Dark Side of the Moon

Chapter Thirteen: Do you have to let it linger

Part of her had, with a sick sense of self-loathing, hoped she would have one of the nightmares when she slept, and that Lupin would be there in her dreams to see the hurt he had caused her firsthand.

But no. She had fallen into a disturbed sleep just before the sky started to lighten, and had tumbled around in black unconsciousness until a knock came at her bedroom door, stirring her out of the dark.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, as if she had barely been asleep in the first place, and she got out of bed, stretching. Her limbs felt achy, and her head throbbed a little too, though she didn't know if that was from her couple of Butterbeers the night before or the prolonged cry she'd had before bed. She expected it was probably the latter. As she processed these sensations, the details of the evening came flooding back to her, the most succinct definition of "rude awakening" she'd ever experienced.

"It is said to show your most honest and deepest desires..."

"What do you see in it?"

"Oh, Hermione..."

"We can't."

Her stomach twisted painfully, and she again wondered if it was from the hurt and embarrassment, or simply that she was much more of a lightweight than she'd ever guessed. Knock knock. Knuckles rapped against her bedroom door once more.

"Coming, coming..." Hermione muttered, swinging her legs out of the bed and stretching. She was thankful that she hadn't put on a nightgown before going to sleep, though she hurriedly peeled off Lupin's cardigan before hurrying to the door. Attempting to smooth her unruly hair back, she opened it.

It was Ron.

He leaned against her doorframe, a small smile creasing his face as he saw her. He looked flushed. She recognized the look - he was nervous, charged up. "Hi."

"Morning, Ron." They stared at each other a moment, before Hermione coughed and stepped backward. "Ah - come in."

"Can't stay long," he responded, but entered the room anyway. Hermione took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. Ron looked around the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "A private dormitory? Bloody hell."

"It's a new thing," she responded quickly, always embarrassed by any perception of privilege. "All of the Eighth Years got one."

"'Eighth Years'," he responded, smiling wider. "Trust you to invent an extra grade at Hogwarts." She smiled lightly at this. He'd said it with a touch of awe, rather than the annoyance that would've tinged his words just a few years before. Ron scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, continuing to look around the room - probably trying to avoid her gaze. "So, ah, about last night..."

"Ron..."

"No, let me get this out," he replied, a darker blush blooming across his cheeks. "I, ah...I'm really glad that...that happened. And I just wanted you to know that...it was something I wanted to happen for a long time. But I don't want to push you into anything. I know you're..." His eyes fell on a precarious stack of thick spellbooks teetering on the corner of her desk. "Busy."

Hermione stepped forward, reaching unthinkingly to take his hand, the way she would've at any other time to comfort him when he needed. But this wasn't any other time. Things were different now. Her fingers froze in the air, and after a short moment, she pivoted her hand to gently grasp his shoulder in what she hoped was a friendly, comforting way. "You and Harry are my best friends, Ron." His eyes finally made their way back to hers, just in time for her to see them fall in anticipation of what she would say next. "And so I just want to make sure everything is right," she continued, quickly. "I am busy, but also, so are you. Auror training. And we don't..." She fought for the words. She was good at thinking, not talking. "We don't want to rush anything. Especially when both of us have such little time...and won't see each other very much this year."