Truth and Consequences

Truth & Consequences

It had begun as just one more Ron and Hermione spat, the kind of bickering Harry and the rest of Gryffindor House had gotten used to over the last five years. Ron had thrown down his quill in disgust over a piece of homework. Hermione had tried to point out where Ron was going wrong. He snapped at her. She flared back at him, and off they went….

They were still at it, hammer and tongs, as they walked down to the Hallowe’en Feast that evening. Harry hadn’t tried to intervene. For one thing, they would both accuse him of taking sides; for another, these things tended to burn out after a few hours, anyway. But, today, was different. Neither Hermione nor Ron seemed able to stop; their quarrel was like an itch that they had to keep scratching. Every time the quarrel seemed to die down, one or another of them would say something else--and it would all start up, again.

There were other telltale clues that Harry might have noticed if he had been looking for them. Hermione (never the biggest of eaters) seemed wholly uninterested in her dinner and, though Ron had heaped his plate as usual, he was pushing the food around, hardly eating a mouthful. Also, despite the fact that they were arguing intensely, the two sat very close together.

It was about halfway through the Feast that Ron dropped his fork, got up without a word, and left the hall. Hermione glared after him for a second, then shot to her feet to follow, mouth set in a grim frown that boded no good for her target. Harry barely noticed, distracted by a number of girls who had suddenly surrounded him and were vying for his (rather confused) attention.

Ron’s legs were considerably longer than Hermione’s, so he was well ahead of her when she reached Gryffindor Tower. She had been afraid that he would go up to the Boys’ Dormitory but, instead, he was standing, looking lost and forlorn for all his manly size, in the middle of the Common Room.

He swung round as she entered. “Oh, bloody hell! Can’t a man get a moment’s peace around here?” Ron raged.

Hermione was about to make her usual waspish retort. Then, her face crumpled, and sudden tears flooded down her cheeks.

“Oh, no!” Ron breathed, in a half-whisper.

In three quick strides he crossed the room to pull her into his arms. Hermione didn’t resist; she clutched the front of his robe, buried her face in his chest, and sobbed as if her heart were breaking. She felt him gently stroking her hair and heard him murmuring, “Shh, Hermione. Don’t cry, love. I didn’t mean to…”

She pushed away from him so she could look up at his face. He gazed down at her, his own eyes bright with tears. Ron had an open, mobile face that showed everything he was feeling and, right now, emotions chased each other across his features with bewildering speed. There was fear, hope, sadness, tenderness, despair, and something else that Hermione hardly dared think about or hope for.

“Why do we do this to each other?” she asked him, her voice husky from crying. “Why do we always argue and fight? It seems that every time I try to help you, or show you I care, you snap at me and we have a row.”

Ron mumbled something. Hermione, fists still knotted in his robe, tried to shake him – it was like shaking an oak tree, but she tried anyway. “What, Ron? Tell me!”

Ron studied the dainty, but fiery, creature still loosely clasped in his arms. He knew Hermione; she looked like porcelain, but she was white steel underneath. Right now, though, she was swallowing him with those wonderful eyes; right now she was every bit as fragile as she looked.

This was the crisis, thought Ron. Whatever he did or said now would change everything for both of them. He decided he must tell the truth; he owed Hermione that much. He breathed in, and took the plunge. “It’s because I love you, Hermione, and I’m scared you might feel the same way about me!”

Hermione’s heart thundered in her chest so hard she could barely breathe. He loved her? Ron had said he loved her! It took her a moment to grasp the rest of the sentence. She almost wailed, “Ron, you’re not making sense! Why are you scared I might…might…”

He held her a little away from him then, his huge hands on her slender shoulders, and spoke deliberately, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. “Listen! You’re Hermione Granger--your parents are well off, you have a nice home and you go on ski-ing holidays. You’re the brightest student in this Year and everyone says you’re going to be a high-flying Research Witch in the Department of Mysteries after you leave here. You can be whatever you want to be.

“I’m Ron Weasley, of the dirt-poor Weasleys. Ron Weasley, who lives in an old rabbit warren with loads of brothers and sisters. Ron Weasley, with the hand-me-down robes, second-hand books and used broomstick. Ron Weasley, who can’t even manage a simple levitation spell half the time and who’ll be lucky to get a job with his Dad in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.

“Just because I fell in love with you doesn’t mean I have to let you waste your life on me! You deserve better, Hermione. So, every time I feel like we’re getting too close, or I think you might care for me too much, I try to push you away. For your own sake, go and fall for Harry or Viktor or someone, but don’t throw yourself away on me!”

He was going to continue, but Hermione put her fingers to his lips. She had never touched him so intimately, and before he could stop himself, he gently kissed her fingertips. She was smiling at him through her tears now. “Oh, Ron, you are such an idiot! I couldn’t love Harry - not that way – he’s like a brother! I was only trying to make you jealous with Viktor. He’s just a friend--a sweet, kind friend.

“As for what I deserve, let’s see… Do I deserve a man with a loving heart? A man brave as a lion, strong as a bear, loyal as a hound and gentle as a lamb? Do I deserve a man who regularly risks his life for his friends? A man who left one of the most feared and vicious students at this school in a bloody mess on the floor last week because he called me a ‘Mudblood’ once too often?

“Does Hermione Granger, bossy bluestocking, destined to be an old maid with a heart as dry and dusty as her books, deserve a real, live hero like Ron Weasley? No, I don’t!” Hermione shook her head. “But, if you want me, Ron, I’m yours. Because I love you, you stupid git! I always have, and I always will.”

Ron was speechless. They were both crying, now, and not from sadness. Slowly, tenderly, he pulled her to him. Hermione stretched her arms around his neck. For a moment, he hesitated, then he lowered his face to hers.

It was a long, intense kiss, the first of many. They were making up for lost time and wasted years and all those silly, pointless rows. They were so wrapped up in each other that they did not notice when Gryffindors started entering the Common Room.

There were no jeers or whistles. Hermione blushed scarlet when she realised they were not alone, but Ron kept his arms around her, and she drew strength from him.

Harry was at the front of the crowd, and he was grinning like a fool. When he approached them, Harry reached out and hugged them both, hard. They hugged him back, and everything was the way it should be.