“Alright, Hermione?” She, Ron, and Harry all looked up to see Grayson Leeland, a handsome seventh year with deep brown eyes and a lop-sided grin, standing near their table.
“Oh, hi Grayson!” Hermione beamed.
Please die, Grayson, Ron thought as he snatched up a quill and began savagely twisting it.
He couldn’t help but notice that ever since Grayson had commented upon Hermione’s “exceptional brilliance” a few weeks ago, she had gotten into the disgusting habit of blushing every time he looked her way.
“You wouldn’t happen to have an extra quill lying about, would you?” the older boy asked, cocking his head to the side and flashing a gorgeous smile.
“Oh! Um, let me check,” Hermione said and began fishing around in her bag.
“Ron!” Harry hissed, then nudged his friend sharply in the ribs.
“OW! What, Harry?!” Ron snapped.
“Stop twisting already. The quill’s dead.”
Ron glanced down at the mess of ink, feathers and to his disgust, blood that was now smeared into his palms. Hermione emerged from her searching, triumphantly raising a slightly dusty quill, and handed it to Grayson.
“Thanks, Hermione,” he grinned.
Hermione blushed. Ron looked as though he’d like to puke. Instead, he began gathering up soiled bits of feathers to throw away. Hermione suddenly saw his hands and let out a tiny yelp, which startled the still seething Ron so much that he dropped the feathers again.
“Ron! That was my quill,” she said moodily. “And what have you done to your hands?”
She waved goodbye to Grayson, then came around to Ron and grabbed his forearm to help him up.
“Don’t touch anything, Ron,” she said, “This is a mess.”
She began pulling him across the room and towards the fireplace. Ron soon become aware of the suspicious and steely glances (mostly from friends of Lavender) thrown at him from all sides of the common room and hung back. Hermione, who had yet to notice, continued to yank on his arm, giving Ron the appearance of an elderly dog being forlornly dragged along on his evening walk.
“UGH! Ronald, come ON!” Hermione began, but stopped abruptly as she too realized the thoughts that were sure to be flying through everyone’s heads at the moment.
“Right,” she murmured, coloring slightly and quickly let go of Ron’s arm. “Let’s try … um … not here, shall we?” and she hurried away towards the door. Ron made sure to keep his head down as he shuffled after her.
They emerged from the common room, trying very hard not to look at each other as they could still hear excited whispering behind them. Hermione sighed and started down the stairs, Ron trailing behind. Neither one said a word until they stood outside of the girl’s Prefect bathroom.
Ron looked at it quizzically, then down at his soiled hands, then at Hermione, who quickly scanned the corridor to assure their solitude before slipping through the doorway, yanking a slightly protesting Ron through after her. Once inside, she turned the lock and slowly traced the outline of the door with her wand while performing a muffling charm.
“I’d hate to have to explain what I was doing locked in the girls’ bathroom with a boy,” she said, laughing lightly, then turning back.
Ron raised his eyebrows. “What are you doing locked in the girls’ bathro-“
“Oh hush, Ronald!” Hermione rolled her eyes and moved to a gleaming row of sinks where she filled one with warm water, then added a few pinches of pink path salt from a small glass jar on the counter.
Ron immediately wrinkled his nose and backed away.
“Alright, put your hands in here and let them soak for a while,” Hermione said, motioning towards the rosy mixture.
“Like hell!” he retorted.
In fact, her request was met by such a look of flabbergasted horror that she finally had to resort to physically dragging Ron to the sink and holding him by the wrists to keep his hands submerged in the water. She waggled them back and forth a bit before demanding that he keep still and releasing her grip to drain the sink. Crimson water and feathers swirled away down the pipes, but much of the ink and splinters remained embedded in Ron’s skin.
“Well what was the point of that?!” Ron asked sniffing distastefully at his hands. “I smell like Ginny!”
Hermione shook her head as she spread a clean towel on the counter next to the sink.
“You’re right, Ron, how could I have possibly been so silly?” Hermione said with a tone that sounded suspiciously like sarcasm, “For what could be a more satisfying aroma than bloody feathers?”
Ron glared at her. Ignoring this completely, Hermione grabbed a hold of his wrists once more and laid his hands palms up on the towel.
“Do you want these out or not?” she asked, indicating the tiny quill shards.
Ron grumbled incoherently until a stern look from Hermione shut him up.
Then she took out her wand and began waving and muttering. Almost immediately, the tiny slivers began loosening themselves from Ron’s hands and hovering in a small cluster.
Swish, flick, swish, flick. “Win ::grumblegrumble :: osa.”
“So you do realize, Hermione,” Ron began rather condescendingly, “that that Grayson Leeland is an absolute git?”
Hermione stopped what she was doing and raised her eyebrows at him.
“Ron,” she replied in a similar tone, “Name one boy that talks to me, other than Harry or Neville, who you don’t think is an absolute git.”
Ron’s eyes became very round.
“Well that’s .. that’s not even,” he stammered, concentrating very hard on the tiny cracks in the floor, “That’s not true at all.”
Hermione said nothing and went back to charming the splinters out of Ron’s hand, looking rather pleased with herself .
“Hold on,” Ron said, realization finally dawning on him, “You’re only using Wingardium Leviosa! I could’ve done that myself! And without the girly … whatever that was!”
A faint blush painted Hermione’s cheeks but she only bent closer, pretending to be lost in concentration as the last splinters soared into the air. Then she pointed her wand at the cluster and tipped them into the sink. Ron watched glumly as they swirled down the drain.
“You just didn’t think I could do it, did you?” Ron asked crossly. “You just had to show me that you were better, didn’t you?!”
Hermione looked up in confusion and anger. “Ron, I was only trying to help!” she exclaimed, “That spell was only for the quill and I haven’t started on the ink yet so if you could just-“
“I’ll do it myself, thanks!” Ron snapped, and he pushed past her to rub his hands roughly under a stream of cold water.
Feeling rather slighted, Hermione gazed around the room, unsure of what to do. When she looked back at Ron, he was still scrubbing angrily to no avail. He glanced at her bewildered reflection in the mirror, then back to the sink again, determined to remove the ink by himself.
“The only reason you’ve got your wand in such a knot, Ronald,” Hermione said shakily, “Is because you can’t stand the fact that maybe someone is interested in me for a change!”
Ron snorted. “Yeah, I suppose he’ll never have to buy his own quill again. Perhaps he could just borrow your homework, too. Or maybe you could just do it for him.”
Hermione was very close to shouting as she struggled to control her anger. “Well, perhaps you’d like to teach him, then! You must be an expert at it by now!”
Ron glared at her as she blasted the muffling charm off of the door, causing a shower of dust to cascade onto the floor. As she yanked the door open and threw herself out into the corridor, Ron thought he heard a suppressed sob escape her quickly retreating form.
Angst & Adoration by Moira Whipstaff
Chapter Notes: Once again, I do not claim ownership of Harry Potter or any part of his magical world, because that's called stealing and my guilt complex wouldn't allow that. :p "Grayson Leeland," however, is my characer - I know that isn't canon, but the rest of it should be! :)