I hope our story has a happier ending

as the smoke clears

Sunday brunch is generally the most subdued Hogwarts gets, given the frequency of hangovers due to post-Quidditch Saturday night parties and the sense of foreboding regarding assignments due Monday morning beginning to set in.

Blaise and Daphne have joined Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins at the Gryffindor table; Ginny and Blaise had a drinking competition the night before, so they're both nursing a headache but bashfully leaning into one another.

(They have a strange newfound relationship, but Hermione and Draco have just decided to spectate.)

Hermione's leaned over a thick research text, engrossed in the clarifications of the animagus process, for reasons she's refusing to explain to any of them. Harry puts eggs and bacon on toast, making it into a sandwich and placing it on the plate at her elbow; he nudges her until she notices, sheepishly mouthing thank you at the reminder to take care of herself before devouring the sandwich.

"All I'm saying is, there's no reason we should have a substitute teacher for Defense when Professor Lupin is available. I think everyone learned more in any given week last year than they have with every other teacher combined," Daphne insists, crossing her arms as she finishes off her pumpkin juice.

Harry nods in agreement. "Uncle Remus says they're working on it, actually—McGonagall and Dumbledore wrote to him as soon as the post became available, and they're in the process of petitioning the Board of Governors for his reinstatement. McGonagall thinks the Board doesn't have much of a leg to stand on," he grins. "I was talking to her about it earlier, and given that the appointment they recommended turned out to be an escaped felon performing Unforgivables in class, there's very little they could say to defend not appointing a previous teacher whose instruction saw the highest OWL scores in two decades."

"My mother is good friends with several Board members—I'll write and see if she can sway them at all," Blaise muses. "Even the shitty ones—I bet we could convince them it would help the pureblood cause, or some bullshit. And as awful as they are as human beings, they do want their children educated well."

"To be taught by a Marauder would be the greatest honor," Fred sighs, feigning wistfulness.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "You were already taught by him."

"But I didn't know it was him! I couldn't truly appreciate him like he deserves."

A throat clears hesitantly from behind Harry and Hermione, and they both jump, turning to see a bashful seeming Ron, shoulders curved inward and head bowed. "I—hey. Could we talk, for a moment? Just the three of us?"

Hermione's eyes flash with distrust, but despite everything—despite the loneliness he's made her feel over the years, despite the offhanded insults she's never been able to brush aside, despite the last few months of him joining those disparaging Harry and throwing dirt on her name—he has a special place in her heart, and Harry's.

(He's Ron.)

And while his behavior has been appalling, he's also been a part of some of their best moments—he's the one who threw up slugs for days defending her when Draco called her the m word, the one who let a chess piece knock him out and an animagus break his leg and went up against a basilisk on Harry's behalf, the one who grew up never having excess and yet still never begrudged either of them a place in his home or in his family's hearts.

So she nods, and Harry follows suit, and the three of them leave the Great Hall to avoid the prying eyes already paying too much attention to their business.

"I—" Ron takes a deep breath, clenching his jaw as he visibly steeles himself for the hit to his pride. "I fucked up. Not just at the ball, but—looking back, there are a lot of times I haven't been a good friend to you both. And I'm sorry." He looks down at his feet, not meeting their eyes as he shifts his weight from side to side. "I spoke with George last week, and apologized to Daphne as well, because—I know the things I've done have gone beyond just us. And I'm going to be less of a prat, and more thoughtful, I swear. It—you don't owe me forgiveness, I know. Or your friendship. But...I'd be grateful for both. I—miss you."