The walk back to the castle was good for Ron, and he was mostly sober as he and Hermione climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.
"Can we sit by the fire a bit, Hermione?" he asked as they entered the portrait hole.
She bit her lip, looking up at him. "I don't want to fight," she said.
"No fighting, I promise."
They settled on the sofa by the fire. It was after midnight and the common room was dim and empty. Ron lay their cloaks on the armchair and sat facing her, his arm along the back of the sofa, much like Malfoy did the night of the Gryffindor party. Hermione glanced at the curtain still covering the bloody letters. It had been weeks since the message appeared, and they were no closer to figuring out who did it.
"Mi, I still don't get it," Ron said, almost pleadingly. "Why all the Slytherins this year?"
Hermione felt like pretending she didn't know what he meant, but she was suddenly so tired of games. "I'm not entirely sure, myself," she said. It was rather odd—if she'd wanted to date outside Gryffindor, why not Ravenclaws or even Hufflepuffs? Well, maybe not Hufflepuffs. Ernie Macmillan? Justin Finch-Fletchley? Ewwww.
"You think Malfoy has turned over a new leaf," Ron went on, thankfully ignorant of her mind's latest puzzling detour. "You think he's handsome and funny." He sneered the last word. "I've seen you trying to hide your smiles. You like the whole bad-boy Slytherin asshole thing."
Hermione frowned. "Maybe I like that Malfoy and Theo treat me like a woman and not a book with legs."
"I do see you as a woman," Ron's blue eyes gleamed at her. "You can't have forgotten."
"That's just sex," Hermione said bitterly. "The rest of the time, I'm just a walking library to you."
"That's not true," Ron said, his hand reaching out to stroke her hair. It made her uncomfortable, not the way Malfoy's hand did—when she couldn't help but stare at the long, pale finger tugging at her curl—but tense and crawly. Ron's purposeful touch had a not-quite-right feeling she couldn't shake.
"Ron," she said gently, "you gave me a book pin for my birthday."
His hand stopped. "You said you liked it."
"Look," she said, tugging her hair away, much like she had with Malfoy. Was she doomed to play out this little scene with Theo next? What would she do if he sat on this sofa and played with her curls? Life was truly baffling.
"Hermione, you said you liked the pin," Ron repeated, bringing her back to the conversation. "You like books."
"I do ... but that's not all I like. I like personal gifts, too," Hermione said. "I don't want to criticize your gift, Ron, and it's perfect if we're just friends. As friends, I'm always happy to receive a gift from you and have you in my life. But it's not exactly romantic."
"What about Harry's present? He gave you a paperweight."
"Yes, it's shaped like an otter," she said. Ron looked blank. "An otter, Ron. My Patronus."
Ron stared at her, all color fading from his face. "Personal," he said.
He looked so woebegone that Hermione couldn't help but hug him. "Oh Ron, you are my best friend, with Harry. I love you. I just don't think we're good as a couple."
Ron held her face in his hands. "But I still want you," he whispered, looking at her lips.
She pulled back. "It's not meant to be."
Ron lowered his hands. "But it's meant to be with Slytherins, eh? Although you'll be waiting a while to get a personal gift from Draco Malfoy. Like he'd waste his precious galleons on a gift for a—"
He stopped. Hermione tried to keep her face neutral, but his eyes narrowed anyway. "Malfoy gave you a birthday present? He did! What was it, slutty underwear?"
"Ron!" Hermione snapped, her face red.
"Well, you wanted personal," Ron sneered.
"I'll have you know, Ronald, the only slutty underwear I received for my birthday was from your sister."
Ron's expression was priceless. "Malfoy's present was nothing disrespectful," she went on, "and if you think I'm telling you, you're barmy."
"But it was personal," Ron said, now looking ill.
"Well, it wasn't a book," she snapped.
That killed the conversation for a time, and only the popping and crackling of the fire could be heard.
"Ron, you wanted to tell me something," she finally said.
He looked hesitant. "First, let me get this straight," Ron said. "You and Harry aren't telling me things because you say I get ... excited when I don't like it."
Hermione nodded, wondering where he was going with this.
"Well, if I'm going to stop doing that, you have to promise to stop doing it, too."
"When have I ever ..." Hermione's voice rose, then trailed off. "Are you saying you're not telling us something?"
"Two things, actually." Ron looked uncomfortable.
"What?" Now it was Hermione's turn to lean forward, eyes narrowed.
Ron was flushing now. "When I couldn't find any of you last night, I went off with ... Romilda Vane."
"Romilda Vane? That brainless groupie? What were you—" Hermione snapped her mouth shut. She was doing it. She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Romilda Vane," she said in a completely different tone. "How interesting."
Ron snickered. "Yes, interesting." He looked uncomfortable again. "Hermione, the night of the Gryffindor party, I kind of ... got involved with Romilda."
Hermione tilted her head. "Involved."
"We shagged," he admitted.
She stared at him. "Do you like her?" she asked, trying to sound calm.
"I don't know, but I like how she makes me feel," Ron said. "Like I'm powerful, important—"
"But she's just using you, she doesn't care—aaagh!" Hermione shook her head wildly. "I'm sorry," she said. "This is hard."
"You're telling me," Ron sighed. "You say I don't make you feel like a woman, well, maybe you don't make me feel like a man, just a sidekick."
Hermione took his hand. "You're not just a sidekick. Harry and I love you." Ron just looked down at their hands, not answering. "Ron, if you like being with Romilda, then you should be. What I think doesn't matter."
Ron looked up. "You're so beautiful, and I still want ... but ..." He sighed again.
"You said there were two things," Hermione said, hoping to change the subject.
"This next one is worse," he groaned. She looked at him skeptically. "I didn't want to come back to Hogwarts in the first place, but since the Aurors Office wouldn't take me, you said I didn't have a choice."
"That's right, you don't, you have to get your— aaagh, I'm doing it again!" She slapped her hands over her mouth.
"Yes, you are." Ron's amused, slightly superior grin looked strange on his freckled face. "But I do have a choice. I don't have to get my NEWTs. I can work with George in the joke shop."
Hermione said nothing, just kept her hands over her mouth.
"Harry's been writing me about auror training. I could never hack it," Ron said seriously. "I'm sick of trying to do things I suck at, and getting my ass handed back to me by you or Harry or both. I want to do something I'm good at. I want to make people smile, and make children laugh. George is there all alone and I want to be with him. I miss my family. I belong there, I don't belong here anymore."
Hermione slowly lowered her hands. "You want to drop out of Hogwarts," she said, as neutrally as she could.
"Yes," Ron said. "I don't like who I am here—an angry fuck-all, sneaking around with Romilda, fighting with Slytherins ..."
"What about Quidditch?" Hermione asked.
He shrugged. "McLaggen is just as good as I am. Ginny just chose me 'cause I'm her brother."
"That's not true!"
"Hermione, you're brilliant, but you don't know shit about Quidditch."
There was another short silence and then Hermione plucked up her courage. "I just have to say this," she said. "Are you sure? Because if you tire of the joke shop, you can't come back. This is your only opportunity to sit for your NEWTs, and if you don't, it will limit what you can do in the future."
Ron shrugged. "Any job that requires stellar NEWTs is not a job I'd do well at."
Hermione didn't entirely agree, but she clenched her teeth and said nothing. She'd been no more tolerant of Ron's choices than he had been of hers. He had returned to Hogwarts for her, and then just before they arrived, she'd cut him loose. No wonder he took up with that idiot Vane. Hermione still hadn't forgiven that woman for trying to dose Harry with a love potion in Fourth Year. She thought about reminding Ron of that, even considered suggesting that she'd dosed Ron this time, but held her tongue.
"What will I do here without you?" she asked, taking his hand again.
"Apparently run around with every Slytherin prat in the school," he said glumly, but without heat.
"When will you go?"
"A week from Friday," Ron said. "I'm gonna tell McGonagall tomorrow."
"Does Ginny know?"
He shook his head. "George does, of course. I'll tell Gin tomorrow, tell my parents after I leave. I don't fancy fielding Howlers from Mum every day."
"I'll come to see you every weekend," she promised.
"Maybe." Ron looked at her longingly for a moment, then shook his head. "We really need some time apart. Hermione ..." he swallowed. "I never shagged Lavender. You were my first, you know."
She hadn't known. He'd been so awkward, and she had assumed that was because ... Ron was just awkward. Looking back, Hermione realized she'd expected sex with him to be awkward. She'd been surprised it had been as enjoyable as it was. She shook her head—she really did always think she knew it all, and it turned out she knew nothing. Ron hadn't just been a self-indulgent arse over the summer; he had also been a teenage boy getting laid for the first time.
"I'm glad you were my first, Ron," she said. "I'm glad you're doing what makes you happy." She took a deep breath. "I will support you fully and I won't let anybody criticize your choices."
He kissed her for that, but it was a light, quick kiss on the mouth, full of understanding. In a way, she felt, she was meeting Ron as an adult for the first time. She just hadn't seen it. Upstairs in bed, Hermione tossed and turned, trying to process the eventful day. Malfoy, Theo, Harry, Ron ... such very different people. She considered updating her Life Optimization Organization Plan to process her thoughts—she had a new idea for a flow chart. But she fell asleep instead, lulled by dreams of magical charts with color-coded columns.
***
Hermione spent Sunday in the library, while nearly the entire school went to the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match. Between PORN and Slughorn's party, experimental potions and Hogsmeade, she'd had little time for her assignments and was only two months ahead on her reading. It took the entire day, skipping lunch and sneaking snacks from her bag, to complete her schoolwork to her satisfaction. Theo joined her after lunch, also missing the Quidditch match, and except for a sly smile and stroke of his finger on her cheek, stayed fairly focused himself.
Later in the afternoon, after the game (Hufflepuff won in a total upset), students began filling the library, everyone catching up on work neglected over the weekend. Neville joined Hermione and Theo, then Ginny arrived, and little was heard but the scratching of quills and rustling of parchment.
Hermione's first thought Monday morning was that today Ron would tell McGonagall he was leaving Hogwarts. All while getting ready and packing her bag, she had to restrain herself from running into Ron's room screaming that he was making a huge mistake. This is his life, he's a grown man, she repeated silently. You didn't like him questioning your choices. Ginny had taken the news the night before with surprising aplomb; she'd known Ron wasn't happy at Hogwarts and she'd been worried about George.
Ron himself was reserved at breakfast, sitting beside Hermione with his back to the wall. Hermione put her head on his shoulder and he put an arm around her, looking around the hall as if he were seeing it for the last time. He didn't even glare at the Slytherin table. Hermione didn't look over there either; she didn't care what Malfoy was doing and whether Astoria was sitting beside him or not. She didn't.
Potions class was strained and stilted. Ron was absent, and Hermione was sure he was in McGonagall's office, which made her distracted. Lavender joined her and Malfoy's potion and spent most of it praising Malfoy's chopping and stirring. Malfoy kept trying to catch Hermione's eye, but she was almost too preoccupied to notice.
Ron turned up at lunch, looking greatly relieved, and the next few days were unusually placid. Malfoy continued to watch Hermione in class and snipe at Ron at every opportunity, but Ron ignored everyone but Hermione, spending his class hours scribbling down ideas for new joke products. Aware that Ron's days remaining at Hogwarts were few, Hermione spent all her spare time with him. He wasn't studying much these days, so they had regular teas with Hagrid, played cards and wizard chess, and visited their old haunts. They even took some butterbeers into the Forbidden Forest and jumped into leaf piles like First Years until Ron rubbed moss in Hermione's hair and she dropped a spider on his chest in retaliation.
She was hurrying along the second-floor corridor on Thursday after dinner, well-wrapped in a scarf and hat in preparation for watching Ron play Quidditch, when a heavy black mist appeared before her. Hermione tried to walk through but the dark cloud felt as solid as a wall. She turned to see another mist about five feet off, effectively blocking her into the small space. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, utterly unsurprised to see a ghostlike figure emerge from the darkness.
"Cute, Malfoy," she said. "What are you after?"
"A moment of your time," he answered, unsmiling. He had shed his robe, jumper and tie, and his hair and white shirt shone starkly against the blackness beyond.
"I'm late for Gryffindor's practice," she said.
He arched an eyebrow. "Since when do you watch Quidditch practices?"
"Since now. Let me out."
"No," he said, looking down his nose at her. "I've been trying to speak to you all week. Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"What I did this time." His voice was cold. "You were a right shrew in the Potions lab on Saturday, and now you're avoiding me and living in the Weasel's pocket. So what fell short, Granger? The gift? The dance? Are you miffed because I didn't dig up those wretched weeds myself?"
"Of course not," Hermione said. "You're being ridiculous."
His eyes glittered. "It's true, then. You've gone back to your Weasel." His voice was so confident, that if she didn't know better, she'd believe it herself. Malfoy moved closer. "What makes you think he'll ever be enough?"
Hermione felt a tug at her neck and looked down to see his hand pull away her red-and-gold scarf to pool at their feet. Malfoy's other hand drew off her hat, releasing her wild hair. She swallowed. "No, I'm not back with Ron."
"Then tell me, tell me now," he demanded. "What did I do?"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut like a child, unable to look at him. Coming from Malfoy, this was practically begging. "You didn't do anything wrong," she choked out, "you have every right to ..."
"Then why, Hermione?" She could feel his warm hands on her throat, tilting up her face. "Why are you running from me?" he whispered.
"I'm not—" she began, but then his lips were on hers, swallowing her lie. He licked her lower lip and she responded immediately, welcoming him in, and the feel of his warm tongue against hers almost made her sob. Malfoy deepened the kiss, his hands still on her face, and she pressed against him, her own hands running up that long, sinuous body ...
"She went this way!" shouted a high voice. "Cupcake!"
"There's nothing here, Bertie!"
"That black fog! It ate her! Cupcake!"
Hermione and Malfoy broke apart, startled, as more voices filtered in from the black mist.
"Bertie lost his Pygmy Puff!"
"Again?"
"Cupcake!"
Malfoy glared in the direction of the voices. "Oh for fuck's sake," he muttered.
"L-look," Hermione stammered, pointing to his feet. Her heart was still pounding, and she felt light-headed.
He looked down, and his horrified reaction to the pink Pygmy Puff on his glossy shoe sent Hermione into smothered giggles. Dark Wizard Draco Malfoy and his spooky, Puff-trapping mist ... oh well, her nerves were already shot, what harm could a little hysteria do?
The Puff squeaked excitedly and disappeared inside Malfoy's trouser cuff. "Aaaagh!" he cried.
"I heard her! Cupcake! Cupcake!" Bertie screeched.
Malfoy was shaking his leg, trying to dislodge the Puff from inside his trousers, and Hermione collapsed against the wall, holding her sides. Cupcake rolled out of his trouser leg and began bouncing in the confined space, still squeaking.
"Some help you are," Malfoy snapped at Hermione. He pulled out his wand and waved it, and the Puff bounced again, sailing into the mist and disappearing.
"Cupcake!" shouted Bertie. Both black mists dissipated, and Malfoy and Hermione found themselves facing a group of familiar Hufflepuff boys.
"Mr. Malfoy!"
"It's Mr. Malfoy!"
"And Miss Granger!"
"They saved Cupcake! Thank you!"
"Oh no," said Hermione, who had finally gotten her giggles under control. Malfoy was still too outraged to speak. "This was entirely Mr. Malfoy's doing."
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy!" Bertie cried, running up to the Slytherin, his Puff in his hands. "Cupcake says thank you, too!" Cupcake bounced onto Malfoy's shoulder, causing the blond to recoil.
"Look, Cupcake likes him!"
"Awwwww!"
"Come here, Cupcake!" Bertie called. The boy jumped up and down, arms outstretched in an attempt to retrieve his Pygmy Puff. The Puff squeaked, but wouldn't leave Malfoy.
"Get it off!" Malfoy said, shaking his shoulder. He looked over at Hermione. "Where are you going?"
Hermione was wrapping her scarf around her neck again. "I told you. Quidditch practice," she said, jamming her hat on her head.
"Now just a minute." Malfoy strode forward and led her away from the Hufflepuffs. "Hermione," he said in a low voice, his eyes on hers. Hermione's breath caught. He suddenly looked so vulnerable and young, nearly as young as the boys fidgeting behind him.
"Don't be angry," he whispered. "Don't shut me out."
"I'm not angry," Hermione said. "I liked my gift. I liked the dance. I even liked the sodding clover." I liked the kiss, too. Merlin help me, I do like the bad-boy Slytherin asshole thing.
"Then forget Quidditch practice. Come with me." Malfoy swallowed and looked down. "I won't tell anyone."
"No, Draco. We can't do this." She had considered everything very carefully over the past few days. She'd even created a Granger/Malfoy flow chart in her LOOP, and no matter how many times she drew it, the boxes and arrows always diverged. He was a Malfoy and she was a Muggle-born. No matter what happened between them, one day Draco would reach into his pocket and slip on that onyx-and-silver ring, with its sinister motto, and take his rightful place. She wanted no part of that world, and she wouldn't be his youthful indiscretion, or even worse, his dirty little secret.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. She brushed his hand with her own and walked away, leaving a stunned young wizard with a pink Pygmy Puff on his shoulder.