Hermione didn't actually have a valid excuse for sending Ron upstairs on a random errand. Mostly his "help" was getting him far to close to where she'd stashed her Christmas gift to him. While he was gone she'd found a new place to hide it in the hopes that it would remain a surprise until Christmas morning.
It had been a very long time since she'd been able to put much of anything under a tree. Too long. The last Christmas present she remembered giving him was the year before Harry had... back before the battle at Malfoy Manor. But with Luna's addition to the house, a welcome delight to the normal sombre surroundings, Hermione now had the chance.
She was reading comfortably (and maybe a little guiltily, as she had misled him when she'd sent him off) when he'd come back. His Quidditch magazine was sitting on the sofa. Then things happened quickly. He shoved the journal, her journal at her, his tone of voice speaking more than the question itself. Anger crept up over her shoulders suddenly and she snatched the journal from his hands
( ... )
The subsequent noise Ron made in response to her ludicrous question-for-an-answer was huffy and full of scorn.
"Of course I read it. What else am I supposed to do with it when the bloody thing falls off your bloody overcrowded dresser and lands on the bloody floor wide open for me to see? Wear it like one of Dumbledore's hats and dance about the room singing 'You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman'?"
Don't ask how he knew about that song because it was a rather long, strange story and he had no patience for anything even remotely funny right now.
"Christ on a bike, Hermione. What were you thinking? Fucking Michael CORNER of all people!" Ron's voice grew louder and he began to wildly gesticulate at the offending lump of bound paper Hermione held. He was winding himself up for a good and proper row.
"Did you really believe you could keep this business up forever?"
"You're supposed to put it back where it came and leave it alone, Ronald Weasley! I can't believe you read it!"
Hermione got to her feet, looking him in the eye. She was not a short woman so meeting him face to face wasn't unthinkable. Hermione glowered at him. There was simply no excuse for him to have read her personal journal without her permission. Those words were and had always been for Harry's eyes. Mixed up thoughts not meant for anyone to read.
Yes, she'd let Harry read what was inside, but it only seemed fitting because she'd always addressed the majority of her entries to him and him alone.
And then he brought up Michael. The thing with Michael.
She couldn't deny that it had happened. But he was implying much more than that. And that was unacceptable.
"You'd better come straight out and accuse me of whatever it is your BARKING MAD brain has cooked up," Hermione snapped. "Because I'd really like to hear it."
"I don't have to cook up a damn thing! It's all there in black and white!" Ron gave her a look that was equally dark and violently stabbed the air one last time to drive the point home. "I might not be as smart as your precious Michael but do give me some credit," he added, the sarcasm now all but dripping off his tongue.
"I cannot for the life of me understand what the attraction is to that man. He's probably fucked his way through half of England already and here you are offering yourself up to him like some dead common street whore."
Scowling, Ron turned this little ditty over in his mind again. Only a few scarily thin degrees of separation between himself and the Ravenclaw in question. The very idea made his blood boil. What made it even worse was that Hermione hadn't denied anything yet. Not one thing.
"And you realise... you bloody realise that in a roundabout way I'VE SHAGGED MY OWN SISTER!"
"I didn't call you stupid, Ron. I said you were barking mad. And you are!"
She ignored the whore comment. For now. But it hurt in more ways than she could ever describe. The first thing that came to his mind was that she was a whore for being human. Ouch.
Hermione was angry. Angry for him invading her privacy and dragging up things that just didn't need to be dragged up. That part of her life was over and all these months of them being together hadn't convinced him? Hermione was angry that Harry had been right and why she hadn't brought it up, she'll never know.
But still... he was assuming things that just weren't true and his and making wild accusations with insane logic.
"You bloody bastard... did you even look at the date?! That was from almost a year ago!" She stepped back and looked at him, an icy expression now crossing her face. It was scarily similar to the row after the Yule Ball.
Comments 12
It had been a very long time since she'd been able to put much of anything under a tree. Too long. The last Christmas present she remembered giving him was the year before Harry had... back before the battle at Malfoy Manor. But with Luna's addition to the house, a welcome delight to the normal sombre surroundings, Hermione now had the chance.
She was reading comfortably (and maybe a little guiltily, as she had misled him when she'd sent him off) when he'd come back. His Quidditch magazine was sitting on the sofa. Then things happened quickly. He shoved the journal, her journal at her, his tone of voice speaking more than the question itself. Anger crept up over her shoulders suddenly and she snatched the journal from his hands ( ... )
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"Of course I read it. What else am I supposed to do with it when the bloody thing falls off your bloody overcrowded dresser and lands on the bloody floor wide open for me to see? Wear it like one of Dumbledore's hats and dance about the room singing 'You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman'?"
Don't ask how he knew about that song because it was a rather long, strange story and he had no patience for anything even remotely funny right now.
"Christ on a bike, Hermione. What were you thinking? Fucking Michael CORNER of all people!" Ron's voice grew louder and he began to wildly gesticulate at the offending lump of bound paper Hermione held. He was winding himself up for a good and proper row.
"Did you really believe you could keep this business up forever?"
Reply
Hermione got to her feet, looking him in the eye. She was not a short woman so meeting him face to face wasn't unthinkable. Hermione glowered at him. There was simply no excuse for him to have read her personal journal without her permission. Those words were and had always been for Harry's eyes. Mixed up thoughts not meant for anyone to read.
Yes, she'd let Harry read what was inside, but it only seemed fitting because she'd always addressed the majority of her entries to him and him alone.
And then he brought up Michael. The thing with Michael.
She couldn't deny that it had happened. But he was implying much more than that. And that was unacceptable.
"You'd better come straight out and accuse me of whatever it is your BARKING MAD brain has cooked up," Hermione snapped. "Because I'd really like to hear it."
Reply
"I cannot for the life of me understand what the attraction is to that man. He's probably fucked his way through half of England already and here you are offering yourself up to him like some dead common street whore."
Scowling, Ron turned this little ditty over in his mind again. Only a few scarily thin degrees of separation between himself and the Ravenclaw in question. The very idea made his blood boil. What made it even worse was that Hermione hadn't denied anything yet. Not one thing.
"And you realise... you bloody realise that in a roundabout way I'VE SHAGGED MY OWN SISTER!"
Reply
She ignored the whore comment. For now. But it hurt in more ways than she could ever describe. The first thing that came to his mind was that she was a whore for being human. Ouch.
Hermione was angry. Angry for him invading her privacy and dragging up things that just didn't need to be dragged up. That part of her life was over and all these months of them being together hadn't convinced him? Hermione was angry that Harry had been right and why she hadn't brought it up, she'll never know.
But still... he was assuming things that just weren't true and his and making wild accusations with insane logic.
"You bloody bastard... did you even look at the date?! That was from almost a year ago!" She stepped back and looked at him, an icy expression now crossing her face. It was scarily similar to the row after the Yule Ball.
"How easily you assume the worst of me, Ronald."
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