Chapter Text
**
“You need to stop moping,” Ginny said, sitting down heavily on one of the plush red armchairs by the fire. The Gryffindor Common Room was unusually empty for so late in the afternoon, although it wasn't wholly surprising. Most students were gathered outside, enjoying the last few nice days of the season before the weather turned for the worse. Only a few students were bent over their schoolwork, and, as Ginny knew she would be, Hermione Granger was one such student.
Hermione started, blinking rapidly to shake the fog from her eyes, her brain struggling to focus on the conversation she suddenly found herself in. “What?”
Ginny sighed and kicked her feet up, knocking a few of Hermione’s books astray. The older girl glared at her, but Ginny just raised an eyebrow, daring her to say something. “You need to stop moping about, Hermione. Depression is not a good colour on you.”
Hermione tipped her nose in the air and turned back to her Transfiguration essay. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. She glared off towards the corner of the Common Room, where her brother and his tramp of the month, Lavender Brown, sat… coupling. “Ugh,” Ginny snorted in disgust. “Really, you think they’d have more class than that. Lavender leaves nothing to the imagination.”
“Ginny…” Hermione scolded softly.
“What? It’s true.” Ginny stared at her brother for a few more seconds. “It looks like he’s eating her face.”
“Ginny, stop,” Hermione said through her half-smile.
“Look at him, sticking his tongue down her throat. Of course he would be doing this here.” Ginny reached into her robes and pulled out her wand with one quick flourish.
“What are you doing?” Hermione exclaimed.
“Teaching Ronald to have a little tact.”
“Ginny, no!” Hermione stretched across the ottoman and grabbed her friend’s wrist. “You’ll only make it worse,” she continued quietly, hoping that despite her outburst she had avoided detection by the two pairs of eyes she really didn’t want to notice them.
(Part of her knew, of course, that they had to know she was there. They walked in after she had already cemented her place in front of the fireplace. There’s no way Ron and Lavender could have missed her.)
“Or I could make it infinitely better. Come on, Hermione. I’ve been toying with this new spell. See if you do it right, he’ll get these massive boils right on his—”
“I mean worse for me, Ginny. I just want to forget all of this…” she waved her hand, trailing off. "It's been unpleasant enough as-is. I don't want to add to it. All the attention..."
Ginny lowered her wand, her eyes glinting in the firelight. “Merlin, Hermione, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“It’s nothing, Gin. Just forget it, okay?” She took a stabilizing breath. “What’s done is done. I’m doing fine and Ron is… well, he certainly looks happy.”
“But you’re not fine, you’re miserable. I’ve seen you, Hermione. You’re barely eating, all you do is write essays — you haven’t even made any clothes for the elves the past few weeks. I don’t like who you are when you’re like this. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m trying, okay? Ron and I just broke up—”
“He’s an idiot.”
“I know.” Hermione smiled. “It’s only been about a month and—”
“And he’s already moved on.”
“And all I’m interested in right now is enjoying a little ‘me’ time.” Hermione smiled at her friend kindly. Ginny bit the inside of her lip, stifling her disagreement. Hermione leaned forward and whispered, a touch conspiratorially, “But keep that spell handy, will you? I don’t know how I’ll be feeling in a few weeks.”
Ginny grinned. “You got it ‘Mione.” She chanced another look at Ron. “I could hex him just a little.”
“No, Ginny.”
“Alright fine, I get it. Ron gets to keep all his bits together.”
From their corner of the room, Lavender laughed a high, disgustingly delighted chortle that had her shaking on Ron’s lap. He had a shit-eating grin plastered to his face the likes of which Ginny had never seen before.
Hermione sighed from off to Ginny’s left, and the youngest Weasley turned with disgust from her brother and focused solely on her best friend.
Hermione was looking haggard; there was no other way to put it. Her hair, usually so vivacious and wild, looked sad, flat, and unkempt. She was thinner than she had been over the summer, and her robes weren’t neatly pressed (her usual style of wearing them — impeccably clean and precise). Her skin wasn’t as dark as it usually was (especially troublesome because they were coming out of summer break), and instead seemed pallid, giving her the startling impression of being very ill. And she seemed sad, and frankly miserable, while Ginny's absolute prat of a brother was off gallivanting with Lavender Bloody Brown.
It was wretched. Ginny almost killed Ron when he told their family that he and Hermione had ended things. He had never even given them a reason, and Hermione herself had steadfastly avoided the conversation for weeks on end, so Ginny didn’t have a clue as to why they were no longer together. One day they were fine and then the next…
It was hard not to speculate. Certainly everyone else did (and Ginny had never bothered pretending that she was above mindless gossip). She couldn’t go a single day without overhearing some conversation in some corridor about why Ron Weasley had dumped Hermione Granger.
“I heard she got too annoying for him.”
“I heard she wouldn’t put out.”
“I heard her parents hated him.”
“I heard he found out about her relationship with Harry Potter.”
Each rumour was more absurd than the last, and Ginny had no idea what to believe. She’d been half-tempted to beat it out of Ron, but her devotion to her best friend had kept her violence-free ever since they got back from holiday. Ginny wasn't happy about it, but Hermione needed her more than Ron needed a black eye.
Still, she hated it, the whole thing. The powerlessness, the helplessness, the anger and the pain she could see inside Hermione. She hated seeing this girl, this wonderful, powerful girl reduced to a shell of her former self all because Ginny's cock of a brother couldn’t keep it in his pants. Forget the breakup — that was bad enough. But then to go and do something like this, with someone like her, while Hermione was relegated to quiet defeat.
Ginny could hardly stand it.
“You need a boyfriend,” Ginny supplied suddenly, pulling Hermione from the depths of her reading after only a few minutes.
“I need a moment to think, Ginny.” Hermione looked up then, a frown on her face as if processing the spoken information for the first time. “And what?”
“You need a boyfriend. A distraction. Something to take your mind off of Ron.”
“School takes my mind off of Ron.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well that’s a lie. If school took your mind off of Ron you’d be your normal self right now. And you’re not.”
Hermione pulled a face. “What I need, Ginny, is not a new boyfriend. I need time to myself, to think and process and try to stomach looking at your brother without wanting to hex everything in striking distance, and just… time to breathe. And I need you to be my best friend right now, okay? My best and decidedly female friend. Ron and I aren’t speaking and Harry is always on Ron’s side about everything anyway and I—need someone to talk to sometimes, too. Can't you just be my best friend for now?”
Ginny’s bravado melted immediately. “I’m sorry. You know how I get sometimes. Eyes on the prize, and all that. Makes me a bit thick. Of course I’ll be your best friend.” Hermione smiled a tight-lipped smile at her. Ginny leaned closer across the table, stared directly into Hermione’s eyes and said, earnestly, “I care about you, Hermione. Honestly I do. I just want to look out for you.” She reached out and laid her hand on top of the one not holding Hermione’s quill.
“Maybe you could look out for me a little less vocally?”
Ginny smiled softly. “I’ll do my very best.”
**
She made it exactly 40 hours.
“Please get a boyfriend.” Ginny slid into the empty space opposite Hermione at the breakfast table, ignoring the food piled in front of her and her empty plate in favour of watching her friend.
Hermione looked up from the book she was reading (pleasure, not business). “We’ve been here before, Gin.”
“A never ending circle.”
“I recognize that tree.”
Ginny shook her head. “I’m not asking for much. Just— I don’t know… go on a few dates, maybe snog a bit. It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”
“How is that fair to the poor boy you’re asking me to Shanghai into a relationship?”
Ginny blinked at Hermione in confusion. “I hate when you make up words.”
Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes, admonishing softly, “Ginny—”
“No but seriously. Haven't you ever heard of use ‘em and lose ‘em?”
“That’s horribly crude.” Ginny shrugged as if to say, What can you do? “I’m not going to use anyone.”
Ginny leaned across the Gryffindor table. “It would make Ron absolutely furious,” she whispered.
Hermione paused from her book, her spoon half way between her bowl and her mouth. She looked up with a thoughtful expression on her face. Ginny smirked and raised an eyebrow.
“No… no that’s absurd.” Hermione shook her head vigorously to dispel the (admittedly rather pleasant) notion. “I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I’m not interested in dating right now.”
Ginny sighed and slumped back in her seat. “You’re letting him win. He’s winning the breakup!”
“Everything you’re saying is ridiculous! You can’t win a breakup.”
“Obviously you can, and Ron is doing it!”
“You’re being childish. Not everything is about winning and losing.”
Ginny frowned at Hermione’s nonchalance. “I can’t believe how okay you are with this. I want to kill him every time I see him.”
“Well of course I want to kill him,” Hermione said, still pouring over her tome. “Well… not kill him kill him. Maybe just… inflict bodily harm? He’s just been…” She paused for a moment and sighed deeply. “I just wish he would talk to me,” she finished quietly.
Ginny frowned, unsure that she'd heard correctly. “Sorry, what was that?”
Hermione shook herself. “It’s not important. What is important is that I refuse to be bitter about this sort of thing. It isn’t healthy. So, until the day comes where I can talk to Ronald without wanting to conjure up a pack of canaries to peck his eyes out—” Ginny giggled at that particularly fond memory— “I’m going to read my books, and eat my porridge, and ignore everything everyone else is saying.”
Hermione stopped talking, and Ginny sensed an end to all further communication on this particular subject.
And for a moment she was fine with letting it drop (honestly she was). She would have been happy enough knowing that Hermione was strong in her own way, fighting her battles silently but determinedly. She would have been, honest… only she didn’t have time to digest it all. She just needed a few minutes to sit and comprehend what Hermione said, to resign herself to a role of passive observer, to stomach the fact that maybe Hermione wasn’t as torn up about this breakup as some people might like to think, but—
But mere moments after Hermione finished her spiel, who should walk in the Great Hall? None other than Ronald ‘The Biggest Idiot on the Planet’ Weasley and Lavender ‘Tart’ Brown.
And Ginny would have let the whole thing drop, honestly she would have, except Ron was staring unabashedly down Lavender’s top while she giggled (in a way she surely thought was alluring) at something he must have said (that surely couldn’t have been all that clever), and Ginny had never hated her brother more.
People were looking, and whispering, and staring between him and Hermione, and Ginny couldn’t take how horrible her brother was being about all this, shoving his new ‘relationship’ right in Hermione’s face. In the worst possible way. With tactless, blood-curdling cruelty.
So Ginny reacted. Probably a little rash, probably without much forethought (she'd been known to show a lack forethought on occasion; a trait she shared with Ron that she absolutely refused to acknowledge).
She stood up swiftly, her sudden movement attracting a bit of attention from the few people directly around her. Ginny took a deep breath and then vaulted over the table with an ease and grace she would have been quite proud of, were she to stop and think about it.
She landed on the bench next to Hermione, straddling the wood, and her friend started and looked up. “Ginny!” she gasped, loud enough to draw a few more stares. Ginny felt the eyes of the school on her (quite aware that Hermione was something of a person of interest recently).
This is for your own good, Hermione, Ginny thought. “Just go with it,” was all she managed to say before she threaded her fingers through Hermione’s hair, gripped the back of her neck, and brought their lips together with bruising force.
Hermione squeaked and froze almost immediately, but Ginny did not let it deter her. She kept her right hand in Hermione’s hair and slipped her left one around the older girl’s waist, pulling them tightly together.
Hermione was suddenly very aware of three very important things. One: it was now completely, deathly quiet in the Great Hall. Two: warm, sure fingers were gently stroking her side, causing the muscles in her back to shiver and tremble. And three: Ginny Weasley’s lips were the softest thing she had ever felt in her entire life.
Ginny pulled away slowly, detaching their lips with a soft reverence that set Hermione off-balance. They stared at each other for a few long, tense, utterly silent moments before someone, out in the sea of gaping, gawking students, wolf-whistled.
“Alright, get some, Weasley!” a boy shouted, and the Great Hall erupted with noise.
Hermione flushed darkly and quickly gathered her things, stuffed everything into her large book bag, and slipped away as quickly as she could, trying uselessly to remain unseen.
Ginny didn’t watch Hermione leave. She was too busy staring at her brother, who was making eye contact with her for the first time in give or take two weeks. His mouth was open, his face doing a very accurate impression of a gaping fish. His arms hung limp at his sides, his girlfriend/prostitute forgotten next to him. He was staring at Ginny with a strange expression in his eyes. Shock, awe, disbelief and… there it was. The thing that made Ginny grin with triumph and stand to finally follow Hermione out of the room.
Jealousy.
When Ginny brushed past her brother while exiting, she felt him turn to watch her leave, and if there was a little extra jaunt in her step as she strolled away from the exploding and spreading gossip, then that was just as well.
**
“I’m sorry.” Ginny's plea was met with no response. “Hermione, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“I swear I was just trying to help.”
Hermione turned on her, her eyes flashing with a sharp fire. “You thought you were helping me? What the hell, Ginny? I told you I didn’t need your help. I told you I didn’t need to date anyone, that I didn’t want to date anyone.”
“I know, but—”
“You had absolutely no right to do what you did… to—to kiss me in the middle of the Great Hall like that!”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but—”
“You—you violated—" Hermione was trembling, her body thrumming with furious energy. Ginny's face had gone ashen and she must have looked worse than she felt (stricken, ashamed almost) because Hermione caught a glimpse of her expression and swallowed thickly. Her forced calm should have made Ginny feel better, but it didn't. "You took advantage of our friendship," Hermione continued, her voice simmering, "and you completely went against everything I told you not to do! What’s going to happen tomorrow? Did you think about that? The whole school is going to know about this. What are our professors going to say?”
“Well, I’m sure they have more important—”
“What’s your mother going to say, Ginny?” That was enough to stop Ginny’s train of thought. “You didn’t figure that into your brilliant scheme, did you? What’s your mother going to say when Ron writes to her to tell her that you’ve been snogging girls in front of the whole school?”
Ginny bristled. “It’s no one’s business who I snog.”
“You’re trying to make it everyone’s business by doing it in public, putting me on display like… like a fucking show pony!” Ginny blinked. Hermione never cursed, and she never said words like ‘fucking,’ never ever. “And God, Ginny, two girls? Have you ever heard of two girls kissing?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s not exactly uncommon, Hermione.”
“It is where I come from! What am I supposed to tell my parents?”
“You don’t have to tell your parents anything! This isn’t real. They don't need to know. You know why we’re doing this.”
“I know why you think you’re doing this! You’re doing this out of some misguided sense of friendship and solidarity but you’re wrong and this is wrong. You think I need this but I don’t, Ginny.”
“I was just trying to help you!”
“I didn’t ask you to! You’re not my girlfriend!”
Ginny blinked, a little taken aback, wrong-footed and not quite knowing why. She shook herself. “You're right!" she said, trying to focus back in. "I’m not your girlfriend. But as far as everyone else knows, I am. It's so perfect I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. Hermione, you should have seen Ron’s face after we kissed! I thought he was going to hit me.”
Hermione shook her head, face flushed and hair wild. “Why are you trying to make everything about him? It isn’t! My life doesn't revolve around your brother. I don’t care what he thinks about this, I don’t care if he shat a brick after seeing you and I kiss, I don’t care if he doesn’t care. I. Don’t. Care.”
Ginny ran her fingers roughly through her hair. “Look, you can hate me all you want. You can hex me, curse at me, hit me for all I care, but can we save our massive public breakup until after Ron’s already come crawling back to you on his hands and knees begging you to take him back?”
Hermione released a powerful breath through her nostrils. “I can’t believe you. You still think I'm worried about getting him back?”
“Hermione—” But Ginny didn’t get to finish her thought. At that moment the portrait hole was pushed open and the soft murmur of student voices wafted through the wall and into the Common Room. Hermione pulled her gaze from Ginny’s, wiped at her eyes, and took a tentative but distinct step backwards.
A few people trickled in. The quiet buzz of conversation dipped in volume as the students saw who was already inside. A few people (none of whom Ginny was familiar with) cleared their throats and glanced between them. The standoff seemed unlikely to cease — no one seemed confident enough to break the awkward tension.
A seventh year girl who Ginny recognized only by sight snickered something to her friend that sounded like ‘bike’. Ginny had no idea what the girl actually said, but based on the way Hermione bristled next to her, it probably wasn’t good.
“Come on, Hermione, let’s go.” Ginny said, reaching behind her to grab Hermione’s hand. She wrenched the older girl along behind her. Ginny, being rather tall and fairly strong to boot, elbowed her way through the muttering crowd with little difficulty, Hermione trailing after her without protest.
Out in the hallway Hermione was quick to yank her hand out of Ginny’s. “Watch what you’re doing,” she hissed, pulling away.
Ginny huffed. “What, I can’t hold your hand now?” Hermione didn’t respond. Instead, she turned and made like she was about to stalk off. Ginny grabbed her arm and pulled her back around. “What the hell is your problem? This isn’t a big deal. It was only a kiss.”
“You can’t just go around kissing random people, Ginny. That isn’t the way things work.”
“Okay, honestly? You’re freaking out over something that really shouldn’t be a big deal. I kissed you — once. It was nice, or whatever. The point is it didn’t mean anything to me and it certainly didn’t mean anything to you, so why don’t we just… I don’t know… pretend to like each other so that my prat of a brother gets what he deserves?”
“And how, exactly, is me pretending to date you going to stick it to him?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Am I even speaking English anymore? I told you. Jealousy.”
“I don’t care if he’s jealous!”
“Merlin, Hermione, at this point it doesn’t make any difference! People are going to be talking about this, and despite how hard you may try to deny that anything happened, no one is going to believe you.”
“But I’ll be telling the truth!”
Ginny scoffed. “You think the truth matters? The entire school saw us snog. They know something’s up. Either way, come tomorrow, people are going to think we’re together. Maybe not together together, but at least snogging occasionally…" She paused for a moment, mulling something over. "And maybe shagging.”
“Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed, appalled.
“Oh whatever. Look, if you want to ‘break up’ with me, that’s fine. Do whatever you like. But I seriously think you should wait a month or two. Let it sink in. Let Ron see that you don’t need him, that you have never needed him, and that he can go fuck himself for all you care.”
“But I don’t want—”
“And then,” Ginny interrupted, “when he’s gotten it through that thick skull of his that you’re fit and desirable and that you in no way need him to feel validated about yourself, he’ll come back to you on bended knee begging you to take him back. Because you’re the best thing that ever happened to him, and he may not realize it, but I certainly do. And when all of that happens you can dump me hard and fast in front of everyone, and then you and Ron can ride your broomsticks off into the sunset together.” Hermione pulled a face. Ginny rolled her eyes. “Or you can ride a hippogriff into the sunset, because I know you hate brooms.”
Hermione squinted slightly, a pondering expression forefront on her face. “That… actually sounds… not terrible.”
“High praise coming from you.” It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. “But I know this will work, because I am a genius. So just, I don’t know… walk to class with me. Let me hold your books for you, hold my hand at dinner, maybe kiss me on the cheek before you go to bed.” Hermione looked like she was about to interrupt, but Ginny wouldn’t let her. “It doesn’t have to be big, it doesn’t have to be grand. It just has to be something. We just have to look like we’re a couple. Do you think that’ll kill you, or are you fine with playing along with all of this?”
Hermione was silent for a moment. “And your mother?”
Ginny shrugged. “I’ll tell her we’re together, if she asks, or if the time comes that I see her before our ‘break up’. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“She won’t be… upset with you? Or— I don’t know… disappointed?”
Ginny's face took on something strange. “Why would she be disappointed?”
“Look, Ginny…” Hermione took a deep breath , lowering her voice. She glanced around the hallway, as if searching for prying ears. Finding none, she continued quietly, “I guess things are different here in the wizarding world, but… this isn’t going to be an easy thing for us. I hope you know that. Here it might not be that strange to see two girls in a relationship, but, well, it’s not exactly allowed in the Muggle world.”
Ginny blinked. “It isn’t ‘allowed’? How can they not ‘allow’ it?”
“It isn’t normal. It isn’t the normal thing for people to do.”
“So that’s what makes you so uncomfortable about this?” Ginny asked, affronted. “You think that this isn’t normal? What if I like girls, Hermione? What if I want to date them? Would you not talk to me anymore because I’m not ‘normal’?”
“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous! I have no problem with it, but some people definitely do… like that girl inside who called us ‘dykes’.”
"I told you that when you make up words—”
“I didn’t make that up, and I’m not making this up. Prejudice is a hard thing to get rid of, and anyone who’s spent a good deal of time with Muggles may be… unwilling to accept our new ‘relationship’.” She used her hands to put unnecessary air-quotes around the last word.
“Well for starters, I think you need to remember that nothing is going to change in our actual relationship. This is all just pretend. But either way, why would anyone care? Why is it any of their business?”
“Well I don’t know, but some people don’t exactly like it.” Hermione sighed. “Look, I’m just saying that… if you want to do this, you’re going to have to start making some adjustments. You’re going to have to be prepared for the way people are going to talk about you. About us. Some people are going to insult you, and some people are going to hate you, and some people are going to stare at you like you've never been stared at before. You have to be ready for that.”
“I don’t…” Ginny paused for a second. “Look, I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care what people think about me. I love you. You’re my best friend. So please… pretend to go out with me?” She grinned, arms spread open in offering. “Let me help you out. Let me be the best fake girlfriend you’ve ever had.”
Hermione's lips quirked up, and she struggled to suppress her smile. “Alright. Fine. I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend.”
“Excellent.”
“Just… warn me before you kiss me next time?”
“Promise,” Ginny said with a devilish grin on her face. This was going to be good. Ron wasn’t going to know what to do with himself.
**
That evening, after a long day of avoiding confrontation and conversation with anyone and everyone, Hermione and Ginny stood paused outside of the Gryffindor Common Room. The Fat Lady stared at the pair of them from inside her picture frame, an unamused scowl on her face.
Ginny cleared her throat. “So… Are you going to say the password, or—?”
“I don’t want to go in there.” Hermione said softly. The Fat Lady snorted at her. Hermione ignored the painted woman, which Ginny thought was probably in everyone's best interest. “I’m serious, Ginny, I don’t. I don’t want to deal with the looks and the whispers and…" Her eyes went wide. "Oh God, I share a dorm with Lavender and Parvati. What am I going to do?”
“Then we won’t,” Ginny said simply. “We won’t go inside. Come on, I think I have an idea.” She grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged, pulling her off down the hall.
“You’re a bloody waste of time, all of you!” The portrait shouted after them as they dashed away. “A bloody waste of my valuable time!”
“Ignore her,” Ginny said with an eye roll. “She's just spewing hot air. She wouldn’t know what to do without all of us. Who else could she force to listen to her terrible singing?” Hermione laughed. Ginny smiled, pleased that even after the day they've had, she could still lighten the mood. At least Hermione wasn't so far gone she couldn't appreciate a good joke.
“So where are we going, then?” Hermione asked. She swung their joined hands, a whimsical sort of gesture that made Ginny want to hide her smile behind a curtain of hair.
“The only place two people can go to sleep if they don’t want to be in their House.”
Hermione quirked an eyebrow as she followed Ginny through long, dark hallways, up winding stairs and past looming statues. “Oddly that didn’t help much with letting me know where we’re off to.”
“The Room of Requirement.”
“Ginny!” Hermione scolded, “We can’t sleep there.”
“Why not? It’s not like anyone else is using it.”
“I just… do you really think—?” Hermione paused as they came to the familiar span of empty wall, across from the tapestry of the dancing troll. Hermione eyed the stones with a pensive look on her face. “The last time we were here…”
Ginny squeezed her hand, ever so slightly. “I know. Umbridge, the DA, the Department of Mysteries…”
“Feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?” Hermione whispered.
Ginny nodded. “Like it happened to different people.”
They stood there, side by side in their memories and in the recollection of days long since passed. It took a few moments for Ginny to untangle their hands and start her pacing, but when she did Hermione let her go without a fight.
“So I’ll just… ask for a couple of beds and then we’ll go to sleep and we’ll get up tomorrow and worry about everything else. It’s no use worrying tonight when we don’t have to.” Ginny smiled when the door materialized after her third time passing in front of the wall. “You need some decent sleep anyway. And I don’t mind staying here, honest.”
“You’re a good friend, Ginny.”
“I want you to remember this moment when you think about how furious you were with me only a few hours ago. I’m likely to piss you off in the future, so just please remember that I am, indeed, a good friend.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I was furious with you because you caught me by surprise and kissed me without asking.” Hermione shot Ginny a look, “Which I still haven’t forgiven you for, by the way. Not because you’re a bad friend.”
Ginny smiled but did not respond, choosing instead to reach out in front of her and push open the door.
The door swung open. Inside was a rather small room. In the center sat a large bed not unlike those found in the Gryffindor dorms, though clearly built for more than one occupant, with crimson sheets and white pillows and a canopy stretched above. A modest fire cracked from a corner fireplace, providing gentle heat and warm light to the otherwise dark space.
“You’re acting like it was the most dreadful experience of your life,” Ginny whined as she trailed after her friend into the newly-appeared bedroom. “I have it on good authority that I am actually quite a decent kisser.” Ginny pulled her robes over her head and kicked off her trousers, leaving her in just a t-shirt and pants (but as Hermione had seen her in less, neither one of them was particularly bothered). She slipped into the bed and threw back the covers, grinning and patting the empty space next to her. “You can’t have detested it.”
Hermione looked down, the faint hint of a blush sweeping up her cheeks to colour them only slightly. “Well… I suppose it wasn’t horrible.”
Ginny threw herself onto her back, arms tucked under her head. “You liked it, just the littlest bit. Admit it.”
Hermione huffed and yanked her sweater over her head, thoroughly mussing up already untidy hair. She grumbled as she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto her back too, mirroring Ginny’s position, eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling. “I will do no such thing.”
Ginny laughed and shook her head, a fond smile on her lips. “Sorry about only one bed, by the way. Could have sworn I asked for two."
Ginny felt the bed dip as Hermione shrugged. "We've bunked together before. I already know you snore."
"I kick, too."
"So do I."
Ginny laughed lightly under her breath. "Goodnight, Hermione.”
“I’ll probably be mad at you again in the morning.”
“Well then let’s hope we sleep until the afternoon.”
**
Harry awoke to an empty dormitory. He sat up in bed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes before slipping his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. He frowned at the emptiness around him. He hadn’t a clue where Seamus, Dean, and Neville had gotten to already — usually he was one of the first awake, so to rise with the sun already high in the sky and not a person in sight, Harry was more than a little confused. Then again, he had tossed and turned for much of the night; after witnessing Hermione and Ginny kiss at breakfast, he had spent most of the day on a hunt for his two friends and avoiding Ron. He didn’t want to deal with Ron’s sour mood any longer than he had to, and he was also worried about how Hermione was handling Ginny just… outing them like that, so abruptly and seemingly without consent or forewarning.
He was worried for an entire day, and it didn’t aid his sleep one bit.
Harry ran a hand through his hair in a helpless attempt to quash the untidiness and threw on the first clothes he could find. He rushed down the stairs, laces undone and fighting with the crooked tie around his neck, and he almost barreled over a loitering Ron, who looked as if he had been perched at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Harry to come down for quite some time.
“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, not unkindly. “Hello, Ron. Care for some breakfast?”
Ron nodded but otherwise did not respond. Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably, finally managing to correct his tie (but ignoring his trainers) while the two of them moved silently out into the corridor.
“So, um…” Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet, “You seen Ginny or Hermione yet?” he asked warily.
Ron glowered. “Nope,” he bit out, “I haven’t see them since breakfast yesterday.”
Harry chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Speaking of which… that was some breakfast, wasn’t it?” He hoped to understand how Ron was feeling about the whole… ex-girlfriend dating his sister thing. He knew that Ron wouldn’t be exactly ecstatic about it, but he still might be able to gain a little insight. Test the waters, as it were. It must be strange for him. Probably uncomfortable, and a little painful, too. After all, Ron had never told Harry why, exactly, he and Hermione broke up. And if this was the reason... well, not that he would ever say so out loud, and certainly never to Ron, but it would kind of explain a lot.
But Ron only scoffed, and Harry knew that he had been too optimistic to ever think that Ron would have a clear head about anything.
Harry cleared his throat and didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say to break the suddenly uncomfortable silence, so he didn’t say anything at all.
Ron was the one to finally speak. Harry almost wished he hadn’t. “Lavender said Parvati said Seamus said that they left in a hurry,” Ron said under his breath. “Probably off to get some ‘private time’.” The words were said with no small amount of disdain.
“Your bookworm friend and her redheaded pal?” a voice cut through their conversation. Harry and Ron turned towards the portrait of the Fat Lady, who had clearly been shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. “They stopped by last night, disrupting my private reflection time,” she said with an annoyed sigh, “but for some reason, they didn’t want to go in. Left almost immediately.” She sniffed. “I’d check the Astronomy Tower. That’s usually where students go to… ahem,” she looked away, “fornicate.”
Harry and Ron flushed deep, matching shades of crimson. “Oh I seriously don’t want to think about that,” Harry mumbled under his breath. Ron seemed to turn red and then green (with sickness or with jealousy, Harry couldn't tell).
“They looked like they were going to… do that?” Ron asked in a disgruntled whisper.
The Fat Lady made a tittering, noncommittal sound. “The taller one led the bushy-haired one off by the hand, and they were speaking very quietly close together…” Her smile seemed to turn malicious. “I’ve seen this before, boys, and let me tell you: it’s no surprise that the whole school is talking about it.”
“They’re what?” Ron practically yelled. “The whole bloody school is talking about my sister and—” His voice choked off, as if he physically could not bring himself to utter the words. “I swear to Merlin when I see Hermione…”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?” Harry ventured timidly.
Ron whipped around on him. His eyes glinted angrily in the early morning light. “Did you say something?” he hissed.
Harry rolled his eyes. Ron was so immature, sometimes it was maddening. “I said,” he emphasized, “don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical? You being angry at Hermione when you’re with Lavender, I mean.”
“No, it isn’t bloody ‘hypocritical’,” Ron sneered. “I can be as bloody angry as I want to, can’t I? I mean, Merlin, she’s my bloody girlfriend.”
“No, she isn’t,” Harry reminded him firmly. “She's not your girlfriend. You two broke up, though neither one of you will tell me why. And if I had to guess I'd say it was probably because — and I’m sorry about this Ron but, if past experience is anything to go by — it was probably because you were a prat. And you moved on rather quickly to someone else. Hermione was just barely out the door and you were off with some other girl.”
Ron turned crimson, the light tint of anger boiling over. “Now you’re defending her, are you?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. You’re being completely unfair to her. I love you, and I love Hermione, and you’re both like family to me, but you’re being a right prick about this whole thing. You can’t be pissy with her just because she’s found someone else, because if I remember correctly, so have you.”
“I can’t believe you’re taking her side in all this.”
“I’m not taking sides!” Harry was quick to clarify. “I’m not siding with one of you over the other. I'm telling you you're being unfair. But otherwise I’m perfectly neutral about the whole situation.”
“How can you be?” Ron yelled. They were beginning to draw a crowd. Harry shifted uncomfortably as a group of gawking second years loitered around, packing the sides of the corridor and staring at them with hungry curiosity. “How can you be neutral about this? My ex-girlfriend is messing about with my sister. That has to be like… against the law or something!”
“I’m pretty sure it isn’t—”
“And what about you?” Ron yelled, at this point desperate to gain an ally at whatever cost. “I thought you fancied Ginny!”
Harry blushed a little. “Well, I mean… I don’t know if fancy is the right word… certainly she’s very beautiful…”
Ron punched him on the shoulder, hard. “That’s my sister!”
“Ow Ron, what the hell? You brought it up!”
“Still… don’t talk about her like that!”
Harry shook his head. “I’m not talking to you about this again until you’ve calmed down. Why don’t you go for a fly or something? Or a run? Burn some steam off before you do something you'll regret.”
Ron huffed and spun on his heel, effectively cutting Harry off abruptly. “I’m going to find them,” he stated with firm determination.
“You leave them alone!” Harry half-yelled, trailing after his friend. Ron ignored him, pushing his way through the group of chattering second years as if he didn’t even see them. “Ron, I mean it!” Harry tried again.
When Ron seemed absolutely determined to ignore Harry’s warning (his forward progress not even slowing), Harry took some drastic measures. He drew his wand and gave it one strong flick. Ron stumbled and crashed to the ground, his legs bound tightly with a rope that hadn’t been there moments before.
The second years stood frozen, gaping dumbly after witnessing the Boy Who Lived hex his best friend. Ron managed to flop himself onto his back, which gave him enough opportunity to not only glare at Harry, but also to pull out his own wand.
He growled and shot a stinging hex at Harry’s face, which was only narrowly blocked. Harry fired back a disarming spell that knocked Ron’s already prone body back a few dozen yards.
Ron let out a yell of fury, released his legs, and leapt to his feet. The hallway lit up with the bright explosions of firing hexes while students ran every which way for a professor or Prefect.
It was upon this scene that Professor McGonagall appeared only a few short minutes later, shocked, stunned, and more than a little disgruntled at what she was witnessing.
“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley… ENOUGH!” With a single wave of her own wand, both the boys were disarmed and frozen in place.
Harry and Ron panted, glaring at each other as their Head of House began to yell about “setting a poor example” and “hooligan behaviour.”
Ron had a bloody nose, and Harry had a large gash on his forehead that dripped blood down onto the left lens on his glasses, clouding his vision. Ron was also breaking out in a nasty case of what looked like chicken pox, while Harry’s wand arm was swollen to twice its normal size.
“You two are supposed to be friends! And you, Mr. Weasley, a Prefect!” McGonagall glowered at the pair of them. “You are not the students I expected to find dueling in the corridor on a Wednesday morning. Shame on the pair of you. And twenty-five points from Gryffindor, each.” The students that had gathered in the hallway to watch the duel groaned, and a few even muttered expletives under their breath at the two boys, who only continued to give each other sour looks.
McGonagall looked about ready to throw a fit. “My office. Immediately.” She ground out the last word through clenched teeth, and even if Harry and Ron had had control of their own bodies, they would not have dared disobey her.
“Now what,” McGonagall began when all three of them were seated awkwardly in her office, Harry and Ron steadfastly refusing to look at each other, “pray tell, were the two of you thinking, engaging in a duel like that outside of class where anyone could have walked by and been hit?” She glared at them from over her spectacles, and Harry wished more than anything that right in this moment he could sink into his chair and cease to exist. “Do you realize how serious this could have been?” McGonagall snapped. “Your foolish, childish, immature behaviour has me in the mindset to relieve the both of you of your duties!”
That got Harry and Ron’s attention the way nothing else could have.
“But… what do you mean, Professor?” Harry asked nervously, finally taking the time to wipe the blood from his glasses.
“I mean,” McGonagall said haughtily, looking down her nose at him as if he were something foul she had stepped in walking back from the Quidditch Pitch, “that perhaps you and Mr. Weasley are not mature enough to take on all of the responsibilities of being a Quidditch Captain and Prefect.” Ron and Harry turned pale. “Certainly such childish acts do not reflect highly on my and Professor Dumbledore’s assertions to the other staff members that, despite all of the hardships you both have faced throughout your lives, these leadership opportunities would allow you to rise to the occasion and mature. We assured the other Heads of House that you would not disappoint us, and that when situation demanded it you would both be willing to put the needs of other students over your own.” Harry and Ron stared down at their laps. “Clearly we were wrong,” McGonagall said coldly, eyeing the two young men before her. “Now what on Earth gave you the idea that it would be okay to duel in the middle of—?”
“Ron was going to do something I didn’t agree with,” Harry cut in quickly, hoping that that would be explanation enough.
McGonagall stared at him in utter disbelief. “Then, as I’m sure someone taught you in your primary education, Mr. Potter, it is appropriate to express one’s disapproval with words, like a civilized creature who has undergone five years of Muggle education and then an additional five and a half of wizarding education! Or have you forgotten the basis of humane interaction in the few months since you turned sixteen?”
Harry blushed a deep crimson. “I did it for his own good, really. He was going to get into a fight with Hermione and Ginny and really he would have turned out a lot worse if that happened. I did him a favour. He should be thanking me.”
McGonagall blinked at him. “What do Ms. Granger and Ms. Weasley have to do with all of this?”
Ron glared down at his hands. Harry looked around the room uncomfortably.
“I believe,” a tired, calm voice said from the doorway, “that Harry is referring to Ms. Granger and Ms. Weasley’s new romantic relationship. Isn’t that right, Harry?”
Harry looked up into the eyes of the Headmaster he had barely seen in weeks. Ever since they had gone to meet Slughorn that summer, Dumbledore had been mysteriously and conspicuously absent from Harry’s life and studies — despite promises of private lessons and one-on-one meetings. Dumbledore looked older than he had a month ago, and tired, and very much like he hadn’t slept in a long time.
“How was your trip, Headmaster?” McGonagall asked, standing from behind her desk and giving Dumbledore a polite nod. He waved her back down.
“It was fine, Minerva, thank you.” He turned his sharp eyes to Harry and Ron. “Already getting into trouble again I see, Mr. Potter. I’ve only been gone a few days.” There was an amused twinkle in the Headmaster’s eye that made Harry believe he was not about to be yelled at. It was a small comfort.
“What is this about Ms. Granger and Ms. Weasley?” McGonagall asked.
“I believe Ronald here,” and with that Dumbledore laid his (healthy) hand upon Ron’s shoulder, causing the younger man to shift uncomfortably, “had a rather unfortunate reaction to the discovery that one of his best friends is dating his younger sister.”
McGonagall, to her credit, only let her eyebrows raise a hair, in the barest show of perfunctory curiosity. “An unfortunate reaction?” she questioned.
Dumbledore chuckled. “Something like that.” His hand tightened on Ron’s shoulder, imperceptible to anyone who was watching them, but enough for Ron to know that this was his warning: Cut the shit, man up, and stop being an ignorant prick, though perhaps not in those exact words. Either way, it was clear to Ron that Dumbledore was going to be keeping an eye on him. And that rarely ended well.
“And Mr. Potter was…?”
“I believe he was defending his friend’s honour.” Dumbledore winked at Harry. “Or something akin to it.”
Harry nodded, his eyes still averted to his lap.
McGonagall eyed him shrewdly. “Five points to Gryffindor,” she said, so nonchalantly that if Ron’s head had not whipped up in disbelief at that exact moment, Harry may have thought he imagined it. “Now, both of you have a breakfast to attend.” She waved them away, and the two boys hastily stood and made for the door. “Go to the Hospital Wing first; we don’t need any young students getting sick in their morning porridge over the sight of you. And, boys?” She stopped them suddenly just as they were slipping from the room. “The next time I find the two of you mid-brawl, I will not be so kind. Now, get yourselves cleaned up. I expect you both in my class in one hour, on time.”
**
“You got into a fight? With Ron?” Hermione gaped at him.
She had stormed down to the Quidditch pitch half an hour ago (Ron was pettily sitting practice out, pretending he was in bed sick so as not to face Harry or his sister or the team. Hermione wasn’t too bothered about this because it also meant she didn’t have to see him). She had stood outside of the changing tent, impatiently tapping her foot as player after player walked past her with little head tilts of greeting and acknowledgement. (When Ginny had exited — almost last — she had quirked an eyebrow at Hermione in question. “You here to see me?” she'd asked, but Hermione had shaken her head. “Here to yell at Harry, actually.” Ginny had chuckled and wished her luck).
Harry stood in front of her now, hair dirty and wild from his broom and an ugly red mark beneath his hairline that hadn’t totally healed yet. Hermione stared at him, lost for words, furious and confused all at once. “Harry, why on Earth would you do something so foolish?”
“He was being an arse, Hermione. You should have heard him. I couldn't just let him talk about you like that.”
“He’s your best friend, Harry, you shouldn’t have—”
“Yeah, well you’re my best friend, too,” Harry cut her off quickly. “Everyone always expects me to take Ron’s side, you know? That’s always the way it goes. People think, ‘Oh Hermione and Ron are in a fight, guess she can't talk to Harry’. I don't like that. You're my best friend, too.”
Hermione stammered for a few moments, finally managing to let out a soft, emphatic, “Harry…” before she was silenced again.
Harry reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed her fingers tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Ginny?” he asked her softly. “Did you… did you think I would be mad at you? That I wouldn’t…” He trailed off and seemed to clamor helplessly for words for several long seconds. “I know what the Muggle world’s like, Hermione,” he continued softly, almost in a whisper even though they were alone where they stood, outside in the crisp November air surrounded by golden trees and dying grass and cool wind. “I know that… that Muggles don’t exactly like relationships between—” a long pause and a shake of his head. “But I’m different, you know? I don’t care if you’re dating… if you’re…” he trailed off, blushing. “Boy we really don’t talk about this stuff, you and I, do we?”
Hermione smiled despite her teary eyes and shook her head ruefully. “No we don’t, but it’s sweet that you’re trying.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you.”
“You could have told me,” he whispered, and Hermione nodded against his cheek, still wrapped in his warm embrace.
“I know. I know I could have. I guess…” She trailed off. She didn’t want to lie to Harry, she didn’t, not when he was being so incredible and supportive and fighting Ron but… but she couldn’t have both of her best friends furious at her. She couldn’t have him lying to Ron, too. He wouldn't be able to keep it up. He wouldn't be able to even if he wanted to. And he definitely wouldn't want to. She couldn’t tell him that her whole relationship with Ginny wasn’t real. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell.
So she tried to say as little as possible. “It was all so sudden,” she supplied weakly instead. “We didn’t really… we didn’t really talk about it, at first,” and she was glad her face was buried in his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to see her expression. She had always been a dreadful liar, and even though what she was saying was technically true, the deceit tasted foul on her tongue.
“I love you, Hermione. No matter what.” He squeezed her once more and took a step back and she was startled to see he had tears welling at the corners of his eyes just like she did. He shook himself. “I’m happy that you’re happy. I’m not happy that Ron is being a dick, but…if Ginny makes you happy, then that’s all that I want. You’re my best friend,” he reiterated emphatically.
Hermione smiled and tried very hard to make it genuine, like the smile of a woman who was falling in love and not the smile of a woman who was standing in front of her best friend and fabricating a lesbian romance to get back at her ex.
God she was a terrible person.
“Ginny’s lovely,” she said, to try and dodge the ‘as long as she makes you happy’ line that was glaring uncomfortably at her from the space and silence between them. “And she keeps me on my toes.”
Harry laughed and threw an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, leading her back into the castle. “Well, I should hope so; Ron and I lost us almost 50 house points because of that fight and I wouldn’t want that to be for nothing.”
“You did what!?”
Harry grimaced and only looked at Hermione from the corner of his eye. He could still feel her glare, could practically see the steam billowing out of her ears. “McGonagall sort of… well…”
Hermione groaned. “Harry, you know I’m the only one who earns points during lessons! We’ll be behind for the rest of term!”
“What about that Philosopher’s Stone business? I got us points then!”
“That was First Year!” She pulled out from under his arm and started whacking him on the shoulder.
“Quidditch is points too, Hermione!” he shouted, laughing as he dodged her feeble blows.
She glared at him. “You lot and your bloody Quidditch! Quidditch isn’t the whole world. What about studying, what about school?”
“Ack — don’t hit me! I defended your honour!”
“I didn’t ask you to!”
“Ouch, Hermione, ouch!” Harry yelled but couldn’t fight the laughter bubbling inside of him. His protests were weak, his attempts to evade her half-hearted at best, and when the two of them finally made it into the castle (even though Harry was rubbing ruefully at his sore shoulder), Hermione was wind-swept and grinning, tucked happily under Harry’s arm, and so he found he was quite proud of himself. He would let her admonish him until she went blue in the face, so long as she smiled at the end.
Ron was a real prat, and sometimes a shite best friend, but Harry would try his damndest to make up for that.
Plus, Hermione had spent the past 6 years editing his terrible essays, so… he figured the least he could do was make her smile.
**