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Author: critmo Story: Moods Rating: Everyone Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Warning: None Reviews: 26 Words: 16,424
Hermione was not in a good mood. She just could not believe it. Harry had been on edge for weeks because of Ginny and now they had made up with each other within a few hours of their arrival at the Burrow. A soft noise could be heard coming from inside Ginny's room, and Hermione felt a quick rush of guilt for listening before she realised that it had been a snore. She had not heard a relaxed snore for a long time; certainly not at Privet Drive. Harry's uncle and cousin both snored, but there was nothing relaxed about it, it was more aggressive than anything else. Ron snored. Not during those weeks at Harry's, though. Neither had Harry … nor herself; none of them had been relaxed enough. They had been cramped and awkward, but not because they were two boys and a girl in one room. Harry had been miserable because he had broken up with Ginny. Ron had been angry at Harry because he felt that Harry had not done justice to his sister's feelings … and he had told Harry so in no uncertain words. Hermione knew he was right, but she felt nauseated by Ron's big brother righteousness nevertheless. And that was the problem. Under more normal circumstances she might have been able to broker a truce between the boys, but while not agreeing with Harry's course of action, she had been unable to side with Ron and had told him to shut up. Their relationship had always been … difficult. But in autumn of last year things had become turbulent, mystifying and exceedingly painful. After some actual sort of progress, signs that Ron did see more in her than just a friend, he had suddenly changed to treating her with an icy, sneering indifference, and soon afterwards had begun to make a public spectacle of making out with Lavender Brown. Even now, Hermione felt hurt beyond explanation. She actually had lost control of herself that night, firmly believing that this had been it, that there would never be anything more between Ron and herself, that – in time – the Weasleys would have another daughter-in-law who would be appalled by their lack of style. However, things had again changed with Ron's poisoning. Hermione had been so frightened to lose Ron forever that it drove any feelings of hurt clean out of her mind, and then Ron had croaked "Er-my-nee" in his sleep. Not "A-ve-nde". "Er-my-nee!" Hermione had cried the whole night, feeling frightened, relieved and furious all at once. In the end she had made a decision: she wanted Ron back, but she was not able to forgive him that easily either. Consequently, she had gone back to being friends with him, and it had worked marvellously. It had been more than obvious that Ron much preferred her visits to Lavender's. His relationship with his girlfriend had grown increasingly difficult, and Hermione had secretly enjoyed every minute of it, including the scene Lavender had made on the night Harry had left to retrieve Slughorn's memory for Dumbledore. It had felt as if Felix Felicis had rubbed off on her a little. For Lavender's sake, Hermione had abstained from any display of triumphal feelings or overt proximity to Ron in the following time, but it had almost been unavoidable that they had grown closer again, especially since Harry had made his move for Ginny. Hermione had suspected his feelings, but had never expected Harry to jump at the opportunity like that. Who would have thought that the boy had it in him? Then again, Harry was the one to think quickly on his feet. Ron was not. He was one to wait, especially since things had been going his way. The attack on the castle and Dumbledore's death had been just too terrible to bear them alone. It had felt natural to be by Ron's side, and at the funeral it had felt so good to sob into his chest while he stroked her hair. There had been too much grief to care for disguising their feelings. However, the doubts had returned on the Hogwarts Express. Ginny had been conspicuously absent, and Ron had passionately taken her side for once, reproaching Harry for hurting her feelings. Harry had been obviously miserable anyway, and Ron's rant had left him white as chalk. Hermione had sided with Harry for two reasons. Firstly, fighting with Ron had always come easily; making him angry had been a reliable way to make him react to her. Secondly, she really had not been certain if Harry had not done the right thing – in a way. They were bound to look for Voldemort's Horcruxes; Dumbledore had not even survived two of those. Given the circumstances, was it wise to attach oneself to another person romantically? These doubts had been the stepping stones to a very different truth: Ron had hurt her deeply. That was something she had not been able to forgive, let alone forget yet. He had never spoken about it, let alone apologised, and now it had seemed as if by mere waiting he would get her anyway. Could it be that easy? Could she be so easy to have? It would have been quite typical. Ron never applied himself very hard to getting what he wanted. He usually tried to profit from others, her own work not the least, and found it highly unfair if things did not go his way. But doing nothing would not be enough to get her. Let him work hard for once in his life, let him feel that he had to be more careful with her, let him feel at least a little of the pain she had gone through herself. After all, it would be only fair. Hermione had started writing a letter to Viktor Krum right there on the train, knowing full well that it would irritate Ron to no end. Looking back, she had to admit that it had not worked quite the way she had expected. "Hey, Hermione, school's over. Why're you writing?" "It's a letter, Ron. There are people who don't consider writing work, you know." "To whom?" Ron asked, unperturbed. "It's none of your business to whom I write, Ronald." A shadow passed over his face. "Krum." "His name is Viktor." Ron had not answered that. Contrary to Hermione's expectations, he had not become angry … but silent. It had been the first of many awkward silences they had been forced to share at Privet Drive. Hermione had tried to get a rise out of Ron with less and less success, while Ron had uncharacteristically withdrawn into hushed brooding. There was a rustle on the stairs, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when Ron appeared from the shadows. "Damn' it, Ron, what're you doing here?" How could he do that to her? Now she was using language. "Harry's gone! He's given us the slip after all." She shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. He's with Ginny." Ron looked a little shocked. "Where?" "In her room. That's why I'm not in there." "Are they …?" Ron's face darkened, and Hermione guessed that he was blushing. "No, they're not. They're just sleeping." He let out his breath. "Thank Merlin." He grinned. "I'd have hated to beat the stuffing out of Harry after his seeing the light." "It's none of your business, Ron," Hermione retorted with obvious annoyance. "I was joking," he said flatly and forced a smile. "So, what do you plan to do now? You can't write letters for the rest of the night." "That," Hermione answered with all the haughty dignity she could muster under the circumstances, "isn't your business either." It was difficult to discern the exact expression on Ron's face in the dark, but he seemed to stiffen, almost become rigid. Somehow, her words seemed to have an impact beyond her intentions. "I understand," he said. It came out in a strangled kind of sound, as if Ron was trying to clear his throat at the same time. He moved past her, vanishing down the stairs. Hermione could not help but notice how silently he moved on the rickety staircase, even though he was so tall. So much taller than she was, and yet, leaning into him at the funeral, she had felt … in place? Her reminiscing made her almost forget that Ron had just left her standing there alone. What had he said? He understood? What did he understand? And how could any one person … correction, any Weasley, be so defensive? Why did Ron not fight back? Why did Ron not react to her? She shook her head. What had happened to Ron? It was not supposed to be him keeping the distance. She had wandered downstairs and sat down in the living room. Something was going terribly wrong, but she could not place it. She had not wanted a gap between her and Ron; she had just wanted to know if he thought she was worth fighting for. Yes, that was what she wanted to know. She stood up and went into the kitchen, expecting Ron to have gone for a nightly snack, but he was not there. Silently, she crept up the stairs to his room. The door was ajar, the room empty. She went in to make sure, but his bed and Harry's camp bed were both deserted. She walked over to the small window and looked out. A soft glimmer in the garden caught her eye. There he was, sitting on a bench at quite a distance from the house. Hermione turned her back on the window and returned downstairs. She let herself out by the back door and made her way across the garden. Ron's back was towards her, but for all she knew he looked as if he was … crying? The night was warm, almost stifling, and Ron had taken off his T-shirt, balled it up in his hands and pressed it to his face, as if to suppress any noise. In all the scenarios Hermione had envisaged, the image of Ron crying had not yet appeared, and it was extremely … unsettling; even more unsettling than seeing Ron's bare torso, gleaming in the moon light. "Ron?" She could see that his body went rigid. She had never imagined she would have such an effect on him either. He stood up stiffly, wiping his hand over his face, and turned around. The whole situation was utterly confusing to Hermione. She prided herself on her well-organised mind that helped her put things into perspective, but tonight nothing seemed to fit. Even if he had not gone to the extreme of crying before, Ron usually wore his thoughts and feelings on his sleeve, but not now. He was not even wearing a sleeve, which Hermione found distracting as she approached him; as distracting as the fact that while the traces of tears were still obvious in his face, Ron's features were a perfect blank. "Ron?" she repeated, as if not quite certain it was really him. "What can I do for you?" he asked with a strange formality. "You can tell me what's going on here," she replied. "There is nothing going on here." There was just the barest hint of an emphasis on "nothing." She shook her head. "Yes, there is. You were crying." He shrugged. "So?" Hermione felt bewildered. What was going on here? The Ron she knew would neither forego the chance to accuse her for nosing about nor admit to crying. And he would never stand in front of her with just boxers on him, which she found utterly confusing. Did he have any idea, whatsoever, how his chest muscles moved under his skin, when he shrugged? How was she supposed to deal with this Ron? If he did not respond to her usual tactics something had to be wrong. Was it her? Had she lost the little appeal fighting with her had had for him? Was she meaningless to him now? What? "Ron! You … you're never like this." "Like what?" "So … cold and distanced." "Isn't that what you wanted? Distance?" A freezing hand seemed to grab Hermione's inside. She definitely had not wanted this. Well, she wanted some of what she saw in front of her, but not a cold and reserved Ron. She shook her head. "Oh," he said with an ease that bore all the marks of resignation, "my mistake then. It usually is." "Ron!" She was getting angry now. Really angry. "See?" How could he do this? He apologised in a way that made her want to apologise to him. But why should she? He had hurt her. "Ron?" This time she did not try to keep the confusion out of her voice. "Why were you crying?" He looked at her, and she could – at last – see a change in his gaze. "Please?" she insisted. He sat back down on the bench, his back straight, both hands flat on the seat. His eyes were on the ground next to her. He looked utterly defeated and completely detached at the same time. Time passed, a long time, but Hermione dared not move. More time drained away, and she was getting uncomfortable. Maybe he would not speak after all. "I don't know when I started to like you," he said quietly. "But I do know when I figured it out." "The Yule Ball?" she suggested in her surprise and almost bit her tongue, because she feared he would close up again. But he simply shook his head. "Nah. I had no idea. You see," he lapsed back into silence, "I wanted to go with you, but I didn't understand why and I had no idea how to ask you." "You did ask Fleur, though." The way Ron looked at her, Hermione felt like clubbing herself over the head. When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut? "For the record," Ron said with demonstrative patience, "I never intended to ask Fleur in the first place. It simply happened. I don't know if she had turned on her Veela charm just for the fun of it, but I couldn't help it. Maybe I'm just extremely susceptible to it. Harry seems to be immune." Eerie, she thought. Had they become so good at fighting with each other that Ron was able to foresee her next objection? "Bill, too. But I'm not. Plus," he lingered to stress his point, "asking Fleur was nowhere near as frightening as asking you would have been, even though being publicly ignored by her was mortifying in the extreme." It took Ron a moment to collect his thoughts, while Hermione pondered this unusual display of linguistic facility. This really was not the Ron she knew. Or thought she knew. "The point is, I never thought about going to the ball with anybody but you," he finally said. "However, I could see no reason why you'd want to go with me. So I had no date, had been publicly humiliated, and my poor attempt to convince you to go with Harry or me failed miserably. I had expected you to go with Harry, but that would've been okay; I was quite used to being the sidekick by then. Also I thought that I still owed Harry for not believing him about putting his name into the Goblet." "Ron, that's sick. Why would I have gone with Harry?" "Why not? He's Harry Potter, you're friends and there's nothing about me that would've made me more attractive than him. But that's beside the point, because you went with someone else instead." "And you thought you could compete with Viktor?" A: You are more attractive than Harry, and B: you are more attractive than Viktor could ever be to me. But how do you know? Ron gave her another look that made her cringe. "Of course not. He … he was, well, still is, Viktor Krum. School champion, several years older, and as if that wasn't enough: international Quidditch hero! And I was wearing dress robes that went out of fashion before Merlin was born. What do you think why I was such a git about it and came up with that "fraternising with the enemy" idea?" Hermione shook her head, nearly despairing. "What a mess." "Oh, yes," Ron confirmed, almost cheerfully, "but nothing I wasn't able to make worse. I embarrassed Ginny about Neville, which neither Neville nor Ginny deserved, and I absolutely ruined the evening for Padma. I really hated myself that night; I was so embarrassed. I only managed to apologise to her this year." Hermione raised her head. That was news. She had had no idea that Ron and Padma had ever spoken with each other again. "You did?" He nodded. "Took me long enough, but after splitting up with Lavender, I decided there were a few more things I had botched up. Apologising to Padma was an easy start. And I should apologise to you as well." "Me?" "I don't know what you had expected from the ball, but certainly not the kind of good night row you got from me. I'm really sorry." Hermione had no idea what to say and they lapsed into silence, while her mind was spinning wildly. Ron had admitted that he fancied her, but she almost felt as if it did not count for anything. He had not been the least part romantic about it, but absolutely … clinical. "So, when did you figure it all out?" she asked after a while. Ron looked into the darkness. "That was the summer after that year. We had a lot of free time on our hands, before we moved to headquarters. Mum and Dad were away working for the Order, probably at Grimmauld Place. Voldemort's return had shaken us all up. People were dying, and I started thinking. What if one of my friends died? What if you …? I suppose that's when it clicked." "But you didn't say anything." He looked at her and she had that funny feeling again that she was being the stupid one in this conversation. "Of course not," he said. "But why?" That look again. "Because," Ron said carefully, "you are Hermione Granger and I am Ronald Weasley." "Ron," she said in her best McGonagall imitation, "I know my own name." "That's beside the point," he answered in the same manner. "It was absolutely clear from the beginning, even in our first year, that I knew I wanted your attention over everybody else's, even though I had no idea why. But boasting the way boys do just didn't work because there was nothing to boast about Ron Weasley. Playing it cool also didn't work with you, because you were too smart to fall for that. But I found out soon that your temper flared as easily as mine and that you were charitable beyond what's good for you. Unfortunately, I tend to be lazier than it's good for me, and so I tried to get your attention by either needing help or starting a row." "Wait a minute. You mean to say that you did badly in school to get my help and that you started rows with me on purpose?" "Partly. But it wasn't a good idea." "No?" "No. Because all I could ever be to you was limited to feelings of pity or anger." "Ron, that's not true. That's not what our friendship is about. We've had a lot of fun." "Yes." It was a sigh, as if he remembered happier days. "Those were the moments I hoped. I thought maybe … Then again …" "Then again what?" "Then again you're beautiful and brilliant, the brightest witch of our age, and you're going out with international Quidditch stars." And you're so incredibly … delicious without a shirt. "I am not." "But you kissed him." There was no accusation in his voice, it was a simple statement. "I … What?" Hermione stuttered. "What does that …? How do you know?" "Ginny told me." "What? When?" Ron sighed. "Last year, after Quidditch practice Harry and I ran into Ginny and Dean making out. I was terribly upset about my lousy playing and I never thought that Dean was good enough for Ginny, anyway, so I let it out on them. I practically accused Ginny of being a scarlet woman. We would have hexed each other into the hospital wing, if Harry hadn't stopped us. Ginny must've been mortified to have been caught by Harry of all people and she said that snogging was normal and just because I hadn't done it, it didn't mean that others had not either. So she said that Harry had snogged Cho and you had snogged Viktor …." Hermione looked thunderstruck. "That's it, isn't it? That was before you … you …." Ron nodded. "You went and threw yourself at Lavender, because Ginny said I had kissed Viktor?" Hermione could not believe it. How could anyone person, even a Weasley, be so stupid? "Partly." "Partly? What's that supposed to mean? Partly?" She jumped up angrily. "Well, I felt I had to compensate for my lack of experience somehow. And apart from that I was just extremely disappointed." "How's that?" "I know it's stupid, but somehow I had always felt like … that crossing that threshold … would be something between me." Ron's voice sank down to a whisper. "And you." She was looking down on him, as he sat there, still in that unnaturally stiff posture, not looking at her, almost not heeding her presence at all, but rather speaking to himself in a low, toneless manner. "And then my not-so-little-anymore sister tells me that I'd missed that chance by a very long way. That you crossed that threshold at a time when I didn't even understand why I was so fascinated with you. That a better man took what I had always wanted. And then I finally understood just how insignificant Ron Weasley is. That I'm just … oh, I don't know. There was Lavender, I didn't love her or anything, but I could be certain of one thing for once: she wanted me. There was no doubt about that." Hermione felt numb. The way Ron was telling the story, it was her fault as well that he went for Lavender. Did Lavender get what Hermione was seeing in front of her now? The realisation that Ron might have done some border crossing without her hit her with the penetrating pain of a bad grade. In a flash a question filled her mind: Was this the kind of disappointment Ron had felt at the thought of her kissing Viktor? Pushing these unpleasant feelings aside, she carefully sat down again and reached for Ron's arm, forcing herself not to touch anything else of him. "What do you mean 'insignificant,' Ron?" The flesh under her fingers seemed unresponsive, and he still did not look at her. "I mean that you've been rightfully angry because I ignored the fact that you're the most wonderful girl on this earth. But I misinterpreted your anger. I thought it must mean that you felt about me the same way I felt about you. I was naïve to overlook that there were others, better suited for you." Hermione shook her head. He was getting unintelligible again. This was so frustrating. All those years she had been explaining things to Ron and all of a sudden he seemed to speak a foreign language. "There are no others, Ron." "There's Viktor." "I went to the ball with him more than two years ago." "And you've kept in touch." "A few letters, Ron!" "Hermione, the day you let it slip that you were writing to him you turned as pink as my sister's room when she was seven." "Well, I was flattered of course that he would write, but I haven't heard from him for quite a while now." As an afterthought she added, "That's why I wrote to him on the train." Ron shook his head. "Doesn't matter. There's always another one." "What?" "McLaggen, for example." "That," Hermione said, "was purely your idea." "And you were quite eager to take it up." "Ron, why do you always compare yourself to others?" "Because you do. And you must have found out by now that I'm no good." "What?" "Let's face it: you never expected much from me." Hermione let out an exasperated breath. It seemed as if she was getting more than she had asked for. All the things that had been impounded in Ron's soul seemed to rise to the surface tonight. And none of it had previously appeared on any of Hermione's lists. "Ron," she said tiredly, "I know I've been nagging you quite often. But only because I thought you could do better if you just tried." "Oh, of course, and that's why you took my making Prefect so naturally." Hermione coloured. She knew that even in the darkness there was no disguising the fact. Thank Merlin, she thought, he doesn't know I Confunded McLaggen. "Come on, Ron, you must admit that even Harry himself was a little surprised that Dumbledore didn't appoint him." "Yeah, that's true. At least you think I'm a Quidditch ace," Ron said and there was a steely bitterness in his voice that made Hermione's stomach roll. "And that's why you Confunded McLaggen at the tryouts." Hermione was near to fainting now, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Ron had turned towards her and the muscles on his torso had visibly tensed. "How do you know?" she asked feebly. Ron shook his head angrily. "Because, for some stupid reason, I spent a lot of my time watching you. And what did I have to see?" "I only wanted to help," Hermione whispered weakly. "Oh, yeah, I know. And you were so convinced that I couldn't do anything right without your precious help that it never occurred to you that I might play well without Felix Felicis." Ron stiffened, recognising the aggressiveness of his tone. "It's my own fault," he continued, reverting to his former unnatural indifference. "Apart from being an academic failure and a general nuisance, I've also managed to make a fool of myself every year." By now, Hermione had given up trying to follow Ron's intricate logic. "I don't understand what you're on about," she said, risking another scathing look. "Let's take a look at my career then," Ron said. "In first year, I was nearly strangled by Devil's Snare and got beaten up by a giant chess set. In second year, I broke my wand and belched slugs all over the grounds. In third year, Sirius broke my leg, so Harry and you went off to rescue him and Buckbeak without me. Fourth year … well, no need to go through that one again. In fifth year at the Ministry I spent the better part of our rescue mission laughing myself silly and was absolutely no help for any of you in the fight." He shuddered. "Dolohov. I couldn't … if you'd been …" he trailed off. "And sixth year wasn't really something to boast of either. And I haven't even mentioned Quidditch yet." Hermione's mind was working furiously. It seemed as if everything she had ever thought about Ron was not true anymore. She thought he was a little slow sometimes. Now he turned out as over-analytical, pretending he could not cope, just in order to get her attention. She thought he was too stupid to see she liked him. Instead, he was afraid of telling her that he liked her. In a blinding flash many parts of the puzzle seemed to fall in place. And that raised one fundamental question. "Ron? Why were you crying?" Ron sighed. Obviously, he had been hoping that this point would not come up again. For the first time, he seemed actually affected by their conversation. "I've made a decision," he admitted after some time, clearly unwilling to say more. "To do what?" Hermione insisted, when he did not continue. Ron's face dropped, his Adam's apple bobbed nervously. "I decided to give up." "On …?" He shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind and answered with great vigour, "You." Look at my profile for a general disclaimer. – Thanks a lot to Wolf's Scream and harry_ginnyphile. I always look forward to your answers.)
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