Hell Hath No Fury

Hermione looked over at them with disgust. What gave them the right to do that all over the place? It was awful, simply awful.

Oh, she had nothing against snogging in general. No, it wasn't that that bothered her at all. It was something else gnawing at her insides and making her feel violent and hopeless and furious. It wasn't as if it was his fault, entirely. She shouldn't have told Lavender that she liked Ron. Lavender had always been a little insecure and when she saw opportunity she grabbed it. She grabbed it like she was grabbing Ron right about now.

How dare she? How dare she take the one chance that Hermione had? She had liked him since, oh, when was it? When had she first realized that every time Ron made her laugh it felt like a personal present? When had she realized that when she heard Ron say "know-it-all" it wasn't an insult, more like a term of endearment. He didn't mean anything by it, after all.

She turned back to her Charms essay. She thought carefully for a moment, rifled through some notes, and began to write. She got through three whole paragraphs before Lavender giggled in that stupid, annoying, high-pitched, air-headed, tee-hee-hee, look-at-me giggle. Hermione looked over at the armchair and saw Ron whispering to her.

Those whispers belonged to her, not to Lavender! How dare she take them like they were hers for the taking? How dare she act like she belonged with Ron when she barely knew him? She didn't know that he hated corned beef sandwiches, or that he loved the Chudley Cannons or about Scabbers? How could she know about Scabbers? She couldn't know about that feeling of betrayal and hurt and confusion and how he had cried. What if Scabbers had hurt Harry, Hermione? he asked her. Wouldn't it have been partly his fault for housing the evil bastard? No, she had told him. You didn't know. You couldn't have known, after all. Nobody knew. It's not your fault. And she had hugged him and held him close until the tears dried up and he was okay again. Then they never spoke of the kiss, their first kiss, the one that kept everything the same and at the same time changed the world. Hadn't the world known? Hadn't it been announced that Ron and Hermione had kissed? Wasn't it screamed from the mountaintops and bellowed in the valleys? No, for it had been nothing more than a kiss; a soft, quiet kiss that had warmed her soul and kept her safe even when she thought nothing else could.

Hermione turned back to her essay with a sense of forced calm. It wouldn't do to go getting angry and hotheaded over something stupid. She had never been the type to keep journals on the "hottest" boys in Hogwarts or talk about the latest lipstick or gossip about who was dating whom. There was no interest in her for other guys. Sure, she had liked Victor Krum, but that was a schoolgirl crush. Everyone had to experience at least one. Hers had been brief. In the end they were nothing more than friends who understood each other. In the end it had been to her benefit that she didn't care all that much about Quidditch; he needed a little bit of stability in his life. Just like Harry.

She finished her concluding paragraph and tucked the work away in her bag. Lavender went up to the dormitory, giggling with Parvati about something stupid. Hermione looked over at Ron, who was staring blank-faced into the fire. What did he know?

Ron walked over and said something to Harry.

Harry. Harry was just as bad as Ron was. It was completely obvious that he had a crush on Ginny- who did he think he was hiding it from, anyway? It wasn't as if he was every any good at hiding his feelings; he never had been. If he had noticed Ginny when she was all giddy over him, it would have made her on cloud nine, but never would have worked anyway. Now, though, that Ginny was out of her shell, there was a chance. Maybe it was a little cliché but they deserved to be together, and she meant that in the best way possible.

She looked back over at Harry and Ron sharing some inside joke and pulled out another essay to do.

When in doubt, do work. If you have to be angry, at least be functional. There is always something you can be doing.

Unless, of course, you're too busy venting to nobody about nothing important.

Hermione slammed her book shut, shoved everything in her bag, said goodnight to Harry and Ron, and stomped up the stairs.

She lay in bed fuming over Ron and Lavender for about an hour. Who did she think she was? she thought. Ron was her friend first; it had been her that they had worried about during first year and saved from a troll and asked for help...

But what if it hadn't been Hermione in the bathrooms that day? After all, that had all been chance. If Flitwick hadn't told them to pair up that day in Charms, and if she hadn't looked up the levitating spell the night before, and if it had been Lavender sitting next to him, breathing in his warm, boy smell...

What would have happened? Would they have even been friends? They didn't have much in common besides Harry, after all. It was Harry that kept them together when they hated each other, even if it wasn't really hate and just denial.

No, Hermione decided silently. We wouldn't have been friends at all.