THREE: Creative Destruction (Nothing is Sweeter than Revenge)
Title: THREE: Creative Destruction
Story: Nothing is Sweeter than Revenge
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content
Summary: Draco Malfoy may have thought he won when he seduced Hermione Granger. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated the vindictive side of Hermione and her friends. Sequel to Trouble.
THREE
Creative Destruction
“Oh, wait! I have it!” Ginny exclaims loudly, breaking into the silence that had, once again, enveloped our living room.
Harry, Ginny and I have been sitting here for the last thirty-five minutes trying to come up with the best creative destruction we can imagine. I can fully admit that I’m not good at this, and neither is Harry it seems. However, Ginny seems to be taking to this assignment like a duck to water. With that being said, most of the ideas that have come from Ginny are downright vindictive. Part of me is wondering if she should have been sorted as a Slytherin.
“Please, don’t say it, Gin,” Harry says in an exasperated voice. “Merlin knows it’s going to have something to do with running him over with a tanker.”
Yeah, some of Ginny’s ideas, thus far, have included gunning him down with an AK47, destroying him with a well-placed atom bomb, and giving him a stick of dynamite and telling him to blow out his birthday candle. Her ideas are nothing short of vicious and completely unattainable.
“No, no, this one is good!” Her eyes are lit up and it’s eerie to see her get this excited about exacting revenge on someone she doesn’t even know.
Okay, she obviously knows him, but she’s unaware of that fact. Thank, Merlin.
“We can tie him to the back of a bus with invisible binds, strip him of all his clothes and make him run after the bus for six miles in the middle of rush hour!” She’s grinning like an idiot and I know my mouth is hanging open in shock.
The thing is if this were anyone other than Malfoy, I’d say that was a genius idea. However, there are some complications that come with her latest proposal…as usual.
“Ginny, that’s not even remotely possible,” I say, even though I’d like nothing more than to see Malfoy being dragged behind a roaring bus in the buff. “Besides, this guy is not going near any Muggle public transportation anytime soon. Trust me on that.”
Whoops, I think I just said too much. I fight back the urge to throw my hand over my mouth to completely give myself away.
Harry looks over at me, his brow furrowed. “Wait, I thought you didn’t know this guy?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “I thought he was just some random?”
Crap, crap, crap.
“H-He is,” I stammer. Oh shit, what do I say? “But I know his type. He is a wizard, and very likely pureblood, so yeah. He won’t be near a bus.” That had to have been convincing enough, right?
“Uh huh.” Ginny drags out, unconvinced. She glances at Harry - who also doesn’t look so sure. Finally, with a shrug of her shoulders she adds, “Well, how about the Knight Bus?”
You have to hand it to Ginny; she’s inventive. “Merlin, Gin, the speed at which that bus is traveling at all times,” Harry shudders, “it would kill him.”
The evil grin on Ginny’s face is frightening. “All the better, don’t you think?”
I shake my head and stifle a laugh. “You really are going to end up in Azkaban one day, you know that?”
Ginny shrugs. “Probably, but I don’t hear you guys coming up with any good ideas,” she states, slumping back against the chair and sighing. “I’m the only one even thinking hard about this.”
“That’s not fair,” Harry utters. “I’ve come up with an idea or two.”
Ginny scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Slipping a Puking Pastille in his drink and watching him hurl all over a bar isn’t revenge, Potter. It’s just disgusting and messy.”
I snicker. It had been a pretty lame idea.
Unfortunately, Ginny hears me laugh and turns on me. “Oh, and don’t think you’ve come up with any good ones either, Little Miss One Night Stand,” she mocks. “What was your one idea again? Oh, right, slipping Shrinking Solution in his drink and watching him get younger and younger.”
“What? It was a good idea,” I defend, not at all convinced that it was. Watching him get younger and younger would have been hilarious, but what would it have done? It would have just made him younger. What kind of revenge is that? He’d still be a prat that got away with making me look like an idiot. That’s not revenge.
Ginny rolls her eyes again. She’s been doing that a lot today. “Please,” she drags out the word sarcastically, “both that idea and Harry’s have easy fixes. My ideas, on the other hand, are detrimental to his character.”
Harry pipes up quickly, “Yeah, and his life, Gin.”
“Whatever,” she says waving her hand in the air. “It’s nothing more than he deserves. He hurt our Hermione.”
Though I do hate Malfoy, he’s more like a pesky bug flying around my head. I don’t necessarily want him dead. If he’s dead, he doesn’t suffer like I did. And I want nothing more than for him to suffer greatly.
I know Ginny is only trying to help - and I honestly appreciate it - but I just don’t know where she got this sadistic streak. Granted, I knew she was always more conniving than Ron, but I think she could put Fred and George to shame.
“Gin,” I ask, nonchalantly, “are you sure the Sorting Hat didn’t try to put you in Slytherin?”
Ginny grins devilishly. “No, it didn’t. But I’ve been thinking how wrong that mangy, old hat was when it sorted me.”
Before Harry or I can retort, the fireplace across from the couch roars to life in a vision of bright green flames and Ron steps through the grate. “Afternoon, all,” he says with a wide grin, his mop of red hair flopping into his eyes.
“Hey, Ron!” we all say at the same time. It reminds me slightly of that American Muggle television show Cheers. I’d mention that aloud, but no one would know what I was talking about...as usual.
“What are we all doing inside on this gorgeous afternoon?” Ron asks as he slides down into the chair opposite Harry, and props his feet up on the coffee table.
Harry shakes his head. “Trying to figure out why your sister was ever sorted as a Gryffindor.”
Ron looks puzzled. “What, on Earth, are you talking about?”
“She’s bloody ferocious,” I answer and ignore Ginny’s grunted protest. “We’re plotting revenge and every idea she’s come up would lead to certain death.”
Ron sniggers. “She is fierce,” he says. “So, who are we scheming revenge against?”
Harry and Ginny exchange glances. There’s no point in me wasting my breath with a response. Either one of them, or both, will be out with it in...
...three...
...two...
“Hermione shagged some bloke in an alleyway at the pub last night.”
One.
Ron smirks first at Harry, who blurted out that wonderful statement, before looking at me. “Impressive,” he says with a laugh.
“It would be,” Ginny replies, drawing Ron’s attention, “if said bloke hadn’t setup our dear friend and made a healthy bet off of her.”
I watch Ron’s face fall. “Excuse me?”
I shake my head and answer before either Ginny or Harry can. This needs a proper explanation. “It was really nothing,” I say, waving my hand around. “The guy just used me to win a bet, that’s all.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t a very proper explanation.
Ron looks fuming mad, as I knew he would be. He’s always been hotheaded. “That’s all?” he repeats. “That’s all!” Okay, so he’s obviously more pissed about this than I would have expected. “Hermione, that’s an outrage! How can you be so flippant about it?”
“I’m not!” I argue back. “I’m downright pissed if you want to know the truth. I got swindled by some pureblood, jackass, pretty-boy wizard for a thousand-galleon bet and I’m bloody livid! But for the love of Merlin, I’m sick of telling the story,” I yell as I gesture at each of them, “and I’m not going to walk around all up in arms over it. I’m going to get my bloody revenge and enjoy every second of it! Alright?”
It’s apparent, by the looks on all their faces that I’ve just gone overboard. We’re having a simple conversation and I get asked one heated question, and I’m screaming and being defensive...
...And going completely off topic.
Of course I’m hurt by what happened, but I really didn’t need to go off the deep end like that. I must be a little more upset by what happened than I’ve been allowing myself to fee. Any normal witch would feel distressed about it.
But, Merlin’s balls, I’m Hermione bloody Granger. I’m not a normal witch. I’m the brightest fucking witch of my age. I’m not going to let some ferret-faced loser get away with conning me and making me look like a fool. I want nothing more than to stab that fucker through the heart, chop him to little bits and then burn the pieces in a large barrel, but I shouldn’t let anyone see how much he actually hurt me.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I don’t know when it had happened, but I’m standing up pacing the living room and they’re all staring at me like I’m a bomb waiting to detonate. I take a deep breath and stop my pacing before I say calmly, “Okay, I’m sorry I just blew up like that.”
All three of them exchange glances and then turn back to me. “It’s alright, Hermione,” Ron says. “I pretty much provoked you.”
I collapse back onto the couch and rub my hands over my face. I’m never going out to a bar again. Never, ever.
“Let’s talk about something else for a while, please.” I’m begging and I never beg, but I can’t take much more of this talk right now. I need to gather myself together and think, before I make any rash decisions.
The room is quiet for a second and then, sheepishly, Ron interrupts the silence. “So, I had a date last night.”
Each one our heads pops up. Ron hasn’t dated anyone steady since he and I broke up. And, for being an international Quidditch star, that’s saying something. But, the three of us are probably the only people who know why Ron hasn’t had a steady relationship.
Ron is gay.
I was the first to find out and only three days after our amicable breakup. I guess he felt he needed to explain his behavior to me. Once my initial shock subsided, I thought back on our brief romantic relationship and realized how it all made more sense.
For instance, a mere two months into our relationship, I was ready to take the next step. I felt that seven years of flirtatious friendship and two months of hand-holding, snogging, and groping had been plenty of foreplay. I was ready for the main event.
Ron was not.
He told me that he was waiting for marriage to give away his virginity. I understood it, accepted it, and respected it. But, after that it seemed that he didn’t even want to touch me anymore. A few more weeks of limited contact and we broke it off, both realizing we really were better off as friends.
What I later learned was that Ron had a thing for Seamus Finnigan. He only realized it, however, when I had mentioned having sex and his initial reaction was to vomit...
...And not in a nervous way.
I never took offense to it, though. How could I? You can’t make a gay man straight, right?
Ginny and I both perk up at Ron’s declaration. “Ron! Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Ginny exclaims and then wags her brows. “Let’s have some details.”
Ron’s face reddens in embarrassment and I see, out of the corner of my eye, Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat.
After Ron had explained his sexual preferences to me, I went with him to talk to Harry and Ginny. It had been a nasty shock for both of them, but Ginny had recovered quickly. She had been wondering, for a long time, if that were the case with him, but she didn’t know how to bring it up; and being the good sister that she is, she embraced him with open arms.
Harry, on the other hand, never really recovered. Even though Ron is still one of his best friends and they still hang out and have fun like they always did, Harry can’t stomach hearing about Ron’s dates. As long as Ron doesn’t act gay - which he doesn’t - Harry can think of him as the same old Ron. But, the minute Ron slips into romantic recall time Harry can’t ignore the differences of Ron’s sexual preferences. He becomes uncomfortable and leaves the room.
Just like he is now.
Under his breath, Harry mumbles something about going to the bathroom and retreats from the room quickly. Ginny growls at him and waves her hand dismissively.
A pained look forms on Ron’s face and I stretch out my hand and pat his knee. “Don’t worry about him, Ron. You know how he is,” I say with a reassuring smile.
Ron’s lips quirk heavenward and then he says, “I know. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
Ginny is less empathetic with Harry’s discomfort than I am. “Fuck him,” she says just loud enough for Harry to hear her from down the hall and through the bathroom door. She turns back to Ron with a smile, “So, let’s hear it.”
Ron’s face turns a violent shade of red again and I almost want to giggle. Ron and I have always been good friends; always able to talk about anything; but, now with his open homosexuality (at least to the three of us) it’s like having another girlfriend. Ron is extremely macho and very much a man’s man, until he starts talking about his dates. Then it’s like sitting around with the girls and gossiping about whose butt looks better in their Quidditch robes. I’d never admit it to Harry, but it’s fantastic.
“Well, his name is Jackson and he’s a half-blood,” Ron says, looking down at his cross-trainers. I’ve never seen him look so embarrassed. I’m confused. Ron is normally very boisterous about his dates - good and bad.
Ginny doesn’t seem to notice the difference. “Jackson what?” she asks and then like rapid-fire comes out with seven more questions. “Do we know him? How old is he? Does he play Quidditch? Did he go to Hogwarts? What house was he in? Is he cute? Are you going to see him again?” Ron and I both stare at Ginny open-mouthed, shocked and silent. “What?” she asks with a shrug of her shoulders. “Harry’s only going to stay in that bathroom for so long.”
I chuckle as Ron rolls his eyes and starts answering Ginny’s questions. “His last name is Albert.” This is as far as he can get because Ginny interrupts him with,
“Are you serious? His names are backwards, Ron. What the fuck?”
What in the hell is she talking about?
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Ron asks the question burning in my mind, as if he’s using Legilimency.
“His names are backwards,” she repeats with an annoyed voice. “His first name is a last name and his last name is a first name. Duh.”
Ron and I glance at each other and then roll our eyes. “Do you want to hear the details or not, Gin?” Ron asks, exasperated. He doesn’t give her time to respond. “You don’t know him. I met him after last week’s game at a bar. He’s thirty-two and he does not play Quidditch, but he’s a big fan.” As Ron is answering all of Ginny’s questions, he’s counting them off on his fingers and staring off into space as if trying to remember them all. “He did go to Hogwarts, but was obviously graduated before we even started.” Yeah, my quick math tells me there is a ten-year age difference between them. “He was a Ravenclaw. He is very cute. And, yes, I think I will be seeing him again.” When he’s finished, Ron smiles shyly and looks at both Ginny and I. “That was all of your questions, right?”
Ginny nods, biting her lip. It’s my turn to ask some questions.
“Why do you look so embarrassed, Ron?” I ask, gently. “He sounds wonderful.”
Ron’s face brightens even more. “He is wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that...”
His voice falters as he stares down at his cross trainers again. This is so not like Ron. Though he was hesitant to talk to us about his dates at first, over the last four years, he’s opened up more than I would have ever imagined him to. He never has a problem telling us about his dates and how he felt about them, so why all of a sudden is he looking so sheepish?
I prod, “That what?”
Ron’s face is now crimson. “Ilosmiverginty,” he mumbles incoherently and, at the same time, Ginny and I say,
“What?”
If possible, Ron gets redder. “I don’t think I can do this,” he says. He gets out of his chair quickly, walks to the floo powder and grabs a handful. Ginny and I are on him before he can toss it in the grate and leave.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ginny exclaims as she grabs his arms and pulls him back, dropping the floo powder all over the floor. Fantastic. I’m going to have to clean that up later because Merlin knows Ginny doesn’t clean. Ginny is steering Ron back over to the couch, taking my seat, and sits down next to him. I sit down in Ron’s vacated chair.
“Come on, Ron,” I say with a smile, “you can trust us.”
“This is not about trust,” Ron states in a smaller voice than I’ve ever heard him use.
“Well, what’s it about, then?” Ginny asks. She looks over at me when Ron hesitates. “Do I have to tie someone else up to the Knight Bus to get answers around here?”
Ron looks over at me with a confused half-grin. “What?”
“We’ll talk about your sister’s psychopathic tendencies later,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “We’re talking about you now. What’s wrong?”
Ron sighs deeply. “It’s personal.”
“Since when have any of your dates been personal?” Ginny counters with a scoff. “You gossip like a woman when it comes to your dates.” Normally that would have made all of us laugh and spill more scandal, but today it only made Ron start shaking.
“What is wrong with you, Ron?” I ask, grabbing a hold of his shaking hand. “You’re a bloody ball of nerves today.”
“It’s not nerves,” he shoots back.
“Then what the bloody fuck is it?” Ginny and I ask it together and loudly. And people wonder why we’re best friends.
“For the love of all that’s holy,” Ron yells in annoyance, “I lost my goddamn virginity!”
My mouth drops open.
So does Ginny’s.
Ron’s face is almost purple he’s so embarrassed.
And Harry decides to enter the room at just that moment.
“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters, “I’m going back in the bathroom.” As he retreats, his face is white as new fallen snow.
FOUR: Communicable Diseases and Such
Story: Nothing is Sweeter than Revenge
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content
Summary: Draco Malfoy may have thought he won when he seduced Hermione Granger. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated the vindictive side of Hermione and her friends. Sequel to Trouble.
THREE
Creative Destruction
“Oh, wait! I have it!” Ginny exclaims loudly, breaking into the silence that had, once again, enveloped our living room.
Harry, Ginny and I have been sitting here for the last thirty-five minutes trying to come up with the best creative destruction we can imagine. I can fully admit that I’m not good at this, and neither is Harry it seems. However, Ginny seems to be taking to this assignment like a duck to water. With that being said, most of the ideas that have come from Ginny are downright vindictive. Part of me is wondering if she should have been sorted as a Slytherin.
“Please, don’t say it, Gin,” Harry says in an exasperated voice. “Merlin knows it’s going to have something to do with running him over with a tanker.”
Yeah, some of Ginny’s ideas, thus far, have included gunning him down with an AK47, destroying him with a well-placed atom bomb, and giving him a stick of dynamite and telling him to blow out his birthday candle. Her ideas are nothing short of vicious and completely unattainable.
“No, no, this one is good!” Her eyes are lit up and it’s eerie to see her get this excited about exacting revenge on someone she doesn’t even know.
Okay, she obviously knows him, but she’s unaware of that fact. Thank, Merlin.
“We can tie him to the back of a bus with invisible binds, strip him of all his clothes and make him run after the bus for six miles in the middle of rush hour!” She’s grinning like an idiot and I know my mouth is hanging open in shock.
The thing is if this were anyone other than Malfoy, I’d say that was a genius idea. However, there are some complications that come with her latest proposal…as usual.
“Ginny, that’s not even remotely possible,” I say, even though I’d like nothing more than to see Malfoy being dragged behind a roaring bus in the buff. “Besides, this guy is not going near any Muggle public transportation anytime soon. Trust me on that.”
Whoops, I think I just said too much. I fight back the urge to throw my hand over my mouth to completely give myself away.
Harry looks over at me, his brow furrowed. “Wait, I thought you didn’t know this guy?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “I thought he was just some random?”
Crap, crap, crap.
“H-He is,” I stammer. Oh shit, what do I say? “But I know his type. He is a wizard, and very likely pureblood, so yeah. He won’t be near a bus.” That had to have been convincing enough, right?
“Uh huh.” Ginny drags out, unconvinced. She glances at Harry - who also doesn’t look so sure. Finally, with a shrug of her shoulders she adds, “Well, how about the Knight Bus?”
You have to hand it to Ginny; she’s inventive. “Merlin, Gin, the speed at which that bus is traveling at all times,” Harry shudders, “it would kill him.”
The evil grin on Ginny’s face is frightening. “All the better, don’t you think?”
I shake my head and stifle a laugh. “You really are going to end up in Azkaban one day, you know that?”
Ginny shrugs. “Probably, but I don’t hear you guys coming up with any good ideas,” she states, slumping back against the chair and sighing. “I’m the only one even thinking hard about this.”
“That’s not fair,” Harry utters. “I’ve come up with an idea or two.”
Ginny scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Slipping a Puking Pastille in his drink and watching him hurl all over a bar isn’t revenge, Potter. It’s just disgusting and messy.”
I snicker. It had been a pretty lame idea.
Unfortunately, Ginny hears me laugh and turns on me. “Oh, and don’t think you’ve come up with any good ones either, Little Miss One Night Stand,” she mocks. “What was your one idea again? Oh, right, slipping Shrinking Solution in his drink and watching him get younger and younger.”
“What? It was a good idea,” I defend, not at all convinced that it was. Watching him get younger and younger would have been hilarious, but what would it have done? It would have just made him younger. What kind of revenge is that? He’d still be a prat that got away with making me look like an idiot. That’s not revenge.
Ginny rolls her eyes again. She’s been doing that a lot today. “Please,” she drags out the word sarcastically, “both that idea and Harry’s have easy fixes. My ideas, on the other hand, are detrimental to his character.”
Harry pipes up quickly, “Yeah, and his life, Gin.”
“Whatever,” she says waving her hand in the air. “It’s nothing more than he deserves. He hurt our Hermione.”
Though I do hate Malfoy, he’s more like a pesky bug flying around my head. I don’t necessarily want him dead. If he’s dead, he doesn’t suffer like I did. And I want nothing more than for him to suffer greatly.
I know Ginny is only trying to help - and I honestly appreciate it - but I just don’t know where she got this sadistic streak. Granted, I knew she was always more conniving than Ron, but I think she could put Fred and George to shame.
“Gin,” I ask, nonchalantly, “are you sure the Sorting Hat didn’t try to put you in Slytherin?”
Ginny grins devilishly. “No, it didn’t. But I’ve been thinking how wrong that mangy, old hat was when it sorted me.”
Before Harry or I can retort, the fireplace across from the couch roars to life in a vision of bright green flames and Ron steps through the grate. “Afternoon, all,” he says with a wide grin, his mop of red hair flopping into his eyes.
“Hey, Ron!” we all say at the same time. It reminds me slightly of that American Muggle television show Cheers. I’d mention that aloud, but no one would know what I was talking about...as usual.
“What are we all doing inside on this gorgeous afternoon?” Ron asks as he slides down into the chair opposite Harry, and props his feet up on the coffee table.
Harry shakes his head. “Trying to figure out why your sister was ever sorted as a Gryffindor.”
Ron looks puzzled. “What, on Earth, are you talking about?”
“She’s bloody ferocious,” I answer and ignore Ginny’s grunted protest. “We’re plotting revenge and every idea she’s come up would lead to certain death.”
Ron sniggers. “She is fierce,” he says. “So, who are we scheming revenge against?”
Harry and Ginny exchange glances. There’s no point in me wasting my breath with a response. Either one of them, or both, will be out with it in...
...three...
...two...
“Hermione shagged some bloke in an alleyway at the pub last night.”
One.
Ron smirks first at Harry, who blurted out that wonderful statement, before looking at me. “Impressive,” he says with a laugh.
“It would be,” Ginny replies, drawing Ron’s attention, “if said bloke hadn’t setup our dear friend and made a healthy bet off of her.”
I watch Ron’s face fall. “Excuse me?”
I shake my head and answer before either Ginny or Harry can. This needs a proper explanation. “It was really nothing,” I say, waving my hand around. “The guy just used me to win a bet, that’s all.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t a very proper explanation.
Ron looks fuming mad, as I knew he would be. He’s always been hotheaded. “That’s all?” he repeats. “That’s all!” Okay, so he’s obviously more pissed about this than I would have expected. “Hermione, that’s an outrage! How can you be so flippant about it?”
“I’m not!” I argue back. “I’m downright pissed if you want to know the truth. I got swindled by some pureblood, jackass, pretty-boy wizard for a thousand-galleon bet and I’m bloody livid! But for the love of Merlin, I’m sick of telling the story,” I yell as I gesture at each of them, “and I’m not going to walk around all up in arms over it. I’m going to get my bloody revenge and enjoy every second of it! Alright?”
It’s apparent, by the looks on all their faces that I’ve just gone overboard. We’re having a simple conversation and I get asked one heated question, and I’m screaming and being defensive...
...And going completely off topic.
Of course I’m hurt by what happened, but I really didn’t need to go off the deep end like that. I must be a little more upset by what happened than I’ve been allowing myself to fee. Any normal witch would feel distressed about it.
But, Merlin’s balls, I’m Hermione bloody Granger. I’m not a normal witch. I’m the brightest fucking witch of my age. I’m not going to let some ferret-faced loser get away with conning me and making me look like a fool. I want nothing more than to stab that fucker through the heart, chop him to little bits and then burn the pieces in a large barrel, but I shouldn’t let anyone see how much he actually hurt me.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I don’t know when it had happened, but I’m standing up pacing the living room and they’re all staring at me like I’m a bomb waiting to detonate. I take a deep breath and stop my pacing before I say calmly, “Okay, I’m sorry I just blew up like that.”
All three of them exchange glances and then turn back to me. “It’s alright, Hermione,” Ron says. “I pretty much provoked you.”
I collapse back onto the couch and rub my hands over my face. I’m never going out to a bar again. Never, ever.
“Let’s talk about something else for a while, please.” I’m begging and I never beg, but I can’t take much more of this talk right now. I need to gather myself together and think, before I make any rash decisions.
The room is quiet for a second and then, sheepishly, Ron interrupts the silence. “So, I had a date last night.”
Each one our heads pops up. Ron hasn’t dated anyone steady since he and I broke up. And, for being an international Quidditch star, that’s saying something. But, the three of us are probably the only people who know why Ron hasn’t had a steady relationship.
Ron is gay.
I was the first to find out and only three days after our amicable breakup. I guess he felt he needed to explain his behavior to me. Once my initial shock subsided, I thought back on our brief romantic relationship and realized how it all made more sense.
For instance, a mere two months into our relationship, I was ready to take the next step. I felt that seven years of flirtatious friendship and two months of hand-holding, snogging, and groping had been plenty of foreplay. I was ready for the main event.
Ron was not.
He told me that he was waiting for marriage to give away his virginity. I understood it, accepted it, and respected it. But, after that it seemed that he didn’t even want to touch me anymore. A few more weeks of limited contact and we broke it off, both realizing we really were better off as friends.
What I later learned was that Ron had a thing for Seamus Finnigan. He only realized it, however, when I had mentioned having sex and his initial reaction was to vomit...
...And not in a nervous way.
I never took offense to it, though. How could I? You can’t make a gay man straight, right?
Ginny and I both perk up at Ron’s declaration. “Ron! Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Ginny exclaims and then wags her brows. “Let’s have some details.”
Ron’s face reddens in embarrassment and I see, out of the corner of my eye, Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat.
After Ron had explained his sexual preferences to me, I went with him to talk to Harry and Ginny. It had been a nasty shock for both of them, but Ginny had recovered quickly. She had been wondering, for a long time, if that were the case with him, but she didn’t know how to bring it up; and being the good sister that she is, she embraced him with open arms.
Harry, on the other hand, never really recovered. Even though Ron is still one of his best friends and they still hang out and have fun like they always did, Harry can’t stomach hearing about Ron’s dates. As long as Ron doesn’t act gay - which he doesn’t - Harry can think of him as the same old Ron. But, the minute Ron slips into romantic recall time Harry can’t ignore the differences of Ron’s sexual preferences. He becomes uncomfortable and leaves the room.
Just like he is now.
Under his breath, Harry mumbles something about going to the bathroom and retreats from the room quickly. Ginny growls at him and waves her hand dismissively.
A pained look forms on Ron’s face and I stretch out my hand and pat his knee. “Don’t worry about him, Ron. You know how he is,” I say with a reassuring smile.
Ron’s lips quirk heavenward and then he says, “I know. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
Ginny is less empathetic with Harry’s discomfort than I am. “Fuck him,” she says just loud enough for Harry to hear her from down the hall and through the bathroom door. She turns back to Ron with a smile, “So, let’s hear it.”
Ron’s face turns a violent shade of red again and I almost want to giggle. Ron and I have always been good friends; always able to talk about anything; but, now with his open homosexuality (at least to the three of us) it’s like having another girlfriend. Ron is extremely macho and very much a man’s man, until he starts talking about his dates. Then it’s like sitting around with the girls and gossiping about whose butt looks better in their Quidditch robes. I’d never admit it to Harry, but it’s fantastic.
“Well, his name is Jackson and he’s a half-blood,” Ron says, looking down at his cross-trainers. I’ve never seen him look so embarrassed. I’m confused. Ron is normally very boisterous about his dates - good and bad.
Ginny doesn’t seem to notice the difference. “Jackson what?” she asks and then like rapid-fire comes out with seven more questions. “Do we know him? How old is he? Does he play Quidditch? Did he go to Hogwarts? What house was he in? Is he cute? Are you going to see him again?” Ron and I both stare at Ginny open-mouthed, shocked and silent. “What?” she asks with a shrug of her shoulders. “Harry’s only going to stay in that bathroom for so long.”
I chuckle as Ron rolls his eyes and starts answering Ginny’s questions. “His last name is Albert.” This is as far as he can get because Ginny interrupts him with,
“Are you serious? His names are backwards, Ron. What the fuck?”
What in the hell is she talking about?
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Ron asks the question burning in my mind, as if he’s using Legilimency.
“His names are backwards,” she repeats with an annoyed voice. “His first name is a last name and his last name is a first name. Duh.”
Ron and I glance at each other and then roll our eyes. “Do you want to hear the details or not, Gin?” Ron asks, exasperated. He doesn’t give her time to respond. “You don’t know him. I met him after last week’s game at a bar. He’s thirty-two and he does not play Quidditch, but he’s a big fan.” As Ron is answering all of Ginny’s questions, he’s counting them off on his fingers and staring off into space as if trying to remember them all. “He did go to Hogwarts, but was obviously graduated before we even started.” Yeah, my quick math tells me there is a ten-year age difference between them. “He was a Ravenclaw. He is very cute. And, yes, I think I will be seeing him again.” When he’s finished, Ron smiles shyly and looks at both Ginny and I. “That was all of your questions, right?”
Ginny nods, biting her lip. It’s my turn to ask some questions.
“Why do you look so embarrassed, Ron?” I ask, gently. “He sounds wonderful.”
Ron’s face brightens even more. “He is wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that...”
His voice falters as he stares down at his cross trainers again. This is so not like Ron. Though he was hesitant to talk to us about his dates at first, over the last four years, he’s opened up more than I would have ever imagined him to. He never has a problem telling us about his dates and how he felt about them, so why all of a sudden is he looking so sheepish?
I prod, “That what?”
Ron’s face is now crimson. “Ilosmiverginty,” he mumbles incoherently and, at the same time, Ginny and I say,
“What?”
If possible, Ron gets redder. “I don’t think I can do this,” he says. He gets out of his chair quickly, walks to the floo powder and grabs a handful. Ginny and I are on him before he can toss it in the grate and leave.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ginny exclaims as she grabs his arms and pulls him back, dropping the floo powder all over the floor. Fantastic. I’m going to have to clean that up later because Merlin knows Ginny doesn’t clean. Ginny is steering Ron back over to the couch, taking my seat, and sits down next to him. I sit down in Ron’s vacated chair.
“Come on, Ron,” I say with a smile, “you can trust us.”
“This is not about trust,” Ron states in a smaller voice than I’ve ever heard him use.
“Well, what’s it about, then?” Ginny asks. She looks over at me when Ron hesitates. “Do I have to tie someone else up to the Knight Bus to get answers around here?”
Ron looks over at me with a confused half-grin. “What?”
“We’ll talk about your sister’s psychopathic tendencies later,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “We’re talking about you now. What’s wrong?”
Ron sighs deeply. “It’s personal.”
“Since when have any of your dates been personal?” Ginny counters with a scoff. “You gossip like a woman when it comes to your dates.” Normally that would have made all of us laugh and spill more scandal, but today it only made Ron start shaking.
“What is wrong with you, Ron?” I ask, grabbing a hold of his shaking hand. “You’re a bloody ball of nerves today.”
“It’s not nerves,” he shoots back.
“Then what the bloody fuck is it?” Ginny and I ask it together and loudly. And people wonder why we’re best friends.
“For the love of all that’s holy,” Ron yells in annoyance, “I lost my goddamn virginity!”
My mouth drops open.
So does Ginny’s.
Ron’s face is almost purple he’s so embarrassed.
And Harry decides to enter the room at just that moment.
“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters, “I’m going back in the bathroom.” As he retreats, his face is white as new fallen snow.
FOUR: Communicable Diseases and Such