A continuation of sorts to “A Man Possessed”; it’s still all JKR’s.
For Maple…
“G’night Hermione.”
Just be calm and focus on the door…. Keep your face together and get to the door.
She couldn’t look at him. If she looked at him she’d do something foolish. Like cry. Or smile. Or speak. Or something to make him think it was all back to normal. Seeing him standing there all smug and disheveled from his latest snogging exhibition steeled her resolve; fueling her past his eyes and through the door.
With the door blocking her from his sight, she flinched as the last two months vividly materialized in her brain. He made his choice….
Running up the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could, Hermione would soon be safely secluded in the only place she could truly be herself anymore. It was a well rehearsed routine at this point. Ron would walk Lavender to the stairs, as he did every night. Hermione would wait until she thought her dorm mate was either asleep or still in the loo doing whatever-it-was she did before bed. Once enough time passed, she’d go up, undress quickly and slip into her own canopy, draw her curtains, and then set Silencing charms for her privacy as well as blocking out the more sordid details of Lavender’s latest escapades with the red headed git. It was a practiced, methodical procedure. And, if she could be truthful about just one thing, Hermione took comfort in the repetition.
When Hermione cracked open the door to the Sixth Years’ room it was mercifully empty. Casting a quick glance toward the muffled talk from the closed bathroom door, she toed off her shoes and continued with her custom. Sneaking about in my own room…
“Lumos.” And her wand came to light, suffusing the scarlet cavern with a warm glow. She inhaled deeply in relief. Finally.
Once there and insulated from eavesdropping ears and prying eyes could she drop her act. Relaxing the rigid control she had over herself in public, here she could collect her thoughts, let the words that she held in all day out and write them all in her journal. It wasn’t the ideal place for writing; she’d preferred the squashy armchair near the fire in the Gryffindor common room. She’d had plenty of light from the fire and torches along the walls. It was warm and calm and inviting. It gave her just enough privacy for her to write her thoughts while still being near her friends.
She took her spell-locked journal from under her pillow and frowned. Her friends.
Hermione wasn’t alone by any means. She had study partners, like Ernie and Neville. And as nice as they were, it wasn’t quite the same. Luna had been a sympathetic ear and a surprising comfort, and did seem genuinely concerned for her that day in the girls’ bathroom. Ginny had always kept her spirits up and gave her someone to talk to about something other than him and studies. But Ginny had her O.W.L.s to study for, and she had Dean as well.
Harry, of course, was still her closest friend but she couldn’t unburden herself to him; Harry had enough on his mind what with Scrimgeour’s politicking and his suspicions of Malfoy. And Ron was, despite being otherwise occupied of late, his best mate, putting Harry squarely in the middle again. Poor Harry, it truly had to be awkward for him. He had even entreated her to speak with Ron, earlier. It would make things easier on Harry, certainly. Even if she thought she could be civil, she couldn’t talk to him without breaking down; not even for Harry’s sake.
So she pretended she’d never cared for him. She ignored him because it was easier than watching him. And she buried her hurt in outward indifference.
Hermione’s self-imposed exiles were the only logical solutions left for her to keep her dignity. She cringed. Well, what was left of it after the canaries and her fiasco of a date with McLaggen. If hiding out in your bed could be called dignity. Within the close comfort of her bed, she could rest from the constant work of being supremely unconcerned. She looked around the red-dimmed hangings again and sighed in failure. Her bed, and the library, had become her sanctuaries; she could hardly have study groups in her bed. The library was comfort and familiarity; she had confidence there. The library was where she was at her public finest: books and cleverness. There she could retreat into her books and lose herself into a world without giggling roommates and red-headed prats; they rarely set foot in there.
They were, however, always everywhere else. They occupied every other corner of her life: giggling in the halls; snogging in classrooms and at breaks; hanging onto each other during meals; corrupting her chair in the common room. She couldn’t even find peace in her own room without enduring Lavender’s gushing, giggling recap of her daily activities with Won-Won.
Honestly! What self-respecting person endures a ridiculous nickname like that? Hermione sighed and looked back to what she had just written in her journal.
‘So you lie to yourself to be happy. There’s nothing wrong with that. We all do it...’ Hermione snuffled quietly and rubbed her nose while penning her latest thoughts. Ignoring Ron was keeping her sanity, even if it did take everything she had to convince herself, and everyone else, that she was unaffected. She’d been lying to herself now for weeks. It was a little easier during the hols, when she didn’t have to see him everywhere and there were so many other things to do. But now coming back and having him try to talk to her…
Hermione shook her head violently to clear it. He doesn’t even know her! Why her? Maybe he liked the silly nickname. Maybe Lavender was beautiful enough that he overlooked her more annoying qualities: the constant giggling, the baby talk, draped over him all the time…well, what bloke wouldn’t like that kind of attention? Hermione frowned again. But it was supposed to be me kissing him, not that vapid, giggling b---blonde.
Hermione resumed scribbling; a bit more forceful than before.
When I asked him out ... I thought we were....and he'd seemed pleased. We were getting along so well. I thought that he might want... did he change his mind? Get a better offer? Couldn't he have just told me?
She slammed the quill inside the memoir and gave it up as a bad night; all this line of thinking did was take her in circles and she’d never get sleep if she tried analyzing the situation again. Hermione sighed and willed her brain to be quiet. She could see the torch lights glowing from outside her bed curtains, and she knew Parvati and the… she were still up talking. Besides, if Lavender’s welcome back to him was any indication, Hermione was going to need all the rest she could get to keep up the façade. Especially if he kept putting himself in front of her like that….
Hermione put her journal back under her pillows with the ease of practiced motion and lay down for sleep. With a bit of luck, she wouldn’t dream of red hair and blue eyes looking determinedly at her, saying “good night.”
But she doubted it.
“Nox.”
