Chapter Three
TRANSFIGURATIONS: Making Something Out of Something
That evening, Hermione did not sleep in my apartment. She went to her mother's flat.
"I'll be seeing dad on the weekend, so I thought maybe I'd spend some time with mum before I leave for France," was her excuse.
I was completely fine with that.
A bit after the war, Hermione's parents had divorced. A sad affair, but as Hermione said, "Some people are just better separated."
Interesting that she said that-and believed it-way before all of… this.
Anyway, she'd pop into France where her dad had moved, every once in a while as a result.
So she wasn't at my apartment when I finally got home that night from the restaurant. And the following morning, Ron dropped by to apologize for what happened in the Happy Gryff, or at least that was his initial excuse. Halfway through my morning coffee, he was already off about Hermione, how it was so awful that they were fighting, and he began to bemoan the fact that they weren't like all the other couples who would be all over each other at the park, or sharing a huge bowl of ice-cream at the parlor every Wednesdays, or holding hands while they gazed up at the sky on a starry night.
Apart from the fact that I was getting a migraine imagining Hermione doing all these things without throwing up her lunch, I had to feel bad for Ron who just really wanted to have a tender, loving relationship with his best friend. Unfortunately, it also highlighted the fact that Ron didn't get Hermione much, at least when it came to having a romantic relationship with her.
"Where is she, anyway?" Ron asked, buttering a breakfast muffin.
"With her mum. She didn't stay here last night," I replied more defensively than I intended.
Ron didn't notice anything amiss. There were many advantages to Ron's emotional daftness. "Maybe I should go over there. Try to talk to her again."
Bad idea. Very bad idea.
I shook my head, looking dolefully at him to convey my disapproval.
He frowned and I saw that stubborn look beset his face.
I stopped shaking my head and just sighed.
Ron did go to Hermione's mum's flat, and of course, I was right in thinking that it was a bad idea.
Hours later, Ron was in the Happy Gryff again, sharing more butterbeer with me while telling me all the gory details of the "big row" they had over at Grace Puckle's home, and how Ron slammed the door on his way out while Hermione was going off on him.
"She's gone completely mad," Ron said, a dazed expression on his face. "I was telling her we could still work things out if we just-you know, gave in every once in a while, but she kept saying that nothing was going to work, that everything in her Arithmantic, Astrological, and Runic calculations said we were doomed to have a failed relationship, and that we just weren't soulmates. Soulmates, Harry. When did she ever believe in that crap? I'm getting Stupefied just thinking about it. She's talking like Trelawney. I've finally pushed her over the edge."
I might have told him not to flatter himself, but I'd gotten stuck on "soulmates" and I felt this incredible heat flooding my face while both pleasure and pain warred like two chest monsters… well, we'll not get into anymore bad analogies.
I said nothing, pretending to listen to Ron ranting while I daydreamed and dreaded the thought of Hermione tossing and turning last night because she was thinking about our discussion of soulmates and aliens and mind-reading… I've gone completely mad.
More's the pity.
She and I were a pair of lunatics.
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Speaking of Luna, she came by the restaurant for dinner. With her was her father, and between them they shared a nice Toad-in-a-Hole, a side of chips, and a smoking hot issue of their competition, the Daily Prophet.
Hermione and Ron's public spat made the Daily Prophet's front page, naturally, and Luna was quite fascinated by the picture of the Hippogriff moving around headless. I had to admit, the descriptions were entertaining, especially when it got to the part about "the pulverized parsleys' plight…"
Even running a restaurant and occasionally cooking for it, I never thought to be considerate of the trials and tribulations of vegetables.
"On the other hand," said Mr. Lovegood as he set the paper down, "'Tis a good day when what makes the front pages of a generally circulated periodical is a celebrity spat instead of a story about dark wizards running amuck in Diagon Alley."
"Or Velostractor Tinglewinks rampaging through the Ministry," said Luna in a decidedly dreamy tone.
"Well, I don't know about that, dear… I don't think I'd feel very distressed if it was the Ministry."
I stood by their table, smiling politely.
"I still feel rather bad for Ronald," Luna said. "He seems to be trying so hard. Hermione should be kinder to him."
"They should be kinder to each other," I said.
Luna shrugged, slicing herself a piece of Toad-in-a-Hole. "I suppose Ron could be a bit of a-"
"Spotted dick?" asked one of my waiters as he held up the dish.
My lips pursed ever so slightly. "I think that's for table four over there."
"Oh, right, Harry. Sorry about that."
The waiter left.
"As you were saying, Luna?" said Mr. Lovegood.
"I was saying that Ron could be a bit of an insensitive git sometimes, but Hermione doesn't help the situation by being a-"
"Wet Nelly?"
I looked up with a bit of irritation at the scrumptiously spiced pudding Jeffrey, another one of my waiters, held up.
What was wrong with my staff today?
"That'd be table eight," I said patiently. "This is table ten."
Jeffrey left with his apologies.
I frowned slightly as I got back to the conversation we were having. "So Hermione's a wet nelly."
I seem to have confused her, and Luna being Luna, that was saying something.
That's me. The Amazing Harry Potter.
Thankfully, Luna was fully equipped to cope with people who said odd things. "I was going to say she doesn't help the situation by being stubborn. What does being a wet nelly even mean?"
I was too embarrassed by my thoughts of "scrumptiously spicy" to even stick around. I suddenly had to excuse myself with a false kitchen emergency, running into my sanctuary as one of my waitresses cried, "Fitless Cock on table three!"
A/N: Now hopefully, you did not think this chapter too useless, because I'd like to think that this one is useful for (a) having a small laugh and (b) introducing Luna into this hodge-podge hullabaloo.
"Hodge-podge Hullabaloo" is an eponymous term coined by my musical friend from the band Blued to name a song in one of their albums.