Letters

Hermione pushed Crookshanks off her stomach and sat up. She reached for the hair elastic on the night table of her bedroom in her parents' house and pulled her mass of hair back into a messy ponytail. It was warm in the room, and even with the windows open, there wasn't so much as the whisper of a breeze to stir the curtains. She was only going to be home for one more week, and then she would join the Weasleys and Sirius. She had received a letter from Dumbledore yesterday.

And Hermione was anxious.

She leaned against the wall, her feet dangling over the edge of her narrow bed, and methodically catalogued each person in her head.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weren't the source of the faint buzz of unease. They treated her like she was one of theirs, although Hermione wasn't sure Mrs. Weasley had really believed them when they told her all the rumors about Harry were just that - rumors. Hermione smiled to herself. Of all of them, Harry was Mrs. Weasley's favorite. Not because he was Harry Potter, but because Mrs. Weasley couldn't bear to see anyone go without mothering, and she was trying to make up for Harry's childhood.

Bill and Charlie? No. She didn't know either of them well enough.

Percy? Possibly. She had an owl from Ginny a few weeks ago. Percy wasn't speaking to the family anymore. He believed the rubbish the -Prophet was printing. But, no. Hermione didn't think Percy was responsible.

The twins? Hermione scoffed before the thought could complete itself.

Ron? She quickly shoved that one to the back of the line.

It wasn't Ginny. Hermione was an only child and Ginny had become not only a friend, but something like a sister. Hermione worried about Ginny's, well, obsession with Harry in the past, but it seemed to have tempered a great deal lately.

Hermione was worried about Sirius, but not for any particular personal reason. He had spent nearly half his life in prison. Muggles would say he was 'institutionalized'. Unable to function in the real world. But that wasn't the source of her disquiet and disrupted sleep.

Sighing, Hermione went back to Ron. He confused her. He was a series of Runes she couldn't translate or an Arithmancy problem she couldn't solve. He could be so... infuriating! Hermione punched her pillow at the memory of the Yule Ball and the row she had with Ron afterward in the common room. Hermione had to admit to herself she had partially accepted Viktor's invitation to attend the ball as his date to make Ron notice she was indeed a girl. And it had worked. Sort of. But he had also willingly gone into a nest of Acromantulas at the age of thirteen for her.

Hermione pulled the hair elastic from her hair, and wound it into a knot, using the elastic to hold it into place. She pulled out a piece of Muggle notebook paper and a ballpoint pen from the top drawer of her desk. It felt odd to use a pen instead of a quill after all those months in school.

-Dear Ronald

No. That wasn't right.

Ronald

No. That wasn't right, either.

Hermione crumpled up the paper and took out another piece.

Hi Ron

That was better. Not much... but it would do.

How has your summer been? I haven't been doing much. Reading, mostly. My mum and dad wanted to go on holiday, but I begged off. I didn't feel much like going anywhere this summer.

Viktor doesn't mean anything to me. Other than a friend. Somebody to talk about Arithmancy and Transfiguration with. I doubt Viktor would take on a mountain troll as an eleven year-old. In a girls' loo, no less.

Sometimes, Ron, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. When you're just being Ron, and not trying to stop people from seeing you as just another Weasley boy. I don't see you like that. You have things you're good at, and not just chess. But you wouldn't believe me if I told you...

You wouldn't even believe me if I told you I lo -

Hermione stopped and viciously scratched out the last sentence. She wasn't ready to admit it to herself, much less to Ron. Hermione threw the pen across the room. She slid off the bed and began to pace around the border of the rug next to the bed. Times like this, she wished she didn't fear broomsticks so much. She'd give anything to be able to take off and fly some of the tension out.

She looked at the letter, sitting in the middle of her bed, mocking her.

'Damn,' she swore.

It made things complicated.

Very complicated.

'Bloody hell,' she breathed.

It was getting late. Or early depending on how you looked at it. Hermione picked up the paper and tore it in two. She continued until she had nothing but a handful of confetti. She opened her hands over the rubbish bin in the corner and let the tiny scraps of paper drift into it.

Hermione slid back into bed and tossed restlessly for a few minutes. She drifted off to sleep as the sun rose.

*****

Ron twirled a quill between his fingers. He was sitting in the apple tree behind the Burrow. Tomorrow, they would move to headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix - wherever that was. It was a secret.

He still admired Krum, as a Quidditch player, but that didn't mean he had to like him. He still harbored a wisp of resentment against Krum for taking Hermione to the Ball, not that he would admit that to anyone. Ron ruefully admitted to himself that he had always known Hermione was a girl. He just hadn't known she was a girl until he saw her at the Yule Ball. She was beautiful that night.

Ron tried to convince himself that his feelings toward Hermione were brotherly. That he was trying to protect her, like he did for Ginny.

Ron snorted.

Who was he trying to kid? Himself.

When he got off the train last summer, he watched Hermione leave through the barrier with her parents. He saw Ginny watching him. 'What?' he said gruffly.

'Nothing,' she shrugged. But Ron knew she suspected something. Ginny was a lot more perceptive than people gave her credit for.

Ron leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He closed his eyes. Her hair wasn't really bushy, he supposed. Curly, for sure, and she had lots of it. He wondered what it felt like. Eyes weren't brown either. They were, but brown was too ordinary to describe them. Like caramel, they were.

Ron stilled the quill and rearranged the parchment on his knees.

-Dear Hermione

He crossed that out. He never used 'dear' to begin a letter. Except to Mum and Dad.

Hermione,

How's your summer? Gotten your Hogwarts letter yet? I haven't. Done anything interesting? I haven't. Mostly de-gnoming.

Ron sighed in exasperation. He wasn't very good at verbalizing his feelings. Especially when he hadn't figured out what he wanted.

'Oh, forget it,' Ron mumbled. He stuffed the parchment into the pocket of his jeans and slid down the trunk of the tree. Maybe when he saw Hermione at headquarters... Ron smiled at the thought of hearing her go on and on about something. Privately, he rather enjoyed listening to her and liked watching her get worked into a lather over something. It was kind of a turn -

'Oh bloody hell,' he groaned.

And kicked the trunk of the apple tree.