrible blaze. She didn't even care that they found out that the invitation had been for three.
Hermione couldn't believe she could get this angry with Harry, and she couldn't believe he hit so close to her deepest insecurities, too. The many nights she had spent alone in Grimmauld, feeling somewhat abandoned, suddenly came rushing back to memory. She had listened to Harry discuss strange women and she recalled the strain on her lips and eyes as she smiled for him. She had been so supportive of them both. Why can't they do the same for her? And what was so wrong about Lysander liking her, anyway?
She exploded. "I'm not even going to ask if you two followed me tonight, because frankly, I'd rather DELUDE myself into thinking that you would never do such an outrageous thing! And for your information, Harry, he is not forty years old! He's not a day over twenty five and I didn't realize you thought the likes of me so common, Harry Potter. I suppose, then, that Lysander's had plenty of practice with plain, bookish, bushy-haired witches like me whose desperation is written clear across their faces! Because goodness knows the likes of me would ever feel special and actually have someone as brilliant, rich and handsome as Lysander Athanasius after me for my looks and personality. No way! Obviously, he's just looking for a quick shag! Oh, dear me! Poor silly me! So delusional! Good thing there's Harry Sodding Potter to point that out for me!"
She was so fiercely eloquent that she disarmed Harry instantly by the look on his face, and it hurt her to see him so stunned, as if she had hit every thought he had, right on the mark.
He started. "Hermione, that's not-"
"Shut it!" she hissed, her anger twisting into something so profoundly painful inside her. "The two of you just shut it!"
"He's not good enough for you, Hermione!" Harry cried desperately.
"And neither is Viktor, right?" she yelled back. "So just who's good enough for me, Harry? A prince, maybe? I'll tell you something: I don't think it's because you think any of these blokes aren't good enough for me. I think you just don't like the fact that Dependable, Smart, but Sad Little Hermione is suddenly realizing that there are other boys beyond Riotous Ron and Handsome Harry! You and Ron probably enjoy it when I make goo-goo eyes at you both, thinking that I'll always be around for your Yule Balls when there's no one left to ask, or that I'll always be willing to give advice on how to deal with pretty, tall, athletic girls with perfect hair who happen to like Quidditch! Or maybe it wasn't even for all that! Maybe I was just really good at helping you both with your homework, because goodness knows I'd let you flunk your way out of Hogwarts!"
She pointed an accusing finger at Ron. "So you had your fling with Lavender and I did the complimentary jealous bird bit, thinking perhaps there was some kind of payoff in the end, but I suppose it was a bad way to expect things to happen. I couldn't begrudge you that, and now you want to go around London shagging every skirt you come in contact with! Incidentally, I wasn't much of the shag-now-worry-later-variety, so I'm guessing we never would've worked out. If I ever considered fancying you, Ron, that's done! And you, Harry! Well, what can I say? Nothing! Because you've done nothing, and that just makes me want to hang myself!"
She was out of breath, out of words and out of strength. She stormed out of the living room and apparated into her bedroom.
Muttering a locking and silencing charm on her door, she felt the tears sting her eyes and she let them go, kneeling by her bed like she used to as a little girl to sob into her sheets.
She was so tired, wracked by emotion.
Sobbing still, she pulled herself up on bed and buried her face in her pillows.
000000000000000000000000
Harry watched her leave the living room, the distinct sound of her apparating bouncing through the hall. A second crack, muffled and distant, came from upstairs, then silence.
He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. She was so angry, and her words were honed to slice through the thickest of barriers, like she had been sharpening them for years.
Was that how she felt? Was that how they made her feel? Like she was back-up?
No, no, no! he thought. It was never that way!
But it pained him to think she thought it, anyway.
He looked to Ron for the answers; he didn't appear to have any. He was just as stunned as Harry was.
Harry immediately made his way up the stairs and Ron followed grimly.
"She's not going to talk to us now, you know," said Ron.
Harry sighed but didn't say anything. When they arrived at her door, Harry pressed his ear to it. He couldn't hear a thing but he could feel the magic of her wards. She had put up several locks and he could tell there was a silencing charm. "Hermione?"
Nothing.
Of course, he wouldn't hear her if she said anything on account of the wards.
He looked at Ron who shook his head. Ron was a veteran when it came to this situation, but Harry was a little hesitant to take Ron's advice. After all, Ron and Hermione were still fighting.
"Hermione, look, we're sorry…" He was going to say he was sorry they followed her but he thought better of it, remembering her angry request not to say anything more about that because she'd rather 'delude' herself into thinking they wouldn't do such a thing. There was no point in making her angrier, anyway. "We're sorry about… everything. Just that we were worried, you know?"
Ron leaned over to give his two knuts. "Didn't help that you lied to us about the invitation, though."
Harry's eyes widened in horror and he actually felt his hands itching to throttle his best friend. "Ron!"
Suddenly one of the wards went down and Harry froze, thinking that Ron had actually gotten through to her somehow.
Of course, when it came to Ron, who had the emotional range of a teaspoon, that was expecting too much.
"Leave me… the fuck, ALONE!" she growled from behind the door before the ward was put back up with excessive force.
Harry felt like someone had smashed a gong while his ear was pressed to it. He stumbled away from the door to absorb the impact. He hissed and grabbed Ron by the collar of his shirt. He walked them farther down the hall until Ron wrenched his hand away.
"Gerrof me!" Ron muttered.
Harry made a frustrated gesture. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he whispered angrily. "It's like-it's like you took advanced classes on How to Say All the Wrong Things to Hermione and you got top marks for its N.E.W.T.s! Did you hear her in there? She SAID the F-word! She never says that to me!"
Ron looked astonished. "Never? Well, that's not fair! She's said it to me two or three times in the past already!"
Harry shook his head, narrowing his gaze.
Ron sighed. "Look… right now, I reckon talking to her isn't a very good idea."
"Oh, you think so? Then maybe I should take that advice, because you're so good at that. You puke good advice, 'specially when it comes to Emotional!Hermione."
"Fine, fine. I screwed that one up. But what's done is done. We'll talk to her tomorrow. Think that's good enough advice for you?"
Harry wasn't sure if he should wait that long.
Probably seeing the doubt in his eyes, Ron shook his head. "If you want to insist on now, be my guest. See if you don't get the F-word again. That'll about put the two of us at par."
That stopped Harry in his tracks and he couldn't believe he was considering Ron's words, especially after fucking up an already fucked up situation, but he had to admit it was difficult not to listen to Ron when Ron had seen Hermione in all her angry glory. The bloke was experienced after all.
They had both been so upset about Hermione being late in the first place. All the waiting they did in the living room had definitely worked them into a lather, but it seemed their anger was severely misplaced; at least she thought so, and she managed to convince them that they had to apologize for it.
Ron was right for now, however belated his "good" advice was.
Not now.
Reluctantly, Harry nodded.
Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow. And I'll tell her I'm sorry. She'll forgive me, won't she? She has to. We're best friends.
We'll always be best friends.
Ron is right.
Tomorrow would be best.