Chapter Four: Quidditch Quest
Hermione slid cautiously between two narrow rows of wooden benches, eyes glued to her feet in an effort not to trip. She came to a spot that seemed satisfactory, sent a glance up at the sky to make sure she’d have an unimpeded view, and gingerly settled herself on the hard, cold bench. She shifted uncomfortably for several minutes until her seat warmed up beneath her, then, pulling her thick winter cloak close about her shoulders, she turned her attention to her surroundings.
The air about the Quidditch pitch, as yet, was empty except for the flapping Gryffindor and Slytherin banners above the goal posts at either end. The stands, however, were growing steadily noisier as students filtered in from breakfast, most of them in groups of threes and fours. Frowning lightly, Hermione turned her attention back to the sky. It was a beautiful January day, if a bit too cold for her liking, and she didn’t really want to think about the fact that she was here by herself. She deserved nothing less, she supposed, for making the three most Quidditch-obsessed people in her house her closest friends. But really, how was she supposed to have known when she met those two scrawny little boys that she was really looking at two of the greatest Quidditch players Hogwarts would see for the next seven years, and that if she didn’t want to live a life of loneliness she should avoid them at all costs?
And then there was Ginny. She’d thought she was safe with Ginny. Let the boys run off and play on broomsticks if they wanted; she still had a friend to sit with. But no, she went and tried out for Seeker last year, after Hermione had already had to give up Ron as her bench partner, and then again for Chaser this year, so that all three of her best friends were now in the air instead of in the stands with her.
Normally, she would have sat with Colin in their stead, as they had become good friends last year when Ginny (their mutual friend) decided to join the team, but his Quidditch photos had become so popular as game mementos that he’d gotten special permission from Dumbledore to sit in the commentator’s box from now on in the hopes that he could get better shots for those of the student body willing to pay. It was well-known, after all, that Dumbledore himself was one of Colin’s best customers. Hermione had been known to help him develop the pictures, as there were so many of them, on more than one occasion, and she usually got copies of the shots she liked for her efforts, so she was glad her friend had been promoted to a better photography position, but that didn’t help her at the moment. She sighed. She hated sitting alone; it made her feel foolish.
Footsteps coming down her row drew her attention from her thoughts and her eyes from the sky.
–Hey Hermione, I was hoping I’d find you before the stands filled up.†Parvati sat down beside her and gave her a cheerful smile. –How long have you been out here?â€
–About ten minutes. I wanted to make sure I got a good seat.â€
–Good seat?†Parvati examined their position and grinned. –Close proximity to the Gryffindor goal posts, and thus its Keeper, and an unimpeded view of the rest of the field so you can pretend to watch the entire game instead of just the parts involving a certain male Weasley. I see how you consider this a good seat.†Hermione shot her a half-playful glare. There really was no point in denying it anymore, but that didn’t mean she had to take this kind of abuse either.
–What are you doing here anyway?†Hermione asked. –Shouldn’t you be sitting with Lavender and Seamus?†That was normally where Parvati sat, usually surrounded by a large group of giggly girl Quidditch fans (after a moment’s brief consideration, she supposed she really ought to qualify that statement. It should have been: a large group of giggly girl Quidditch fans absolutely fawning over all the male players and squealing at every turn of a broomstick for the entirety of a game. It was sickening really, especially as the two players who got the most attention were her two best friends. Her two best friends, one of whom had a girlfriend, and one of whom…well). It was odd that Parvati should leave said fan club to join Hermione, the Quidditch-watching hermit, who hated fawning. In public, anyway.
–Under normal circumstances, yes, but I knew you’d be sitting alone now that Colin’s moved up in the world,†she replied, tossing her head in the direction of the raised commentator’s box. –Besides, I really would like to watch one game, just one game, without fifty girls telling me how lucky I am to be dating one of ‘those totally hot Beaters’. Really, I don’t mind if they want to admire Jack, I rather think he’s handsome myself, but in the middle of a game, all I really want to concentrate on is the game itself. Despite what some may think, I really am a huge sports fan, and it doesn’t hurt my concentration that one of the Beaters is my boyfriend. Being told how amazing he is while I’m trying to watch him play does.â€
Hermione chuckled lightly and turned her eyes to the Gryffindor stadium entrance, hoping for an early glimpse of Ron. Or Harry and Ginny; that’d be alright too. But she knew what Parvati meant. She too had come to love Quidditch, though she would never admit it to Ron, and she would insist to anyone who noticed her devotion during games and happened to ask about it that it was ‘entirely against her will and completely in self-defense.’ What else could she do, surrounded by Quidditch maniacs twenty-four seven? She’d never have a decent conversation with any of them if she didn’t know the game and like it, at least a little.
–How odd,†Parvati murmured beside her. –You and I are rarely in similar situations where our love lives are concerned, but we are very much in the same boat today, aren’t we?†Hermione shot her a questioning glance. Parvati’s eyes too, she saw, were glued to the Gryffindor entrance, and she continued without returning her friend’s gaze. –We’ve been left alone to fend for ourselves while our men run off to play with the boys.â€
Hermione smiled and returned her gaze to its previous focus. –I doubt Ginny and Katie would appreciate that very much.â€
Parvati just laughed. –Well I won’t repeat it for them, will I?â€
There was a prolonged silence, and Hermione sank back into her thoughts. It was three weeks since the start of second term, and the first Gryffindor Quidditch match of the New Year. Unfortunately it was the Slytherins’ first match of the New Year as well, and the tension between the two houses had been brutal these last few weeks. Hermione was a little nervous. Matches against Slytherin were never clean, but this one was bound to be far nastier than most, as Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied behind Ravenclaw for the chance to compete in the finals for the cup. She really hoped all her friends made it through this match alive.
Just then a voice exploded to life with the sound of a cleared throat that echoed and re-echoed across the pitch.
–Ahem. Hmm.†There was a tapping sound then, –Sorry-Whoah! I guess this is working then. Bit loud, isn’t it? All right then, welcome to the first Quidditch match of the New Year! Today’s match, as I’m sure you’re all aware, is Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.†Here the voice paused to let the roaring crowd settle down, and Hermione smiled. When Lee Jordan graduated the year before, Dean Thomas had overtaken his position as commentator for all the Quidditch matches, but he was still adjusting to the equipment and the protocol. At the last game, he’d talked right through this customary excitement, and the whole school had missed the beginning introductions. –And here are our teams! First are the Gryffindors! That’s Potter, Bell, Weasley, Creevey, Sloper, Kirke, and Weasley. With their six year running record of undeniable—â€
Hermione tuned out the rest of Dean’s speech and leaned over to Parvati. She gasped sharply, and Parvati jerked around to look at her with wide, startled eyes. But Hermione wasn’t looking at her, instead she was focusing solely on the players walking towards the center of the pitch, broomsticks slung confidently over their left shoulders and scarlet robes billowing behind them. She pointed shakily to one of the boys carrying Beater bats, specifically the tall, blue-eyed brunette.
–Take a look at that guy!†she whispered in assumed awe. –What’s his name, Jack? Jack Sloper? He’s amazing! Hey! Isn’t he your boyfriend? You are so lucky to be dating one of those totally hot Beaters!†She fluttered her eyelashes and pretended to swoon, clinging tightly to Parvati’s arm to keep from falling over backwards with her exaggerated movements. Parvati glared and turned back to the pitch.
–I hate you,†she stated stoically, shoulders slumping. Hermione laughed.
–-erins! Malfoy, Warrington, Montague, Pucey, Crabbe, Goyle, and Bletchley. As always, Captain Draco Malfoy seems to be holding to the Slytherin tradition of size over skill in today’s line-up,†he ignored the boos and angry calls that erupted from the two hundred or so students in Slytherin green across the field as he continued rather reluctantly, –though admittedly the abilities of his players have drastically improved since the start of first term. And there’s Madam Hooch.†Sure enough, the hawk-eyed woman was making her way across the field to stand between and slightly behind the two captains. Her voice could just barely be made out across the pitch, despite the suspenseful silence that had swept through the stands.
–Captains shake hands!†Harry and Malfoy shook, and appeared to be trying to strangle one another’s fingers as the more-than-firm handshake went on far longer than necessary. Finally they broke apart, both refusing to flex the offended appendages, though Hermione was sure neither was immune to the pain of their contest.
–Mount your brooms!†Hooch called out sharply, and fourteen legs swung out over fourteen brooms as she began the countdown –Three…Two…One…†Her whistle, as always, was lost to the roar of the crowd as all seven players on either team pushed firmly off the ground and rose into the air, Harry and Malfoy rising faster and higher than all the others. Hermione’s eyes quickly found Ron as he left the half circle of his teammates and flew once, twice around the goal posts before settling into his customary place directly in front of them and began the usual mid-air warm up –pacing.â€
Madam Hooch, meanwhile, had carried a large wooden crate to the center of the pitch, and was now setting it down. Tapping the lock twice with her wand, she took a step back and kicked it open with one pointed boot. Two Bludgers and the Golden Snitch came shooting out and made a swift loop around the pitch. Madam Hooch grabbed the Quaffle under one arm, mounted, and took flight, throwing the red ball up dead center between all six Chasers to start the game, just as the two Bludgers circled back to make a mess of things. Katie grabbed the Quaffle from mid-air as Dean yelled to the audience–
–They’re off!†And so began a dizzying half hour of confused action in which the Seekers were practically useless and the Chasers fought an all-out war. It was a dizzying battle, and Hermione couldn’t help but think how much the Gryffindor team had improved. The first half of the year had been rough on them, as Harry had pretty much had to rebuild the entire team himself. Katie was the only Chaser still remaining from the previous year, so even after she’d finished training Ginny and Dennis in all the plays and tactics that Gryffindor Chasers were famous for, the three of them had still had to learn to work together and instinctively predict one another’s moves. The two Beaters were so green the year before that it was only this year that they’d finally settled into their position, and even then, Harry had needed to work with them one-on-two just to get them up to par. And even the Captain himself, despite his natural talent, had needed more than the usual amount of exercise to catch up with the other house Seekers after his unwanted vacation during fifth year. Poor Harry had been forced to call practice left, right and center, regardless of time or condition, and many was the day she’d come into breakfast at seven sharp, as was her custom, only to find the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team wilted and muddy in front of their plates after a two-hour practice. But the extra work really showed; the Gryffindor team had finally pulled together, and they were as good as they ever were when Wood was Captain.
Hermione smiled and sent a fond look towards the raven-haired Seeker, who was currently circling the pitch. Ever since Dumbledore had re-placed him on the team, he’d gone after the Snitch with a vengeance, almost as if he thought he needed to make up for the year he’d been denied the feel of it in his hand. In a way, she knew that was part of it; Harry almost felt he needed to prove himself all over again. But it was also partially the fierce joy he found in flying, the feel of the wind in his hair, the adrenaline pounding through his veins, the speed of the chase; he needed it and he loved it, and last year had only proven to him just how much.
Her smile faded. She also had a sneaking suspicion that he took out all his frustration on the game. He’d been doing pretty well this year, despite Sirius’ death, but Voldemort continued to terrorize humanity, and obviously wanted Harry dead, and Harry was still trying to deal with the fact that if he didn’t want to die, he was going to have to kill.
Not an easy nor a light burden to settle on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old boy.
So he went to class and did his homework and kissed his girlfriend, but always in the back of his mind was this nagging weight; and he played Quidditch. He’d never told her any of this, he’d never even hinted at it, but she’d watched him play, in matches and at practice, and it was always on his quietest, most melancholy of days that he played the fiercest. Quidditch was his release, his method of handling the stress and the pain, and she was proud he’d chosen something so productive as an outlet for his aggravation rather than bottling it up as he had the year before. Her smile returned. She was willing to bet that Ron, fresh from one of their four or five AM practices, may not so readily agree with her (especially not if it was one of the practices where Harry made them run the grounds). But it was good for him—good for them both.
There was a sudden collective gasp from the stands that effectively pulled Hermione from her thoughts as the object of her most recent attention had just dropped into a steep dive at a furious speed, Malfoy right beside him. The crowd was on its collective feet as the two boys plunged downward, downward…
–And it’s Potter, Malfoy, Potter, Malfoy- duck, Harry, that’s a Bludger!—The Bludger, sent by Slytherin Beater Vincent Crabbe, misses Potter but nails Slytherin Seeker Malfoy—Ah! No! Crabbe slams into the Gryffindor Seeker and the snitch is lost. Times like these I wish this were football. He’d be out of the game for a stunt like that, the foul, cheating little—â€
–Thomas!†McGonagall’s voice cut him off.
–Well, it’s only true! All right, so after a horrendous foul on the part of that filthy cheating Bea—â€
–Thomas, do you want to commentate this game?â€
A sigh, then Dean’s sulky voice was heard once more. –So the Slytherins narrowly miss killing the Gryffindor Seeker for something like the thirtieth time in his Quidditch career, and the ref awards a penalty to Gryffindor for that bit of inconsequential skinning, taken and put away by Weasley, and we continue. It’s Slytherin in possession. That’s Adrian Pucey with the Quaffle, nice pass to Montague, back to Pucey. He’s moving along pretty quickly up there, last minute pass to Warrington who—Hey! That was intentional!â€
Hermione found herself rising unconsciously from her seat as Pucey and Montague slammed into Ron on either side, sandwiching him between them and forcefully knocking him out of the way while Warrington scored. There was a cry of protest from the crowd, and a shout of admiration from the Slytherins, and Hermione felt herself being pulled back into her seat by Parvati.
–It’s all right,†her friend told her, though the anger in her eyes was apparent. –He’s just fine, look.†And she pointed past Hermione’s nose in the direction of the Gryffindor goal posts. Hermione followed her finger with her gaze and found Ron, who had nearly fallen off his broom when his overenthusiastic support had suddenly dropped away from him, now shaking off his daze and scowling darkly at the Slytherin Chasers. His mouth was going at a furious pace, and Hermione grimaced at the thought of the words that must be streaming out of it. Dean’s voice boomed over the roar of the crowd as Ron resumed his position, still scowling fiercely.
–That’s a penalty to Gryffindor after another attempt on a Gryffindor life by the Slytherins’ stooging. Can’t say I blame them entirely, no one’s been able to score on Weasley since the start of the match against Ravenclaw last November. Penalty taken by Bell—â€
Hermione smiled in the direction of her redheaded friend as Dean’s voice continued. It was true, she thought, that no one had been able to score on Ron since that match. Even the Gryffindor chasers had been having a hard time of it. –The man,†to quote an exasperated Katie Bell after a particularly difficult practice, –is a nightmare on that broomstick. Nothing gets past him.†Which was a good thing in the long run, but the Gryffindor Chasers seemed to think, whenever Harry pitted them against their Keeper in practice, that perhaps he was being a bit extreme.
–I understand his being so good during a match,†Ginny had complained bitterly, –but can’t he go a little easy on us in practice? Harry’s devoted to our being able to score on him regularly, says the challenge’ll be good for us. I say six hours of Chaser exercises on a Saturday is just ridiculous.â€
Hermione had just laughed. But Ginny had a point. Ron had gone from one extreme to the other; from letting every Quaffle in, to no Quaffle at all, and she and Harry were so proud of him. All of Gryffindor was. But Hermione knew that, like Harry, there was more to Ron’s game than skill. Like Harry, he loved to fly; he may not be as good at it as their best friend, but he loved it just as much. And, like Harry, it was his release; but unlike Harry, Quidditch was the place where Ron lost his temper.
There was no doubt in the mind of anyone who knew him that Ron was easily angered. It really didn’t take much, just one little phrase, worded just so, and he blazed to life like wildfire, just as dangerous and just as unpredictable. She ought to know, she thought ruefully; she was the one who most often made him angry (not that it was intentional, mind you. Well, okay, maybe sometimes…). But ever since he’d discovered he really was very good as a Keeper, he’d started taking all his aggression out on Quidditch. It had made him much easier to get along with off the pitch, and everyone’s worst nightmare on it, and she was relieved to note that his volatile temper had not exploded in quite some time.
The crowd around her erupted to life, people jumping to their feet and screaming wildly. Hermione looked around bewildered, standing just to see what was going on, and frowned in disappointment when she saw Ron smirking at Montague. She’d missed something!
–After that spectacular save by Gryffindor Keeper Ron Weasley, Chaser Dennis Creevey takes possession of the Quaffle and flies towards the other end of the pitch. Slytherin Chasers Warrington and Pucey in hot pursuit, Montague still too stunned to do anything but sit dumbly on his broomstick—â€
–Thomas!â€
–Sorry, professor. That’s Gryffindor Chaser Weasley now in possession, Creevey, Weasley—nice use of the Porskoff Ploy by Ginny Weasley there. With Warrington out of the way Creevey takes the Quaffle and—YES! HE SCORES. ANOTHER TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!†Hermione screamed wildly like all the rest then settled back down in her seat, her eyes automatically swinging back to Ron. She loved to watch him fly. Who was she kidding? She loved to watch him, period.
Forty minutes and three saves by Ron later, Parvati grabbed her arm and started bouncing in her seat, cheering loudly, –Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!†Hermione’s voice rose with Parvati’s as she spotted Harry falling into another dive, chasing after Malfoy, the little Golden Snitch just feet in front of them as they fell ever faster—
–Come on, Harry!â€
He was pulling even now, his long fingers stretching out, edging forward on his broom, the distance closing- six inches, four, three, two… Harry knocked Malfoy’s arm out of the way at the last second and then—
–YES! HARRY POTTER’S GOT THE SNITCH, GRYFFINDOR WINS 180 POINTS TO 10!â€
The crowd erupted as Harry did a quick victory lap around the pitch, and Hermione couldn’t help but grin as he flashed by, snitch clenched tightly in one leather-clad fist. Her smile stayed firmly in place when she turned to watch Ron land beside the rest of the Gryffindor team, and it was only when she lost sight of him in the mass of congratulatory spectators that swarmed around him that her smile faded and she allowed Parvati to pull her from the stands.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
–Dean!†Hermione exclaimed later, stopping in the middle of the corridor to huff at him in exasperation, –Why are you following me?â€
–Well…†Dean, who had indeed been trailing after her from the moment she left Gryffindor Tower, cocked his head at the prefect curiously. –It’s just that, every time we win a match, you sneak off and come back with food,†he told her. –That used to be the Weasley twins’ tradition; it must be against the rules.†He paused and eyed her thoughtfully. –I’ve never seen you break the rules before, and I thought it might be rather entertaining. Besides, I want to know where you people go to get all this food.â€
–The kitchens. Where else would one go in a large castle to find food?â€
–Are you allowed to be in the kitchens?â€
Hermione sighed in irritation. –Dean, what do you think?â€
–Ha!†he replied happily. –I knew it. Okay let’s go.â€
Hermione rolled her eyes, not looking forward to this little outing with Dean, when a thought suddenly occurred to her. She stopped and looked at Dean slyly. –Where are you going?†she asked him.
He looked over at her as though he thought she were mad. –To the kitchens,†he answered slowly.
–I’m sorry, Dean, but students aren’t allowed in the kitchens. As a prefect, I’m afraid I have to ask you to go back to your common room.â€
–What!? But you’re a student, and you’re going!â€
–Going where?â€
–To the kitchens!â€
–Did I ever say I was going to the kitchens?â€
–Well no, not exactly.â€
–Well then. Back to your common room, Dean, before I’m forced to take away house points.â€
He gaped at her. –But-but it’s your house too!â€
–I know,†she said, nodding apologetically, then, raising her arms in a helpless shrug, –But my hands are tied. It’s my duty as a prefect to make sure you follow the rules. So go.â€
Eyes wide in shock, Dean slowly started off down the hall, mumbling to himself in near admiration about sneaky, over-zealous prefects. Hermione grinned after him, then turned and continued making her way down to the kitchens. It was late evening and already dark outside, as it always was by the time the Gryffindor parties really got going, but there were still several hours before curfew. Still, Hermione found herself sneaking rather cautiously along one stone wall as she walked in response to the quiet, subdued air of the castle. Soon she was peering around corners and literally pressing her back against the walls to keep from being seen as she crept through the darkened corridors. Then she was grinning crazily and softly humming her personalized theme song from her present-stealing mission as she slithered down a set of stairs with a slightly louder step for every down beat of her song. By the time she reached the hallway with the painting of the bowl of fruit, she was singing rather loudly:
–Creeping through the corridors
Master of the night!
Tiptoeing on cold stone floors
Rule-breakers take flight!
Somewhere some students sneak
But too late, they’re caught!â€
That’s right: the theme song now had words.
–Hermione!†she continued.
–(She’s a wicked prefect!)†she added in an aside.
Hermione!†She tickled the pear.
–(Let’s get serious!)†Hermione grabbed the handle and flung the door open.
–Hermione!†She stepped into the kitchens, now singing at the top of her voice.
–(Hermi-Hermione!)â€
The song came to a sudden halt as she realized that every house-elf in the room was staring at her in wide-eyed fear. She heard a few of the closest murmur something about the –Miss who hides clothing†and words such as –terrifying†and –horrible,†and suddenly the room was devoid of all life saving herself. And Dobby.
–Hello, Dobby!†she sang out cheerfully, no longer disturbed by the behavior of the other elves. She could sit at a table, perfectly innocently, reading and eating a sandwich and they would still all run in fear.
–Good evening, Miss!†Dobby replied. Ten minutes later, she left the kitchens with several shrunken bags of carefully packed treats and drinks in her pockets and began the dark, secret journey back to the Gryffindor tower. Not long after that, the theme song made a reappearance; this time, caution remembered, performed almost entirely in her head, except for the soft tune which she hummed under her breath.
At curfew rounds she will appear
Intelligent and fair
Who’s that cunning mind behind
That really bushy hair?
Everybody knows her name
She always does her work!
By this time she had nearly reached the entrance hall, and because the chorus was fun, and her mission completed to the point where she wouldn’t be found out, she made the switch to audible song.
Yeah, here comes,
–Hermione!
(She’s a wicked prefect!)
Hermione!
(Let’s get seri—â€
–Hermione, what are you doing?â€
Hermione froze. She considered her position: pressed against the wall of the entrance hall, the cold of the stone behind her seeping through the clothes at her back, and half-hidden by a suit of armor she had been using for cover until she could make sure of the security of the hall before she dashed across it to the stairs opposite. It wouldn’t do to be seen after all.
Only she had been seen. By the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, the members of which were looking at her rather oddly. Hermione blushed momentarily at having been caught behaving in such a manner, then shrugged and came out from behind the armor.
–Just nicking a bit of food from the kitchens,†she replied to Ron’s question, smiling in greeting to the others as they shook their heads and started up the stairs.
–By hiding behind a suit of armor?†Harry questioned, one eyebrow raised doubtfully and an amused smile tugging at his lips.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively at his comment, refusing to embarrass herself further by trying to explain it, and changed the subject instead. –Nice catch, as always, Harry,†she told him, reaching up to ruffle his wild-as-ever hair as she passed in the direction of their best friend. Harry shook his head in response and took hold of Ginny’s hand.
–Come on,†he told her quietly, –let’s leave them to it.†Ginny allowed herself to be led, reaching up with her free hand to smooth down his hair a little, wilder now after Hermione’s tousling, and he smiled.
Hermione, meanwhile, was wiping her hand off on her pants, having discovered after she put her fingers through it that Harry’s hair was still rather damp from his after-game shower. That done, she smiled up at Ron, who, having been leaning against the doorjamb up to this point, now unhitched himself from his position and looked down at her rather lazily, crossed arms falling to his sides. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she closed the space between them and slung her arms over his shoulders in a loose hug.
–You were amazing today,†she told him sincerely, voice muffled. His ears and that strip of extra sensitive skin across the tops of his cheeks and nose turned bright red in that way she thought was so cute, but she missed it because her face was still partially hidden in his shoulder.
–Er…thanks,†he replied, shifting uncomfortably but firmly returning the rare and much-treasured hug. He gently gathered her close and rested his chin on the top of her head, and she smiled at the pleasant weight, loving how well she fit in his arms and how warm and comfortable she felt there.
If only things could always be like this. She took one last deep breath, savoring the smell of the cold outside mixed in with fresh soap and that unidentifiable Ron smell clinging to his clothes, and sighed before pulling back a little. Instantly his eyes caught hers and she realized with a start just how close they were. Heart pounding, she really couldn’t help herself as she turned one hand over behind his head and slid her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Ron tensed almost immediately, and she sighed; she loved his hair. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, she wasn’t sure, it was still wet from his shower too, and she wrinkled her nose, hoping to break the tension she wasn’t sure she wanted broken.
–Your hair is wet,†she told him quietly.
–I know,†he answered in kind, and she smiled brilliantly up at him.
–We should get back.†Her arms slid away until only her hands rested on his shoulders.
–Yes,†he agreed, was that reluctance? and let her go.
–Come on,†she ordered playfully, taking his hand and pulling him up the stairs after her. –We can’t eat all this food by ourselves you know, not even with your appetite.â€
–Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?†he asked indignantly. His warm fingers wrapped themselves more comfortably around her own and she couldn’t help but laugh, giddy from the contact and amused by his tone. Joking and laughing, they held hands all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The party had undeniably been a huge success. The Gryffindor victory over Slytherin had been celebrated, food had been eaten, pumpkin juice had been drunk, and everyone had had a wonderful time. In short, it had been…normal. Gryffindor parties were always like that.
But that doesn’t make them any less enjoyable. Hermione sat on the couch, slowly sipping the last of her pumpkin juice and staring contentedly into the fire as she absorbed the events of the day and listened to the sound of Harry and Ron talking several feet away, their voices rising and falling in the growing quiet of the room. Soon the sound disappeared entirely, and she realized the room seemed empty without it, absently thought that most rooms sounded empty without the voices of her two best friends, and had the sudden urge to get up and hug them both and never let them go. She then realized that she was more tired than she had previously thought, and considered going to bed.
–Goodnight, Hermione,†said Harry’s voice in her ear then, and his arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders in a gently loving hug. Smiling, oddly enough with tears in her eyes, she leaned her head back against his shoulder and blinked sleepily at him, trying to remember the appropriate response.
–Hey,†Ron murmured softly, frowning as he caught her expression over their friend’s shoulder, –what’s the matter?†He dropped to his knees behind the couch next to Harry, his chin resting on her upper arm, and reached over the back of the couch to take her hand in his, his head turned to consider her face. She lifted a hand to Harry’s cheek on the one side of her face, raised the hand lost firmly in Ron’s to her own on the other, and sighed.
–It’s just, I love you guys so much.â€
Harry laughed softly. –And that’s a cause for tears?â€
Hermione grinned helplessly, a tear trembling briefly on her lashes before dropping despite her onto the smooth plane of her cheek. Ron lifted one finger from her hand to wipe it away with his knuckle and she turned her smile on him, then faced forward again.
–No,†she replied softly, –it’s just—I don’t know. We’re sixth years. Next year we’ll be graduating, and after that we won’t be able to do this anymore. I mean, it’ll still be the three of us, but it won’t be, you know? Already things are changing…â€
Ron sighed. –Yes, they are. But no matter what, no matter who joins our circle, or how big our families get, it will always be the three of us, just like this. Maybe not here, maybe not as often, but always just as close.â€
Harry nodded his agreement. –Right. Because we’re a package deal,†he paused momentarily, then looked at her firmly, moving her hand from his face and taking it in one of his. –But that’s all a long ways off still, ‘Mione. We don’t have to think of that just now. Now we get to enjoy what we have, okay?†She sniffed quietly and nodded. Harry smiled and gently brushed his hand over the back of her hair. –Go to bed, Hermione,†he told her gently, squeezing her hand, then headed up the stairs to the boys dorm. She was still smiling after him when a strong arm wrapped loosely about her shoulders, and something soft and warm pressed against her cheek.
–Goodnight, Hermione,†Ron’s deep voice murmured in her ear, and then he too was gone, disappearing up the stairs after their friend. Hermione sat there in shock.
He didn’t.
He hadn’t.
…Had he?
Hermione put a hand to her cheek.
But he had.
A goofy smile spread across her face. Ron Weasley had just kissed her! Albeit, on the cheek, but still, he had done it, and completely voluntarily too. She felt like squealing, jumping up and down, anything! Grinning, she glanced around the room, looking for someone, anyone! to whom she could relate her joy, and froze.
The common room was once again littered with party mess.
–Why is it always me?†she groaned. But somehow she couldn’t muster the irritation to really make it convincing. That stupid goofy grin, she knew, really ruined the effect entirely.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Seasonal Suffering by DoraeAzure
Chapter Notes: Super Important Note!!!: The theme song in this fic is vaguely related to (meaning entirely based upon) the tune of that age-old classic, the Darkwing Duck theme song (which I also do not own), so yeah. You’ll want to know that later.