Disclaimer: Characters not mine :)
Author’s Note: This is intended to be a study of the
intensity of Ron and Hermione’s relationship, over the course of a week, and
how it progresses to breaking point. Set probably around sixth or seventh year.
Thankyou so much again Aurelie!!
Chapter One: Monday
It is a regular
day when she gets out of bed and plods to the bathroom.
Peers into the
mirror, her reflection hazy, but only because she hasn’t opened her eyes
She is still half
in the Land of Dreams, and she did dream last night, that she was walking by
the lake under a sky dark as mercury, and there was a tiny, tiny firefly…… and
there was a sense of purpose about the whole thing, like she was there for a
reason, but just as she felt she was getting closer, she had awoken, and now
she isn’t sure what it might mean. Not that she necessarily thinks it means
She splashes water
onto her face, and blinks. In the mirror, she sees herself very clearly now,
and the more she thinks about it, she is quite sure that the whole thing means
absolutely nothing at all, and returns to the dorm to change, and head down to
* * * *
He decides there
are never enough hours between the time he goes to bed and the time he must get
back up again, and really, the whole thing is most unfair.
Lying under the
warm covers, he decides he won’t be getting up at all today, no indeed, he was
just going to close his eyes again, and sink back into a long and lovely sleep,
where he wouldn’t have to worry about homework and……
His eyes fly open
He is sure he has
an essay due today. He thinks back hard to the night before….they were all
sitting in the common room, and he had been trying to charm a Bertie Botts
Every Flavour Bean to fly up Harry’s nose on command, while the others had been
finishing……ahh, that’s right. A History of Magic essay. Not as bad as Potions,
granted, but certainly in his top three least favourite subjects ever. And now
that he has opened his mind, the whole unpleasant evening comes flooding back
to him, especially the bit where she told him to stop acting like a git and do
his work, or he’ll be sorry the next day, and he had said he wouldn’t be sorry
because he was going to copy hers later, and she had huffed off to bed without
even saying goodnight.
So now, naturally,
he has no essay, and to make things much, much worse, she was going to give him
her “I told you so” look the whole day.
He pulls the
sheets up over his head and feels as though she is glaring at him right now.
* * * *
At breakfast, she parades her annoyance
by tightening her lips and stirring her coffee rapidly, without actually
pausing to take a sip. The sound of the spoon clanging around the inside of her
mug echo’s in his head, loudly, and he grits his teeth.
“So I take it your
still mad then?”
“Who, me? Not at
all!” She feigns surprise for about three seconds before her stony expression
returns. She is mad at herself too, because she had thought she was past this.
That they were past
But the anger had
flared up unexpectedly last night. True, she was tired of him not caring about
his grades. Truer still that she hated feeling like she was being used as a
free homework service, while he floated lazily through classes and exams,
without a care in the world.
And yet, they had
come to a mutual agreement this past year, in which they were each more
tolerable towards the other, as if they both knew that the time had come to
She feels herself
sighing, and is suddenly not hungry anymore. Quietly, she puts away her Daily
Prophet and stands to leave.
She looks sad, and
he hates that.
His eyes follow
her as she walks across the hall and out the doors.
He is still
looking long after she is gone.
* * * *
classes dwindle by without incident, but she is unusually distracted. She keeps
looking over at him, and sometimes he catches her, and she can’t stop herself
from flushing. She hopes he doesn’t notice, and tries to ignore his gaze boring
into the back of her head.
* * * *
At lunch, he
throws a grape at her head.
He could just tell
her he’s sorry of course, but that has never been his way. She can’t always
understand this, because, while words are part of what define her, Ron is a
parallel to this.
A parallel to her.
No, his feelings
have more often than not been expressed through an action of some sort, like
attempting a spell on someone who has made him angry, or flailing his arms
about when he gets excited, or throwing a grape when he wants to make peace.
An olive branch
has been handed to her. Theoretically, she now has two choices.
She could eat it,
a sure sign that she’s accepted his offering.
Or, she could
squash it with her foot and walk away.
She shakes her
head, and tries not to smile, and eats the grape. The relief on his face is
“Did you talk to
Binns about the essay?” She asks.
He knew, of
course, that this would be her first question.
“Yeah, he reckons
I can hand it in tomorrow and only lose 10% of the final mark. Could have been
worse, I guess.”
She looks hesitant
for a moment. Word’s she wants to say are rising in her throat, only she’s
self-conscious all of a sudden.
“Look I…I only got
mad because I care about your grades, even if you don’t, ok?” It comes out
He looks at her
curiously for a moment.
“Yeah, I know.”
And he does know
this, but her saying it has made his insides swell, and he persuades himself to
ignore it, because he knows perfectly well that it doesn’t mean a thing.
he forces himself to speak.
She pushes a wisp
of hair out of her face and nods, and he suddenly loves the way her nose
scrunches up at the thought of it.
* * * *
She helps him
silently throughout the lesson, lest Snape should hear and get them both into
trouble, and she’s not sure why she is doing this, because she doesn’t usually,
only that she sincerely wants show him she’s sorry too, about the fighting, and
she remembers that when they were younger she sometimes threw her arms around
him after a long argument, without ever feeling terribly uncomfortable about
it, and burst out some sort of apology.
But she can’t
imagine doing that now, though sometimes (and its hard for her to admit it even
just to herself), she badly wants to.
She feels him
reach across her to pick up his quill, and doesn’t know how to explain her
* * * *
they sit outside for while after their lessons end that afternoon, since it’s
such a nice day. And it is wonderful to be outside and doing nothing,
with the breeze ruffling their clothes just a little as they stretch out on the
She watches the
leaves for a while, as they pirouette amongst themselves, and she grows so
mesmerised by this dance that she doesn’t notice him talking to her.
really need to get the extra practice in.”
You can come if you want.”
“Have you heard
anything I’ve been saying? Harry and I booked the quidditch pitch for tomorrow
night so we can get some training in before next week’s game. Right after
dinner. I was just saying that you can come with us if you want, but you
wasn’t paying attention. Um…right, after dinner, sure, I’ll come.”
“You will?” He
were just asking out of obligation because you didn’t think I’d say yes,” she
“Well sorry, but
you usually don’t seem so eager to come an watch us practice quidditch!”
This was true. She
didn’t know what had made her say yes.
She realises they
are both staring at each other, and neither seem willing to break eye contact,
and in fact, his face is not too far away from hers, and Harry is looking on
“Um,” is all she
can come up with.
He coughs gruffly,
clears his throat.
Ron pelts him with
It all begins to
feel too strange, and she suddenly feels like she has to get inside, away from
this, where she might be able to breathe normally again.
“I’ll see you at
dinner,” she says casually, “I need to get some work done in library.”
* * * *
In the common
room, much later, Harry approaches her and asks is she is all right.
“Of course,” she
says, slightly alarmed, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Apparently she has
been acting odd all day. Odd.
She gives him her
best raised eyebrow and reassures him that she is perfectly fine, thankyou very
much, and he does not pursue the matter.
But later, as they
play an unruly game of chess, she thinks about what he had said and wonders.
* * * *
goodnight before dashing up the stairs to bed, but Ron lingers behind. She is
engrossed in a book, as always, and the fire plays tricks on her face,
flickering shadows hiding first an eyebrow, then part of her lips, and then
retreating altogether so that her cheeks glow a little.
He inhales loudly
to get her attention, and announces that he too is off to bed.
She smiles at him.
He turns and makes
his way to the boy’s dormitories. He is left feeling slightly disappointed, but
this is silly, they have been saying goodnight in the same routine manner for
How could he
expect anything different?
* * * *
Downstairs, her smile fades.
She is tired, but knows she wont sleep well tonight.
She forces herself to make a move, and notices that as usual, he has left his
things strewn all over the table. Bits of parchment with hastily scribbled
patches of writing, half crossed out, and ink stains everywhere, stare up at her.
So typical of him, and she rolls her eyes at this
Her hand fingers his quill, half chewed at the end,
and even though dreams beckon, she finds doesn’t want to let go.