Honestly, Hermione

Chapter Eighteen: Hysterical Women and How to Help Them

So this was what it was like to be Ron, Oliver thought. It had been three days since he'd accidentally insulted Hermione out on the Quidditch pitch. He'd tried to apologize a dozen times, but she either studiously ignored him, or shot him scathing glances hot enough to burn his eyes out. Oliver didn't quite know what to do. On one hand, he could treat Hermione like every other woman in his past...except she wasn't quite an angry ex-girlfriend. On the other hand, he could try to make peace...except Hermione Granger in a temper was not a pretty sight. Or actually, she was, only he couldn't allow himself to think that way. The Weasley temper was famous - it went with the hair - and Oliver didn't want to think what Ron would do if he learned that Oliver was beginning to think of Hermione in a less-than-platonic sense.

***

For her part, Hermione wasn't quite sure why she was so upset with Oliver. Yes, he'd put his foot in it, but surely Ron had said worse things. And if she was honest, she'd admit that she'd said worse things. The note she'd left for Ron the morning after Jamie was born, for example. The memory filled her with self-loathing.

Alone in her rooms, Hermione was filled with anxious energy. She sat on the edge of her bed, bit her lip, shot up, paced across to her desk, riffled through a sheaf of papers she still needed to correct, turned around, gazed at the fire, strode to the window, looked out, and sighed heavily. Well, there was nothing else for it. She went to the mantle, opened the small pot stationed there, and tossed a pinch of dust into the flames. When they glowed a lovely shade of green, she called for her best friend. "Ginny?"

But Ginny didn't answer. Harry appeared. "'Mione? Ginny's...indisposed just now." He chuckled. "Jamie had - I think she called it 'a blowout.' I never knew something so small could overflow his nappy like that. Should I have her floo you back when she's finished?"

Hermione smiled, a little painfully. It hurt to hear about Jamie, or any baby for that matter. No matter how disgusting it may have been to have to clean up a child that had just soiled himself from head to toe, Hermione's heart ached for the chance to do it.

Apparently some of her feelings were clear on her face, because Harry stepped through the fire. "'Mione, what is it? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about Jamie."

"No, it isn't that," she demurred, ashamed to find tears in her eyes. She hastily wiped them away. "It's just - I just..."

"You can tell me."

"It's everything!" she burst, and the floods poured forth. "It's Ron, and Oliver, and Jamie, and teaching, and flying, and my book, and my baby, and you and Ginny, and everyone else!" She began pacing again, and now the tears flowed freely. "Why is my life like this? Just when I think everything's going well, something happens and throws all my plans to pot. First Ron came back. Then he disappeared again. And then he came back. And then Hogwarts. I was pregnant, then I wasn't. And Ron disappeared again. Do you know I haven't heard from him since I lost the baby, Harry? Not a word, not even a whisper! But it was okay, because Oliver was here for me. We were becoming quite good friends, if you can believe that I'd purposely cast my lot with yet another Quidditch-crazed man. He's been brilliant, Harry, really. And he almost got me up on a broomstick!"

"Voluntarily?"

"Voluntarily!" she repeated. "But Harry, he's no more trustworthy than anyone else. Just when things were going well, he went and ruined it. You can't trust anyone, Harry. If you do, you're bound for heartbreak and disappointment. And I'm just...just sick of it!" she finished, hurling herself into the tall wing-backed chair on the left side of the fireplace.

***

Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair and wondered how on earth he was supposed to deal with a semi-hysterical woman like Hermione. It had been difficult enough when they were all students, a little more challenging in those seven years when Ron was in the States. Now, he was sure it was nigh on impossible. He wished Ginny was here. Doing battle with the Dark Lord was one thing. Dealing with hysterical women was something else entirely.

"Hush, don't worry," he soothed, rubbing her shoulders and racking his brain for what to do next. He tried to comfort her. Tried to tell her Oliver wasn't such a bad guy. Tried to remember what he'd done when Ginny had had hysterics after her miscarriage. Of course, he recalled ruefully. He'd just flooed Molly to come and take care of her daughter. That wasn't going to work in this case. He really wished Ginny was here. She'd know what to do.

Or Ron. Ron always could handle Hermione in all her moods. Hmm... That idea had merit. Sure, Hermione would probably be furious with him, but Harry didn't mind. He could handle her anger. And he knew that she needed to see Ron, whether she wanted to or not. And Ron was becoming insufferable with his self-pity. Maybe...

He decided it was in everyone's best interest, not least his own, and reached into Hermione's pot of floo powder.

***

Ron was beginning to really hate the holidays. Christmas had been a test of his mental fortitude. Bill and Acacia had finally (after almost ten years together) decided to make it official. He'd proposed to her on Christmas Eve, in front of the whole family, to the tune of a dozen romantic sighs from the women of the family. And when 'Cacia accepted, the place erupted in cheers. His father had decided to make a toast to the happy couple. Ginny immediately began planning bridal showers. Penelope accioed a stack of bride magazines she still bought whenever she spent an afternoon among Muggles, and Mary and Gwen attacked them with gusto. Fred and George clapped Bill on the back and tormented him with a number of pranks for the rest of the holiday. Charlie and Irina, who couldn't be at Percy's for Christmas, nevertheless sent an owl with a singing card.

All Ron could think about was Hermione. He'd slunk out as soon as he could, and spent the rest of the holiday alone and miserable in his flat.

And now the New Year was coming up. Another holiday to spend holed up in his flat thinking of Hermione. He knew he was just pitying himself, and he knew he could easily change things, just by flooing Hermione. But he was...afraid. There. He'd admitted it. He was terrified that Hermione would still be angry with him for not being there when she needed him most, and that she would send him away forever. The possibility haunted him, waking and sleeping, and he preferred not knowing to being sent away.

Not very Gryffindor of him, he knew. But sometimes love interfered with logic.

"Ron?"

He turned toward the fireplace, and saw Harry's face in the green flames. "Harry? Where are you? That doesn't look like your house."

"I'm at Hogwarts, Ron," the face in the fire replied. "Hermione was looking for Ginny, but all she got was me. I'm no good with hysterical women. Ask Ginny. You understand her, though. You mind coming in here and giving me a hand?"

Ron thought a moment. "I don't know, Harry. What if she doesn't want to see me? Seems like all I've ever done was ruin her life."

Harry swore - quite creatively, in fact - and Ron's eyebrows shot up his forehead. Harry hardly ever swore. "Listen, mate. She's your bloody girlfriend. If she didn't want to see you, she'd have sent you packing ages ago. This is Hermione," he emphasized, "the girl who's put up with us since we were eleven, the woman who took you back after seven years of total silence. D'you honestly think anything you can do now would make her hate you? Now get your arse over here and comfort the woman before one of us goes completely mad!"

***

Hermione looked up from her torrent of tears when Harry threw the floo powder into her fireplace. She listened to the interchange, hiccoughing ever once in awhile with a residual sob. But when Harry finished shouting at Ron, she chuckled. "Harry, am I driving you mad?" she asked.

"Because if I am," she continued, uncurling from her chair, "I'm sorry. You don't need to stay." Harry turned and shared a look with the face in the fire. Ron nodded, and in another moment, he stepped out of Hermione's fireplace. She could from the looks on their faces that her oldest friends were a bit concerned for her state of mind. And well they should be, her conscience told her. You've been acting like a madwoman.

Well, perhaps she had. But who else had more a right?

Pathetic excuse, Granger.

Stubbornly, she shook her head. It was time she acted like a normal witch, instead of an overly emotional wreck. She'd been excusing her behavior for months now, even before she lost the baby, and she knew she'd been driving everyone mad. Harry's outburst had finally made her see what she'd been doing. And she was through with that.

"Harry," she began, "thank you for listening to my tirade. I'll be okay now, I promise."

"Promise?"

"Promise," she repeated.

Harry, who felt he'd done his duty by his two stubborn friends, shrugged, and took his leave. He promised to send Ginny for an afternoon in Hogsmeade soon.

Hermione then turned her eyes upon Ron, just feasting on the welcome sight of him. Ron, with his hollow-eyed look of worry. Ron, with his robes hanging off his body where he'd lost weight since she last saw him. Ron, with soot dimming the fiery brightness of his red hair. Ron - her Ron. How had she managed to live without him for so long?

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," he replied.

And then she was in his arms.