Chapter 09
The ‘Haunted House’ was a bust. Both Hermione and Ron left feeling unfulfilled; the cheap, visual thrills and canned ghostly sounds seemed lacking when compared to Hogwarts Castle and the Shrieking Shack.
“No self-respecting ghost would float around wearing just a sheet,” Ron scoffed. “And vampire bats that drink human blood? I don’t bloody think so!”
Hermione chuckled; it was true that there was a certain amount of outrageousness to the spookiness of the ‘Haunted House’, but she had to admit the Muggles certainly gave it their best.
“Well, look at it this way, Ron,” Hermione stated, as the pair moved away from the attraction, “it was something to do for twenty minutes.”
“Yeah,” Ron admitted. “I guess it was okay--though I wanted to punch that gormless prat who followed you around.”
Hermione groaned, remembering the short, rotund boy with thick glasses and an overbite who seemed to appear wherever Hermione rested her gaze.
She and Ron tried to walk quickly in order to lose the boy, but he was surprisingly nimble--and fast. When they’d entered the mirror room, the boy finally attempted to speak to her; he wanted to know her name and asked for a telephone number. Ron, who was highly outraged at this point, told the boy to shove off because Hermione didn’t have a “fellytone”;
Hermione, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings, simply thanked him and told him she was taken.
It was at that moment that Ron turned from annoyed to angry.
Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes; Ron was sulking! She wanted to ask him why, but didn’t dare; Hermione well-remembered the last time he pouted in that manner: the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament.
She tried to get him to notice her as more than a friend, but Ron Weasley was seemingly blind--and perhaps a bit slow. So Hermione went to the Ball with Viktor Krum, the famous Seeker of the Bulgarian Quidditch team; Ron never forgave her for that.
Why must Ron be a prat and get jealous every time I merely speak to another boy? Hermione wondered. I don’t get angry when he speaks to another-- she halted mid-thought. Hermione knew she wasn’t being honest with herself; she’d been so jealous of Ron’s relationship with Lavender Brown, that Hermione had once set little birds on the poor boy!
What a pair we’d make, she groaned inwardly as the left the rides area. Neither of us can admit our true feelings to the other!
Ron followed Hermione towards the Midway. The games looked enticing, but Ron was in no mood to play; he was angry at Hermione!
How dare she lead me on like that--that scarlet woman! Ron grumbled silently, borrowing a favorite phrase of his mother’s. She’s been flirting with me when she’s obviously snogging some other bloke!
The thought of Hermione snogging another guy made Ron’s eyes cross with jealousy. If Hermione’s going to snog anyone, he thought stubbornly, it had better only me.
Ron had to admit that he hadn’t exactly been very attentive towards Hermione as of late; in fact, he’d frozen in fear or turned away whenever she simply laid a hand on his arm.
It wasn’t that he was afraid of Hermione; Ron was afraid turning into a blubbering git. To avoid that, Ron frequently ran from Hermione--so neither would be subjected to horrible embarrassment.
Ron had wanted to snog Hermione from the moment she ‘swished and flicked’ back in their first year’s Charms class, but had no experience with girls. It took dating what could be the most annoying girl in the history of Hogwarts to acquire the knowledge Ron felt he needed to approach Hermione.
However, Ron now felt it was too late; Hermione had given her heart away to some lucky--but quite undeserving, in his opinion--bloke.
But what if you still have a chance? a tiny voice at the back of his mind asked. It’s worth a shot, he said to himself, as he trudged behind Hermione. When was the last time she saw this mysterious git of hers anyway?
Staring down at the top of Hermione’s frizzy head, Ron silently willed her to stop so he could talk to her. When she continued walking, he reached out and grabbed her arm--a little too tightly, from her expression as he spun her around.
“Ronald!” Hermione cried, rubbing her upper arm. “That hurt!”
“Sorry,” he muttered, looking at his feet. Say something to her! he yelled silently to himself; Ron opened his mouth but no sound came out.
Hermione gave him an odd look. “Are you all right? You look a little pale; maybe you ought to sit down.”
Ron decided to take her advice; he sought out the nearest bench and seated himself. Hermione ran off to get him something to drink, leaving the lanky redhead to mentally kick himself for once again flaking out during a crucial moment.
He was very glad Fred and George weren’t present to witness this latest fiasco.
Moments later, Hermione returned with a large cup of lemonade; Ron thanked her and drank greedily, while Hermione’s gaze strayed to the rides.
She’d had fun this evening, despite Ron’s sudden mood change. Hermione wished she could ask him what was bothering him, but Ron was so touchy, she worried her questions would send him over the edge!
I suppose I’ll have to work on that, Hermione thought, nodding her head determinedly. Those Weasley’s have terrible tempers; must be all that red hair, Hermione guffawed aloud at this, gleaning a sideways glance from Ron.
“Wotcher, Hermione,” he told her, after downing the last of the lemonade, “or someone will think you’ve gone Lockhart.” Ron was referring to Gilderoy Lockhart, their famous Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher during their second year at Hogwarts; after a spell backfired on Lockhart, he ended up in St. Mungo’s--most of his memory gone.
“You forgot Myrtle,” Hermione interjected quietly; a small smile played around the corners of her mouth.
Ron looked at her blankly. “Who?”
“Moaning Myrtle.” Myrtle was the former Hogwarts student who died over fifty years previous at the hand of Voldemort. Myrtle, who haunted the bathroom on the first floor, was known for her constant moping and crying, therefore being dubbed “Moaning Myrtle” long ago.
“How could you be that sad?” Ron asked skeptically. “You look pretty happy to me.”
“But I’m not,” Hermione murmured; she was wringing her hands together nervously.
Ron rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. “Missing the love of your life?” he asked, his voice dripping with scorn.
Hermione gasped. How had he known? She thought she’d been subtle, but apparently Ron saw right through her! Hermione cleared her throat and replied, “Why, yes, Ronald, I am. What do you intend to do about it?”
The lanky redhead’s eyes nearly jumped out of his head. “Bloody hell, woman! Why not hex me and get it over with?”
Hermione shot to her feet. “I’m trying to pour my heart out here and you’re being a... a... pigheaded prat!”
Ron was now on his feet, his cup forgotten. “Pigheaded? Me?” he nearly shouted in disbelief. “Which of us has been flaunting some secret romance right under the other’s nose?” Several passing Muggles stared at the pair, but Ron didn’t care at this point; he only wanted Hermione to hurt as badly as he did at this moment.
Hermione did a double-take. “What are you talking about, Ronald? ‘Secret romance’? Have you hit your head?”
Ron went red. “I heard you! I heard you tell that fat git that you were taken! Well, let me be the first to tell you that was quite a surprise! I didn’t know you could move so fast!”
Hermione’s hand came up and slapped Ron across the cheek. “How dare you call me ‘fast’--you, the one who didn’t waste any time sucking face with Lavender Brown after we’d got into that stupid argument about McClaggen last year!”
“Don’t remind me!” Ron replied hotly, rubbing his face. “Besides, it’s not like we were dating!”
“We could have been!” Hermione screamed at him, angry beyond worrying about propriety. “We could have been together long ago, you twit! But no! You had to go and be an idiot about things! I don’t know if I should even call you my boyfriend now!”
Suddenly Ron found himself speechless--and the small crowd that had gathered gasped in unison. He stared stupidly at Hermione, who was heaving and fingering the top of her wand, which poked out of her pants pocket.
She’s talking about having a relationship withme! Ron thought, mentally smacking himself in the head; he also wanted to kick himself, as he realized Hermione had referred to having a relationship with him in the Haunted House.
Then it all became so clear; Hermione wasn’t flirting with him to torture him--and she certainly wasn’t missing some mysterious stranger! Hermione was trying to tell Ron she liked him!
“Er,” Ron began, feeling like the biggest git on the planet, “I think I misunderstood some things.”
“You think?” Hermione retorted loudly, her voice squeaking.
Ron struggled inwardly a moment before answering; he didn’t want to appear foolish once again. “Yeah. I... I owe you an apology--and an explanation.”
Hermione folded her arms. “I’m listening,” she replied; Ron was grateful her tone seemed less angry.
He looked about them; several Muggles were straining to see and hear the pair. Flushing hotly, Ron shook his head. “Not here; some people can’t seem to mind their own bloody business!” A collective groan emerged from the crowd and they dispersed quickly, disappointed that Hermione and Ron had not come to more serious blows.
“Muggles are very violent,” Ron muttered to Hermione as he grasped her elbow and steered her to a more private place to talk. “I ought to tell my dad to be more careful when dealing with them!”
“Don’t change the subject, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, pulling her arm away from him.
Ron sighed deeply; if he didn’t tell Hermione now how he truly felt, she’d be lost to him forever. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he began, gently taking her hand in his. “I’m so sorry for every stupid thing I’ve done and said--and mistaken; please forgive this gormless prat.”
Hermione froze. Ron is apologizing? She tuned out everything else but Ron; she wanted to be sure she caught every word coming from his lips.
“I was jealous;” Ron sighed heavily. “I could never bear the thought of you with some other bloke--but I could never approach you in the way you deserved.” He looked at his feet. “We’ve been friends for so long, that I felt you only saw me as such--and it hurt. Instead of talking to you--my friend--about it, I became something I’m not proud of--to make you feel as bad as I did.”
Hermione blinked several times; she was not expecting that from Ron! “I--,” She didn’t know what to say and being speechless was quite shocking.
Ron placed a finger to her lips and shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for words, as it was likely they’d ruin the moment with an argument again.
Hermione suppressed a smile; she and Ron were destined to have a volatile--but loving--relationship. However, she realized, she’d want it no other way.
For several moments neither said a word as they stared at one another; the sounds from the fair floated on the breeze, swirling around them, surrounding the pair, filling their senses, creating a kind of wondrous magic reserved for those truly in love...
“You were right, you know--as always,” Ron chuckled, his love for Hermione mirrored in his eyes. “I am a thickheaded twit, I was too scared to admit my feelings before and spent more time fighting with you instead of properly loving you. I’m sorry.”
“We’ve wasted many years bickering, Ron; let’s not continue,” Hermione murmured, reaching out and brushing a lock of stray hair that had fallen into Ron’s eyes.
He didn’t need to be told twice; Ron grasped Hermione about her waist and pulled her to him. He dipped his head down and finally kissed the frizzy-haired, know-it-all witch he’s loved since that day in Flitwick’s Charms class all those years ago...