I apologise for the long delay in updating. My only excuse is that (like Ron) I was led astray by Lavender Brown. Now that my Lavender stories are completed (on another site) I will be hammering the next few chapters into shape as quickly as I can.
Please review. Constructive criticism is always gratefully received.
-N-
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Aurors and Schoolgirls | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Drama, Romance Warnings: Mild Language Rating: PG Reviews: 151 Summary: The Wizarding War is over. For some Auror training has begun; their lives are centred round London, and the Ministry of Magic. For others, there is the inevitable return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; their lives are centred around schooling in Scotland. Do these parted pairings, these divided duos, have different destinations and divergent destinies? When, where, and how can these separated souls meet? Holidays, Hogsmeade and Quidditch. Hitcount: Story Total: 89145; Chapter Total: 6604 Author's Notes: |
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13: Christmas: Revelation Ron had been dreaming of Hermione; she’d been telling him off again, but now that he was awake, he couldn’t remember why. He looked at his alarm clock, it was half past nine; he really should get up. He blinked up at the ceiling. He was miserable, and the cause of his misery was Hermione. He remembered the formal and stilted goodbye and the cursory peck on the cheek his girlfriend had given him before she’d Apparated home from the Burrow. She was annoyed with him, but why? Come on, Ron, he cajoled himself, prove that you’re not as thick as everyone thinks you are. He thought back over the evening. Hermione had arrived at Grimmauld Place not long after he’d got in from the office. She’d had a successful shopping expedition and had been tired but happy. After they’d eaten they had gone upstairs to the sitting room and they had got comfortable on the sofa and … had he been to forward? Had he pushed her too far? She’d seemed to be enjoying herself. She’d acted as if she’d been enjoying herself despite his clumsy, fumbling fingers failing to even open a single button. She’d done that for him, so she must have been willing. Harry and Ginny had arrived. It was probably just as well that it hadn’t been ten minutes later. Hermione had been embarrassed, but so had he. Then they had settled down and chatted and laughed. She had been fine. So, he had not done anything to upset her, he was now sure of that. Therefore, by the twisted logic of females (which he still did not fully understand) he had failed to do something she had expected him to do. It was obviously something important to her (and therefore, by default, to him), but what? The kitchen, he remembered! Something had happened last night between Hermione and Ginny. Up until that silent exchange Hermione had been fine. Afterwards, for some reason she’d been annoyed with him. He knew that Hermione wouldn’t tell him what had happened. Asking her would just provoke a lecture on how stupid and insensitive he was. He’d have to try to figure it out himself. Not for the first time, he wondered why girls didn’t come with an instruction book or something. You wouldn’t read it anyway the part of his brain which concentrated on jokes told him. Where had he put that copy of “Twelve Fail-safe Ways to Charm Witches”? Not that it would help. Being complimentary and thoughtful was actually fairly easy, when he remembered. Trying to figure out why she was unhappy with him, however, was difficult. What he needed was some sort of mind-reading spell. Unfortunately, the only way he could think of to find out if a mind-reading spell even existed was to ask Hermione. So that wouldn’t work. ‘Bollocks,’ he told his bedroom. He’d never understand girls. Did Hermione’s mood have something to do with Harry and Ginny’s date? Harry had sworn that they had been to a restaurant, and to the pictures, and nothing else. But it seemed that his girlfriend and his sister were sharing a secret. His mind strayed into an area he didn’t want it to go and he fought to bring it back. He’s eighteen, she’s seventeen, they’re together, a couple; he reminded himself, and he’s completely crazy about her. I’ve seen him give lots of girls the brush off in the last few months. He’s just not interested. I’m living with my sister’s number one fan. If they’re …doing anything… it’s none of my business. But, if they are, why did Hermione ask, and why did Ginny tell her? And, why is Hermione upset with me about it? He closed his eyes for a minute, thinking desperately. Because I’m wrong again and they were talking about something else he concluded. Ron rolled out of bed and hitched up his pyjama trousers. Pulling on his dressing gown he opened his bedroom door. He could hear Harry on the landing above; his friend was whistling cheerfully but tunelessly. Harry never whistled. Ron grumpily walked along the bathroom, washed and shaved. He heard Harry clattering down the stairs, he was still whistling. Harry had no right to be so bloody cheerful. His own toilet complete, Ron dressed quickly. He was still pulling on a t-shirt as he walked down to the kitchen for his breakfast. ‘Morning, Ron,’ Harry beamed, ‘tea?’ Not waiting for a reply, Harry poured strong tea from the pot into Ron’s large mug and sat back grinning happily. Ron looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’re frighteningly cheerful this morning, Harry,’ he told his friend vindictively, ‘especially as we’re going to a medal presentation, a press conference, a dinner and ball today.’ He paused and watched Harry’s face carefully. ‘You know that you’ll be praised to the rafters, pestered with questions and constantly photographed.’ Even this observation didn’t dent Harry’s delight. ‘I’m happy,’ Harry confessed, ‘I’m taking your sister to the ball, and I’m going to dance with her. I’ve hardly seen her since we said goodbye at Kings Cross in September so I’m going to make the most of these school holidays. You and Hermione should be doing the same.’ Harry looked at Ron in concern. ‘You look worried, Ron, why? You haven’t dropped me in it, have you? I … forgot … to tell Ginny about Cho. You haven’t said anything, have you?’ ‘Forgot?’ asked Ron. ‘Decided not to,’ Harry admitted. ‘We were having a good time, and if I say the name Cho she just gets angry for no reason.’ ‘Because she knows you snogged her,’ Ron said. ‘Snogged, past tense,’ Harry shrugged. ‘And “knows”, she wasn’t there. I don’t get mad about Dean and I actually saw her snogging him.’ ‘I was there, too, remember? Ginny’s still got a blind spot where you and Cho are concerned. Though after last night’s performance I reckon you could even get away with snogging Cho under the mistletoe. I’d have to kill you, of course, to protect my sister’s honour.’ As he spoke Ron clenched his fists at the memory of Ginny and Dean. He still didn’t like to think about Krum, either. But Hermione seemed to be fine with Lavender, and vice versa. As for Harry and Cho, well, these days that was simply business. ‘Your sister’s honour is safe,’ Harry said with a laugh. Ron endeavoured to look as though the information wasn’t important to him. That line of questioning had got him nowhere. At least, no closer to the answer he wanted. He tried a different tack. ‘I dunno what you did last night, mate,’ he said, ‘but Ginny was almost soppy when she got home and she’s never soppy.’ He pitched his voice as high as he could, ‘“Harry is lovely. The evening was wonderful. I had a great time, Mum.” She was pretty nauseating. What did you really do last night? Or don’t I want to know?’ ‘We told you last night, we just ate, talked, and went to the pictures.’ Harry grinned. ‘No,’ said Ron, thoughtfully, ‘there was something else, what?’ ‘Nothing,’ Harry assured him. Ron looked sceptical and shook his head. ‘That look between the girls last night,’ said Ron. ‘That wasn’t about nothing.’ ‘Are you still obsessing about that?’ Harry asked dismissively. ‘I don’t know what it was about, honest Ron.’ Ron stared in annoyance at his friend, who simply looked confused. Ron continued to glare at Harry until he saw realisation strike. Harry gave an embarrassed grin, blushed, and looked down at his feet. ‘I think I can guess, but it’s nothing, really, Ron. Don’t worry about it.’ Harry had figured it out. ‘What happened?’ Ron pressed his friend for an answer. ‘Nothing, I told you.’ ‘What sort of “nothing” was it?’ Ron felt his temper rising and fought to control it. Harry looked away from Ron and stared intently at his shoes. His face began to colour. ‘I … told Ginny … how … I … feel about her,’ he confessed. ‘I told her that…’ ‘That’s none of my business,’ interrupted Ron hastily, as he suddenly realised what Harry was about to confess. ‘Personal conversation … feelings … nothing to do with me, you’re right.’ Harry immediately lapsed into a grateful silence, while Ron felt himself blushing in sympathy. He thought back over the past few hectic months and then realised that he couldn’t drop the topic completely. ‘You already did … that … after the Slytherin match, didn’t you?’ ‘Yes, but she was unconscious at the time, Ron,’ Harry admitted. Suddenly, the odd, silent, exchange between Ginny and Hermione last night made sense to Ron. But why had Hermione been so funny about it? He’d told her loads of times how he felt about her. He thought back to the last time he’d told his girlfriend that he loved her. He couldn’t remember. He tried to think of any occasion when she said the words to him. She hadn’t, ever! Harry, he realised, was watching him in silent concern. Ron was horrified! Perhaps she was having second thoughts? She was, after all, the cleverest and most beautiful girl in the school, probably in the world. He was amazed that she had agreed to go out with him and constantly worried that some other bloke would try to steal her from him. He must have told her that he loved her, but when? Why was he so stupid? In Australia, he remembered. More than six months ago. That didn’t count, she’d been too upset, so had he. It had been a “heat of the moment” confession a couple of days after the battle, and she’d been thinking only about her parents. There must have been an occasion since then? He thought hard, but couldn’t remember ever saying those words. Not when they’d been on holiday with Hermione’s parents. That would have been much too embarrassing. Not even when she was made Head Girl, that would have been in front of his family. Once, he finally remembered, during the summer, over the phone, and he wasn’t certain that she’d heard him, she hadn’t said it back to him, so he’d made a joke of it. But her Dad had probably been standing next to her at the time so she probably wouldn’t have said anything. He looked at his friend. ‘You all right, Ron?’ Harry asked, concerned. ‘Yeah, but I think I’ve upset Hermione, without meaning to.’ Harry burst out laughing. ‘No offence, mate, but that pretty much sums up the relationship between you two ever since you first met,’ said Harry. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Ron muttered. He wasn’t laughing. Harry was looking anxiously at his watch. ‘I really need to go, Ron. I need to meet Cho in Diagon Alley before I go to the Burrow. Are you going to be all right?’ Harry stood up from the table. ‘Just go to the Granger’s house early and talk to her,’ he suggested. ‘She doesn’t bite.’ She did last night just before you and Ginny walked in on us, Ron thought, rubbing his neck and smiling to himself. So she must fancy me, I hope, he tried to reassure himself. ‘See you this afternoon, mate. Ron Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class, eh?’ Harry waved as he left. It was almost noon when Ron Apparated to a now familiar field on the outskirts of the village of Itchen Worthy. Slipping through the gate onto the road he walked the last half mile to Hermione’s parent’s house. He was wrapped up warmly as the December wind was blowing a few feeble flakes of snow. In one hand Ron carried a large holdall containing his suit. The other hand was stuffed deep into the pocket of his duffel coat. The hand carrying the holdall was freezing. He’d forgotten to bring his gloves. He crunched up the gravel drive towards the front door. It didn’t open as he approached. That meant that Hermione wasn’t watching, wasn’t waiting for him, and that meant that she was still annoyed with him. He reached out, rang the bell, and waited. She didn’t even answer the door, her father did. Ron’s stomach lurched, things were looking very bad. ‘Come in, Ron,’ Hermione’s father smiled, ‘Hermione and her Mum are upstairs, trying to sort out Hermione’s hair.’ He unconsciously ran his fingers through his own short, untidy, curls. Ron stepped inside and looked for somewhere to put his bag. ‘Just leave it in the hall, Ron,’ Mr Granger said, motioning to a spot next to the hall table. ‘Come through to the kitchen, I’ve just made a pot of tea. You can tell me what’s happening this afternoon and this evening.’ ‘Hasn’t Hermione explained?’ Ron asked curiously. Mr Granger nodded, smiled, and lowered his voice, ‘Jean and I have received the lecture, but I’d like to hear your version.’ Ron was still rather nervous around Mr and Mrs Granger. They had not met under the best of circumstances and he was always wary of offending them, but they had got to know each other during two weeks in France over the summer and Mr Granger’s words invited a comment. ‘Hermione sometimes makes things sound more complicated than they are,’ Ron tried experimentally. Mr Granger smiled and nodded. ‘It’s a medal presentation followed by a ball,’ Ron told him. ‘It seems like an odd combination to me, but the ball was arranged months ago and it’s taken this long for the Wizengamot to finally agree on the medals.’ ‘Hermione said that, too, do you know why?’ Mr Granger looked towards one corner of the kitchen ceiling, towards his daughter’s bedroom, as he spoke. ‘I think Hermione might have told us, a long time ago, but I’ve forgotten the details.’ ‘Harry,’ said Ron. ‘They wanted to give him a medal within days of the battle, him and a few others. Harry didn’t like their suggestion, so the Wizengamot formed a committee of enquiry. The committee produced a list of recommended medals and sent it to Kingsley, who showed the list to Harry, who still didn’t like it. The committee weren’t happy with Harry and they refused to change their recommendations, so Harry told them that he wasn’t prepared to attend the medal presentation ceremony. They eventually realised that they couldn’t really have a presentation without the star of the show, so they went away, formed another committee and had another go. They didn’t get Harry’s agreement until after term started. Professor McGonagall refused to let the students out of school, and Harry refused to attend without Ginny, so today is the earliest date for the presentations.’ ‘That was a lot shorter than what I remember of Hermione’s explanation,’ her father smiled ruefully. Ron grinned and suppressed a chuckle. ‘The medal ceremony is this afternoon,’ Ron continued. ‘This evening there is a separate dinner and ball, but both are at the Mages Hall.’ ‘Hermione said it’s at the London Guildhall,’ Mr Granger said. ‘It’s the same place,’ Ron told him, ‘the the old Guild of Witches and Wizards helped build the original London Guildhall in the twelfth century. They had a couple of giants to help. They also helped with the rebuild in the fifteenth century; that’s why the hall survived the Great Fire. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy went into effect not long after the fire, and the Guild of Witches and Wizards became the Ministry of Magic, but the Wizarding Community still has access to the hall for special occasions. It’s the only place where wizards and Muggles meet for public functions. The wizards will arrive by Floo and you’re taking us by car.’ ‘Thanks, Ron, that clears everything up,’ said Hermione’s father. He hesitated, ‘Except … is everything all right between you and my daughter?’ ‘I hope so,’ said Ron, he looked sadly at his girlfriend’s father. ‘I’ve managed to upset her by not doing … something … that I didn’t realise that I hadn’t done but I should have done.’ Ron stopped. ‘Did that make any sense?’ he asked. ‘Almost, she expected you to do something, but you didn’t because she hadn’t asked you?’ queried Mr Granger. Ron thought it best to nod. He didn’t really want to discuss the details of this particular topic with Hermione’s father. ‘Oh, well, if it’s any consolation I’ve been married for twenty three years and I still make that mistake with Hermione’s mother. It would help if she said “Put your golf clubs away,” instead of sulking because I’ve forgotten.’ It’s worse than golf clubs, thought Ron, but he found some comfort in Mr Granger’s words. There was a noisy clatter from the hall as someone descended the stairs. The kitchen door flew open and Hermione dashed in. ‘We’re not going,’ she told her father. ‘I can’t do anything with it!’ she flicked her damp hair contemptuously. ‘Hello, Hermione,’ Ron said. Hermione ignored him. ‘It’s hopeless,’ she continued, ignoring Ron and glowering at her father. ‘I’m going to get it cut short.’ ‘No,’ said Ron in horror, ‘don’t; it’s beautiful, you’re beautiful just as you are.’ Hermione’s mother was directly behind her daughter and an uncomfortable silence fell across the kitchen. Ron felt himself blushing. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,’ Hermione snapped. ‘Ridiculous!’ replied Ron, his temper began to take over and he forgot his embarrassment. ‘I’m not the one being ridiculous, you are. I just complimented you. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you like being told you’re … beautiful?’ ‘Not when it isn’t true,’ Hermione snapped. She raised an admonishing finger and Ron recognised the signs of an upcoming explosion. He knew that decisive action was needed. Unfortunately, his new favourite method of shutting her up, kissing her, probably wasn’t the best thing to do this time. ‘I think that we need to have a private talk, Hermione,’ Ron ordered. ‘Will you excuse us for a few minutes?’ He asked her parents. Mr Granger gave a startled nod. Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her out into the hall. She protested every step of the way. ‘Why did you leave your bag there, you idiot,’ she squawked. ‘Because I told him to,’ her father called from the kitchen. Hermione was momentarily silenced. ‘What…’ Hermione’s mother began as Hermione tried to break Ron’s grip on her arm. ‘Leave them to it,’ her father told his wife. ‘Hermione’s in one of her moods.’ ‘I am not!’ ‘Oh yes you are!’ Ron told his girlfriend as he tried to drag her upstairs towards her bedroom. The moment he spoke those words the tables turned and Ron found himself being pulled rapidly up the stairs. Hermione pushed him into her room, slammed the door and rounded on him. They were alone. Suddenly Ron felt calm and in control, he knew the reasons for Hermione’s anxieties and annoyance. ‘You arrogant, ignorant, arse,’ Hermione squealed. ‘How dare you be so rude to me, in my own house, in front of my parents. You insensitive, stupid, lanky, cretinous…’ Ron’s happy smile stopped her in mid sentence. He knew that he could rely on the fact that her parents had banned the use of magic within their house to keep him safe. ‘You…’ she tried again, but his lack of fear, lack of protest was flustering her. She was expecting him to fight back, to make excuses, but this time he didn’t need to. Because for once, he was right and she was wrong. ‘No,’ he interrupted, ‘not me, you … how, exactly, have I insulted you? You’re the only person I know who could get angry when someone tells you that you’re beautiful. And you are; you really are extraordinarily beautiful, and clever, and worried about the presentation today, and really angry with me for some reason. But I still love you.’ Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. Ron savoured the moment, savoured the silence. ‘Just tie your hair back, like you did for the funerals in the summer,’ he advised. ‘I thought you looked good with your hair like that, and you do want to look good for your boyfriend, don’t you?’ Hermione still didn’t speak. Ron watched the fury fade from her face. It was replaced by annoyance, confusion and wonder. ‘You’re nervous, this presentation is a big occasion for us and you’re treating it like it’s an exam. I recognise the signs. I’ve seen your exam nerves often enough, Hermione. You need to relax.’ ‘What did you just say, Ron,’ Hermione asked in a small voice. He knew exactly what she was asking, but chose to misunderstand. ‘I like your hair, don’t get it cut,’ he began. ‘Don’t worry about the medal presentation and I think that you’re beautiful and very clever. Was there something else?’ Her face fell. ‘Oh,’ he pretended to remember, ‘I told you something else, but you didn’t seem to hear it. I told you that I love you.’ He tried to keep the words flat and factual. She knew then that he’d been teasing her; she was standing on the fulcrum, balanced between running into his arms and shouting at him. Harry’s words at breakfast came back to him. The conflict Hermione was now facing pretty much summed up their relationship, too. He grinned, Hermione noticed. The balance was tipping towards an angry lecture. ‘You…you…’ she began, searching for an insult. ‘Me,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘I’m the arrogant, ignorant, lanky, stupid, insensitive arse who loves you.’ ‘You forgot cretinous,’ she scolded. Then, suddenly, she was in his arms. They had kissed before and hugged and fondled, and last night, bitten, too. But this was somehow different. Ron was startled by the joy he felt. He was more than a head taller than she was. She was on tiptoe, and swaying slightly. She had slipped her arms around his waist. He placed one arm around her back, his hand on her shoulder, pulling her close. The other he slipped down to her left buttock, lifting her, steadying her and supporting her tiptoed stance. Her lips fervently sought his. The moment he parted his lips, her tongue forced its way into his mouth. She sniffed; she was crying. That realisation brought tears to his eyes, too. They stayed locked together, for as long as they could, Ron began to feel dizzy but he was determined that he would not be the one to finish the kiss. Eventually Hermione released him. He bent, lowering her heels to the ground, gently kissed the tip of her nose before straightening his back. He then stepped back, grinned and handed Hermione his handkerchief. ‘It’s clean,’ he said. ‘There’s no need to look so smug,’ she told him. ‘Oh, I think that there is.’ ‘You’re insufferable sometimes, Ron.’ ‘Only sometimes?’ he asked. She slapped his arm. ‘Most of the time.’ ‘But you still love me.’ ‘Says who?’ she replied teasingly. His face fell. He’d said the words several times now, but still, she never had. Suddenly devastated and feeling sick to his stomach he turned on his heels. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he mumbled. ‘No, Ron! Merlin, I’m sorry,’ she shrieked. ‘Don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t think.’ He stopped in her doorway and turned back to look at her. Her face was ashen and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. ‘Sorry, that was spiteful of me. Please, don’t go. I … I love you, too, Ron.’ He looked at her with a mix of anger and sadness. ‘The next time I call you an insensitive prat, remind me about today,’ she suggested. He grinned, ‘At least I’m not the only idiot in this room. We put each other through it, don’t we?’ Hermione nodded and opened her arms to him. He stepped forwards to kiss her. ‘Hermione, Ron,’ Mrs Granger shouted from downstairs. ‘I’ve made lunch. We need to get ready to leave soon.’ |
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