"What are you doing?" Pansy asks, sounding mildly alarmed.
"I…I have to go," Hermione says.
"Why?"
Hermione manages to look up from her bag to find Pansy's eyes trained on her, wide with concern.
"Why?" Hermione echoes. "I…you heard what I just said, didn't you?" she asks a bit wildly.
"I did," Pansy says "But Hermione—"
"Right. Right, of course you did, I just…" Hermione holds completely still for a moment as she thinks through all the repercussions of Pansy finding out this secret. Her heart beats faster and she feels like she might pass out as she thinks of all the horrible things that could happen, but she manages to grip the chair in front of her and force herself to look Pansy in the eyes. "You'll never have to work with me again," she says. "And if you want to switch patrols partners, I'll go to McGonagall for you. I promise I will, but just…" Hermione bites her lower lip, then says, "please don't tell anybody. Please. I know it doesn't make sense and I know it's…" she casts her mind back, trying to remember all the ways Ron had described it. "I know it's wrong," she finally says, lowering her eyes to the table with shame. But before she can continue to plead for Pansy's silence, Pansy interrupts her.
"Hermione. I…I don't think it's wrong."
Hermione looks up swiftly to find Pansy's eyes on her. There's no disgust or anger lurking in their green depths, and she stares at her stupidly for a moment. After what feels like a lifetime of holding her gaze, Hermione very uncertainly asks, "you don't?"
Pansy slowly shakes her head. "No," she says hesitantly. "I don't. Not at all, actually."
"But…" Hermione trails off and stares at her once more, trying to make heads or tails of Pansy's reaction. More than anything, she seems concerned. Her eyes are deeply troubled, as if she can't bear to see Hermione in pain, and her brow is creased in distress. "I don't understand," Hermione finally says. "I mean, it doesn't…I don't…did you hear what I said?" she finally asks a bit desperately.
"I did," Pansy says. She frowns for a moment and looks as if she's pondering whether or not she should say anything more. After a moment, she sighs quietly and seems to come to a conclusion. She looks back to Hermione and says, "but to be honest, I'm not sure if youheard what I've been saying."
"What?" Hermione asks, completely confused.
"Last Tuesday, when I told you what my…my grandmother used to say," Pansy says, faltering over the word grandmother for just a moment. "Do you remember?"
Hermione frowns, but before she can reply, Pansy continues. "No one can help the blood they're born with, just as you and I can't help that we were born with green eyes," she says, smiling a bit at the old, familiar words.
"I…" Hermione shakes her head and folds her arms over her chest, uncomfortably. "I remember. But I don't—"
"I can't help my green eyes. Neither of us can help our blood status," Pansy says. Then, she leans forward in her chair and says, "and no one on this bloody planet can help who they fall in love with. And I told you on Tuesday that I've come to the conclusion she was right all along. That we're all people, in the end. It would be ridiculous of me to go back to cherry-picking what is and isn't acceptable behavior."
"Yes, but…" Hermione slowly sits back down in her seat, and after a moment, she rubs a hand over her tired eyes and shakes her head. "This is different."
"Oh?" Pansy asks, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"
"It just is."
"Hm. Well, you'll have to forgive me if I don't accept that," Pansy replies.
"It's not for you to accept or not, it just is," Hermione says, frustration sneaking into her tone.
"Then prove it."
Hermione stares at Pansy for a moment, but Pansy simply folds her arms over her chest and waits for Hermione to speak.
"Prove it?" Hermione repeats.
Pansy nods. "Prove to me it's different. Tell me why having feelings for someone is somehow more unacceptable than any of the other things you can't change about yourself. If you can prove it, then fine. You'll win and I'll go back to hating you. I'll say cruel and horrid things and I'll use this against you for the rest of your life. But if you can't prove it, which I suspect you can't, then I'm afraid things will have to stay just as they are. So…go on, then," Pansy says, gesturing to Hermione. "Prove it."
"I…I…"
"Here, I'll even help you out," Pansy says. "Did you choose to have feelings for your parchment pal?"
"No," Hermione says slowly. "I…I didn't, it just sort of…happened."
Pansy hums, then says, "and are you hurting anyone by having feelings for her?"
Hermione furrows her brow, but after a moment, she tentatively shakes her head, and Pansy nods. "So if you didn't choose to have these feelings and you're not hurting anyone by having them, then I'm afraid I still fail to see how this is any different from anything else. You didn't choose your blood status and it doesn't hurt anyone. Would it be right for me to go back to judging you based on that?"
"No," Hermione says uncertainly. Because logically, she knows what Pansy's saying is true, but she can't shake the feeling that this is somehow different.
"No," Pansy repeats firmly.
"But this…" Hermione runs a hand through her hair again and shakes her head. "I understand what you're saying, and I appreciate it. Really, I do. But this isn't something people just understand."
"You might be surprised," Pansy says, almost gently. But Hermione just shakes her head and taps an anxious finger against the table.
"Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."
"What do you mean?"
"I…I already sort of told someone. And they…" Hermione winces and rubs her face. "They didn't react well."
Pansy raises her eyebrows at the quiet confession. "You told someone that you have feelings for your parchment pal?" she asks, seeming genuinely taken aback.
"No, not exactly," Hermione says. She doesn't really want to revisit the entire saga, so she says, "but the general topic did come up, and Ron…he…he…"
"He didn't take it well?" Pansy asks, her voice quiet and her eyes searching.
Hermione shakes her head and swallows heavily around a lump in her throat. "No. He said he thought something was wrong with people like…" she hesitates, curiously unable to say people like me. Instead, she says, "with people like that. He said it made him sick to even think about it," she adds, feeling the shame sit heavily on her shoulders once more, perching upon her like a vulture.
Pansy's quiet for a moment, so Hermione sneaks a small glance at her. Her eyes are far away and there's a small frown between her brows, but after a moment, she sighs and says, "as much as this kills me to admit, I'm afraid I understand his point of view a bit better than I'd like to."
"You do?" Hermione asks with surprise, suddenly feeling anxious again. Has Pansy changed her mind and decided that there is something wrong with her? She bounces her leg anxiously under the table as she waits to hear what Pansy has to say.
"I mean, my reputation will never recover if you ever tell anyone I'm agreeing with Weasley, but…yes," Pansy says. "I do understand. Because I was him, up until a few weeks ago. I mean, I spent years believing in pure-blood supremacy, but it's only because I didn't know any better. It was what I was taught. And the way Weasley reacted, well…that's just what he's been taught, too. People are quick to judge what they don't understand. But as much as I think Weasley is nothing more than a particularly dense mountain troll parading about in a ginger wig, I do think he's capable of changing his mind. I mean, if I can do it, anyone can," Pansy adds wryly.
"I suppose that's true," Hermione says slowly. "I just…what if he can't? What if he never changes his mind? What if he…he hates me?" she asks, her voice breaking a bit.
"I don't think he could ever hate you," Pansy says quietly. She frowns a bit as if she's pondering something, then she exhales sharply and looks up at Hermione. "And if you really want to know the truth, I didn't always feel this way about…well, matters like this," she says. "I'm afraid it's not just my grandmother's words of wisdom that are influencing my views. I might not even feel this way at all if it wasn't for someone quite close to me who shares your…your particular dilemma," Pansy says carefully.
Hermione doesn't say anything, but she tilts her head in interest, silently telling Pansy to continue.
"When I first became aware of it, I wasn't exactly as open minded as I'm being with you right now. To be honest, I was horrible. I actually agreed with Weasley," she adds, then she shakes her head and darkly mutters, "Merlin, agreeing with Weasley twice in one conversation. I hardly recognize myself."
"Pansy…" Hermione murmurs, trying to get her back on track. She desperately wants to hear where this is going to go.
"Right, sorry," Pansy says quickly. "That's a problem for later, I suppose. Can always Obliviate it from my memory on my own time. Anyway, what's important is I did agree with him. I thought that anyone who could have those kind of preferences must be wrong or…or broken," she says, looking deeply uncomfortable as she thinks back on her past views. "I thought it was something that should be hidden. And if I'm being honest, it took far longer than I'm willing to admit for me to realize how wrong I was. And I put this person that I cared about through so much unnecessary pain in the process," she adds quietly. "But what matters is that I did eventually realize that I was wrong. I realized that it doesn't matter, and that the heart will do whatever it wants to do, bugger what anyone else thinks. And Weasley will realize that, too," she says, looking earnestly at Hermione. "He just needs a little time."
Hermione nods slowly. "I hope you're right," she says. She's not exactly convinced, but she's strangely reassured that Pansy's managed to go through this exact thing with someone in her life and has come out of it with a healthy, positive outlook. Because Pansy was right—if she's capable of change, surely Ron and Harry will be, too. And now that she knows Pansy has firsthand experience, she finds herself wanting to ask a question that's been weighing on her mind.
"May I ask you something?"
"Anything," Pansy says quickly.
"This person you're referring to…" Hermione says, twisting her hands together anxiously. "After all was said and done…are they…are they happy?" she asks, finding herself preposterously nervous to hear the answer.
Pansy gives Hermione a soft smile. "They are," she says. "Really, they are. I mean, I know it's taken them ages to get there, but I also know they wouldn't change anything that's happened. Not for the world."
"And…is there someone in their life? I mean, are they actually with someone?" Hermione asks, biting her lip anxiously.
Pansy hesitates, then shakes her head slowly. "No, they're not with someone. At least, not right now. I think there is someone in their life, though, and I think they're optimistic that things will work out," she says tentatively, sweeping a finger over the table as she speaks.
"Oh," Hermione says, feeling curiously relieved that there's someone else out there like her. Someone who's gone through the same experience and is now happily living on the other side of it with some sort of romantic prospect in their future. "That's…that's good to hear. And I hope it does. Work out, I mean," she adds.
"As do I," Pansy murmurs.
Hermione leans back in her chair, feeling a bit dazed by everything that's just happened. After a moment, she laughs just a bit, then glances up to find Pansy's curious eyes on her. "Sorry," she says, "it's just…two days ago, I swore to myself I'd never tell another living soul about this. I swore I'd take it to my grave. Two days!" She shakes her head in completely bewilderment.
"Merlin. Remind me not to come to you with any of my deepest, darkest secrets," Pansy says with a smile flickering on her dark lips.
Hermione tentatively returns the smile, then says, "thank you. For…for listening and telling me about your friend. It's more helpful than you know. This is all so new to me and to be honest, I'm…I'm still terrified by it. But your reaction was," Hermione shakes her head in wonder, "I didn't expect it. And it was more than I ever could have asked for. So thank you. Thank you for not making me feel like there's something wrong with me."
Pansy nods. "Of course." She bites her lower lip then says, "I know firsthand that you're quite good at ignoring small-minded people and intolerance, so I'm sure this goes without saying, but just…bugger what anyone else thinks. People will always have opinions, but at the end of the day, it's your life. Not Weasley's, not Potter's, not your parents. Yours. And you deserve to be happy. Even if it's hard, you deserve it."
"Worthwhile things rarely come easily," Hermione murmurs, quoting Pansy.
Pansy nods. "And for what it's worth, I won't tell anyone about this. Because while you might be surprisingly shit at keeping secrets, I'm actually quite good at it."
"Oh?"
"Mm. Nothing gets past me. I'm more secure than Gringotts."
"The dragons would be sad if they heard you say that," Hermione says with a smile. "I'd assume they take their duties quite seriously."
"Merlin, you're never going to forget that, are you?"
"That there's a literal dragon guarding your money? No, that's the kind of thing one doesn't easily forget."
"Well, what guards a Muggle bank?" Pansy asks, sounding defensive.
"Nothing, really. A vault tends to be good enough."
"But what happens if someone breaks into the vault? What then?"
"I suppose the bank would ring the police," Hermione replies.
"The bank would…ring?" Pansy asks uncertainly, and Hermione rolls her eyes.
"Pure-bloods," she says as loftily as she can manage, and adds a long-suffering sigh and an eye roll for good measure. But her facade breaks easily when Pansy snorts in surprise, and she grins. "Yes. You ring someone on the telephone. It's a Muggle method of communication. Like owling, but far faster."
"Huh. I'm afraid I've never heard of it," Pansy says. Then she shakes her head and says, "but rings and vaults aside, you'd feel safer if there was a dragon guarding your money, wouldn't you?"
"I'd feel ridiculous if there was a dragon guarding my money."
"Oh, fine, be like that. But when someone steals all your money, don't come crying to me, asking to borrow my dragon."
Hermione snorts. "Why on earth would I ask to borrow your dragon if someone's already made off with all my money? What would I need it for? Commiseration?"
Pansy opens her mouth, then appears to consider the question. After a moment, she rolls her eyes. "Don't you ever get tired of being the brightest witch of our age?" she mutters.
"Not when everyone else makes it so easy for me," Hermione replies, trying to sound as pretentious as she can.
"Ooh, cheeky," Pansy says with an appreciative grin. She opens her book, then looks back toward Hermione and says, "and for what it's worth, I was lying."
"About what?" Hermione asks with a frown.
"The dragon," Pansy says. "I'd let you borrow it in a heartbeat. Even if just for commiseration," she adds. "I'd probably let you borrow anything, if I'm being honest."
"That's…that's very kind of you," Hermione says, surprised.
"Well, you are trying to save my life, so…seems only fair you should get some perks out of it."
Pansy spares one more smile for Hermione before opening her book and beginning to read.
Hermione absently toys with the cover of her own book, but she doesn't pick it up. Instead, she takes a moment to survey Pansy.
She can't believe what's just transpired between them. More than anything, she had been certain that Pansy would react poorly to the surprising news that Hermione had feelings for her female parchment pal. But in some strange twist of fate, Pansy had once again been the person to reassure Hermione. She had been kind and considerate and everything Hermione could have asked for. And now that she has Pansy's words buoying her, she feels cautiously optimistic that she can make Ron and Harry understand this. Maybe not anytime soon, but one day. And that alone is enough to make Hermione feel more cheerful than she has in ages.
Gazing at her now from across the table, Hermione feels a glow of warmth in her heart for Pansy. Pansy, who's doing all that she can to fight against the things she was taught. Pansy, who, despite everything, has managed to surprise Hermione at every turn. Pansy, who's made her feel safe and accepted and seen.
It's absolutely bizarre to think back on what her feelings had been toward Pansy not even a few weeks ago. But now, as she studies her in the gentle, soft lighting of the library, she realizes that they could one day maybe be…friends.
The moment the thought pops into her head, Hermione realizes how true it is. They could be friends. And what's more, she'd like them to be friends. Because she likesPansy. She's spent more than enough one-on-one time with her over the past few weeks to find that she actually enjoys the other girl's presence. She likes her dry tone and her quick humor. She likes the way Pansy will sometimes see her from far away and give her a shy, small wave. She likes her genuine interest and the way she gives Hermione her undivided attention when she's speaking. She likes her steady, warm green eyes. She likes the way her smile is slow like honey, but how it eventually spreads and lights up her entire face. She even likes the way that smile makes her feel, as if she's being warmed from the inside out. She likes all of these things, because as unexpected as it is, she likes Pansy.
"Everything alright?" Pansy asks, glancing up at Hermione with a question in her eyes.
Hermione startles a bit and flushes, embarrassed by how long she's been staring at Pansy. She manages a nod. "Yes. Everything's fine."
And for the first time in ages, she actually believes it. She believes that she's going to be okay, she believes that one day, she'll make Ron see sense, and she believes that somehow, against all odds, she and Pansy Parkinson might actually be friends.
Pansy nods at her reply and gives her a small smile.
Hermione knows she should pick up her quill and get to work. She knows they've already wasted enough time, and she has a stack of books practically as tall as she is to get through. She knows they're trying to trap a murderer and there's really no time to waste.
She knows all of this.
But for some reason, she ignores both logic and responsibility for just a bit longer and instead, lets her gaze linger on Pansy as she returns the smile with one of her own.
It's a perfect, precious moment, full of delicate peace and unspoken trust, and when Pansy finally drops her gaze and turns back to her book, Hermione wonders why she feels disappointed at the loss.
***
It's late when Hermione finally returns to the Gryffindor common room. She's exhausted after both unloading her secret to Pansy, and after spending hours chasing dozens of dead ends in the library.
It's been harder than she anticipated to find anything of use in the piles and piles of books they've accumulated, and while she wouldn't say the library is failing her, per se, she would say she's beginning to get frustrated.
(Pansy would absolutely say that the library was failing her, with annoying amusement lurking in her eyes.)
She feels like they're getting closer to a real solution, but every time Hermione comes up with an idea she thinks might work, Pansy is quick to tell her a reason it won't. Yet while the reasons seem to make Pansy more pessimistic about the whole ordeal, they've lit a fire under Hermione. Because the more she learns about this treacherous, evil man, the more driven she is to find his downfall. Unfortunately, though, the best idea she has as of now is pulling a Rita Skeeter and becoming an illegal Animagus, solely to spy on Pansy's father.
Pansy had rolled her eyes at that and shut it down quickly, saying it was dangerous and foolhardy, but Hermione's keeping it in her back pocket, just in case.
They had parted ways at the library doors. Pansy had offered to walk Hermione back to the Gryffindor common room as she had done every night, but Hermione had reluctantly declined, telling her it would double her risk of getting caught out of bed after hours. At first, it had been an easy thing to say, but the more time Hermione's spending with Pansy, the more she finds herself curiously wanting to agree to Pansy's suggestion and spend the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower chatting with Pansy about anything and everything.
Perhaps she wants to be friends with Pansy a bit more than she's letting on, even to herself.
And now that she's back in the common room, all she wants to do is take off her robes, fall into bed, and let her mind rest. She climbs through the portrait, pausing briefly when she hears the Fat Lady humph "you know, nothing good happens in the middle of the night," from behind her. Hermione winces and whispers sorry over her shoulder, hoping to soothe the Fat Lady's frayed nerves. Instead, she hears a muttered, "tell that to the bags under my eyes."
Before Hermione can say anything else, the portrait swings shut behind her with a loud thump that seems to reverberate around the silent common room and makes Hermione jump with surprise.
But the thump didn't just startle Hermione. At the noise, someone who had been fast asleep on the couch groans, then sits up and sleepily searches for the source of the noise.
"Ron?" Hermione whispers, recognizing his silhouette against the crackling fire.
"Hermione?" Ron replies, his voice thick with sleep. "Was that you?" he asks, rubbing his hands over his face. He lowers his hands to squint at her and says, "are you just getting back?"
Hermione nods as she crosses the common room toward the couch. "Yes. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she says, gingerly perching on the arm of a chair facing Ron.
"It's alright, I didn't mean to fall asleep here. Blimey, what time is it?" he asks, stretching his arms over his head and groaning slightly.
"Ten past twelve," Hermione replies, flushing slightly as Ron freezes mid-stretch at her reply.
"Ten past twelve?" he echoes, sitting up fully and staring at her. "Twelve as in midnight?"
"I—yes?"
"Have you been in the library this whole time?" Ron asks, sounding stunned.
"I have," Hermione says, then quickly adds, "but I didn't mean to stay so late. Time just…got away from me," she finishes awkwardly.
Ron stares at Hermione for a moment, not bothering to hide his shock. "That's…that's…" he runs his hands through his already messy hair, making it stand up at absurd angles. "Hermione, you can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?" Hermione asks, looking at Ron's hair and fighting against the motherly urge to reach out and smooth it back down into place.
"Studying!" Ron says, sounding exasperated.
At that, Hermione tears her eyes away from Ron's hair and gives a small laugh. "I can't keep studying?" she asks, keeping her tone purposefully light. She doesn't want this to become an argument so late at night, especially because she knows that Ron's heart is in the right place. So instead of pushing back and telling Ron she can do whatever she wants for however long she chooses, she opts for gentle humor instead. "Sorry, but have you met me? Studying is kind of my thing."
"I know, but just…you need to sleep, too. And unless you're trying to become the next Minister for Magic overnight, I don't think there's anything you need to be studying for to this extent," Ron says. Then he raises a wry eyebrow and adds, "I mean, are you trying to become the next Minister for Magic overnight? Suppose I shouldn't put anything past you."
Hermione shakes her head. "No, I just…I got wrapped up in something tonight," she says, crossing her legs absently and bouncing a foot in the air. "But if it's any consolation, I'm going to sleep straight away, so you can stop playing the role of mother hen. Even if your hair does look like a bit like a hen's comb right now," she adds, glancing at the top of his head with amusement.
Ron reaches up to his hair self-consciously and smoothes it down. "Better?" he asks, looking to Hermione for approval.
"Much," Hermione replies. "And now that you're presentable, maybe the rest of the boys will let you back into your room. I assume that was the reason they made you sleep on the couch?"
"Oh, yeah, because we're definitely known for our presentability," Ron says with a snort. He stretches again and says, "I didn't mean to. I just closed my eyes for a second. Bloody fireplace always puts me to sleep," he adds as he rolls his neck a few times. "I've told Harry to wake me up, but he always says he feels too guilty to do it. Says it'd be like waking up a baby," Ron says, pitching his voice up just a bit to imitate Harry. He winces, then twists a few times to crack his back. "Merlin, remind me to never fall asleep on this bloody thing again."
Hermione smiles at him fondly, then stands from the arm of the chair. "I think we're both long overdue for a real bed," she says. But before she can wish Ron good night, he looks up at her quickly.
"Wait! Don't go," he says. "I mean, not just yet."
"Weren't you the one who just told me I need to sleep?" Hermione asks, quirking an amused brow. "Going against your own orders, now?"
"No, I…you do need to sleep," Ron says, "but I…" he trails off and rubs the back of his neck. "I've been trying to get you alone for ages now, you know."
Hermione slowly lowers herself back down on the arm of the chair. She has an uncomfortable suspicion as to why Ron's been wanting to get her alone. It's the same reason that she's been wanting to get him alone for a while now, too—she knows she needs to do the right thing and let him down. And though this is the first time they've been alone in ages, she had reasoned it was too late and they were both too tired to go through a breakup tonight. But with Ron's eager eyes trained on her, something tells her she won't be falling into bed anytime soon. Not if she's going to have to be brave and shut down whatever feelings are currently brewing in Ron's heart.
"Well, I'm here now," she says, clasping her hands together tightly so she doesn't start nervously picking at her skirt. "And you have my undivided attention. What do you want to talk about?"
"Us," Ron says immediately.
Hermione's heart sinks at the confirmation, and Ron flushes a bit. He gives her a sheepish smile and says, "to tell you the truth, I've been thinking about the idea of an us for a while now. I mean, I haven't been thinking about it for years or anything. That would be mental." Ron looks up with alarm. "Not that thinking about you like this years ago would have been mental," he adds quickly. "I mean, any sensible bloke would have been thinking about this years ago. And not that I'm not sensible, I am! I am, I just…I…" He trails off and grimaces. "This conversation went a lot better in my head," he mutters. Then, he takes a deep breath and tries again. "I just meant that I've been thinking about the possibility of an us ever since Hogsmeade. And I was hoping that you've been thinking about it, too? And maybe thinking about what comes next?"
Hermione feels guilt and dread settle heavily in her stomach. "You mean you'd like to go on another date?" she asks tentatively, trying to buy herself some time.
"No," he says, but before Hermione can let the relief flood in, he immediately tilts his head back and studies the ceiling, looking annoyed at himself. "I mean, yes," he huffs. "Yes, I want us to go on another date. I want us to go on loads of dates, but that's not what I'm…" he exhales sharply, then looks at Hermione with renewed confidence and says, "how would you like it if we were official? Boyfriend and girlfriend official, I mean."
Hermione must involuntarily wince at the question, because Ron immediately backtracks. "If it's too fast, I understand. We can take this at whatever pace works for you, but I just…I dunno. I figured since we've already known each other for so long, we could probably skip the whole getting to know each other bit that other couples go through. I mean, I already know you," Ron adds with a grin. "And what's more, I already like you. I…I like you quite a lot," he finishes, blushing so red that he almost matches his hair.
Hermione's stomach twists in knots as she lowers her gaze to study the plush rug under the chair. "Ron, I…" she rubs her face uncomfortably, trying to figure out the best way to go about this.
She's never had to break up with someone before. Things were blissfully easy with Viktor—they had both known that whatever transpired between them would be temporary. When the time had come for him to board the ship back to Durmstrang, they had simply exchanged a long hug and promised to keep in touch, and Hermione had watched him go with no regrets or guilt over how their very brief relationship had ended.
To be honest, her biggest regret had simply been being in the relationship in the first place, which yes, was another blinding sign about her sexuality that she had conveniently ignored.
But even though her relationship with Viktor had lasted far longer than her ill-fated attempt with Ron, she feels a hundred times worse about what she's about to do. Because unlike Viktor, Ron isn't on the same page as her. He's not even in the same book. He's full of anticipation and jitters and all those lovely, shimmering feelings that accompany the delicate stirrings of new love. And while Hermione is also full of those things, they just happen to be for a very different person.
So even though the last thing she ever wants to do is hurt Ron, she knows she has to. She can't continue leading him on just because it would be easier. She can't let him start planning her role in their future together when she has no intention of ever acting it out. She can't play with his heart just because she's afraid of what her future may hold.
She has to give both Ron and herself a fair shot at real, genuine happiness.
And that means doing the right thing.
She looks up at Ron and murmurs, "I like you quite a lot, too. More than just about anybody, if I'm being honest." But when Ron grins broadly, Hermione quickly adds, "which is why I…I need to be honest with you."
Ron's grin falters and his eyes grow uncertain. "Honest about…?"
"About us. About…about…"
Hermione can't quite make herself say honest about mebecause she's still not ready to admit the full truth to Ron, so instead she says, "about my feelings for you. I dolove you, Ron. You're one of the best people I know and you deserve every happiness in the world, but…" she worries her lip for a moment, then murmurs, "but I can't be the one to give that to you."
Ron blinks at her a few times and Hermione shifts uncomfortably in the thick, unbearable silence that settles between them. After a few long moments, he finally says, "sorry, I don't…I…" he frowns at her and says, "what do you mean you can't be the one to give that to me?"
Hermione slowly lowers herself from the chair arm into the chair itself, settling in for a longer conversation. "I mean that my feelings for you aren't romantic," she says, forcing the words to come out as steady and as clear as possible. "I love you," she stresses again, "I do, but just…as a friend."
"I…but…" Ron shakes his head a bit and runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up again. "I don't understand. I thought you had a good time at Hogsmeade?" he asks, looking at Hermione with confusion.
"I did," she says. "I did, because I like spending time with you. But only as a friend," she says again, wincing a bit when she sees how stricken Ron looks.
He opens his mouth a few times, then eventually shuts it without saying anything and stares past Hermione into the fireplace, lost in thought. After a few moments, he turns back to her. "You let me hold your hand," he says, sounding lost. "You let me kiss your cheek, I…" he shakes his head and looks at Hermione a bit desperately, waiting for an answer to a question he hasn't actually asked.
"I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have done either of those things," Hermione says as shame trickles through her body. "I just…I was scared of disappointing you. I was scared of letting you down. I was scared of having this conversation," she says, folding her arms tightly across herself. "But I couldn't let you go on thinking that we were on the same page when we weren't. It wouldn't be fair to you. I'm sorry," she adds weakly. "I should have told you sooner."
"But why? I mean, was it something I did?" Ron asks, sitting forward and staring at Hermione with desperate, pleading eyes.
"No, it…"
"Was it because of what happened at the Three Broomsticks?"
Hermione falters a bit, wondering for a brief, wild moment how he could possibly know about her conversation with Pansy. Did he overhear her telling Pansy that she had feelings for someone else? Someone unexpected?
Cold fear drips into her veins, but before it can overwhelm her, Ron adds, "because I really didn't want to tend bar that long. I mean, I didn't want to tend bar at all! But if you felt like I was neglecting you, or, or—"
Hermione shakes her head quickly, relief immediately taking the place of panic. "No. No, not at all. You were wonderful. To me, to Madam Rosmerta…you were a gentleman and you were…you were everything a woman could ask for. Really, you were. It has nothing to do with you. Honestly, it's me. I just…I don't see you in that way. I'd like to," she adds. "You don't know how much I'd like to, but I just…I can't."
"How can you be sure?" Ron asks, looking optimistic at Hermione's words. He sits up straighter and says, "feelings develop differently between people all the time! My mum said she thought my dad was a complete tosser from first year to third. It wasn't until they were fourth years that she started to change her mind, and they didn't start dating until sixth! And now, look at them! They're the happiest couple I know!" He breaks off, frowns a bit, then says, "or at least, they're one of the happiest couples I know. Mum does threaten to leave every time dad brings home a new Muggle thing to tinker with. But that aside, they're perfect for each other. And I think we could be, too, if we gave it some time," he finishes, looking at Hermione with encouragement.
"No, I…that's not it," she says quietly. "I wish it were that simple, but I just…I don't have feelings for you. Not the kind you want me to have."
"But we're good together," Ron says, looking at her desperately. "We are! And I just think if you gave it a bit more time, you'd see that—"
"Ron," Hermione says, cutting him off before he can continue his impassioned defense. "I'm sorry. But more time won't change anything. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. And believe me, it's not what I wanted to have to tell you. I'm sorry. I really am but I promise you, this is for the best."
Ron shakes his head. "For you, maybe," he says.
"It's for the best for both of us," Hermione says, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.
"I don't think it is," Ron says. "I think you're not giving us a fair shot. But if you'd just—"
"Do you really want to be with someone who doesn't have those kind of feelings for you?"Hermione asks, interrupting him. "Honestly, you don't deserve that. You deserve to be with someone who wants to be with you. And I'm sorry, but that's not me," she says, stressing both words.
"But—"
"Let me tell you how this would play out. We'd go on a few more dates. You'd start to fall in love. I wouldn't. But I'd feel so bad about letting you down or wasting your time that I'd stay with you. We'd stay together after Hogwarts and when you'd eventually propose, I'd probably feel guilty enough to say yes, even though I'd know deep down that we were making a mistake. We'd end up stuck in some awful marriage and we'd never be happy. We'd snap at each other constantly and you'd be miserable and I'd wind up resenting you and eventually, we'd both end up hating each other. Is that what you want? Because if you keep pushing this, then that's what you'll get," Hermione finishes.
Her words are delivered sharply, but she's so frustrated that she doesn't particularly care. It's only when she notices how much Ron's face has fallen that guilt slithers into her stomach and coils there uncomfortably. She rubs her face as the irritation slowly fades away and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so…so harsh, but I just…" she sighs and murmurs, "you can't keep pushing this just because you're disappointed."
Ron doesn't reply. Instead, he keeps his gaze trained on the carpet below his feet, and Hermione watches as he taps a restless finger against the arm of the couch. After what feels like a small eternity, he drags his gaze back to Hermione and says, "and you really don't think things will ever change?"
Hermione glances toward her lap as her mind flicks back to the late night experiment she had run last week. Immediately, her head is filled with images of herself being intimate with a beautiful, nameless woman, and she shakes her head with a small flush. "No. I don't."
"And there's nothing I could do differently?"
"No," Hermione says softly. "There isn't. I'm sorry," she adds, dropping Ron's gaze and directing her words to the floor.
She hears Ron's sigh, soft and dejected. "I…I'm sorry, too," he says, and Hermione winces at the gloom in his tone. "I really thought that we'd…"
She risks a glance at him to find him staring into the fire again, his eyes faraway. "I know," she murmurs.
When Ron continues to stare into the fireplace, Hermione whispers his name, and his dejected blue eyes flicker back to her. "Sorry," he says. "I just…" he tousles his hair and tilts his head back against the couch cushion. "This isn't how I saw this night going."
Hermione picks at a sparse patch of velvet on the arm of her chair, trying to tell herself that as awful as she feels right now, she's done the right thing. But even with constant reassurances running through her head, she can't help the doubt that creeps in, so hesitantly, she says, "are you…are you mad at me?"
"No. Of course not. I…I'm…" Ron's mouth scrunches as he tries to think of the right word. "I'm disappointed," he finally says. "I won't lie, I thought that you and I…" he smiles ruefully and shrugs. "I thought we'd be something. Because I really do like you. But you're right. It's not fair of me to push for a relationship if you don't feel the same way, and you can't help how you feel. So…thank you, I suppose."
"For what?"
"For being honest. For not saddling us both with a miserable future. I'm disappointed and my pride might have taken a beating, but I reckon I'd prefer that to one day hating you. I don't ever want to hate you," he adds, his eyes soft and serious.
Hermione manages to nod with a lump in her throat, but before she can say anything else, Ron adds, "you know, if you had done this a few days ago, I would've assumed you were chucking me aside for your parchment pal."
"Oh?" Hermione asks, trying to both sound and act casual. Her entire body had stiffened at the remark, though, and for the life of her, she can't figure out what a normal reply would be. She can't even figure out what she should be doing with her face.
She settles on raising her eyebrows and trying to look amused, but the smile on her face feels curiously close to a grimace.
"Suppose that's a bit of good news for my wounded pride, though," Ron says, seeming to not notice Hermione's struggle at all. "At the very least, you're not choosing a scrap of paper over me."
Hermione manages a weak laugh in reply, but part of it must sound strained, because Ron glances at her curiously. In that moment, she decides humor is the best route, so she shrugs as unaffectedly as she can manage and says, "I mean, would it be a surprise if I were? I practically live in the library. I choose scraps of paper over you and Harry all the time."
Ron grins and leans back against the couch, not realizing for a moment that she hadn't denied his suggestion. "Well, can't argue with that. The amount of time you spend in that bloody library," he says, shaking his head with wonder. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you announced your engagement by the end of this year."
"I'm afraid I have no interest in being the third party in any relationship," Hermione says seriously. When Ron looks confused at her remark, she adds, "after all, the library is already in a very committed relationship with Madam Pince."
"Blimey, how could I forget? Well, there goes your entire future."
"It's fine. I have Crookshanks."
"Oi! Didn't you just finish saying that you're not interested in gingers with odd faces?"
Hermione gasps in mock-offense. "Crookshanks' face is not odd! He's gorgeous."
"Right. And Snape's half-veela."
"Now that you mention it, he does carry himself with a certain grace…"
"Nah. That's just the hemorrhoids."
Hermione laughs out loud and Ron grins broadly. Once she's collected herself, she smiles at him fondly, feeling a powerful sense of relief that she's not in any danger of losing one of her best friends tonight. She opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, a massive yawn escapes Ron. He stretches his arms up over his head and says, "blimey. What time is it now, half past four?"
Hermione checks her watch. "Half past twelve."
"Half past twelve," Ron groans, closing his eyes tightly. "I have to be up at six for Quidditch."
Another reason that sport is ridiculous, Hermione thinks to herself. But for Ron's sake, she winces sympathetically and says, "then you need to go to bed. Right now."
"But we're having a conver…a conver…"
Another yawn escapes Ron and he rubs his eyes. "A conversation," he finally finishes.
"You really want to keep discussing Snape's hemorrhoids at twelve-thirty?"
"Oh, always," Ron says with a wicked grin. "They're my favorite topic, you know."
"Then I'll be sure to bring them up first thing tomorrow at breakfast. But for now, you need to go to sleep."
Ron grimaces. "Don't ever mention hemorrhoids and breakfast in the same sentence again," he says, standing from the couch and stretching a bit.
"I won't, so long as you go to bed."
"I'm going, I'm going," Ron grumbles good-naturedly. He eyes Hermione closely and says, "and you should be going, too. No more studying tonight, right?"
"No more. You have my word."
Ron nods, satisfied. "Right then. G'night, Hermione," he says with a smile. "Sleep well."
"Sweet dreams," Hermione replies.
Ron turns and starts toward the boy's dormitory, but before he can climb the stairs, Hermione says, "Ron?"
He turns back and looks at her, raising an eyebrow.
"I…thank you. For understanding, and for being…for being…" she shakes her head. "For being you."
Ron smiles and nods. "'Course," he says quietly.
"I love you, you know."
"Yeah. I love you too."
With that, he gives her a small wave and starts up the stairs. Hermione watches until he's out of sight, then she allows herself to exhale slowly and slump back against the chair, relieved that she doesn't have that awful confrontation hanging over her head anymore.
Honestly, she hadn't expected it to go as well as it did. She had thought they'd end up in some ridiculous argument, or Ron would decide he needed time away from her to lick his wounds. But from what she can tell, he's actually taken it as well as she could have hoped. It's a weight off of her shoulders, and frankly, after the realizations she's had recently, she needs this small victory.
She stretches in the chair, wincing at the tension in her lower back from too many late nights spent pouring over books. All she wants to do is climb into bed and let the day melt away, but instead, she reaches for her bag and digs inside for her parchment. She feels a little guilty as she does—she did tell Ron she'd go to bed, but the only thing she had actually promised was no more studying. And this certainly wasn't studying.
Once the parchment is in her hands, she grins to herself, delighted that there's an answer to her long message waiting for her. Her novel, Hermione thinks, correcting herself as her mind turns to Pansy ever so briefly. But remarkably, her parchment pal has managed to fill up both sides of the parchment, so she'd say they're even.
She lets the anticipation build as she traces the letters in Dear Robin. There's nothing she likes better than finishing her day with a message from her parchment pal. Though truth be told, she's surprised it's taken her this long to check. Normally, she checks consistently throughout the day, regardless of whether or not she's able to reply. But for some reason, she hadn't thought to sneak a peek at her parchment while she was in the library with Pansy. She had simply forgotten about it for a few hours.
Hermione frowns at the realization. It's odd—she's never forgotten to check her parchment when she's spending time with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Even though she loves them all, there's always a part of her keeping a watchful eye on the paper, waiting for her bard to write to her. Yet tonight, it hadn't even crossed her mind.
After a brief hesitation, Hermione shakes her head and shrugs a bit at herself, chalking it up to her propensity to lose all track of time in the library. And it certainly didn't help that Pansy was surprisingly good company.
With that mystery solved, Hermione curls up in the chair, puts all other thoughts of the day from her mind, and starts to read the message. A soft, familiar smile flutters to her face as her bard's voice washes over her, and the warmth from the crackling fireplace suddenly seems inadequate compared to the warm glow that's emanating from her heart. By the time she gets to the last bit of the already incredibly long message (honestly, Hermione's a bit worried by how long her bard must have spent on this), she's once again smiling like a fool.
I can scarcely believe there's less than a month left in this little experiment. I overheard someone in my common room the other day asking a friend what she was going to write in her reflective essay for McGonagall and it got me thinking…what will I write about, when all is said and done? I decided to brainstorm a bit, and I was hoping you'd proofread what I have so far.
Here it is, for your discerning eye:
Professor McGonagall,
You asked us to write about what we've learned from this experiment and how it pertains to our journeys at Hogwarts. But I'm beginning to realize you've assigned an impossible task. Because how can I put into words what the person on the other end of my parchment means to me? How can one write about the breathless anticipation that comes along with waiting for her letters? The overwhelming need to hear from her, night and day? The way my heart feels when I see "Yours, Robin" written at the end of each message? The finest poet could spend a lifetime trying to put those rare and exquisite feelings into words, and still, they'd never do them justice.
But I suppose a good place to start would be with fate. Do you believe in fate, Professor McGonagall? Because I didn't. I always thought it was some silly thing that people blamed for all the wonderful, tragic, life-changing, messy happenstances we suffer through in the course of a lifetime. But now I know how foolish I was. Because if fate doesn't exist, then how do I explain Robin? How can I possibly accept that of all the people in this school, I was somehow matched by chance with the one person who would take the time to understand my heart? The one person who would so perfectly fill the spaces within me that I never even knew existed? The one person who would teach me about grace, about empathy, about strength?
The one person who never could have known how close I was to drowning before she came along and extended her hand to me. The one person who has saved me more than she could possibly know.
Before Robin, I thought my future was set in stone. I knew what the road ahead looked like, and I knew that I'd have to walk it with as much courage as I could muster. But her presence in my life, her steady, unwavering support and compassion have led me to a new path. And I won't lie—it's a path that still frightens me. But somehow, even with all its shadowy uncertainties, I know it's the right path. Because for the first time in my life, I see a future where I can just be…me. The person I've always wanted to be. For the first time, I'm actually looking forward to my future.
(That's mostly because I'm desperately hoping that Robin will want to be a part of it, but let's keep that little tidbit between you and me, Professor.)
But I suppose more than anything, I should be taking this essay as an opportunity to thank you. Because without this experiment, I'd have wandered the rest of my days, unfulfilled and lost, content to live half a life. But thanks to you, I know now what it feels like to be whole.
And that's because of Robin.
With my sincerest gratitude,
…
Well, I can't sign my real name to it, can I? But there—the product of my brainstorming. What do you think Robin? Will McGonagall like it?
I certainly hope you did.
Twenty-seven days to go.
Yours,
Bard ♥
Hermione re-reads the imagined essay to McGonagall over and over, feeling fairly sure that her heart is about to launch itself from her chest. It's by far the most forward her parchment pal has ever been, but she doesn't mind one bit. On the contrary—she likes it. She likes these messages that leave her cheeks warm, her body buzzing, and her soul yearning for something she can't quite put her finger on. She likes both the light and easy flirtation and the earnest declarations of something more, something deep and full of promise. She likes letting herself bask in the beautiful, intoxicating feeling of new love bubbling through her system. She likes all of it, and it makes her ache for more.
On her fourth re-read, she zeroes in on the line I know now what it feels like to be whole. She puts down the parchment with a slightly shaky hand, letting the line sink into her and fill her chest with an all-encompassing warmth.
Hermione has read more than her fair share over the years, but somehow, in all her late nights spent with her nose in a book, she's never resonated with any line more than she does with those ten, simple words. And while she's still deeply afraid of everything the future holds, she knows that if there's even the slightest chance her bard can be a part of it, then she wants it. She wants to spend the rest of her life feeling whole.
She leans forward and reaches for a quill, then smooths the parchment upon the table in front of her and starts to write, deciding to be as honest as she can manage without fully admitting her recent realizations to her parchment pal.
Dear bard,
I'm afraid I'm only a few moments away from collapsing from exhaustion, but I couldn't let myself sleep without telling you two things:
One—your essay was beautiful. I don't know how you manage to take everything I'm feeling inside and put it so plainly on paper. Perhaps it's a type of magic I've yet to learn, but it's one you seem to have mastered. I'm deeply jealous…I wish I could somehow spill my heart on this page and let you know the depths of my feelings, but perhaps the second thing I have to tell you will help…
Two—I want to be a part of your future. In any way, shape, and form, for as long as you'll have me. If I'm being completely honest with you, there are so many things changing in my life right now, but the one thing that hasn't changed, that will never change, is how much I desperately want you in my life. Now and forevermore.
But until then, I do have to sleep. My eyes are shutting against my will, and if I spend anymore time in front of this fireplace, I think I'll somehow manage to become one with the chair. But we couldn't let that happen, could we? Not when I've just promised my future to you.
More soon, but for now, I remain yours always,
Robin ♥
Hermione sends the message and smiles softly at the golden heart, right back where it belongs beside her name.
She's never letting it go again.
***
The next day finds Hermione in the library with a smile still lurking on her face. She's just come from a surprisingly enjoyable Potions, though in all honesty, she doesn't know why she's surprised—in the course of a few weeks, Potions has managed to become a class she actively looks forward to.
And that's all due to Pansy.
Snape had decided to hold a revision session on the Draught of the Living Death today, much to the despair of everyone in the class. A collective groan had gone around the room the moment he had announced the potion, and Ron and Harry had turned to look at Hermione with concern lurking in their eyes, presumably remembering the last disastrous time she and Pansy had attempted this particular potion. And truth be told, she herself had been nervous that it might dredge up bad memories of their detention, or remind Pansy that she still resented Hermione's essence of wormwood faux-pas from all those weeks ago.
But Hermione's worries had proved to be unfounded. Pansy had simply smirked and said, "dibs on the prefect's bathroom," before slipping from her stool to gather ingredients. It had taken Hermione a moment to remember their long-ago argument in detention about who would use the bathroom first, but when the memory came to her, she found herself grinning broadly after Pansy's retreating form.
The rest of the class had been a dream. They were immediately successful in their second attempt at brewing the tricky potion, and even Snape seemed begrudgingly impressed by their quick progress. And while Pansy was still entirely distracting, it was now in a completely different, much more enjoyable way. She kept whispering little off-the-cuff comments to Hermione that would force her to clamp her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. A few surprised snorts still managed to escape her over the course of the hour though, and each time, she was aware of Harry and Ron glancing toward their table with matching frowns, both clearly wondering what had gotten into her.
When it came time for Hermione to add the essence of wormwood to their potion, Pansy had casually emptied her pockets, revealing six extra vials. And when Hermione stared at the vials with confusion, Pansy simply winked and murmured just in case. Hermione had rolled her eyes fondly, but when Pansy turned away to trail a finger down the long list of steps in her Potions book, Hermione had found her gaze lingering.
And now, as she sits in her customary seat in the library by the large, east-facing window, she finds her thoughts turning to Pansy once more. There's a part of her that's upset that she and Pansy had wasted seven long years hating each other, because when it comes down to it, they're surprisingly good together—they work well together, they sharpen each other, they make each other laugh, and as surprising as it is, Hermione has stopped thinking that they could one day be friends. Now, she thinks they could one day be good friends. Very good friends, if she's being honest.
"Thought I might find you here."
Hermione glances up, startled out of her thoughts to find Ginny, smiling down at her. She looks a bit nervous as she nods toward the chair across from Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "May I?" she asks, rocking back and forth on her feet in a way that's so similar to Ron, Hermione can't help the small smile that comes to her face.
"Of course," Hermione says, quickly removing her bag from the table and placing it on the floor. "You know you don't have to ask."
Ginny scoffs as she lowers herself into the chair. "Please. I'm not Ron. I have manners."
"Mm. So does that mean you're closer to Percy, then?" Hermione asks, raising an amused eyebrow.
Ginny grimaces. "The closest person in our family to Percy is mum's stuck-up, persnickety cat. Honestly, if it wasn't for the hair, I'd think he was adopted."
Hermione smiles, but before she can reply, Ginny says, "but speaking of Ron…" She trails off and nervously tugs on the end of her red braid, plaited neatly over her shoulder. Hermione watches the movement with wary eyes—she knows that Ginny's about to ask about what had happened last night, and her shoulders tense a bit in anticipation. Ron is her brother, after all. And even if he irritates her on an almost daily basis, she still adores him. It would stand to reason she'd take his side in any sort of dispute.
Ginny still hasn't said anything, so Hermione gently prompts, "what about him?"
"I…I heard what happened. Last night, I mean," Ginny says. "Between you and Ron."
Hermione nods. "I was going to tell you," she says with a small wince. "I was, I just—"
"Don't worry about that," Ginny says, waving an uncaring hand. "I know you were, I just…how are you?" she asks, scrutinizing Hermione carefully.
There's a question lurking in Ginny's eyes, and Hermione feels her heart skip a beat. She still remembers Ginny's concern on Saturday after the great parchment pal reveal, and she has a nasty feeling that Ginny's decided to take this moment to dig deeper.
But before she can let the familiar icy fear grip her heart and come up with a thousand different excuses, she stops and thinks about what Pansy had said last night. About how there was no difference between this and her blood status. They were both things she couldn't help, and neither were hurting anyone. And if Pansy could find it in her heart to be accepting, surely Ginny could, too. And what's more, shouldn't Hermione give Ginny the benefit of the doubt? She's one of Hermione's closest friends, and if the way she had gazed at her on Saturday was any indication, Ginny would actually be the best first person to tell.
…Well, second. Pansy had been the accidental first, but all things considered, she had actually been the best first person to tell.
Slowly, the fear ebbs away and Hermione straightens her shoulders, scrapes together her courage, and decides to let the chips fall where they may.
"I'm…I'm alright. A bit sad, I suppose. I had hoped things would be different, and I know Ron's disappointed but…" she trails off and shrugs. "It just wasn't meant to be."
"Can I ask why?" Ginny asks, once again nervously tugging on her braid. "I mean, it's not like I can blame you," she adds quickly. "Did you know that Ron still doesn't wash his own knickers when he's home? He's practically middle-aged and mum still does it for him. Had you ended up with him, you'd be his wife and mother, all at the same time. Honestly, you made the right call, but I just…I thought you were a bit more interested in him a few months ago. Unless I'm misremembering?"
"No…no, you're not misremembering," Hermione says. "I thought I wanted something more from him. But…" she trails off and shakes her head.
"But something changed?" Ginny asks gently.
Hermione nods. "I suppose it was after Hogsmeade when I knew for sure. I had a lovely time with him, but the whole time, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were just there as friends. And what's more, I didn't want to be there as anything more."
Ginny bites her lip nervously, then says, "you know, when Ron told me this morning, he mentioned something…something interesting."
"Oh?" Hermione asks, her heart rate immediately picking up at Ginny's painfully practiced casual tone.
"Mm. He said that had you called things off before Saturday, he'd have assumed it was because of your parchment pal."
Hermione nods slowly. "Yes, he…he said something similar to me last night," she says, nervously fidgeting with her skirt. She's not surprised that Ginny's taking this opportunity to get answers—she's always been something of a straight shooter—but it's still progressing faster than Hermione expected, and she can feel anxiety slithering in her stomach, slick and cold.
"He seemed to think it was ludicrous. But…" Ginny trails off and frowns. "I was watching you on Saturday, you know. And you seemed…upset," she says carefully.
"I—"
"I know you said everything is fine. And maybe it is! Maybe I've got the wrong end of the stick," Ginny says quickly. "Maybe I'm reading into things that aren't there, and that's fine. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time. I was convinced Luna had a thing for Neville for months. So much so that I kept dropping all these hints to Neville about a friend who was interested in him romantically. He ended up thinking it was me and told me he just didn't see me like that," she says, dropping her voice to imitate Neville. "Can you imagine? Me and Neville?" She shakes her head, then says, "and anyway, it was all for nothing. Luna wasn't interested in him at all. She just thought Trevor was a Moon Frog in disguise and wanted to get closer to Neville to inspect him."
"A…a what?" Hermione asks, baffled by how casually Ginny had just delivered a seemingly nonsensical sentence.
"Moon Frogs. They're glowing frogs that Luna thinks live on the moon. She thinks they hide in the craters and that they have special healing abilities and…" Ginny shakes her head in disbelief, "and I honestly can't believe I know as much about them as I do," she says, sounding vaguely horrified.
"They're not…real, are they?" Hermione asks tentatively.
"Merlin, no! They're just your standard Quibbler fare. And honestly, I've no idea why Luna thinks Trevor of all toads is secretly from the moon, but to be honest, I've no idea why Luna thinks most of the things she thinks. I gave up trying to understand her thought process ages ago."
Hermione chuckles. "That's probably for the best. And anyway, Neville's dead set on Hannah. It wouldn't have worked out anyway. For Luna or for you," she adds with a small smirk.
"And I'm still devastated over that," Ginny says seriously. "Why do you think I'm with Harry now? Had to settle for my second choice."
"Stands to reason," Hermione says easily. "Though it is a shame…all Harry has to offer is Hedwig. Neville has a Moon Frog."
"Well, we can't all be as lucky as Hannah, I guess."
"No, I suppose not."
Ginny smiles for a moment, then her expression turns serious again and she says, "anyway, ridiculous Moon Frog tangent aside, I just…" she frowns and worries her lower lip for a moment, then exhales slowly. "I might be wrong. I'm probably wrong, but on the off chance I'm not, I wanted to reiterate what I said on Saturday. If you want to talk, I'm here. But if you don't, that's fine, too," she adds quickly. "Just tell me to piss off, and I will."
Hermione looks down at the table and sweeps a finger over the polished surface as she ponders how she wants to reply. The ball is firmly in her court—she can either let Ginny in on all her recent revelations and hope for the best, or she can steer them away from this topic with vague excuses and false reassurances. One would certainly be easier. And she knows that even though Ginny is persistent, she's true to her word; if Hermione tells her that everything is fine, she'll let it drop.
But a tiny voice in her head whispers worthwhile things rarely come easily and she finds her thoughts turning toward her parchment pal, a shared dream of Paris, and a small, golden heart that makes her own heart flutter with anticipation.
After last night, she knows without a shadow of a doubt that she wants more from her parchment pal than just friendship. She wants it all—whispered promises, magical kisses in the rain, soft summer evenings and still winter nights. A soft hand in hers as they stumble through whatever the future has in store for them.
A life together, if she's lucky.
But she also knows that none of these things will be possible if she keeps this part of herself sequestered from the world. And so even though she's still terrified, she takes a deep breath and comes to a decision.
"Hypothetically…if I told you that you weren't reading into things…if I said that I was upset on Saturday…how would you feel about that?" Hermione asks, her heart pounding in her chest.
"I would want to know why you were upset," Ginny says carefully. "I'd want to try to help. Hypothetically speaking, of course," she adds.
Hermione's stomach twists a bit, and even though she's made up her mind to let Ginny in on what's been going on, she finds herself curiously unable to put it into words. Instead, she looks up at Ginny and asks, "do you have a guess? As to why I was upset, I mean."
Ginny nods. "I do," she says slowly. "But I don't want to overstep my bounds or assume things I shouldn't be."
"But if you were to assume. Whatever it is you're assuming, I mean…how would you feel if it…if it were true?"
Hermione's question lingers in the air for a moment, and as she waits for Ginny to answer, she can feel her stomach twisting into even tighter knots. Anxiously, she wipes her sweaty palms against her skirt. She's sure Ginny's going to say she agrees with Ron. That it's wrong, it's strange, it's disgusting.
Instead, Ginny looks at Hermione with earnest eyes. "If what I'm assuming is true, then I wouldn't care. I'd just want to know so I could be supportive. In any way you'd want me to be. I mean, hypothetically speaking," she adds with a small smile.
Hermione's heart seems to leap into her throat at the reply, but whether it's from hope or anxiety, she can't tell. Her leg bounces under the table as she asks, "can I ask what you're assuming?" in a voice tight with nerves.
Ginny glances around them to make sure they're completely alone. Once she's satisfied no one is near their little corner of the library, she leans forward just a bit and murmurs, "I'm assuming that you might be experiencing certain feelings for a certain parchment pal?"
Hermione exhales sharply. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath, and she quickly inhales through her nose, forcing herself to stay calm.