Affirmation

Affirmation

As twilight fell, Hermione bound up the article she was working on with dragon twine, carefully placing it in an ordered file. Experience told her if she left it out on the desk it would either disappear under scraps of parchment come morning, or be peppered with a number of unfounded allegations courtesy of Luna.

For the time being, she didn't have enough time to spare for those simple, everyday irritations. Her report on underground dark activity taking place within Yorkshire was needed at the Ministry - as quickly as possible.

Talk about a stressful deadline! Open-ended projects continually made her to overwork, leaving her run down and tense. In fact, if she hadn't arranged to meet with Ron later she would have burnt the midnight oil (which was a great bargain at only seven sickles per litre).

However, their rendezvous couldn't be rearranged. Meeting with her former best friend had become extremely difficult, if it got any harder they would probably only see each other once a blue moon.

Now a publicist for Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron was continually busy with new advertising plans, which hardly meshed with Hermione's investigative work as a freelance journalist. Their combined schedules were rarely compatible, but the pair of them had resolved to stay close.

And despite their differing interests, that was exactly what they did. It wasn't an easy task, but Hermione and Ron had been joined at the hip for too long to even consider a separation. It was hard enough without Harry around any more; there was no need to make the situation worse.

Ron's colleagues didn't understand their connection, but to her credit, Luna wasn't even mildly bothered by what bound the two long-term friends together. She just accepted it. To her, it wasn't the least bit unusual; in fact, it was hardly interesting at all.

They're in love, she yawned to the stars one velvety evening. It's simple, really. Even the observing darkness understood her meaning perfectly.

The ironic thing was that Hermione didn't.

"We aren't 'in love.' We're best friends. There is a difference."

"Is there?" Luna had asked, apparently bamboozled by this declaration.

Hermione was amused by her reaction. It was Luna through and through. Occasionally so smart when it came to perceiving the obvious facets of reality, but more often than not out of sync, distracted by numerous other unproven possibilities of life. Currently it was muggle fairy tales that held her fascinated, and she wove this interest into her many offbeat articles for the Quibbler.

Hermione mostly found her unstructured views of the universe illuminating, although they were admittedly tiring at times. Depending on her mood, Luna's barmy reports (always a contrast to her own analytical ones) were either very striking, or just plain confusing. It was the same when they worked on projects together.

Sometimes the result was astounding - bringing an eccentric, moreish combination of speculation and hard facts. However, more often than the work was incomprehensible and rightly belonged somewhere far from civilisation - perhaps even within 'The Melting Maiden,' which was the most popular girls magazine in the United States.

"Hermione, you're late," Luna sung, popping up into the tidy study area with a pile of old magazines. "You're late, for a very important date!"

"Hardly," Hermione responded dryly, checking her golden pocket watch all the same. Looking at the planet Saturn spiralling within, she sighed. Luna was right.

Hermiones exasperated sighs said more than any offhand curse could. They were a sure sign that her patience was fraying - and that the unruly frizzle in her hair wasn't entirely natural, but rather due to stress and other such meddlesome creatures of the mind.

Summoning a handful of floo power from downstairs, she shrugged an apology to Luna, who accepted it in her usual tolerant, if misty, manner.

"Mind you're back before midnight..."

*

"...The Daily Prophet's rubbish," Ron mumbled, who was more focused upon the mug of Firewhisky in his hand than what Hermione was saying.

Hermione shook her head, somewhat affronted by his comment. "It's gone uphill lately."

"You're just saying that because they pay you."

"That's highly unlikely," she retorted. "There are a lot of benefits in getting it delivered each morning."

"Not really - I can read the Quidditch section at work."

Hermione sighed. It was hardly worth arguing over. Settling into the sofa, her eyes roamed over the small wizarding house. It was just as cramped as the Burrow, but lacked the mismatched air of his childhood home. Instead the place was plastered with various sports collectables.

Orange figures preened themselves over the fireplace, a single shelf of books occasionally let out hearty cheers for the Chudley Cannons, and a selection of shimmering flags, cushions and other merchandise littered the tiny rooms. "Didn't anyone ever tell you there's a fine line between an obsession and a hobby?"

"As opposed to the library you call home?"

She ignored the comment, instead reaching her hands out to the fire. The flames were beautiful. "I miss this," she reflected, revelling in the glow. "We don't use ours. Luna always manages to set her hair on fire."

He snorted into his drink. "She mad."

"No, she's just a bit... moonstruck, now and again."

Another snort came as Ron tried to refill his mug.

"At least she managed to grow up," Hermione continued huffily, grabbing the bottle out of his fingers.

"Hermione - " he moaned, exasperated. "Lighten up."

"By getting drunk and acting like a twit?"

"By having FUN."

She brushed the words away. "Don't worry, I have my more than my share of laughs."

Ron shifted beside her and leant forward, grasping at his drink. Hermione batted his arm away exasperatedly. Almost sombre for a fleeting instant, a wide grin soon reclaimed his face.

"I know what you need," he declared.

"Oh?"

He stretched out for his drink again, but over balanced and collapsed into Hermione. One of his lanky arms windmilled, finally coming to rest upon her shoulders. He didn't attempt to remove his hand.

"Honestly Ron, just what do you think you're doing?" Hermione snapped, not wanting to accept the unmistakable action.

He made an impatient sound in the back of his throat.

Leaning in again, he lacked the clumsiness of his previous advance. Chapped lips pressed upon the general vicinity of her month. Hermione froze.

In those sharp seconds, Ron pulled away with a self-satisfied smirk, and a boiling anger jolted Hermione out of her reverie.

"What are you doing?" she demanded again, repulsed, infuriated.

Ron fumbled for words, but they were hardly necessary. His gaze met hers, expressing a sentiment that clearly said: what? It isn't obvious?

Hermione closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked towards the fireplace.

"Don't go!" he blurted out from behind. "I just meant it as bit of fun - "

"Ron," Hermione said bitingly, as she settled down upon a cushy armchair closer to the warmth. "Knock it off. It wasn't amusing."

An awkward silence fell. Hermione glanced above the fireplace towards the whispering Quidditch players scattered over the scratched pine, then looked away, studiously avoiding the muttering figurines. In the meantime, Ron grabbed back his bottle of Firewhisky and took a big swig.

Scanning the room, she noticed a magazine with Krum hunched in the corner of the cover page. It made her smile - she hardly knew anyone with such a sullen nature - and his expression softened slightly from the page as she skimmed the pages about his Bulgarian team.

Comforted, she cut across the chilly atmosphere. "So... how's work going?"

Ron shrugged, presumably glad for the renewed conversation. "Mostly fine," he replied. "But I've got to go survey schools again next month. That means weeks of babysitting smart aleck midgets while they spout off." He shuddered. "They're more annoying than Ginny ever was - and she was a little monster..." He trailed off, a question on his lips.

"Hermione? Why didn't you - you know - like it?"

She sighed. "It's not rocket science."

"Rocket science?" he echoed, lost by the unfamiliar Muggle term.

"I'm not single, you know that."

"What? When did you get a boyfriend?" he demanded violently.

"I didn't. Did you perhaps forget that I currently happen to be dating Luna Lovegood?" Hermiones voice rose, high and defensive.

Incredulous, Ron squinted at her. "Loony? Still?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

He flushed and looked away. "Nah. Date who you like."

Hermione let out a heavy breath, and bit her lip as if trying to hold back a sarcastic comment. She failed. "Why, how giving of you..."

"Don't get on my case Hermione!" Ron shouted, rising jerkily. "I just thought you'd gotten over that phase and- "

"Phase?"

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "Don't- "

"How dare you? Luna and I have been together for over three years, Ron, doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Well, it's not fucking serious is it? You're not going to get married or anything! "

Furious, Hermione whipped out her wand and pointed at the face in front of hers. "How dare you?"

The redhead in front of her slumped down upon the worn sofa, muttering barely audible curses. Hermione was breathing heavily, trying to catch her racing emotions. Finally she addressed the air over the fireplace; "I'm going home," her voice composed, if slightly unsteady.

Ron quietened, not even offering a feeble protest. Seething with anger, Hermione left swiftly. She was determined that the heated tears about to spill from her eyes would remain unseen.

*

Luna didn't see her girlfriend stamp upstairs when she returned. She was already otherwise occupied - standing transfixed before their stained window, watching the occasional owl dodge a streak of lighting.

That's not to say she didn't notice Hermione's return. Drifting down the corridor came the distinctive sound of fierce hiccups coupled with a several smothered sobs. And as she listened, a faint rustling noise told her Hermione was being attacked.

"Hermione!" She flew towards their shared room in an instant, wand out - unicorn hair at the ready. "I'll save you!"

The door opened and she rushed straight into a pile of papers. As they scattered across the floor, blotchy red eyes framed by bushy hair came into view. There was no one else in the room.

"Are you okay?" inquired Luna, her mild manner returning as she dropped to her knees, checking under the bed for possible intruders.

Hermione said naught, her emotions still reeling from her encounter with Ron.

Observing Luna helped steady her - and rolling her eyes discreetly, she fished into her darkened robe for her trusty wand. A muttered spell dumped the majority of the parchment upon the corner table, and Luna gathered up the few pages of scribbled notes that had been missed.

"Thanks Luna," she managed a weak smile, and then gestured towards the pile of paper. "Can you give me some space to finish off?"

The younger woman rose, appearing vaguely disappointed, although she complied with the request. But when she reached the door she paused, readjusting her bright, gaudy earrings and falling into a contemplative gaze. "Will you come down later? We need to write a piece for the next months Quibbler.

"Do you want to pen something mythical? We could stir change in the hearts of society if you wanted... or otherwise do a recipe section with jam tarts," she pronounced serenely, staring off into space. "They're yummy. Shall I make you some?"

A low-spirited nod sent Luna swaying back towards the kitchen.

Hermione began to reread her work, looked back at her scattered notes, and considered what to write next. Inspiration had obviously taken the evening off, leaving her with only a worn quill and the damp British winds for company.

Now shivering, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and crawled into bed, still grasping the papers yearning for yet another redraft. Her half-hearted attempts were hopeless, and she became distracted by the deepening chill.

The heat present in Ron's flat spun into her mind, so she defiantly whispered "Incendio," but it wasn't the same.

It was foolish, that she knew well enough. Luna, warm and unrushed, could easily kiss away the cold. The sensible thing to do would be to call out, leaving the report for tomorrow, enjoying the dark night without dancing flames.

And nobody could deny that Hermione was sensible.

Slowly, she erased her previous spell with an efficient wave. Almost reluctantly at first, the flames dwindled and began to die. "Luna?" she called, and the blonde witch appeared next to her in the double bed within minutes. Cradled in her arms were cherry red pastries, a bottle of unopened butterbeer, and their faithful oil lamp, which she then proceeded to spread across the covers.

"What happened with Ron?" Luna asked.

"Nothing important."

"Oh?" Luna remarked, doubtful. She may have been the believing, bizarre one of the pair, but she was hardly stupid. "He didn't come onto you?"

"What makes you think that?"

Luna ignored the question, contented with tracing spirals down their arms.

"Luna..."

Luna tilted her head so that her long hair fell across her face and giggled. "He stopped by just now and said sorry." Her laughter grew at the look of disbelief on Hermione's face. "It was funny."

She reached out for the jam tarts, eating a couple and pushing the remainder towards her lover. Hermione deftly shunted the puddings away, intercepting her offering with the ease of long practice.

Luna hardly noticed as she gazed out the window, into the night.

Her peaceful manner irritated Hermione, who was still infuriated by Ron. Banging her head into the pillows, she gave a muffled scream, emotions flirting between fury and helplessness.

"He said we weren't serious!" she burst out. "He just doesn't understand - I can't believe I'm friends with somebody so homophobic... 'Just a phase.' I feel like hexing him to the moon and back."

Luna laughed again, which only riled Hermione further.

"He thinks we aren't a proper couple because of our gender, because we aren't married - honestly, it makes me so mad."

Quiet now, Luna nodded. "The world is strange," she affirmed, rolling into Hermiones embrace under the blankets, and letting her hand trail downwards. The butterbeer shifted as she did, falling over the bedspread and nearly spilling on Hermiones fingertips as she banished the picnic and her parchment to the far bookcase.

Hermione held Luna tight before she moved lower, her mouth large and fierce and passionate. She was moving faster than she planned, but what if something went wrong? What would happen if Ron stopped by again? They only had each other.

Luna however, broke away, covering her stomach with light butterfly kisses, grinning and enjoying every moment. "It's okay," she declared simply, as if everything would work out fine at the end of the day. "You love me."

"I do," Hermione responded, her words unnecessary but soothing.

Images of Ron, her mother, and the wider world in general surfaced in her mind, but she ignored them. Then it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what Luna's dad thought of them.

Tracing her thoughts, Luna murmured: "My dad would find this really interesting."

"No. I don't want to be in some weird article."

"It might convince Ron..." Luna reflected.

"NO." Hermione smiled. "We don't need to convince anyone."