Check Mate

MASHED

Hermione hurried out of the fireplace when they arrived back to 12 Grimmauld Place. She had her hand on the door, opening it, before he could stop her.

"Where are you going?" he demanded as he brushed the soot from his black jacket.

"Anywhere you're not," she said still facing the door. He could see her shoulders rising and falling heavily, as though she was having trouble breathing. He would bet a hundred galleons that her cheeks flushed red and tears rimmed her eyes, but he couldn't see her face. Had their field trip to Miss Brown's upset her that much? Surely, she had had months to reconcile the idea that Fate intended them to be together, she had even taken to calling him that awful nickname. Or was seeing it a second time, a further validation that she was to marry him and live in a shack, was that what bothered her?

"Fine," he said sharply, watching as she left. He may not be crying but the visit to Lavender's had thrown him too. He had gone in the hopes of ridding his thoughts of Hermione, of convincing himself that it was nothing but a farce. He had never expected these results. He looked at the paper in his hand and sighed. Bright red ink circled Hermione's name and Miss Brown had further taken the liberty of adding small hearts around it. Each slashed line through a 'lonely bastard' condemned him. So these were his choices. A life spent as a bachelor, alone in the dungeon with his potions, or marriage and kids with a student who until a few weeks ago had been nothing more than a thorn in his side? It was intolerable! He needed a drink.

Hours and many drinks later he heard a soft knock on the door. Maybe it was Hermione coming to apologize; that would be wouldn't mind even ifshe wascoming to forgive him, he hadn't been terribly polite about this whole debacle. As long as it wasn't Molly come to feed him, he didn't care. A bushy haired, dry-eyed Hermione entered the room, her back straight and a stern look on her face. So she wasn't here to apologize or forgive, it appeared.

"Ah, I had so hoped it would be you, Hermie," he said, slurring a bit.

"You're drunk," she accused him, picking up the now nearly empty bottle lying on the table next to him.

"And so I should be. I played that ridiculous game of yours twenty times in a row and your name came up every time. A shack and three kids, a house with two, and god forbid, once with an apartment with eight—one more than the Weasleys! Can you imagine an apartment with eight kids! Where would we keep them? In the closet?

"It's just a game, Sevie," she told him.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed.

"Knew what?"

"I knew you still called me that in your head. You walk around here all the time, with that mischievous smile and that damned twinkle in your eye and I can just tell you're being disrespectful in your head! And now with this game!"

"You don't have to believe it if it's going to make you miserable," she said.

He knew that, but he liked being miserable; it was so much easier than trying to be happy. Besides believing it meant that somewhere deep down inside he believed that he wouldn't be alone forever.

"If I can resign myself to you not liking me then surely you can resign yourself to not liking me as well," she rambled on. She hadn't mentioned that she didn't like him, so did that mean that it was only his fear and distaste that stood between them and their eternal love?

"Why are you here?" he asked sharply. He had been happy to see her at first but he suddenly wanted nothing more than to see her gone. She represented everything he wanted but couldn't have, and it hurt too much to be reminded of that at the moment.

"I came to check on the potion. It needs to be stirred three times, counter clockwise every..."

"Every five hours, I know." Honestly! He was the Potions Professional here, not her.