One for sorrow, two for mirth

The next day Hermione wakes with the first ray of sun. Her sleep was very troubled tonight. All her patchy dreams have been about her and Ron screaming at each other. Hermione gives a worn-out sigh and makes herself crawl out of bed. Ginny is still sleeping. Everyone is. It’s Christmas — all of the students have stayed after hours, even if it wasn’t as late as her and Draco. Hermione drags herself to the bathroom, dazedly pondering over the fact that today she has another date planned. Maybe she’d better skip it, tell Ron they both need to blow off some steam. Or will it only pull them apart? Have they drifted apart already? No. No, no, and no. It’s only a phase. A tough, heart-wrenching phase. She’d go and they’d talk and sort everything out. Just… Maybe not today. Hermione is drying her hair with a towel when she finally decides to miss today’s encounter. It’s fine. He’ll understand. After putting on the first thing she grabs from the wardrobe, Hermione picks up her satchel and goes down to the Common room. It’s crowded with First- and Second-years, opening presents, laughing, and having the time of their lives. The First-years have never been sorted; they are the pioneers of what McGonagall is striving to build here at Hogwarts. They seem happier to Hermione: they chat in bigger groups, their laughter is louder and more honest… Or maybe that’s only her wishful thinking. Hermione leaves the room. The air there is too cheerful and innocent for her to stay. It’s like she poisons the Christmas mood with her gloom. As soon as she is in the hall, she sends a Patronus to tell Ron that she won’t come. Of course, she could have waited for Ginny to wake up to pass the message, but she would try and convince Hermione to go. It’s no surprise that her feet bring her to the Library. At this hour on Christmas day it’s deserted. Even Madam Pince is nowhere to be seen. Hermione roams mindlessly among the aisles, her fingertips brushing the book spines. When she finally picks one — randomly, to be frank — almost an hour has passed. She doesn’t even make it up the stairs to her favourite spot by the window when the Library door slams open. Ron. He is breathing heavily and his hair is more of a mess than usual. 'Mione, what the heck?! I thought it’s an emergency, you’ve sent a bloody Patronus! ' She makes a step downstairs and blinks at him. 'But- It had a message, didn’t you-' 'I heard it,’ he interrupts. ‘But at first I panicked, we both panicked!..’ He eyes her for a good minute, probably trying to make sure she is indeed unharmed. ‘So, you’re skipping, for real? Why, though? Don’t you- Don’t you want to patch up things from yesterday? ' She runs all the way down the stairs. Seeing him so distraught is heart-breaking. 'Of course I do! But today is… I just think we both need to cool down, Ron. And if we don’t, we might fall out even more…' The last words are barely audible. It’s frightening to say them. 'How is boiling in anger for a whole day any better? ' Oh. Right. While making her decision, Hermione forgot that for Ron, time is not an asset to think everything over or unwind. It’s more of a cage where he is bound to relive the problem over and over. 'You are probably right,’ she says with a small smile. ‘Let’s go, then.' She reaches her hand and he grabs it, entwining their fingers. Ron gives a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, praise Merlin, I thought I’d have to drag you… ' They are one step from the door when it opens, and of course, of course behind it must be Draco. Ron freezes on the spot, a disgusted smirk blooming on his lips. 'Damn. I’ve heard you had the audacity to enrol for the final year, Malfoy…’ She tugs him on the sleeve. ‘But honestly, how are you still in one piece? ' It’s like he doesn’t notice her at all. She tugs again, tighter. 'Ron…' 'Well, you can’t possibly think you’d get out of Hogwarts alive? ' Tug. 'Ron, enough.' 'Who knows, maybe that is actually your plan.’ Tug. ‘Since you’d wuss out to kill yourself with your own two hands.' She pinches him, and it finally works — he glances at her at least. 'Ronald, stop it! Let’s go, you wanted to go.' Draco, absolutely heedless of them until now, finally speaks: 'Your lady wants to go, Weasley.' Ron snaps. No surprise. 'Don’t tell me what my girlfriend wants, you maggot! You don’t get to talk about her anymore! ' Hermione jerks her hand away and straight up screams: 'I said, enough! Ron, one more word and I’m staying! ' He wants to continue but bites back after all. She takes his hand again, and they proceed. Draco isn’t looking at them. She wants to catch his gaze and apologise for Ron’s outburst at least silently, but he has turned his head away. 'Why are you defending that sodding twat?' Ron mumbles when they come out of the gate. 'Because. Ron, you don’t know how he’s had it here this year. Everyone thinks it’s their duty to cast stones at him. A couple of times Draco could have actually die-' 'Draco? Since when are you on a first-name basis with enemies? ' 'Ron, please. He is not an enemy and he is really trying.' 'Damn, bully for him! That ship has sailed though.' Now he’s just grumbling. 'I don’t see why we should give Draco — or anyone like him — chances.' Hermione sighs. This is not the conversation she wishes to have, walking through a winter wonderland with her lover. 'Please, let’s not make Draco Malfoy a part of our date.' Ron snorts and then smooches her. 'Yeah, sorry. You’re right.' It’s remarkable how one simple 'sorry' from Ron’s mouth always makes her feel at ease. It’s something about his smile: it’s so honest and bright that she immediately believes everything will be fine, just has to be. All the way to Hogsmeade, they walk in silence, but it’s not awkward. He is clasping her hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. It’s soothing and feels like home. After a hearty brunch at The Three Broomsticks, they walk off the beaten paths. The compulsory visits were paid yesterday; they can spend all the time they want solely with each other. Today Ron is mostly listening to her rather than talking himself. Seeing that he’s trying makes her hopeful and grateful. So she loosens the reins and blabbers about pretty much everything. Though it goes without saying that every time she gets to certain days or events, she has to be careful with words. One misstep, one mention of her and Draco — and it’s a guaranteed bust-up. It feels wrong to conceal things from Ron. But he is like that; he is wary and spiteful. She has learnt it while trying to juggle between him and Harry during their Triwizard fallout. So, Hermione rattles on about her studies — excluding their bibliophilic fellowship with Draco, about her Head Girl endeavours — excluding a whole campaign she’s waged on Draco’s behalf, about all the people she spends time with — excluding the nighttime book club they happened to start with Draco in the past month… Now that she’s forced to think of it specifically — good Godric, Draco is a notable part of her Seventh year. Omitting him feels worse and worse as she speaks, not only towards Ron now, but towards Draco himself. Yet she has to keep going. She doesn’t need another squabble with her boyfriend over a person who will be out of her life forever in mere months from now. 'Mione? ' Ron interrupts her animated story about Lisa Turpin accidentally turning tap water in their dorm bathroom into rock-oil. 'Mm? ' He scratches his nape, knitting his brow. 'I haven’t heard you say anything about DADA classes. How is this year’s teacher… Brindlemore, is it? Gin mentioned that she’s all shady, doesn’t ever show her face or something.' Hermione shrugs. If Ron suspects Professor Brindlemore of some Death-Eating activities, well… she can’t help the case. 'Oh. Yes, I see her at times, she looks really mysterious with that giant hood. I don’t take DADA classes this year, though. Professor McGonagall and I decided I’d ace the N.E.W.T. as it is after the war.' Ron looks dumbfounded. Yes, she knows it’s outrageous: Hermione Granger skipping a core class. Or maybe he is offended that it’s only now that he’s learnt of this. 'No, of course I’d apply if I had the choice.' She raises hands in defence. 'But it’s not like I can use a Time-Turner now to attend all the classes I need, and I didn’t have a vacant slot for Ancient Studies in my curriculum, so-' 'Mione, you can’t be serious, ' he interrupts. 'Why? I’m taking the DADA N.E.W.T. like others and I’m reading a lot of-' He splutters, interrupting her yet again, and she hates being interrupted. 'Reading? Umbridge made us read, was that useful in any way? You can’t read your way out of an Unforgivable, it takes constant practice! ' 'I’ve had quite enough practice, Ronald, thank you very much, ' she whispers and purses her lips. That’s practice she’d go out of her way to escape in the future, unless there’s no choice. 'It’s never enough when-' he stops short, but she’s already caught on to the idea. 'When what? When you’re an Auror? That I’m not going to be? ' she asks, enunciating the last words. 'You wanted to patch it up with me, yet you still want to talk me into abandoning my goal?! ' She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. 'Ron, I’m telling you for the last time, so please, listen. I am not entering Aurorat. I’d rather be a Beater in Quidditch.' Ron squints in that signature gravely disappointed manner of his. 'Honestly, it’s like you hate Aurors in general,' he spits. Hermione freezes. If she says what she is about to say right now, they may be over. But she can’t hide it forever. Unlike Draco, the Aurors in her life are not going anywhere. 'In a way, I do, Ron,' she looks him in the eye, even though the urge to look away is unbearable. 'Because Aurorat, even at its best, is all about cleaning after the likes of Voldemort, and what I want to work towards is a world where such wizards are prevented from ever appearing. And I’d appreciate help on the way, but you chose to play skirmish even after surviving a real war.' 'I’ve lost a brother!' he screams, his hands in tight fists, and she feels like she killed Fred with her own two hands. 'You have. And yet you still don’t see how my path is supposed to help people to never lose brothers again.' He visibly wants to scream at her more. 'Why are you saying all this? It’s like you want to break up or something… And on purpose! I thought you loved me.' Yes. He’s right. He can be uncouth at times, but now he’s hit the bullseye. 'I do. This is why I wasn’t pushing you. You chose Aurorat, you chose Harry’s way and I was fine with that. A bit hurt, but fine.' She calms the tears welling up inside. 'But when it came to my choice you refused to accept it. So, if we are bound to fall apart as lovers, better do it now.' He catches her hand, eyes wide. 'No. No-no-no. You don’t get to decide it on your own, Mione, I have a bloody say in this too! I want to be with you! ' The need to cry is tearing her apart, but she can’t. If she cries, he’d hug her, and she’d lose any sliver of resolve she still has. She almost feels her heart physically shatter. 'No, Ronald. You want me to be with you. There is a difference.' She wants to just storm off, apparate, disappear. But on the other hand, she yearns to hear what he’ll say. He says nothing. When Hermione enters the Common room, she somehow still manages to hold her tears. She even forces a couple of greetings before running up to the bedroom and falling onto the bed with the ugliest of cries. It’s still early in the evening, and she is alone here, but after pouring out the most unbearable part of her grief, she sits up and meticulously casts several muting charms around her bed and shuts the canopy curtains. Only after that she lets herself cry some more.

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The next morning, the sun finds Hermione right where it left her yesterday: in her bed, still dressed in jeans and a sweater, and in tears. She wasn’t sure about many things in her life. But her and Ron were a given. She could be childish and jealous and anything else, but deep inside she’d always known they are meant to be. Yesterday she was robbed of this certainty. Yes, they can try and mend it for a while. But for how long? And is that time worth it? Wouldn’t that be more painful? She is broken enough as it is. Hermione turns on her back and stares at the canopy. She has fought so hard for this to work, and it still hasn’t been enough. They’d had this special thread between them, but the war came and cut it. Hermione can try and tie it back all she wants, but it would never be the same, it would never be… Them. Even if Ron was willing to understand her and accept her view, he’d never share it. They’d just be walking on glass shards around each other. Nobody needs that… 'Hermione, are you okay? ' a muffled voice comes from outside the curtains. It’s Ginny. Oh, this is a catastrophe! How should she tell her? It has been all planned and lined out. Ginny has practically become her sister. Mrs Weasley… Oh, Merlin. It’s hard to say which wedding has been number one on Mrs Weasley’s wait-list. Probably Harry’s, but Hermione was definitely a worthy contender. With a heavy sigh, Hermione banishes the charms. 'Not really, Gin. I sort of… Broke up with your brother.' Ginny sits beside her silently. 'Did he do something nasty? I can hex him if you want.' Gin forces a smile. She is no fool, she feels people very keenly. Hermione is sure Ginny has already guessed from her looks that it’s truly over. But she tries to make Hermione laugh nevertheless. Ginny is a good friend. They sit in silence for some time. Ginny holds her hand, and Hermione just lies there, swallowing tears that should have run out a long time ago. Then Ginny leaves. The boys are still at Hogsmeade and she is having another date with Harry. Well, at least these two would never break each other’s hearts (and Mrs Weasley’s). In the end, Hermione wallows in tears for the whole day. She has promised herself she’d start functioning as soon as Gin returns, but apparently Harry isn’t ready to let his girlfriend go just yet. Hermione wonders dazedly if McGonagall’s special Golden Trio Rule applies to Ginny too. The sun is down again, and Hermione crawls out of her bed. She doesn’t have the energy for a shower, but at the very least she has to wash off these layers of salt crusting her face after all the crying. The reflection she meets in the bathroom mirror is not hers. It’s a different Hermione Granger that has been viciously stung by an entire beehive. Her face is so red and swollen that she barely sees her eyes. But she has to go out. If she stays in the room, she will just cry all over again. The Common room must be empty at this hour. At worst, she’ll run into Malfoy. Hermione snorts. The dazzling beauty queen that she is right now might very well cure poor Draco from his unrequited love. He is really there. On their usual sofa, engaged in reading. A cowardly urge to return to her wailing lair flashes in the back of her mind. Hermione stubbornly goes down the stairs, ignoring this urge. There was a time when she’d sooner die than show her tear-stained face to Draco Malfoy. But that time has passed. He hears her steps, apparently, but doesn’t as much as glance at her. 'Up so late, Granger? ' 'How did you know it was me? ' she wonders, flopping on the sofa beside him. Draco shrugs. 'Who else could it be? ' He has a point. Not many students stay in the Common room at night. Even fewer would come up to talk to Draco Malfoy. But still, he could at least check. 'I don’t know. Anyone? ' 'Then let’s suppose it was wishful thinking, ' he says, smiling, by the sound of it, and finally raises his head. His smug face immediately turns startled. 'I really want to ask, ' he says reluctantly after a measurable pause. 'Should I? ' Hermione curls up her legs. She doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe this is exactly why she came down to the Common room and didn’t even bother to bring a book. She hoped Draco would be here. She hoped Draco would ask. Because Ginny is a great friend, but she is also Ron’s sister. And right now Hermione desperately needs a person who won’t start overthinking it, who won’t search for psychological explanations — that she can do herself — but who will wholeheartedly tell her that Ron is a moron. And Malfoy has a dab hand in this. 'I broke up with Ron yesterday, ' she croaks, holding back tears. Just how much tears is there inside her?! He freezes. Then sets his book aside. 'What did he do? Is this time for me to finally use the Killing Curse? ' Hermione wants to hit him for such jokes, but his attitude is just what the doctor ordered. 'He didn’t do anything in particular, we’ve just…' She snorts. 'Well, actually, it started when he insulted you.' Of course that was not the reason. But Ron lashing out at Draco so spitefully was what ignited her resentment that morning, and that’s some first-class irony. 'Granger, you spoil me, ' he drawls with a smirk. 'Don’t get ideas, ' she grumbles, feeling her cheeks flush. Thankfully, her face is so red from all the crying, that he won’t notice. 'I would never, ' he answers jokingly, but his stare is very serious. 'You see, we… We don’t view the war and what needs to be done after it the same way. He’s becoming… Aggressive, you know? ' In a blink of an eye his face becomes as black as thunder. 'If he laid but a finger on you…' Draco starts in a hoarse voice. 'Oh, gods, no! ' She feels offended for Ron. How could he even think! 'No, I don’t mean aggressive in that sense. He just… He wants to catch every last Death Eater personally. And he hopes they suffer…' Draco sighs. Obviously, this is not a light topic for him. The Malfoys were pardoned, but every next Minister can revoke the pardon easily. Then the suffering Death Eater at Ron’s mercy might very well be him. 'I hoped this rage would thin out in time. That I’d help him get over his grief. But everything has been getting worse and… And…' The tears overwhelm her again. 'I ended up being so useless! ' she forces out through sobs. 'Granger.' He grabs her by the shoulders and lowers his head to see her eyes. 'Saving people is not your job, do you hear me? Especially when your endeavours are not appreciated. Quit it. Weasley is a prick who thinks his righteousness is a carte blanche for doing all sorts of ugly things. He doesn’t deserve a hair on your head.' Hermione came here to hear that Ron is a prick. But honestly, Draco is coming on too strong. Ron isn’t how he says, he isn’t better or worse than Hermione. He just runs parallel to her. A new crying fit shakes her. She feels Draco’s hands reluctantly stroking her shoulders. Hermione is this close to hugging him. She just desperately needs a hug, even if it’s gonna hurt him. Even if she breaks her promise. 'It was- So hard! ' she wails. 'I had- Had to do it- Myself- Had to end- Everything- And I love him! ' Draco jerks his hands away in a split second. Of course he does. She is friendzoning him mercilessly. Except that they aren’t even friends. Or are they now? 'Thank you, Draco… You- You can go if you want.' She sniffles and tries to dab away the tears with her sleeves, already soaking wet. 'Out of the question. I can’t possibly leave you like this all alone. Isn’t the Weasley girl coming back? ' Hermione glances at the door, as if giving Ginny the last chance to appear. 'I suppose she stayed with Harry.' 'Then I’m not going.’ Contrary to his words, he immediately gets up. ‘Let me bring you a book, we can just sit and read like we always do. No Weaselbee, no nothing, only books.' It’s tempting, but not entirely possible. 'I won’t be able to see words through my tears, ' she croaks bashfully. 'Then…’ He rubs his eyes, thinking. ‘Then you sit, and I’ll read to you. What do you want to listen to? ' She blinks. She expected him to come up with an option, but not with this. Although, the idea sounds nice. 'I don’t know. What were you reading? ' 'An old tome on alchemy, ' he briefly shows the cover, which looks like Meandering of Medicinal Mystics by Michael Maier. But she can’t be sure. Just as she said, she can’t see clearly. 'That’ll do.' She sniffs the tears back and forces a smile. He gives her a crooked smile back and finds the paragraph which he stopped at. 'As mentioned anteriorly, a metal is a light-coloured body that is prone to anviling…' Draco starts steadily. His voice is not particularly low, but the manner of reading is calming, animated just enough to keep her drawn in rather than lull. It is really helping to even her breathing and stop the tears. Hermione closes her eyes and concentrates on the words. There is no Ronald Weasley, no Aurors, no war. Only the fascinating ability of azoth to absorb pure gold. Draco turns out to be a pretty engaging reader, and they make it all the way to Paracelsus' iatrochemistry, before she finally drops into sleep. She wakes up muffled in the warm rays of the sun and a muted citrus scent. It’s very nice and calming — equally bitter and sweet. Bergamot, maybe? Hermione tosses about for some time, hoping that the warmth and the scent would lull her back to sleep. She nuzzles into the blanket, breathing in the citrus and… A very cosy dusty smell of old books. Dazed, she opens her eyes only to see that the blanket she is wrapped in is actually Draco’s robe. Hermione sighs. He will be out of her life forever mere months from now, and in some ways, she’ll miss him.