Chapter Text
Hermione could hardly hear over the deafening chant of “Weas-ley! Weas-ley! Weas-ley!” ringing through the Gryffindor common room.
Almost every Gryffindor at Hogwarts was packed into the Common Room tonight, and they pumped their fists in unison as they chanted.
Ron stood on a table in the center of the crowd, smiling down at everybody. Crimson confetti had been thrown about at some point and pieces were stuck to his kit and his equally red hair.
Hermione wanted to chant along, but all she could think about was how Ron would feel when everyone found out that Harry had slipped liquid luck into his drink. How people would whisper about him. She turned to Harry as he grinned up at his best friend and muttered, “Y’know you shouldn’t’ve done it.”
“I know,” he retorted, his eyes still trained on Ron above the crowd. “I suppose I could’ve just used a Confundus charm.” Her eyes shot to his face. She didn’t know he’d noticed when she’d charmed Cormac McLaggen under her breath during tryouts.
She coughed. “That was different! That was tryouts–this was an actual game.” She had only done it because that pompous ass had been bragging all week about how Ron wasn’t even competition, and how good he’d look wearing the keeper uniform. Ron had been walking around, green in the face from nerves and positive he could never make the team.
Hermione had never seen Ron so passionate about something, and so she did what she could to help.
Not that Ron ever had to know.
With a mischievous look in his eyes, Harry dipped his fingers into his pocket and retrieved a small glass vial still stoppered and filled with an opalescent liquid. Felix Felicis.
“You didn’t put it in.” It wasn’t a question, and the words came out pure shock. “Ron only thought you did.”
So it had been Ron all along.
She looked at Harry in wonderment. The truth was, Harry and Hermione wanted the same thing–for Ron to be happy. Obviously they didn’t want all the same things; she doubted Harry stayed up at night thinking about what Ron’s hands felt like on his skin.
At least they both knew what it felt like to pine after a Weasley. Hermione saw the way Harry looked at Ginny when she and Dean were holding hands in the courtyard or sharing a booth at the Three Broomsticks.
He knew the overwhelming, pent-up frustration of unrequited love.
Hermione turned her gaze from Harry back to Ron just in time to see a purple-sleeved arm grab his hand and pull him to the ground. The crowd parted enough that she could see it was Lavender Brown.
Of course.
Lavender Brown had been following Ron around all term, and had been incessant about offering to do the slightest thing for him, whether that was fetching him a new quill or fresh parchment or smoothing out the wrinkle in his robes.
God, he might be an idiot sometimes but he wasn’t incompetent.
He always insisted she was a nuisance, but Hermione had yet to see him turn down any of the pastries Lavender brought him in class.
Before she knew it, Lavender practically threw herself at Ron, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting her lips on his.
His arm slowly wrapped around her back, and all of a sudden they were kissing. And a real, proper snog at that.
Everyone in the room let out a loud cheer, and this only seemed to encourage the pair further.
All of a sudden, Hermione felt light-headed. She had never seen Ron kiss another person. The only boy she’d kissed herself was Victor Krum–and that was two years ago and it wasn’t in public. He had walked her back to her dormitory after studying in the library, and kissed her gently and chastely before wishing her a good night.
It had lasted all of a second and, while a pleasant experience, was nothing like this.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry’s shoulders begin to shake in laughter, but her vision was darkening.
She looked down at her shoes as the room began to spin. Without saying a word she turned and pushed through the crowd, desperate for some fresh air.
***
Five minutes later, she found herself sitting on the bottom step of Gryffindoor tower, in a dark hall where the windows had no panes and a cool breeze brushed against her face.
She took one steadying breath after another as she ran her fingers over the grooves in her wand.
The first thing she usually turned to when she was stressed was a new spell or potion, anything to get her mind off of whatever was at hand. Tonight that was the bird-conjuring spell Avis, responsible for the small flock of yellow birds fluttering around her head.
The quicker her heart beat, the faster the birds flew. They were a storm above her head when she heard footsteps descending the staircase behind her.
Harry poked his head out into the hall and stepped in her direction. Hermione sniffed and tried to conceal her crying as she muttered, “charm spell–just practicing.”
Harry stood awkwardly behind her, and she could almost hear him searching for the right thing to say. What he landed on was, “Well, they’re really good.” She almost let out a laugh at that.
He turned and sat down next to her on the stone step, their knees resting against each other.
Hermione found herself turning to him.
“How does it feel, Harry?” she asked quietly, “When you see Dean with Ginny?”
He seemed taken aback. “Um.”
“I know. I see the way you look at her.” She searched his gaze for understanding, but found only his comforting green eyes looking back at her, brow furrowed in concern. “You’re my best friend.” A tear rolled down her cheek.
Before he could answer, they heard laughter coming from down the corridor. Ron and Lavender came practically skipping around the corner holding hands and froze as Harry and Hermione came into view.
In her high-pitched, flitty sort of way, Lavender quipped, “Oops! I think this room’s taken.”
She grabbed Ron’s arm and smiled at him like he had hung the stars. She made to run down the hallway, but Ron held his ground and pulled his arm free. He gave Hermione and Harry a confused look.
“What’s with the birds?” He asked.
Stupid, ignorant, near-sighted prick, Hermione thought. Her heart began to pound and the birds flapped faster and faster, becoming a yellow halo surrounding her.
She shot to her feet and Harry’s hand brushed down her arm.
She had become so fed up with Ron’s incessant teasing and picking fights and keeping her at arm’s length these past few weeks.
Just last Tuesday she had finally mustered the courage to ask Ron to Slughorn’s party when he began picking apart everything about the “Slug Club,” starting with the name. She became so flustered that she ended up shouting at him in the middle of Potions and sending their ingredients skyward, earning them both detention.
The conversation had ended with Ron telling her not to hook up with McLaggen, but if he was just going to walk around snogging whomever he chose, so would she.
Before she could stop herself, “Oppugno” slipped from her lips.
The birds began to follow a serpentine path, lining up before shooting in Ron’s direction like projectiles. He stepped backwards towards the wall and tripped, hunching down just in time. One by one, the little yellow birds hit the oak door behind him and exploded into poofs of mustard feathers floating to the ground.
Ron looked back at Hermione with a confused, hurt look on his face before turning and walking down the hallway.
It was all Hermione could do to hold in her tears until after he’d gone.
The second he disappeared from sight her legs gave out from under her. She fell down to sit back on the step and Harry’s arm instantly encircled her knee. She wrapped her hand around his elbow and laid her head on his shoulder and let herself cry.
“It feels like that” were his only words.