Of Myth and Magic

Chapter Eleven: Ron

Chapter Eleven

Ron

Snape had microwaved her mash perfectly. She suspected he may have become quite used to microwave meals, but when she voiced her suspicion, he only shook his head and told her, "Too expensive," before unloading a petit pain and a lump of cheese onto his duvet. He seemed in better spirits, now that they were back at the B&B. And by better spirits, Hermione meant that he had volunteered to heat her dinner, as well as spoken to her without looking as though he was about to snap her neck in two.

They'd pushed their beds together and laid out the picnic dinner between them, Hermione sitting cross-legged on her bed, Snape sitting at an awkward angle on his. He hadn't protested when she'd slid her mattress against his, though Hermione pretended not to notice the way his sallow skin flushed pink across his cheekbones.

"Well, Miss Granger," Snape said once he'd downed the last remnants of his foul mood with a bit of bread and butter and a full litre of water, "I think it's your turn."

"My turn for what?" She took a bit of his bread and scooped potato onto his plate in recompense.

"You say you've been honest with me," he said, "but unless I am mistaken, you've told me nothing over the past two days."

"That's because nothing's happened," Hermione replied, he ears growing hot.

"You say that—"

"You know that," Hermione replied, fighting down a smile. "You're trying to ask me about myself and you don't know how. I suppose small talk isn't your forte?"

"It's not something I'm very used to."

Sad, Hermione thought, hoping her pity didn't show on her face. She stuffed a bit of bread into her cheek and swallowed before saying, "What do you want to know?"

Snape beat the rim of his plate with the tines of his fork, thinking.

"What did you study at A-level?" he asked.

"Chemistry," Hermione replied immediately, "Biology, Maths, History, and English."

"Five?"

"I was ambitious," Hermione replied. "If it makes you feel better, I failed them all except for Maths. And in that one I got a 'C,' which might as well be failing."

"Why?" Snape said, looking honestly confounded.

Hermione shrugged and swept a finger around her plate, bringing up the last remnants of mash, still feeling ravenous.

"That's when it happened," she said. "I couldn't focus. History was a disaster. I got almost every detail I could've wrong, and babbled for near-half of my answers."

"Do you still have your exam?" Snape asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"No," Hermione replied. "They don't exactly give them back. Though knowing my luck it's stuck to the wall in the examiner's office or something as a comedy piece. Why?" She sucked her finger, bit her nail. "Do you think it might be useful?"

"Do you remember any of what you wrote?"

"Not an iota," Hermione said. "Only thing I do remember is looking down to find the pages filled with rubbish, and that they sent me to the school nurse because I was soaked with sweat and they thought I might pass out."

She shoved her plate aside and smothered a hiccough with the back of her hand. "Your turn."

"I think I've made enough of an arse of myself over the past few days," Snape replied.