Banter FF: After the Ball

[derannimer <susannahlm@yahoo.com>]

No: HPFGUIDX 50850

"After the Ball: the H/H version," according to Pippin: 

========
H/H version

Hermione stormed up the girls' staircase. She managed to hold 
back the tears till she'd reached her room. Tearing the curtains 
aside, she flung herself down on the bed and sobbed.

"Hermione?" Parvati's voice was muffled. She heard the sound 
of the curtains being drawn aside and felt a hand on her back. 
"Go away!" she said, into her pillow.

"What's going on?" That was Lavender.

"Get Ginny," said Parvati. "And a glass of water, I think."

Hermione pulled herself together. She sat up. Parvati was sitting 
on the edge of the bed, looking concerned. She had a right to be, 
Hermione thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the bedside 
mirror. Her cheeks were blotchy, the lovely periwinkle blue dress 
was crushed where she'd been lying on it, and her hair was not 
only coming down, it was reverting, strand by strand, to its 
original state. Even as she watched, there was a faint twanging, 
and several more locks pulled themselves out of the bun and 
corkscrewed into curliness.

"What happened?" Parvati asked. "Did Krum--"

"No!" said Hermione. "No, of course not. It's that prat, Ron 
Weasley. I hate him!" Then she put her hand over her mouth. 
Ginny Weasley was standing in the doorway.

"He *is* like that, sometimes," Ginny said, coming forward. "You 
look terrible."

"Don't make me feel worse!" 

Hermione told Ginny and Parvati everything that had happened.

"Told you so," said Ginny. "He does like you."

"Like me! He's got a funny way of showing it, trying to ruin my 
night!"

"Well, he wasn't the only one!" said Parvati.

"You had the luck, Parvati," Hermione said softly. "You were with 
Harry."

Parvati laughed derisively. "Luckier if he hadn't spent the whole 
night with his eyeballs glued to Cho Chang. Or off walking with 
Ron Weasley in the rose bushes."

Ginny's eyebrows collided with her hairline. "*What!?*"

"Oh!" said Parvati, blushing furiously, "I didn't mean they were 
*walking* -- They were just...walking."

"But, what am I going to do?" Hermione moaned.

"Well, I'd tell Ron to take a flying leap into the lake, if I were
you," said Ginny sagely.

"I can't" said Hermione.

"Why ever not?" asked Parvati. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure 
Padma feels the same way, right now."

"Because," Hermione sniffed, "Harry needs me."

"Well, really! What's that got to do with it?" Ginny looked 
indignant. "Besides, if you like Harry that way, what d'you want to 
bother with Viktor for?"

"Because," said Parvati acidly, " Viktor is seventeen, and knows 
how to treat a witch."

"You don't understand," Hermione wailed. "It's not like that at all. 
Harry needs me. He hasn't done anything about his Egg, and he 
won't unless I make him, and if I stop speaking to Ron, which I 
want to, believe me, then Harry won't speak to me either. And he 
needs me!"

"But what about what you need?" Ginny asked.

"It doesn't matter what I need," Hermione sniffed.

The three other girls exchanged exasperated glances. "She's 
hopeless," Parvati whispered. Hermione didn't seem to hear.

"Well, said Ginny thoughtfully, "I guess you could be with Harry 
and ignore the fact that ninety percent of the time he's with Ron."

"Act like you don't care what Ron thinks," said Parvati.

"Really don't care what Ron thinks," said Lavender.

"Ignore him!" they all chorused, imitating Hermione.

Hermione managed a small smile. She pulled out her 
handkerchief, wished fervently that wizards had taken to 
Kleenex, and blew her nose.

"But suppose Ron says something else!"

"Well, you can't stop Ron saying things, you know. At least, no 
one has yet. Mum's tried, believe me."

"I could," said Hermione darkly. "One good curse..."

"I know it's tempting," said Ginny, "but you really shouldn't curse 
my brother, you know."

"Right. Well, Harry needs me, so I guess I'll just have to pretend I 
can tolerate his stupid prat of a friend, even if he is insulting me 
and every other woman on the planet. Now I'm going to bed!"

"You are in bed," said Lavender.
=========

No Longer Pippin: Me! 

Whaa? 

Pippin, though I'm sure you had fun doing this, and though you're 
quite a decent writer (have you written any FF, btw?), I'm afraid 
that your imagination failed you on this one. You were *trying* to 
imagine that you were an H/Her, writing a fic. You didn't really. . . 
er. . . quite succeed. 

Now, let a *real* H/Her have a shot at it! *grins Lockhartly.* (Just 
so's you know, I've never actually *written* FF. Also, this isn't 
actually so much H/H as non R/H. So.) 


--------

"You think the pink?"

"Oh, yeah, I think the pink."

Parvati looked up at her best friend. "You're sure, Lavender?" she 
asked. "You don't think the gold?" 

Lavender sat herself down next to Parvati on the bed. She picked up 
the little vial of "Molten" and held it next to Parvati's hand, 
squinting critically at the effect. "Nah." 

It was the evening after the Yule Ball. Parvati had gotten back to 
the girls' dormitory quite late, and quite angry. Oh, yes, maybe not 
*all* the evening had been a *complete* waste; the *second half* of 
the Ball had really not been *too* bad--but *really!* Harry had 
behaved so *dreadfully!* 

She *could,* she supposed, theoretically speaking, have forgiven a 
guy that spent half the evening gazing across the room at an Athletic 
Type who he didn't even *know,* if only he'd payed an itty-bitty 
*smidge* of attention, at *some* point in the evening, to his *actual 
date.* 

"You know, the girl he's supposedly taking to the Ball?" she had 
angrily asked Lavender. "You know, the girl he's supposedly *spending 
some time with?* He didn't even care when I went off! Do you know 
what he *said,* when I *asked if he would mind?* 'What?'"

"He *didn't!*"

"He *did!* '*What!*' I mean, *boys!* 

"I know, I know." 

"*Honestly*!"

Lavender had been immensely understanding. She had roundly condemned 
Harry as an immature insensate. She had made many supportive noises 
when Parvati asked if she *really* should have just gone off with 
that French boy. And she had giggled appreciatively as a somewhat-
assuaged Parvati described that second, not-a-complete-waste, part of 
the Ball. (The boy's name was Jean-Denis, and he had the most 
*wonderful blue eyes.*)

And then Lavender had suggested that the both of them *really* needed 
to redo their nails, and had brought out a little kit that had just 
come in the post from Witch Weekly. 

Parvati had squeeled. 

'Thank heaven for "Passionate Pink,"' Lavender thought now. It had 
really been the manicure suggestion that had blown off the last of 
Parvati's steam; and Lavender wasn't sure if she could have *borne* 
to have made one more lousy supportive noise. She was friends with 
Parvati, but the girl had a temper. 

*thud.*

*thud, thud, thud, thud.*

What was that?

"What's that," asked Parvati, not looking up from the carefully 
lengthening glowing pink strip on her nail. 

"I don't know," said Lavender, not altogether honestly. She had a 
suspicion. . . 

It was awfully late for Hermione not to be back yet. 

And the noise, now that she thought about it, was almost *certainly* 
coming from the staircase that led to the girls' dormitory.

*thud, thud.*

And it was definitely getting louder.

"D'you think it's Hermione," asked Parvati, now waving one hand 
through the air. 

"I think it probably is," replied Lavender, her voice slightly tart. 
The footsteps didn't sound very happy, and she *really* didn't want 
to spend the rest of her night consoling random room-mates. 

*thud, thud, thud, thud.*

Not to mention the fact that she *really* didn't think that nail 
polish would do any good with Hermione.

*thud, thud, thUD THUD.*

There was a brief second of silence. Then 

*BA--*

The door did not quite bang open. It certainly flew forward at a 
remarkable velocity--but a hand suddenly shot out and caught 
it 'round one edge before it could hit the wall. 

The hand dropped down to the doorknob, and Hermione Granger shut the 
door carefully behind her as she entered the room. 

'She *looks* rather in need of consoling,' Lavender thought, and felt 
grouchy. 'Well, isn't this just *my* night.'  

"Hermione?" she said resignedly.

Hermione spun round. Lavender noticed that her hair was looking a 
right mess again--little twists and frizzes were coming down out of 
the elegant bun she had helped to construct. 

"Yes, Lavender?" she asked, extremely politely. There was something 
not. . . not *right,* edging her voice. Lavender realized that it 
would perhaps be best to tread cautiously. 

"Um. . . Hermione, is there something wrong?" 

"No," snapped Hermione, turning back and walking briskly towards her 
bed. 

"But Hermione--"

"Everything's *fine,* Lavender! And I should like to go to bed now, 
so please stop *quizzing* me! There's absolutely nothing wrong!" 

She wrenched the bed curtains open. Lavender heard rather a loud 
squeak as the bed springs complained about the sudden weight. Then a 
hand reached out and snapped the curtains back shut.

Lavender looked at Parvati, who was no longer quite so intent on her 
finger nails. Lavender raised one delicately tweezed eyebrow at 
Parvati, and Parvati arched one shapely-ly tweezed eyebrow at 
Lavender. 

Parvati leaned towards Lavender. "*Well," she said, very 
quietly, "what happened *there?*"


----


"Well," came Parvati's voice softly, "what happened *there?*"

It was too dark to matter, but Hermione shut her eyes anyway. 

Maybe that way she wouldn't be able to see the red glow her face must 
be casting across the curtains. 

When she had stormed out of the Common Room, her face had simply been 
red with anger. But then, about half-way up the stairs, she had 
suddenly realized something; now, her face was red with something 
else altogether, it and seemed, if possible, to be getting redder 
every second. 

Now that she'd thought about it, of course, she couldn't quite see 
why she hadn't realized it before. 

*Ron liked her.* 

She felt herself blushing again, and decided that she couldn't 
possibly be any more mortified than she was already, so she might as 
well just *face* the thing. 

After all, she was going to have to think about it sooner or later. 

Ron *liked* her. 

She'd never had any idea of it before. She. . . well, she had just 
never *thought* of Ron like. . . like that. She had been completely 
shocked when he'd acted like such a git during the Ball. She hadn't 
had the slightest idea *why* he was suddenly being so unfriendly to 
Viktor. His behaviour had come as a surprise to her--he'd always been 
such a fan of Krum's before, and she hadn't been able to fathom why 
his attitude had so abrubtly changed. 

Well, she fathomed it now, all right. 

Back in the Common Room Ron had started being hateful again: accusing 
her of throwing a fight, betraying Hogwarts--of betraying *Harry.* 
After everything they'd all gone through--how could he *say* that! It 
wasn't exactly as if either Ron or Harry had asked her to go, now was 
it! It wasn't exactly as if she had turned down Harry to go with 
Krum. *That* now, *that* could have been a betrayal. 

She would have gone with Harry, if he'd asked her. 

She would have gone with Ron, if he'd asked her. 

But neither of them had, now, had they?

Harry hadn't thought to ask her at all.

And as for Ron. .  . well, Ron had waited until he was *desperate,* 
and then asked her (rather rudely), and assumed she wouldn't have 
anyone else to go with! And then accused her of lying when she *did( 
have someone to go with! *Honestly,* the *nerve!* 

Of course, now that she'd realized about. . . it, Ron's attitude made 
more sense. She really didn't know why she hadn't realized before, 
down in the Common Room. 

Why she hadn't realized before she'd said it--but at the time all 
she'd realized was that her friend, her good friend, who she'd known 
for heaven's sake *forever,* was insulting her *again.*  

So that, when Ron had said: 

"I don't like it, Hermione, you going with Krum! You should have gone 
with--with one of us!"

she had absolutely just *snapped.* As if she *could* have! And she 
had yelled that if he jolly well wanted her to go with him, he could 
jolly well try *asking* next time. 

Imagine, what a concept. 

And then she had seen his face. 

And then she had stormed up off the stairs.

And then, half-way up the stairs, she had realized what she had seen 
on his face. 

And now *what* was she supposed to do.

Ron liked her. 

She opened her eyes again. She could just make out the dark lines of 
the canopy. Cracks of light still glowed between the curtains--
apparently, Parvati and Lavender were still up. 

Nope, that didn't really help either. 

She closed her eyes again.

It occurred to her suddenly that she would have to see Ron again.

Obviously. 

How was she supposed to look at him? Knowing that he liked her? And 
knowing that he probably knew that she knew? 

And knowing that. . . well, knowing that she probably *didn't* like 
him.

She'd never even *thought* of him that way. Ron was just. . . well, 
Ron, obviously. 

She'd just never thought of Ron that way. 

She didn't think she could think of Ron that way *now.*

Ron was *Ron.*

She was glad, at this moment, that she'd never been that close to any 
of her room-mates. She couldn't even imagine trying to explain this 
to Lavender. 'Ron's just *Ron,*' she imagined herself saying, and 
almost winced, it sounded so silly. It really wasn't an adequate 
explanation. But it was an adequate *reason.* She simply couldn't 
imagine feeling that way about Ron--maybe if she could, she wouldn't 
have been so dreadfully slow to realize that he, unfortunately, could 
imagine feeling that way about her. 

She knew, quite suddenly, that she could not tell him any of this. 

And not just because her face started to redden again at the sheer 
*thought* of such an awkward and embarrassing and painful 
conversation. 

Because he was her friend. She wasn't really angry at him, now that 
she knew why he'd been such a prat; she didn't want a fight. She'd 
almost lost both her best friends last year, in a fight; and she'd 
lost half of both her best friends earlier this year, when Ron had 
had a massive fight with Harry, about the Tournament.  

She really didn't want to have another fight. 

She really didn't want to hurt Ron's feelings.

But she also didn't want to lie to him--that wouldn't do any good at 
all, not in the long run. And it wouldn't be fair.

So although she lay there, eyes again open in the dark, behind the 
thick, hanging curtains, and tried to decide on *something* to say to 
Ron in the morning, all she was eventually able to decide on was 
this: that she did not want to have this conversation. 

And that if he did not bring it up, she would not bring it up, either.

Her eyes closed again, and she fell finally asleep. 



--------



Derannimer (who knows that she went a bit overboard with that one, 
but who really enjoyed the writing of it)