Honestly, Hermione

Chapter Nineteen: Jumping to Conclusions

Hermione sighed, a happy, contented little sound she hadn't made in months. Ron heard it and tightened his arms around her. They'd been sitting like this for hours now, she on his lap, he in one of her wing-back chairs. Initial snogging aside, they'd been talking. They'd talked about the baby, cried together over their loss, and agreed that, when the time was right, they'd try again. They'd talked about their past, their future; Ron managed not to mention marriage, and Hermione was inexplicably a little miffed that he didn't bring it up. Hermione told him about her students, the teachers he remembered, the ones he didn't - particularly Oliver Wood - and her friends in Hogsmeade. Ron told her about his uneventful trip to Bath, and the drudgery of Auror paperwork. They talked about Harry and Ginny and Jamie, and Ron told her about Bill and Acacia's big announcement.

"Good for them," she said with a smile. "They've been waiting for a long time."

Ron peered at her, trying to gauge Hermione's feelings by the soft light in her eyes. She just tilted her head slightly and snuggled closer. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and said, "Hermione -"

Someone was banging on the door. "Hermione! Professor Granger? 'Mione, come on. Don't you reckon this has gone on long enough? Just let me apologize, will you?"

Hermione jumped out of Ron's lap, startled. Ron, too, stood up. She looked at him. "It's Oliver."

"Oliver Wood?" Ron asked.

"Yes. Just a minute, Mr. Wood," she called. To Ron she whispered, "You have to go."

"I have to go?" he repeated, a little confused.

"Yes." She was pulling him toward the fireplace. "Dumbledore - because of Voldemort - he asked the teachers - all the staff, really - to make sure that our guests... Well, you weren't supposed to come through the fire."

"But Harry -"

"Well, Harry's different, isn't he? Boy Who Lived, trained by Dumbledore - Oh, Ron, would you just go? If Oliver finds you here...I haven't spoken to him since Christmas. All he has to do is let it slip that I've had unregistered guests in my rooms, and I'll be out -" She was speaking in low, rushed tones. Tones that didn't exactly invite Ron's trust.

"But I -"

"Shh!" Oliver knocked on her door again. Likely he could hear her talking. "Just go, okay? I'll send you an owl."

"Honestly, Her-"

"Ron, please!" she almost shouted. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? "I'll get you clearance. I promise. But for now, you have to go!" With that, she reached into her powder pot and flung some floo powder into the fireplace. "Ron Weasley's flat," she whispered, then pushed him into the green fire.

"'Mione, I have clearance!" he shouted as he disappeared.

She stopped still, and gazed helplessly into the green blaze. Her chin dropped to her chest. Why, oh why, did these things always happen to her? Of course he had clearance! her sensible mind shouted at her. How else would he have gotten through the Hogwarts barriers? She wanted to throttle someone - herself. How daft could she be? Surely it was obvious now that she in no way deserved the title of smartest witch in Britain. Greatest fool, perhaps. Prat of the century? She felt shamefully foolish. Foolishly ashamed. She desperately wished she still had that Time-Turner from her childhood. Perhaps McGonagall...?

No. She'd have to fix this mess herself. No amount of magic would clear this up. She'd have to do it the old-fashioned way.

Beg.

Grovel.

Admit she was wrong.

Lord, how she hated doing that.

Oliver knocked again, and Hermione snapped out of her distress. "Coming," she called. She would have to floo Ron later.

***

Ron tumbled out of his fireplace, irritated and not a little bit confused. What was going on? Of course he had clearance. Dumbledore had been at the Ministry one day in September, and he'd told Harry and Ron about the extra wards put up around Hogwarts, and he'd given both of them the proper spells and charms to pass through. "Knowing how important Professor Granger is to you both," he'd said, particularly to Ron. "But see that you tell no one." And they hadn't. Ron had filed the information away in the back of his mind, thinking he'd never need it. He'd expected Hermione to owl him with a proper invitation. Silly of him, really. Hermione hadn't been herself since she found out she was pregnant.

Still, she was the smartest witch he'd ever known. Surely she could work it out for herself that if he'd been able to pass through the fire into her rooms, then surely he had gotten clearance. Everyone knew that there was nowhere safer - or more protected - than Hogwarts. It didn't make sense that Hermione couldn't put two and two together.

It was almost like...she was hiding something.

Ron shook his head, sending a shower of ash to the carpet. No, that wasn't it. What could she possibly have to hide from him? Nothing.

Unless she was hiding him from someone?

Sod it, he told himself. This was Hermione. The irritating love of his life. Everyone knew it. It had been in Witches Weekly, for crying out loud. No, he'd just been spending too much time at the office. Seeing secret conspiracies everywhere could make a wizard suspicious.

But why had she been so worried about Oliver Wood?

No - it was useless. He'd not get a minute of peace until they worked this out. He reached for his own pot of floo powder. Then he thought the better of it, and decided to have a shower. Better to be prepared.

***

"Come in, Mr. Wood," Hermione called. She moved to her desk, and began to go through the papers waiting there.

Oliver appeared behind her chair and put his hands on her shoulders. "I thought you were going to call me Oliver, 'Mione."

She twisted around in her chair to face him. "Yes, but that was before you slandered my work out on the Quidditch pitch, Mr. Wood."

He sighed heavily. "Ah, go on, 'Mione. You know I regretted it the minute I said it. I didn't mean it. And I've tried to apologize a hundred times. Reckon you'll ever let me?"

Hermione bit her lip. In truth, she'd sorely missed Oliver's friendship over the past few days. She thought about one of her favorite Muggle films, and paraphrased the line. "You hurt my feelings excruciatingly, Oliver."

"And I'm sorry!" the flying master burst out. "You don't know how sorry," he added with a bit of a Canadian accent and a knowing wink.

Hermione did a double take. "You - how...Oliver Wood, have you seen -?"

He grinned. "Aye, that I have. Put three Muggle girls together for any length of time, and sooner or later it'll come up." He winked again. "I've a second cousin who's Muggle, and I spent plenty of time watching her over the summers."

She laughed. He laughed. And that was it. They were friends again. She offered him a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted - these castles were drafty. "You don't mind wizard brew, do you?" she asked. "I'd make it the Muggle way, but...I haven't the best of luck with tea kettles." She held out a cup and saucer to him, and they sat, companionably, in front of her fire. He queried her about her tea-making skills, and she told him, laughingly, about her foiled attempt to make tea for Ron the night Jamie Potter was born.

"...And the worst of it was, he'd already healed my other hand earlier that day!" She shook her head. "Ever since Ron came back, I've lost every bit of cleverness, Oliver. Really. Around him, I'm hopeless."

"I doubt that, 'Mione," he replied with certainty. "Dumbledore's forever after the rest of us to ask for you when he's busy. That old wizard's sure you know everything there is to know."

She snorted into her tea. "Don't be a prat, Oliver. I know that's not true." He just shrugged. She set her tea down on nothing, quickly mumbling a charm to keep it steadily afloat. "You're only giving me a big head," she warned lightly. "And I don't believe you in the least."

Oliver nodded and sipped his tea. "It's true. Why, just the other day, he told me that if I had a question about one of my students, I should ask you. 'Just don't ask her about flying,' he said. 'Professor Granger may know a great deal, but when it comes to flying, she's anchored firmly to the earth.'"

***

My, but she was something else when the temper was on her, Oliver thought. The way she jumped out of her chair to argue with him - No wonder Ron Weasley liked to fight with her. Of course, Oliver hadn't really intended to start a row. He'd just been teasing her.

"Here, now, 'Mione," he said, raising his hand in defense. "I was only having you on. Dumbledore knows you can fly, too. He's just a bit concerned you'll be too timid when the time comes."

"Time comes?" she repeated, calming down.

He nodded. "Death Eaters. If they ever get into the castle, we're going to need every teacher to fend them off. And that includes you, now you haven't an infant to look after." She blushed slightly, and Oliver saw her blink back an errant tear. He, too, set his cup on thin air and reached out for her hand. "I am sorry," he assured her. "It must be a hard thing indeed to lose a child. But it's a relief, too." She raised a brow, clearly not beliving he could say such a thing. "It's not safe, 'Mione," he continued. "A baby's the most helpless of creatures, and Death Eaters are heartless. They wouldn't spare your babe for all the tea in China. Better to wait awhile, until Voldemort's gone for certain. Then you can have as many children as you like, and with my blessing."

She responded to the irony in his statement, avoiding the truth of his words. "Your blessing? Well, Ron and I will be sure to keep that in mind, Oliver." Then she smiled softly. "Thank you."

Was she thanking him? For what? Oliver didn't quite understand, but he wasn't going to ruin this warm quiet moment to figure it out.

And she explained it for him. "Thank you for caring, Oliver. You've been such a good friend since I came back here. I didn't realize how much I've been missing a chum until we stopped speaking."

She was already standing. She smiled when he did likewise. Impulsively, she reached up and hugged him close, sealing their friendship anew. She planted a light kiss on his cheek.

And Ron burst through the fire.

***

He wasn't sure exactly when he'd decided he knew what was going on with Hermione and Oliver. But there was no doubt about when he knew what he was going to do about it. "So this is why you sent me off in such a hurry!" he roared, scaring Hermione and Oliver out of their embrace.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped.

"Yes, 'Mione," he answered sharply, "it's me. Ron. The guy you shoved into the fire just a little while ago." Oliver looked like he wanted to say something, so Ron pointed his wand at the former Quidditch star. "You. Stay there. Keep out of this."

He turned his attention back to Hermione in time to see her square her shoulders. Raise her chin. Draw her hands up to her hips. Plant her feet. Turn a lovely - if furious - shade of red. Those cinnamon eyes that had looked at him with such trust - such love - less than an hour ago were now snapping with anger. She had assumed the position. He was in for it.

"Ronald Weasley, you great prat! I don't know what gives you the right to burst in here and toss insinuations about like you know something, but let me assure you, you don't! Oliver has been a great friend. If you can't manage to act like a civil human being, then perhaps I should ask you to leave. You've no right, no right at all!"

Ron blinked. And waited for more. Hermione never let her temper go with just a few short sentences. When he realized nothing else was forthcoming, he shot back, "If he's such a good friend, why did you tell me he'd report you to the headmaster if you were found with me?"

Hermione blushed even brighter. "Because I'm a fool, Ron. I didn't think about your clearance from Dumbledore. Alright? Is that enough, or shall I get down on my knees and plead for your forgiveness? So I'm not as clever as I'm made out to be. Shall I turn in my robes now, or do you mind if I finish out the year?"

Ron almost cringed at the Snape-ish sarcasm in Hermione's words. And it irritated him to no end. "Finish out the year! Finish out five! Seems you've made quite a cozy life for yourself here without me. Go on! Tell me!"

"Tell you what?" she shouted back. Then, in the ringing silence, she repeated, quietly, "Tell you what?"

Ron gestured to Oliver, who was watching the tempest with undisguised curiosity. "Tell me you don't want me anymore. Tell me you prefer him."

***

Hermione gasped. Did he really think that? Was it even possible? Prefer Oliver to Ron? That was nonsense! "That's nonsense," she told him.

"Is it?" Ron asked, looking for all the world like a lost little boy.

Hermione's heart melted. How could he possibly think such a thing? In the seven years he'd been gone to America, she hadn't had a boyfriend. Had barely even had a date. He could ask Harry. Or Ginny. They'd tried often enough to get Hermione to go out.

And since he came back, and thrown her quiet life into turmoil, she hadn't been able to think about anyone - anything! - but him. Even with Oliver. It seemed everything she did, everything she said, with Oliver reminded her of Ron. Flying, fighting, joking - it was like being with Ron. Only, something was missing. With Oliver. Something she only had with Ron.

Love.

"Ron," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes as she crossed the floor between them. "Oh, Ron." She reached for his hands, then rose up on tiptoe to reach his lips. "Ron, I love you." She kissed him.

***

Oliver saw himself out. Some things were meant to be private.

***

After they broke the kiss, desperate for air, Ron took a step back. There it was. That blush that happened just for him. Lord, how he loved this woman. He reached into his pocket.

***

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat when Ron kissed the back of her hand. "'Mione, I know this may not be the best time. I know there may never be a 'best time.' But I know I love you, and I know I never want to be separate from you again. I need you." He pulled his other hand from his pocket and presented it to her, palm up, first finger and thumb holding out a delicate sapphire and diamond ring. "Say you'll marry me. Be my wife. My love. Forever."

She colored prettily, and smiled up into his dear blue eyes, scanning the freckles that still dusted his nose, inhaling the piney scent of his aftershave, feeling the warmth of his words surrounding her like a cloud of the whitest white magic. And she nodded. "On one condition," she warned him, pointing in a no-nonsense teacher fashion.

"What's that?" he asked, grinning.

"Don't you ever doubt my love again."

"I promise." He leaned closer, and whispered in her ear, "Don't you ever doubt me again, either."

She turned her head slightly, and smiled. "I promise."