*
Saving It for Seven
Ron sat at the table in the Great Hall across from Harry and Hermione, wishing this was not a performance. He often wished he could just go back and sit at the real table at the real Hogwarts with his friends, and have Hermione glaring at him from her seat for a reason that was… well, real. He finally glanced over at her and was rewarded with a look that was half-fury and half-confusion, fully directed at him.
They’d just shot the scene in which Harry slips him the liquid luck, and something had clearly put Hermione on edge. She was mad about Lavender a lot lately, which he definitely understood: if he had to watch her snogging some other bloke, he would probably have to be restrained. So he couldn’t complain about that. This seemed to be something else, and he had a feeling he knew what it might be.
When he could stand the tension no longer, he looked her in the eye and leaned toward her. “What? What’s wrong?”
She rolled her eyes. “You have to ask, of course.”
At her response, Harry got quite busy pulling out his script and reviewing it in earnest.
“Just tell me what you’re on about, Hermione.”
“Your voice was just dripping with sarcasm,” she answered.
Yes, he had guessed correctly; he knew what had set her off. “Hermione,” he began, shifting into recovery mode.
At that moment, The Director called out that they’d got what they needed, and they were done for the day. With this news, Hermione began loudly gathering her things and”after giving Ron one last threatening glare”stomped off toward her dressing room.
Ron looked at Harry in frustration. “Feel free to help out any time.”
“No thanks,” he said, barely looking up from the script. “Anyway, you can’t really blame her.”
“You think this is my fault?” Ron demanded.
“It’s definitely not your fault,” Harry said, finally looking up. “But you did sound like you’d rather spend an evening doing double Potions than go to that party with her. And that’s not exactly what you said when this happened for real.”
“I know, but it isn’t my fault!” He took his frustration out on his Quidditch helmet, which he viciously unsnapped, removed, and tossed onto the floor. “Why the bloody hell am I wearing this thing to breakfast?”
Harry shrugged and looked off in the direction Hermione had gone. “She’ll be getting angrier by the second… if I were you, I’d try to detonate that in an unpopulated area.”
“Yeah, all right.” His shoulders fell in a defeated slump, but he rose to go after her. “For the record,” he started.
Harry returned his focus to the script. “It’s not your fault. I know, Ron.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ron stood outside the door to her dressing room, begging her to let him in so he could apologize. “C’mon, Hermione, I need to talk to you.” What he was going to apologize for, he was not quite certain, but it did seem the thing to do. “Please?”
Finally, she opened the door and stood there with a hand on her hip, waiting.
“Are you okay?”
“No, Ron, I’m not. I’m angry and I’m disappointed.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Er, okay… but, um, you’re not upset about Lavender this time, right? This is about the lines?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re bringing up Lavender now? Every time I hear her name, I picture you snogging her on every set in this building!”
“So it’s not about her? Good… I mean, great.” He took his hands out of his pockets, but then didn’t know what to do with them, so he shoved them back in. “If you’re upset about the script, why are just reacting now? You’ve had it for weeks.”
“Because I had no idea you were going to do it like that, Ron!” she huffed. “It was bad enough when I read it and saw that you were only going to say, ‘really,’ instead of all those things you said when this actually happened.”
“What things?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to stuff them back down his throat. But it was too late, and now, in addition to anger, he was starting to see real hurt on her face.
“What things?” she repeated. “How about the way you said ‘really’ when I told you I was going to ask you to the party… like you were full of hope about it… and then I said that I could ask Cormac if you would rather I do that, and you said”really sweetly”that no, you didn’t want me to ask him. Which meant,” she explained, “that you wanted to go with me, Ron. We had a date for that party!”
“I know. We’ve been through this, ages ago. Why are you mad all over again, when you’ve already forgiven me?”
“Because this is entirely different!” she said, loud enough to draw attention from people in the hall.
“It’s not my fault they cut all that stuff out, Hermione. I didn’t want that to happen!” He was getting angry himself now, but tried to control his temper.
“I know, but the way you said it! You made it sound like you’d rather…” She looked around, searching for the right awful comparison to make. “That you’d rather…”
“Do double Potions,” he mumbled.
“YES! That you’d rather do double Potions every day for a week than go with me to a party! How is that supposed to make me feel?”
Pretty bad, he thought to himself, if it were real! But in a rare moment of clarity, he had the sense not to say it.
Ron sighed, trying to decide whether or not to tell her everything. On the one hand, it would probably get him off the hook. On the other, she might go completely mental and not recover for days. Then he saw the look on her face, and he worried that this retelling was beginning to feel more real to her than everything that had actually happened between them. He didn’t want to fight, and he didn’t want to deal with her when she was like this, but more than that, he couldn’t stand when she looked like that: like she was about to cry, and it was his fault.
This time, though, it wasn’t.
“He told me to do it like that,” he said in a low voice.
She stared at him, confused.
“Don’t get mad,” he said, leaning in against the doorframe.
“What do you mean?”
“When we first talked about it, he said he wanted me to do it sarcastically, with a bad attitude. He told me to do it like that, Hermione.”
“Why? Why would he do that?”
Feeling brave, he pushed a bit of her hair back over her shoulder, happy she was softening. “He said he wants to…” He trailed off, then realized what he had been about to say. He’d been about to say it”the one thing she hated more than anything about this entire production. He closed his mouth.
Her face was getting redder by the second and he dropped his hand, taking a step back into the hall. Her eyes narrowed and when she spoke, her voice was higher in pitch. “He said it again, didn’t he?”
“Hermione,” Ron started.
“Say it. Just tell me he said it again. I swear”I don’t even believe him anymore!”
There was no way out: she was not going to let it go. Ron squirmed and looked around for any possible help, but the corridor was empty.
“Ron Weasley, you tell me what he said right this minute!”
“He said…”
“Yes?”
“He said… ‘we’re saving it for Seven.’” Ron winced, knowing what was coming.
“Saving it for Seven? Saving it for SEVEN?,” she bellowed. “Doesn’t he care what actually happened?” She screeched in frustration and then barked out an ironic laugh. “He doesn’t! Of course he doesn’t!”
Ron tentatively approached the door again in hopes of calming her down and preventing an even bigger scene.
“We had a date, but nooooooo! The Di-rec-tor,” she spat, over-enunciating every syllable, “is saving it for Seven! So instead, you act like the thought never even occurred to you--”
“But that’s not true.”
She didn’t even hear him. “Meanwhile, I have to march around this set whining that you ditched me when clearly,” she exaggerated, “you would rather eat a pickled doxy egg than go to Slughorn’s party with me anyway!”
“Hermione,” he said, reaching for her hand. “C’mon…” He put on his most irresistible half-smile in an effort to coax her around.
She drew her wand and leveled it at his chest.
Ron put both hands up, showing his innocence, and truly, a little fear.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
“You’re mad at me?”
“Yes, you. Him.” She looked around wildly, then pointed to a random bloke down the hall carrying a couple of textbooks and a handful of fake wands. “And that man, too.” She backed into her dressing room, slowly lowered her wand, and put her hand on the doorknob. “Go away, Ron.”
He stuck his foot between the door and the doorjamb. “No. This isn’t my fault!” They held each other’s gaze for several moments, Ron struggling to read her changing emotions.
She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. “You should have said something to him, Ron. You should have fought for us.” She gave him a little shove, and he backed up, shocked by her words. “Or are you saving that for Seven, too?” Her voice cracked on the last words as she backed up and slammed the door.
A wave of shame washed over him. Maybe she was right. Maybe he’d become so used to just taking it, to doing whatever The Director told him to do, that he’d simply resigned himself to going through the motions of this new version. He’d quit standing up for himself. And now Hermione thought he’d quit standing up for them as well. She was right. Even Harry had seen that she was right.
Ron immediately moved forward and tried the handle, but she’d locked the door. He placed his forehead and palm against the door. “C’mon, Hermione, open up…” he pleaded. Nothing. He fingered his wand pocket, trying to decide whether to use Alohamora or respect her wishes and leave her alone.
At that moment, Harry and Ginny walked up, holding hands and laughing.
Ginny looked Ron over. “Bit of a lover’s spat?” she quipped.
Already distraught, Ron spun on her in an instant. “How’s it going with that script, Shoelace?” He’d drawn his wand as he’d spoken the words, but he was still not fast enough. Before his shield charm could fully take form, he’d already become the most recent victim of her Bat Bogey Hex.
“Stop. Calling. Me. SHOELACE!” Her tone was murderous, but Ron barely heard it as he took off toward his own dressing room to clean himself up.
“You shouldn’t have done that you know,” Harry told her, trying to hide his amusement. “He’s having a rough day.”
“Me? Did you hear what he said? If one more person starts calling me”“
Just then, Hermione swung open her door and looked both ways down the hall. Her face was blotchy and her hair a mess”Harry thought she looked quite scary.
“He left?” she demanded.
“Well,” Harry stammered, “He had to go, er… I mean, Ginny here…” He looked to Ginny, but she said nothing to help the situation.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as Hermione, it seemed, was beyond reason. Her already substantial fury grew exponentially the moment she realized Ron had vacated the hallway. She closed her eyes and let out a brief scream of frustration, then went back inside and slammed the door. A moment later, they heard a heavy object hit the door from the inside; Hermione was apparently throwing things.
Ginny raised her eyebrows in Harry’s direction. “Perhaps she needs some time.”
Harry turned her toward his own dressing room.
“Did you see Malfoy?” Ginny asked as they walked off.
“Yeah, he’s wearing the suit again,” Harry said with interest.
“Every single scene… I don’t get it.”
“Maybe he’s on a dare,” Harry speculated.
“Maybe The Director wants him to look like a tortured rich kid,” she suggested, rolling her eyes.
“Maybe he’s grown tired of Slytherin green.”
“Whatever the reason, it’s quite entertaining. He obviously hates it, judging from the way he yanks on the collar after every take.”
“And he looks like an arse,” Harry concluded. “It’s brilliant.”
They were both laughing as they rounded a corner and disappeared.
.
Taking Direction by WeasleyMom
Chapter Notes: Trouble erupts after the trio finish shooting a scene in the Great Hall for The Half-Blood Prince. Thanks to Gina/Gmarian for her mad beta skills and brilliant ideas.
Chapter Endnotes: Well? Don't just sit there... what do you think?