The Ice Bowl | dramione

Front of the Manor

Hermione's first question to Ron as they sat down in the Ministry-provided car was, "Which boy is your new obsession this year?"

"What? Why would you assume-"

Hermione gave him a piercing look.

"It's Neville." he said quickly in a very small voice.

"Neville?" Hermione said, slamming her fist onto the chair, creating a loud sound that resembled a pop.

Ron scooted back in his chair.

"Sorry." Hermione said. "Follow-up question now that you've accepted my apology, why?"

"I don't know, I mean, he's cute!"

Out of all the words that Hermione could even fathom to use as descriptors for Neville Longbottom, 'cute' was not one of them. 'Awkward,' maybe. 'Cowardly,' for sure. But not 'cute.' 'Cute' was a word you used to describe, well, not Neville. Someone with hair that was smoother than silk, not the tree-stalk texture of Neville's. Someone who was light-haired and blessed with clear, pale skin instead of that sad, pockmarked face and dark locks.

Was she so shallow to be thinking and judging based on appearances, when she had promised herself that having any sort of 'type' was unethical? And she'd never met anyone who she really, truly liked, let alone someone who fit the descriptions she was clearly attracted to.

"Hermione?"

"Sorry."

Oh God. Neville still liked Ginny. And Ron was well aware of that.

"Hey, what about the whole Ginny thing?"

"She doesn't like him back. I still have a chance."

So she hadn't told him. Hermione thought back to last summer.

"Hermione, have you ever had a boyfriend?" queried Ginny.

"What?" replied Hermione, bewildered. "No. No, I haven't. Why?"

"Oh. I was just wondering if there was anyone who could give me advice."

"Well, I've had a girlfriend. Is that close enough?" Hermione replied, thinking of Cho. Two months of pure, well, she wouldn't call it passion, but they did really like each other. Hermione had been twelve, Cho thirteen, and it was great. They did messily break up, but it was good while it lasted.

"A girlfriend? Really? Well, it's pretty much the same thing. So, you know Neville?"

"Neville?" Hermione slammed down her book. "You like Neville?"

"Yeah! Just- how do I tell him?"

"Are you sure he likes you back?"

"No. He probably doesn't."

At that point Hermione had told her some randomness about 'following her heart' and whatnot, knowing that the shy Ginny would never confess her love unless prompted to or motivated.

Jesus, the Weasleys had a very concerning type. Did the red hair come with a side of tastelessness?

"I guess you do." Hermione said to Ron. "Do you have any idea if and when you're going to tell him?"

"Honestly, I think this is a mindlessly-pine-for-years-and-then-tell-them-you-like-th-em crush."

"Why don't you just tell him?" Hermione asked. "I mean, the worst he can say is no."

"Actually, the worst he can say, or the worst he can do, I guess, is be disgusted with me for liking him." Ron's voice broke. "And-and I don't want to open this whole can of worms and ruin our friendship."

"Calm down. He's not going to slate you. Neville's not like that."

"It's not just that. Let's say he and I somehow start dating and I take him to my house, to the Burrow, and he sees how poor we are, how the rooms could probably suffocate him to death, then what? I mean, he would probably break up with me seeing the front of the house."

"Then if he's a good boyfriend, he really won't mind. It'll look like a manor to him."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. So, is Harry at the Burrow yet?"

"No. Do you really think anyone's ever gotten him out of the house in a normal way?"

Hermione flicked through her mental catalogues. The whole first-year fiasco that Harry and Hagrid had rehashed and retold a million times, being broken out of his bar-fitted room in their second year. It was safe to say that their pasts were pretty chaotic.

"Fair point. Anyway, what else has been going on with you?"

"Er, you know my Squib cousin Matilda?"

"Yeah?"

"She got a job. She's a statistics teacher at some Muggle high school now."

"Wow, I feel bad for her."

"Why?"

"Oh my God! You've never been to a Muggle school before!" Hermione exclaimed, ecstatic. "Okay. So imagine if there was a school full of Draco Malfoys, Crabbes, and Goyles."

Ron's mouth was slightly open. "I wouldn't survive."

"Correct. And now, imagine that most of the professors were, like, Hagrids, and then there were a few Mcgonagalls, and then a couple Snapes. Now imagine your cousin working alongside that random, concerning ensemble, and trying to teach and educate the terrorising kids."

"Okay, wow. I'm glad I'm not Muggle-born. No offense." He added.

"None taken." Hermione smiled, as she whipped out her quill and ink.

"What're you writing?" asked Ron.

"I write poetry sometimes. And sometimes inspiration just shoots into my brain, and it just did, so I'm trying to put it to use while it lasts."

fluidity

i watch the water fall and rise

the open redness in my hate

you have ruined my whole life

i already live in a messed up place

identity crises and little white lies

and i pretend i'm not in love

sometimes at night i want to cry

but does it matter what i want?

will anyone want me if i break?

will you need me if i show fragility?

i'm nowhere close to being a blank slate

but i don't know what is me

who am i, do i know?

i'm just an anxious royal hiding behind a cloak.

She (honestly, she didn't even know if she could call herself 'she' anymore) closed her journal and Ron stared at her.

"I could feel the intensity radiating of off you. What was that about?"

"Identity crises and such." Hermione pulled on a fake smile.

"That is very relatable." Ron laughed, stretching. "We've been here a long time. When do you think we'll get there? I feel like you know this route better than me now."

"That could very well be true. I'd say we have, like, ten minutes before we get there."

"Oh, thank God. My legs hurt."

Hermione laughed.

When they reached the Burrow, dinner seemed to pass in a blur. Hermione was wrapped up in an anxious identity crisis and she felt as though she wasn't really there, but put on her perfect fake smile and let herself fall asleep in a supposedly peaceful manner. Of course, her dreams simply had to be the opposite.

She could only make out two words from the glitchy darkness of the nightmare.

"Please don't."