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be11atrixthestrange · 2 months

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The Loft 8

After a bad break-up, Hermione Granger moves into a messy and dysfunctional loft with four single men. What starts as a temporary home until she gets back on her feet becomes so much more, as she learns there's a lot of life - and love - that happens at rock-bottom.

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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In a crazy turn of events, I updated The Loft after 2 years... :)

Chapter 8

A watched egg never cooks. Is that the saying? Ron doesn’t know — he’s terrible at idioms and shit. If it’s not a saying, it’s definitely accurate.

He stands in front of the stove, waiting for his egg to fry. It’s taking forever, and he’s tempted to just leave it there, but maybe then he’d burn the whole loft down. That, or Vicky would eat it.

Vicky’s here this morning, just like he was here yesterday morning. And the morning before that. It almost feels like they have another roommate, one that doesn’t pay rent and that Ron didn’t choose. Well, he didn’t choose Hermione either, but that worked out. Sort of.

Ever since Hermione and Victor became ‘official’, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together. Ron comes home after work, Krum is here. He wakes up in the morning, Krum is still here. The only time Krum seems to spend outside of the apartment is between the hours of 9-5, and one hour at night, 8-9 pm, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Whenever Ron has asked where he goes, he gets all weird and quiet. Whenever he asks Hermione, she doesn’t seem to know or care.

“Honestly, Ron, it’s important for couples to spend time apart.”

“But Hermione, do you know where he goes?”

“No, because I respect his privacy.”

Why is Vicky the only one in this loft entitled to privacy? He often wonders when someone empties the laundry machine and leaves a trail of socks and underwear across the living room floor, or late at night when he can hear his roommates’ beds creaking, knowing they brought home a companion, a poor soul who has no idea how thin the walls are.

It begs the question, what kind of dark shit is Krum getting up to between the hours of 8 and 9pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays if he can’t even tell his girlfriend about it?

Maybe he has an embarrassing hobby. Or a gambling addiction. Or a second girlfriend.

Ron tries to ignore his heart’s fluttering in response to the last thought. What sort of friend would hope for that kind of thing?

“You might want to turn the stove on,” comes a gruff voice, interrupting Ron’s thoughts. “Or your egg will never cook.”

With a groan, Ron flicks on the burner.

“Are you okay?” asks Krum as he takes a seat at the kitchen counter. “You seem distracted.”

Ron glances back at his unwelcome roommate. His thick robe hangs loosely around his waist, forming a deep v neck that exposes Krum’s chiseled pecs and chest hair. Why can’t the dude just cover himself up a bit?

“M’fine.”

“Okay then. Look, I’m going to be out of town for the weekend—”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” interrupts Ron.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t even live here, so you don’t have to tell us when you’ll be out.”

Ron keeps his back to Krum as he lets the awkward pause wash over. Sure, maybe he should be nicer to the guy, but someone should gently tell him he’s overstaying his welcome. Hermione won’t.

“I was just going to ask if I could keep my car out front. Sometimes I get towed if I leave it out at my apartment—”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Great,” says Krum as he rises to his feet and turns back toward Hermione’s room. “Thanks.”

“Where are you going this weekend?”

“Nowhere.” The sound of Hermione’s door closing punctuates Krum’s response.

Hmm. Very odd.

Moments later, Harry appears from his bedroom door, still disheveled in his pajamas. “What’s got you down?”

“Vicky.”

“What about Viktor?”

“I’m telling you, he’s giving me the creeps.”

Harry chuckles. “Since when?”

“The cabin trip we all went on.”

Harry lets a full laugh escape, as he responds. “You’re ridiculous. He never bothered you before.”

“I think he’s cheating on Hermione.”

Harry’s eyes narrow and glances toward Hermione’s bedroom. “She doesn’t deserve that, but how do you know?”

“Gut feeling.”

“Ron—”

“I think if I went to his place, I’d find proof.” Ron raises an eyebrow at his friend, who violently shakes his head.

“No.”

“Please come with me? I’ll give you free beer.”

“No. Plus you always give me free beer.”

Ron shrugs. “I’m going alone then. He’ll be out of town this weekend, and it’s the perfect opportunity to just check in.”

Harry groans. “You’re going to force my hand aren’t you?”

“Just come with me and make sure I don’t do anything unreasonable?”

“Going in the first place is unreasonable.”

“Still gonna do it.”

Ron knows that Harry can’t resist a little bit of mischief, so all he has to do is wait him out. Ninety percent of the unreasonable things Ron has done in his life have involved his best friend.

Like clockwork, Harry raises an eyebrow. “Okay. When are you going?”

“Tomorrow morning, after Krum leaves town.”

Harry groans. “You know this is a terrible idea?”

“Yes. But I don’t care.”

“We’re not going to do anything illegal, right?”

Ron imagines what exactly they’ll do tomorrow — show up at Krum’s apartment and just open the door? If Vicky’s dumb enough to leave his door unlocked while he’s out of town, then sure. But he’s definitely not dumb. If he was, Hermione would be staying far far away from him, and yet, here they are. It won’t be the first time Ron has snuck into a window. He was a horny teenager with a girlfriend and strict parents before, and crowbars are quite effective.

“No, of course we won’t do anything illegal.”

Harry nods. “Then fine,” he says, the reluctance in his voice rather light.

“Knew I could count on you.”

It doesn’t take long for Ron and Harry to locate Viktor’s address — the internet is a wonderful invention. They pull up to his street and emerge from the car. On Ron’s back is a bag equipped with a crowbar, a rope, and a clipboard. Ron’s found that holding a clipboard is the best way to look like you’re supposed to be there.

“None of this makes sense, mate.”

“Sure it does.”

As Ron shuffles along the pavement of an unfamiliar neighborhood, Harry trots behind him in an effort to keep up.

“You have no evidence that he’s cheating.”

“That’s why we’re doing this. To find some.”

“Ugh.”

Harry and Ron eventually stumble to the front porch of Viktor Krum’s duplex. It is larger than expected, but slightly run-down. The grass in the front lawn needs to be mowed, and on the front porch sit two pots that once housed plants, maybe. By the looks of it, no one has watered them in years. The paint is peeling off of the siding, and one of the stairs on the front stoop has rotted through. Even though their loft is still rather dumpy, Viktor’s makes it look like a castle.

“No wonder he’s always staying at our apartment.”

Ron peers around to the side of the house. A cracked window reveals an unmade bed inside. From his research, Ron knows that Krum lives in the first apartment on the left.

“We’re going in through the window.”

“Breaking and entering, cool,” grumbles Harry.

“Just entering. No need to break.”

Harry and Ron tiptoe across the overgrown grass and when they reach the window, it takes both of them to wedge it up high enough for them to fit through. Harry props Ron up and he slithers head-first into Viktor Krum’s bedroom. Harry follows, and both boys land in a thud on the carpet of the darkened room.

“You’d think he’d be able to afford a nicer place,” says Ron.

“Maybe he’s saving for an engagement ring or something,” sniggers Harry.

“Fuck mate, why would you say that?”

“To watch you squirm.”

Harry and Ron get to searching Krum’s apartment, flipping over couch cushions and rummaging through bookshelves looking for something — anything — that might belong to a girl who isn’t Hermione. Jewelry, clothing, makeup, perfume. One sniff and Ron would surely be able to tell if the perfume is hers.

“What’s this?” Harry’s voice travels from a smaller room attached to the living area. Ron peers inside to find a cluttered desk next to a bookshelf. Lining the shelf is a collection of Agatha Christie and Stephen King novels, and writing utensils galore. Harry is standing at the desk with a thick binder in his hands. “I think it’s a story.”

“Let me read it.” Ron yanks the binder from Harry’s hands and turns to a random page.

“She was dead. So very dead. The way her bushy brown hair splayed across the ground and nearly blended in with the fallen leaves made her look so natural in that state, like she was finally at peace. But her eyes were open, revealing the look of shock in her face. But there was something else there. Recognition. Betrayal.

Her hand still clutched the stab wound in her stomach, and Special Agent Reid knew that her stomach lining wasn’t the only thing that had recently been broken. So had her heart.

Clearly, she knew her killer. And most likely, if statistics proved to be true — and Spencer Reid always trusted statistics — it was her lover.”

“What the fuck is this?” splutters Ron.

Harry laughs. “I don’t know, but I’d be embarrassed if someone found that at my desk. I think he’s just writing. Special Agent Reid is a character on Criminal Minds.”

“Yeah, and the dead girl with bushy brown hair is clearly Hermione.”

“It appears to be fanfiction.”

Who the fuck writes fanfiction? “Oddly specific fanfiction.”

“I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about,” shrugs Harry. “It’s probably just a creative outlet.”

“She was killed by her lover, Harry.”

“We should probably go,” says Harry. “I’m nervous someone saw us sneaking in here, and we can’t find what we’re looking for.”

Can’t find what we’re looking for? What the fuck is he talking about? “Harry, we’ve found something much worse than what we’re looking for.”

“Fanfiction?”

“No, evidence that he thinks about killing Hermione.”

“He doesn’t think about that, Ron. He’s just writing.”

“Why aren’t you more concerned about this?”

“Honestly?” Harry shrugs. “Because he’s not a bad guy. He treats Hermione well. He’s kind. And we just discovered an embarrassing secret of his and should probably keep it to ourselves.”

“Don’t you think we should tell her and let her decide if it’s concerning?”

“Hermione’s a grown woman who can take care of herself.”

Ron sighs. He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of the open page of Krum’s story. “Well I’m going to tell her.”

“How are you going to explain why we were in his apartment?”

“Dunno.”

“Want my opinion, Ron?”

No. Not really. Ron decides not to answer, but Harry continues anyway.

“Leave her alone. It really feels like you want him to be cheating on her. Or to, I dunno, be plotting to murder her.” He gestures to the binder when he emphasizes the word. “See how ridiculous it sounds when I say it?”

Ron has to admit that Harry has a point.

“I know you care about her, so stop sabotaging your friendship by meddling in her relationship.”

Ron grunts. “When did you become so good at relationships?”

Harry gets a strange look in his eye. “Well, if you must know—”

“No, I don’t need to know,” grumbles Ron, as the memory of Harry and Ginny holding hands flashes across his mind.

“Fair enough,” says Harry with a smile. “Let’s get out of here before we get caught?”

“Yeah,” agrees Ron . Probably a good idea.

Hours later, Ron is cleaning glasses at the Burrow while Harry sits across from him at the bar, picking at a pile of french fries in front of him. “I still can’t believe we snuck into his house.”

“I can,” says Ron with a shrug. Honestly, it felt a lot like storming Cormac for Hermione’s belongings when she first moved in. Some people make Ron want to throw logic out the window.

“You’re an awful influence, Ron.”

No, Hermione’s the awful influence. Ron turns to stack newly washed glasses on the shelf at the back of the bar. He is definitely being unreasonable. Hermione, in no way shape or form, caused him to break into Krum’s apartment. It was his concern for her that did. Because he cares. Plus, even if Harry doesn’t agree, if you ask Ron, they found what they were looking for.

“Hello, roommates.” Hermione’s voice echoes from the front door. It’s only three o’clock, and the bar doesn’t pick up until later, and the lack of people in the room makes Hermione’s presence seem all that much stronger.

“Oh, hi Hermione,” says Ron.

“Hey, Hermione. Good to see ya,” says Harry. “Also, I’m going to be late to meet Gin, so see you back at the loft later—”

“I didn’t know you were hanging out with Ginny today.”

Harry pushes his half-eaten french fries out of the way and rises to his feet. “Bye!”

Hermione takes his empty chair, and both of them watch Harry scuffle out the front door with an extra pep in his step.

“That was weird,” says Hermione with a shrug.

“Yeah.”

She pulls Harry’s plate of french fries closer to her, and plucks at one. “So what did you two do today?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Really? I just didn’t see either of you at the loft.”

Ron avoids her eye contact and shrugs. “Guy stuff.”

“Right,” she says, while she cocks her head to the side, studying him. “So are you working till close?”

“Yep.” Ron feels a pang of guilt at how terse his answers are. Ever since the cabin, he’s been quite short with her. He tells himself he’s just giving her space, but deep down, he knows it goes beyond that.

Hermione persists. “Mind if I hang out here for a while? Obviously Ginny’s busy with Harry and Viktor’s gone for the weekend.”

“Sure,” he says. Then, willing himself to keep the conversation flowing, he adds “You still don’t know where Viktor is this weekend?”

Hermione hesitates before answering. “Just on a trip.”

So she does know where he is? Or maybe she doesn’t and it worries her.

Overwhelmed with a desire to come clean, Ron turns back to her. “Can I tell you something, and you promise you won’t get mad at me?”

Hermione seems to brighten at the fact that his answer is longer than one word. “No, I can’t promise that, Ron. But please tell me.”

Ron groans. He shouldn’t say anything. But he does. “He gives me a weird vibe. Something’s off.”

“Of course he does,” says Hermione, rolling her eyes.

“What does that mean?” asks Ron, his defenses rising.

“Seriously, Ron?” she asks, her voice incredulous. “Tell me, Ron, see that guy in the booth?”

Ron follows her gesture to one of the only other patrons currently in the bar — a middle aged man reading a book and sipping an IPA. “Yes.” “Does he give you a weird vibe?”

“No, not really.”

“If I were to walk over to him and snog him, would he then give you a weird vibe?”

What kind of question is that? “Yes, but because he’s willing to snog a stranger in a bar—”

“You’re not willing to snog strangers at bars?” Ron’s mind darts back to Lavender. Sure, he was willing to snog strangers at bars, but they all know how that turned out.

“Okay, what are you saying?”

“I know we’re dancing around it Ron. It’s the elephant in the room.”

The hair on Ron’s arm tingles as it stands on edge. The last thing he expects is for Hermione to actually name the elephant in the room. Does this mean she’s about to shut him down once and for all? Tell him she’s happy with Krum? And that he should fuck off? Well, Fuck.

“Okay, but—”

“I love being your friend and your roommate, I’m in a stable relationship, and not willing to change that right now.”

Shit.

Hermione continues. “Will Viktor and I marry each other? Probably not. But at this point in my life, this is what I need.”

So, Hermione thinks Ron is pining uncontrollably for her? Is that how it is? “I didn’t break up with Lavender because of you, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

Does she know, though?

“And that is not why Krum gives me a vibe.”

She laughs. “Okay, why then?”

Ron groans. He really shouldn’t show her. Even if she thinks he found it at the loft, she’d probably just get angry at him for going through his things. But, for some reason, he can’t resist. “I found this today.”

Ron pulls his phone from his pocket and clicks through his photos. When the photo of Krum’s little story surfaces, he slides his phone to her across the bar.

Hermione picks it up and her eyebrows narrow to the text. “Where did you find this, Ron?”

What can he say? On his desk. In his apartment. The one I broke into earlier. “He left it out,” says Ron. It’s technically not a lie.

“That’s an invasion of his privacy,” says Hermione, coldly.

“Does it not concern you?”

Hermione shrugs. “Honestly, no, it doesn’t. He’s already shown me.”

“What?”

Hermione contemplates before giving up more details. “He’s taking a creative writing class, and this was one of his assignments,” she says, gesturing to Ron’s phone. “To write a fanfiction story from his favorite show. And he loves Criminal Minds.”

“Are you serious?” Harry was fucking right.

“Yes, it’s what he does every Tuesday and Thursday night. And that’s where he is now, actually, at a writing retreat.”

“So he’s like… serious about writing?”

Hermione shrugs.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re the dead girl in that story?”

“Not really, no.”

“And that you were killed by your lover?”

Hermione laughs but shakes her head.

“It’s not very good.” He’s definitely grasping at straws now.

“I know that,” says Hermione. Ron’s pleasantly surprised that she agrees with him.

“Why does he do it?”

“He enjoys it. Isn’t that enough?” Finishing off Harry’s old fries, Hermione wipes her hand on a napkin. “Can I have a cream ale?”

“Sure,” says Ron as he reaches for a pint glass. “So you’re confident that he doesn’t want to kill you?”

Hermione laughs. “No, he doesn’t, thank god.”

“He’s not going to break your stomach lining and then your heart?”

“Okay,” groans Hermione. “Don’t be mean.”

Ron hands her the dripping cream ale. She smiles and takes it from him, her cheeks tinging pink with what Ron presumes is secondhand embarrassment. Honestly, it’s quite nice that she supports him, even though his hobby is a bit weird. It’s what Ron would call a green flag. Krum is a lucky bastard.

“My heart isn’t breakable right now, anyway,” she adds, before taking a sip of the foam layer at the top of her beer.

Ron cocks an eyebrow.

“Still have too many walls up, you know.”

“Oh I know, you’re a total ice queen.”

Hermione laughs, and Ron feels himself relax. It was a tough few days of not speaking freely with her.

“Thank you for talking to me. I missed having you as my friend,” she says.

The way she emphasizes friend sits strangely with Ron. As though she’s dictating the specific role she wants him to play right now. For some reason, it doesn’t feel quite like being friendzoned, and he can’t figure out why. There’s something temporary about the way she says friend.

Or is he reading way too much into that? He doesn’t want to be her friend. And yet, he loves being her friend. How does that even make sense?

“Right,” says Ron, cautiously. “So if I wanted to write bad fanfiction, would you support me? As a friend?”

“Of course!” says Hermione cheerfully. “I’d beta read for you.”

“Well then, maybe I’ll take up the habit. Show you I have other talents besides giving you free beer and being your attractive roommate.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, yet a smile graces her lips. “I bet you’d be a good writer,” she says as she gulps down the last of her beer.

“Maybe you’ll find out. Want another beer?”

“Sure!”

Ron pulls her glass away and refills it under the tap. This is definitely the weirdest friendship he has. But he’ll play along.

For now.

It is far too late when Ron finally makes it home from the bar, and as much as he wants to sleep, he’s too wired from his conversation before. He strips down to his boxers and collapses into the bed. Although he would love to continue talking with Hermione, there are no signs of life in any of the bedrooms, so it’s a safe bet that everyone in the loft is asleep.

Ron turns to his side and reaches his phone on his bedside table. Without a second thought, he starts typing away. Hopefully Hermione has her text notifications on silent. There is no reason she can’t have two story tellers in her life.

“She was about 5’6, had brown eyes, and wore a Hamilton t-shirt. She loved to watch romantic comedies and was a total coffee snob, even though she couldn’t tell the difference between a cappuccino and a latte. Her sultry gaze and bushy brown hair splayed wildly out at all angles, making her appear like a sexy medusa. In fact she could turn you rock hard in an instant. She had her whole life ahead of her. Or so she thought…”

Before he can overthink it, Ron presses send.

His heart rate quickens as he stares at his message. She’s asleep, so there is no way she’ll see it until tomorrow morning—

Then, three little dots appear at the bottom of his screen, and his palms begin to sweat. Oh shit.

“Oh my god, Ron, what is this?”

Well, he’s committed now.

“Little did she know, her life as she knew it was about to end. In walked a man, about 6’5, bright red hair, and a pale, yet chiseled adonis-like body. Nothing like her current boyfriend, but everything she wished her current boyfriend could be. He didn’t waste time writing fanfiction and playing sports, and instead crafted beautiful cocktails from the basement dive bar, was quite broke, and regularly forgot to do his laundry. Like a REAL MAN.”

Hermione is quicker to respond this time. “You’re ridiculous. But keep going please.”

Yes, ma’am. “And he wasn’t just a sex god. He was also a… dun dun dun… MURDERER.”

“LMAO. This is so mean. But I’m laughing so hard.”

Ron continues typing away. “She knew all of this. And yet, she still wanted him. She didn’t care if it was her last night on earth, because she knew it would be her best night on earth. And that was all she needed.”

“OMG now you’re getting carried away.”

She’s not wrong, yet something urges him to keep going. “She entered his apartment, so he could enter HER.”

Yeah, maybe he is getting carried away, but it’s fun, so what’s the harm? Plus, she promised to support his creative writing journey.

While waiting for Hermione’s response, Ron’s bedroom door bursts open, and Hermione stomps across the room. Her face is flushed and Ron can tell she is trying to hide a smile. “Phone, please?” she asks, her arm extended.

“No, I’m writing a story!”

Hermione stands her ground. “You’ve lost your phone privileges.”

“But I’m going to be the next Stephen King.”

Hermione lets out a laugh and dives onto the bed, wrestling his hand for his phone. She braces her knees on either side of him, pinning him between her legs. Ron makes a show of struggling, but as much as he wants to keep her there forever, he eventually lets her win.

“Fine,” he says, handing over his phone.

It only takes a moment for them to pause, limbs entangled, for Ron’s mind to run wild. How easy would it be for him to turn the moment serious? He could wrap an arm around her waist and pin her to him. He doubts she’d resist. She has a boyfriend, but she also seems surprisingly comfortable with her arms draped around Ron’s body. She knows he’s only wearing boxers under the covers, right?

They linger there for a moment that solidifies Ron’s inkling from before. She bites her lip, her eyes dart down toward the covers. The way she doesn’t immediately jump off of the bed when she notices that he’s in his underwear suggests that the friendzone is an arbitrary construct.

Ron steadies his voice in an effort to hide his rising heart beat. “Careful, Hermione. I’m a sex god with a habit for murder.”

Yeah, took one second for him to fuck that up.

“I fucking hate you,” she says, as she wrangles herself back up, his phone in her hand. “You are most definitely not a killer.”

Yeah, it took one second for him to fuck that up. However, Ron’s stomach flutters at the sound of her swearing. She hardly ever cusses, only when she’s with him. “Right, but am I a sex god?”

Hermione laughs. “I wouldn’t know, would I?”

Ron raises an eyebrow. “Care to find out?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have had that whiskey shot at the end of his shift. He’s acting a bit too bold.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Her answer echoes in Ron’s mind. He doesn’t miss the way Hermione averts her gaze, and her cheeks flush red.

“I know. We’ve established that.” Then, with a inhale to gain courage, he adds, “But if you didn’t?”

Maybe Ron imagines it, but a look flashes across her eyes, and the corners of her lips turn up in a smile. She shakes her head as if to halt the beginning of a fantasy before it runs wild. “I really should sleep. Goodnight, Ron.”

“Night, Hermione.”

Ron grins as she turns and leaves the room, fully aware that she never answered his question.

#be11a loft #romione #ron and hermione #ron x hermione #hermione granger #hpromione #ron weasley #angst #ronweasley #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #muggle au #slow build #slow burn

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be11atrixthestrange · 2 months

Text

The Loft 9

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

--------------------------------

Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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x Hermione x

The smell of burning toast wakes Hermione up from a deep sleep, and panic sets in. She once read somewhere that smelling burnt toast could indicate that one is having a stroke. Instinctively, she wiggles her fingers on both hands to assure that both are working, opens her mouth a few times, and winks twice, once on each eye, letting out a sigh when everything seems to be functioning as normal.

Smelling burning toast could also mean that Harry is cooking breakfast, which is much less disastrous than having a stroke in her twenties, but still not ideal. She rolls out of bed and reaches for a robe to wrap around her pajamas before making her way to the kitchen.

Surprisingly, everyone else is awake. Confirming her suspicions, Harry is standing in front of the stove scraping burnt eggs from the stainless steel pan. On the countertop next to him lies a plate of blackened toast.

“You should really season the pan before adding the eggs,” says Hermione. “Let it heat up before adding cooking oil, then cool it down a little—”

“Good morning to you too, Hermione,” chirps Ron. “Also, maybe Harry likes burnt eggs. Ever consider that?”

Hermione rolls her eyes and reaches into a cabinet for a coffee mug. Seamus is pouring himself a cup, so she patiently waits behind him at the coffee maker.

“Excuse me, Granger,” says a groggy Seamus as he brushes by her, squeezing between Hermione and the counter. As he passes, Hermione feels something hard brush against her thigh. She immediately looks down at Seamus’s robe, only to regret it instantly.

“SEAMUS!”

“What?”

Hermione slams a hand to her eyes to block her view of Seamus’s morning wood. “Your penis, Seamus.”

“Oh gross,” says Neville from the living room. “Not again.”

“Again?” says Hermione. “Has this happened before?”

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.” Seamus wraps his robe more tightly around his body. “Stoppit,” he whispers to his pants, as if scolding a puppy.

“You just brushed your dick against me,” says Hermione through gritted teeth.

“I really didn’t do it on purpose, sometimes it just pops out, you know,” says Seamus.

“We call it his pogo,” says Harry. “And if it makes you feel better, we’ve all been pogo’ed once or twice.”

“Yup,” say Ron and Neville in unison.

“Wait a minute. You talk about this?” asks Seamus as he sits on a barstool at the kitchen counter.

“Hard not to talk about,” says Ron.

Seamus shrugs. “You know, you all have your own pogos. And having a large penis is the best of the pogos.”

“Douchebag jar.” Neville points a finger to the cash jar on the coffee table. Begrudgingly, Seamus waddles over and stuffs a crumpled dollar bill into it.

“What exactly is a pogo if not a penis?” asks Hermione.

“It’s the thing that we all talk about when you’re not around.”

“Hmm. What’s my pogo?”

Ron, Harry, and Seamus exchange glances. “You don’t have one,” says Ron.

Although Hermione knows he’s lying, she lets it go. “What’s Harry’s?”

Ron reaches for Harry’s plate, and tosses the burnt toast at Hermione like it’s a frisbee. Hermione doesn’t even try to catch it, instead letting it bounce to the ground with a thud.

“My pogo is that I can’t cook,” clarifies Harry.

“Yeah, I got that,” says Hermione. “What about Neville?

“Toenails.”

“Oh yeah. That makes sense.”

“Hey!” says Neville, examining his feet. “They’re not that bad!”

“There’s a reason we call them clickity clacks, dude,” says Seamus. “Also, please put them away, we’re eating.”

Neville scowls and shoves his feet back into his slippers.

“Wait, what’s my pogo?” asks Ron.

A heavy silence fills the room, and Ron’s ears turn beet red.

“I don’t know,” says Harry, his voice slightly robotic. “It’s nothing at all.”

“You don’t know, or it’s nothing?”

“Look at the time!” says Harry. Even though he’s not wearing a watch, he glances at his wrist. “We’re all late to something, I’m sure.”

Harry hurries out of the kitchen to his bedroom, leaving the stove burning, and the rest of the boys follow suit, muttering to themselves.

Ron turns to Hermione. “Do you know my pogo?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“Depends,” says Hermione, shrugging. “Are you lying about me not having a pogo?”

Ron pauses with his mouth agape, his eyes shifting as if looking for an answer. “No.”

“You totally are!”

“No I’m not!”

“Ugh, you’re infuriating.” Hermione picks up her coffee mug to bring it to her room. She turns around immediately to prevent Ron from seeing a smile flash across her face. “I have a date with Viktor, and I have to get ready.”

“Don’t forget to use a condom,” says Ron. “That dude has a huge head.”

“And you have a shift at the bar.”

“I wouldn’t want to push his baby out of me—”

Hermione rolls her eyes and shuts the door to her room, effectively muffling Ron’s voice to a murmur.

Hermione watches as Viktor bites into his burger and a slew of ketchup slides down the corner of his mouth. He uses his napkin to brush it away before diving in for more. She glances down at her half eaten burger and uses her fork to slide her side salad around.

“These really are the best burgers in town.”

Hermione shrugs. Maybe Viktor’s right, but she’s had so many burgers here that it’s hard to tell at this point. Did they have to go to the bar where her roommate works?

“Thanks for agreeing to come here again,” Viktor says between bites. “I know you probably eat here a lot.”

Understatement of the century. “No problem.”

Hermione glances toward the bar, where Ron is restocking clean pint glasses. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows revealing his muscular forearms, and his red hair looks extra bright under the bar light.

Viktor’s phone buzzes on the table, and he snatches it up immediately. His eyes narrow as he flips through his text messages.

“Everything okay?” asks Hermione.

Viktor nods, but Hermione can tell he’s tensing up. “Yeah. It’s just my ex.”

“Oh?”

“Not a big deal, but she still has some of my things at her apartment that I want back. Like my old record player.”

“I see,” says Hermione. “Why hasn’t she given them back?”

“She keeps evading my attempts to get them. It’s been six months.”

This is the first Hermione’s heard of his ex, and she’s relieved she doesn’t feel the jolt of jealousy that might be expected. “I’m sure she’ll come around—”

“She just drives me so crazy,” interrupts Viktor, slamming his phone on the table so hard that a splash of beer catapults from his pint glass.

Hermione cocks her head at Viktor. She’s never seen him like this. “Oh wow.”

“Sorry,” says Viktor. “Didn’t mean to shake the table.”

“It’s okay.”

Krum continues. “Have you ever dealt with someone who drove you insane? Like they ignited something really primal within you?”

“Um, I don’t know,” says Hermione, who can’t help but steal another glance at Ron behind the bar.

“Well there’s good and bad to it. When we were good, we were really good. There was a lot of passion. But sometimes that passion turned to anger and we would fight for days. And even though we broke up, we’re still fighting.”

“Sounds tough,” says Hermione.

“It’s okay that I talk to you about this, right?”

Hermione nods. Surprisingly his mention of passion doesn’t ruffle a feather, even though she clearly pictures what that passion must be referring to. Sure, sex with Viktor is good, but she wouldn’t necessarily call it passionate. It doesn’t ignite anything primal, or however he put it. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Things with you are just… so much more serene. I feel safe, you know? It’s nice.”

Safe. Nice. Those are good words. She should be thrilled to hear them. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to go order another drink. Want one?”

“Sure, I’ll come with you.”

While walking over to the bar, the tiny knot in Hermione’s stomach tightens. It doesn’t bother her that she doesn’t spark the same passion in Viktor as his ex. She doesn’t feel that kind of passion either. But is she his safe choice? Is Viktor hers?

There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

As soon as they sit at the bar, Ron whips his head around. “Another drink?”

“Yes please,” says Hermione.

“Under one condition,” says Ron as he lays his elbows down onto the bartop and props up his head. “You tell me my pogo.”

“Oh my god, Ron, I don’t know your pogo,” groans Hermione. That tiny knot in her stomach grows bigger. Hotter.

“I know you know.”

“What’s a pogo?” asks Krum.

“It's that thing that everyone talks about when you’re gone,” says Ron. “You know how Seamus’ dick sometimes pops out in the morning?”

“Oh yeah, I know,” says Krum. “And Neville’s toenails?”

“Yes!” says Ron. “So you must know my pogo then? What do they talk about when I’m gone?”

“I have no idea,” says Krum. “Does your dick pop out in the morning too?”

Ron laughs. “Not that I know of. Plus, literally everyone in the loft has seen my dick so apparently that’s old news.”

“Everyone?” asks Krum. His eyes dart towards Hermione.

“Everyone,” repeats Ron. “Even Granger.”

“You’ve seen his penis?”

Hermione can feel her cheeks heating up as she clenches her empty pint glass. “Yes, I have. It was an accident—”

“Well, Hermione,” says Krum. His voice takes on a formal tone. “Was it a nice dick?”

Hermione freezes, unable to answer the question. How the heck does one answer that question, anyway? “Um…”

Krum bursts out laughing. “I’m just kidding, Hermione. You don’t have to answer that. I know there’s nothing between you two.” Viktor turns back to Ron and slides his empty glass across the bar. “Another cream ale?”

Not one ounce of jealousy. Interesting.

“Coming right up.”

Hermione watches Ron pour another pint for her boyfriend, a smug smirk on his face. She wishes she could just wipe that grin off with her bare hand. Even the thought of it makes her palms sweat.

“I’ll have a whiskey sour,” says Hermione, as Krum makes his way back to their booth.

“Pogo.”

“Are you freaking serious, Ron?”

“No pogo, no drink.”

“Fine. Your pogo is that your dick is ugly.”

Ron hits his chest with his fist miming being stabbed in the heart. “That’s not what you said when you saw it.”

“I was being nice.”

Ron laughs. But then his face turns serious as he begins mixing her drink. “Sure, Granger.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow at the glass Ron’s working on. “Whiskey sour, not an old fashioned.”

“This is a whiskey sour.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.” Ron slides the glass across the bar to Hermione. “Enjoy.”

“Ugh, fine.” Hermione leaves her glass at the bar and storms back to her booth.

“Testy, today,” she hears Ron call behind her.

And he’s right, she is. That, and he’s just so easy to argue with.

Krum smiles warmly at her when she returns to the booth. “What should we do for the rest of the day?”

Hermione shrugs. “There’s a new museum I was hoping to see.”

“That sounds nice.”

There’s that word again. Nice. “Or we could do something more fun.”

“I think the museum sounds fun. Let’s do that.”

“Okay,” said Hermione. After all, an afternoon with Viktor is the perfect way to get her mind off the annoying redhead behind the bar.

Hermione returns to an empty loft later that evening. She drops her purse onto the entry table, and heads for the sofa in the living room. The date was fine. Fun, even. It was a textbook good date. Eating lunch, exploring a new museum, holding hands in the park, ice cream…

So why does it feel incomplete? Viktor had obligations with friends afterward, which is fine, because she didn’t really want to embark on a twenty four hour date today. Should she have wanted to? Should she be missing him right now?

Hermione props her feet onto the coffee table and turns on the TV. It’s a rare moment of quiet in the loft, as Ron is still at the bar, and the others are out and about engaging in their own Saturday night shenanigans. She flips the channel to a rerun of Friends, and lets herself get lost in the relationship drama of fictional people.

But the show makes her head spin. Sure, she can’t look to a sitcom for a model of real-life relationships, and she often feels that television glorifies unhealthy dynamics, but maybe there’s something to be said about the way the interesting relationships show up on tv. She’d much rather watch Ross and Rachel drunkenly get married in Vegas than watch them stroll through a museum and eat ice cream in the park. Is it wrong to want a little bit of drama? Or passion?

Eventually, the door to the loft swings open, and Hermione’s red-headed roommate shuffles in. Ron hangs his jacket on the coat rack by the door and kicks off his shoes. He makes his way to the sofa and plops down beside her.

“They were totally on a break, don’t you think?”

Hermione laughs. She’s not going to have that debate with him. Instead, another question escapes her before she can think it through. “Ron, do you think I’m nice?”

For some reason, Viktor’s use of that word won’t stop nagging at her. Why is that bothering her? It’s a compliment, right?

Ron looks at her, his eyebrows narrowed as though lost in thought, replaying memories of past interactions. Then, he laughs. “Nice?”

“Seriously, Ron.”

Ron turns back to the TV, but still answers her question. “Nice isn’t the first word I’d use to describe you. But that’s not a bad thing. You’re fun. Maybe a little bit infuriating.”

“How am I infuriating?”

Ron shrugs. “You’re just you.”

Hermione knows she should be offended at that. Nice is a compliment, infuriating is not. Why isn’t she mad?

“So you don’t think I’m nice?”

Ron groans. “I don’t know what to tell you, Hermione.” With that, he rises to his feet and marches to his room.

Hermione feels her heart sink when he disappears, but he’s only gone for a moment before returning from his room with a basket of clean laundry.

“Do you mind if I watch with you?”

Hermione hopes her smile is subtle enough for him not to notice. “Are you going to fold your laundry?”

“Yes.” “Who are you and what did you do with Ron—”

“Shut up.”

Ron plops back onto the couch and dumps the basket of laundry onto the coffee table. Hermione removes her feet from under his cascading clothes and rolls her eyes. He works in silence, his attention split between the television and his laundry. Hermione watches him out of the corner of her eye.

“You’re folding that sheet wrong.”

Ron pauses with his hands tangled inside two corners of a fitted sheet. “What did you say?”

With a groan, Hermione grabs the sheet from him. “You want to put the two opposite corners together first, form a new corner—”

“Jesus, Hermione.”

“What?”

“Do you want to know your pogo?”

Hermione frowns at him. She thought he didn’t know. “Yes, Ron, I would like to know my pogo.”

“Really?”

“What is it, Ron?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you, but you’re forcing me. It’s that you’re a goddamn know it all.”

Hermione scowls at him. “That’s not true!”

“You’re correcting my sheet-folding.” He grabs the sheet back from her and crumples it into a little ball. “I’m going to fold this sheet however I damn well please.”

Hermione can’t help but notice that he cracks a smile as he packs the sheet down.

She forces her face to remain expressionless. “I’m just helping you.”

“You also told me how to do my job today.”

“You were pouring my drink wrong!”

“You can’t tell the difference between an old fashioned and a whiskey sour.” Ron tosses the crumpled up sheet back into the basket, and starts working on a t-shirt. He tucks the sleeves in unevenly, but Hermione holds her tongue.

“Sure I can!”

“Okay,” says Ron, as he throws his newly folded shirt into the basket. It partially unfolds before landing, but Hermione resists the urge to pull it out and fix it. “Then what’s the difference between an old fashioned and a whiskey sour?” he asks.

Honestly, Hermione doesn’t know. But she’s not going to let him know that. “One of them is sour!”

“Wow, are you looking for work? Because I’d love to hire you as a bartender! You’d be so great!” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Shut up Ron!” She can clearly hear how her smile twists the words around, and she hopes he does too.

“Do you even realize how condescending you sound sometimes?” His face is red, but Hermione can’t tell if it’s from actual annoyance, or if he’s just playing with her. He clarifies her silent question by tossing a sock at her face.

Her eyes grow wide. “Oh my god, I know what your pogo is!”

“What?” says Ron, his voice hopeful.

“You’re annoying as hell, that’s your pogo.”

An uncontrolled burst of laughter escapes Ron. “We’ve already established that being annoying is yours.”

“You said mine was being a know it—”

“Which is code for being annoying as shit. Like you’re being right now.”

They stare at each other, eyes narrowed. To an outsider, they might look like they’re deep in a fight. But to Hermione, it feels like a game.

“Why are you like this, Ron?”

“Because you make me like this!”

Hermione reaches for a pair of Ron’s underpants, knowing full well that it’ll put him on edge. “I make you completely insane?” she asks, as she folds them up. “Maybe that’s your pogo, that you’re insane.”

Ron watches Hermione handle his boxers and his cheeks glow red. But there’s something else in his expression that she can’t quite place…

“How does Viktor put up with you?” he asks. His gaze shifts to her, and the directness of his eye contact makes it seem like he’s looking deep inside her, almost reading her mind.

Hermione doesn’t banter with Viktor like this. He doesn’t put up with her, because he doesn’t know he needs to. The words that come out reveal so much more than she means. “He thinks I’m nice.”

Ron maintains his eye contact, and Hermione doesn’t flinch under his gaze. “Is that right?”

She nods.

“Then he doesn’t really know you.”

He might not realize it, but his words hit the nail on the head. Viktor doesn’t know her, and not for his lack of trying. She could have been her real self with him all along. She’s had many opportunities, but this always happens. Before she knows it, she’s deep into a relationship with someone who doesn’t understand her.

Ron’s right. She’s an infuriating, annoying, know it all. Why would she show that to the person she’s dating? Wouldn’t they just leave? Why be herself when it makes more sense to just be nice?

Hermione drops Ron’s underwear into the basket. She knows his gaze is still on her, but she doesn’t care. There’s more meaning in his words, and maybe he doesn’t intend for it to be so clear, but it is. Viktor doesn’t really know her, but Ron does. He sees her, and he willingly sat down with her to watch Friends. He takes her bullshit and dishes it right back to her. He’s still sitting beside her, loading up a pair of underwear to fling at her face like a slingshot.

“I should go to bed. Good night, Ron.” The words come out hastily, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good night, Hermione.” Ron releases his slingshot, and a pair of boxers hit her in the face before sliding to her lap. “Sweet dreams.”

Hermione avoids looking at Ron as she makes her way to the bedroom, but she’s fully aware of his eyes on her the entire time. And unlike Viktor’s, Ron’s gaze feels like a laser target, causing her heart rate to spike and her hair to stand on end.

#be11a loft #ron x hermione #romione #ron and hermione #hermione granger #ronweasley #hpromione #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #ron weasley #muggle au

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be11atrixthestrange · 2 years

Text

The Loft (Chapter 7)

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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Chapter 7

Hermione is so far outside her comfort zone, she might as well have been launched into outer space.

Here she is, standing in a lakeside field, a shotgun slewn over her shoulder as she aims at a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon on a ledge.

Lavender Brown — Ron's 'friend' — stands next to her, close enough to whisper in her ear. "See that can? Imagine he's your ex. Now shoot him."

They're at Shell Cottage, Ron's brother's house, while he and his wife are out on vacation. Although the cottage is nowhere near the ocean, it's decorated (and named) like a seaside villa, supposedly an attempt to make Ron's sister-in-law feel more at home. The blue and white color scheme, nautical theming, and beachy decor look just as out of place as Hermione feels standing next to a sad-looking, algae-ridden lake.

Apparently, Ron has brought Lavender here to 'escape the city' (code for sex) and run a little wild (code for shoot guns, apparently).

Hermione isn't a huge fan of swearing, even in her own head, but regardless, the same phrase keeps floating through her mind.

What the fuck?

"I need a backstory," she tells Lavender.

"What do you mean?"

"Why am I shooting at my ex? What did he do to me?"

"Oh. You need a reason. I got you! Let me think." Lavender studies her for a moment, as if contemplating what Hermione would think is the worst thing a lover could do. The thought unsettles her. "He cheated on you."

"That's awful," Ron pipes in, deadpan. "Sounds like no one we know."

Without her consent, Hermione's mind plays back a memory of Ron and the boys rushing Cormac McLaggen for her belongings, donning musical themed hats and all. The thought threatens to tug her lips into a smile, but she remains straight-faced.

"What else did he do?" asked Hermione.

"You need more than that?"

"To shoot him? Yes."

Lavender clears her throat. "Okay, he doesn't like it when you read books."

Hermione scowls, focusing on that cheating, book-hating can of PBR.

"And he thinks musicals are stupid! Ron told me you like musicals."

He did?

At that moment, Ron speaks up. "Also, Hermione, he doesn't think women should vote."

"Wait, what?" Hermione turns toward Ron. He's grinning triumphantly and she shoots him a glare. "Why did I date him in the first place if he doesn't think women should vote?"

"Woah, watch that gun!" says Ron as he dodges behind Krum.

"Sorry, sorry!" Hermione lowers it from her shoulder.

Ron approaches Hermione and positions himself behind her. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, and cups her hands over the handle and trigger. The gesture reminds her of a date making an excuse to show her how to mini golf.

Krum clears his throat, which causes Ron to drop his arms and back away. Hermione had almost forgotten that he's here too.

Why are they here?

She recalls the events that led them to this point. By the time Lavender and Ron had become a 'thing' as he so eloquently put it, Hermione had been seeing a lot of her. She'd creep out of Ron's room in the morning and help herself to coffee, smiling at Hermione as if they were already best friends. She'd tell Hermione things about Ron, either things she already knew (Hermione was his friend first, after all) or things she really didn't want to know.

When Ron and Lavender started spending time at Shell Cottage, she became curious. If they were just casual, like her and Krum, what would they do hiding in a cabin by themselves for a whole weekend?

Well, she knew exactly what they'd do. But still, curiosity got the better of her. So she invited herself and Viktor along. A double date, if you will.

And that was that.

Now she's in a field, holding a gun, while Ron whispers in her ear.

"So he was a feminist when you started dating, but got caught up with the wrong crowd," says Ron, breaking Hermione from her memory.

"Sure. It happens."

"It started small, you know. He started spending too much time on reddit. Then he began catcalling women on the street. Then, before you knew it, you were watching The Handmaid's Tale and he was like 'Gilead seems nice.'"

The fact that Ron knows Hermione well enough to describe her biggest, reddest flags makes her hair stand on edge.

"Okay, that's it," says Hermione. "He's dead."

"Your hair smells good, by the way," Ron adds matter-of-factly.

Hermione freezes, then feels her finger push down on the trigger. She's not prepared for the recoil, which causes her to stumble back and by default, she clutches onto the first thing her hand contacts, which just so happens to be the trigger. Again.

The second, unintentional shot ricochets off a nearby tree and collides with an electric pole leading to the cabin, causing the lights to spark, sizzle, then go dark.

"Fuck!" she says, before clapping her free hand to her mouth.

"Hermione!" groans Ron.

"What did you do?" says Lavender.

"It wasn't her fault!" Krum says in defense. "She didn't do that on purpose!"

"Now we don't have any power tonight!"

"How are we going to cook our food?"

"We'll have to order pizza, I guess."

"We'll get so cold tonight," says Ron. "Because of you, Hermione."

She wants to be annoyed, but there's a smirk in his tone.

"We can get cozy," says Lavender. "C'mon, this will be fine!" she adds when everyone groans. "We'll make it fun!"

Less than an hour later, Hermione, Viktor, Ron, and Lavender are sitting in the living room of their cabin eating pizza. Lavender is practically sitting on Ron's lap, and Hermione can't help but roll her eyes when she tries to feed him a piece of her slice. She wants to laugh when his ears turn pink and he looks away pointedly.

"I think it's time for a drink!" Lavender flops her pizza back onto her plate and rises to her feet. "I've got wine and more beer, and I've also pre-rolled a few joints if you're interested."

Hermione's never smoked a day in her life, so she politely declines. Ron and Krum, however, take up her offer eagerly.

She watches Lavender pass them each a joint, unsure how to feel about it. She's tempted to reprimand them both — don't they know how harmful smoking is for the lungs?

Ron pulls a lighter from his pocket, leaving Hermione to wonder how long he's been carrying that around. Agreeing to smoke is one thing, but having his own lighter?

He passes the lighter to Krum. For some reason, watching Krum smoke bothers her less than watching Ron. Hermione's eyes keep following the joint to Ron's mouth, then to the slight dusting of a beard emerging, and the way his lips gently wrap around…

No. Don't do this.

"What?" asks Ron, smirking. He's caught her looking.

"Nothing."

"You're judging me."

"No, I'm not!" she says, although she's quite relieved that he thinks so. She can't have him knowing what's actually swirling in her mind — that he looks pretty sexy with a joint. She needs to keep that one locked up tight.

"You totally are," says Ron. "Granger, you need to loosen the fuck up."

Hermione rolls her eyes. She's at a cabin, drinking beer, with her casual sex partner, having just fired a shotgun. She's already loosened the fuck up. "No, I really don't."

"All in favor of Hermione loosening up, say aye," announces Ron.

"Aye," both Lavender and Krum chime in.

"The jury has spoken. Let me get you another drink. Red or white?" Ron motions to the two unopened bottles of wine on the coffee table.

"Either is fine."

"Okay. White. Because white wine makes you silly," he says as he begins uncorking the bottle, holding onto his joint with his teeth.

"Why do you say that?" asks Hermione. As far as she knows, white wine doesn't affect her any differently than red.

"It's true. Right Vicky?" asks Ron.

"He's right," says Viktor. "White wine makes you giggly."

"So white wine it is," repeats Ron. He pours her a generous glass and slides across the table to her. "Would you like to try this too?"

Hermione looks at his outstretched hand, his two fingers gripping his fuming joint.

"No thank you, I'm not a smoker."

"You know, smoking is an activity, not a personality trait."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"One puff won't taint your character."

She narrows her eyes at Ron, his gaze constant, challenging. She knows exactly what he means by that — stop being so judgemental.

"Fine." Hermione takes the joint from him and puts it to her lips. It's wet from Ron's mouth, and she should find that disgusting, yet she doesn't.

"Just inhale."

Hermione takes a breath, and immediately erupts into a coughing fit. Ron showcases his teasing, lopsided smile. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to that," she says between coughs.

"That's okay," says Ron as he takes his joint back. "But hey, I'm proud of you! You tried something new."

He has the audacity to wink at her, causing goosebumps to break out on her skin. She snuggles closer to Krum to ward off any shivers following the chill that runs through her body.

As if by response, Ron drapes an arm around Lavender, never breaking eye contact.

Hermione reaches for her wine and finishes it off in one big gulp.

As the night goes on, things get blurrier. After a disorganized game of True American, some overly ambitious karaoke, and a few rounds of Never Have I Ever, Hermione's surroundings have begun to fade to the background.

Except for one surrounding in particular. Ron and Lavender.

Hermione's kept an eye on how open they've become with one another. The way Lavender tangles her fingers in his hair while talking to Hermione, or kisses him (with tongue) in between sips.

She hasn't missed how much he's loosened up over the course of the night, now pulling her onto his lap and tracing her breast with his thumb as she climbs toward him.

It's a stark difference to sober Ron, looking pointedly away as Lavender tried to feed him pizza.

And frankly, it's a lot.

Hermione looks at Krum. He's attractive, sure. She's attractive, right?

He's not pulling her into his lap. Does she even want him to?

It's all too much. She can only watch Ron and Lav's public display of affection for so long before her eyes begin to sting. She doesn't want anyone to see that, so she gives Krum's hand a squeeze, stands up, and stealthily leaves the living room for the kitchen, hoping that the party continues without interruption.

Based on the familiar footsteps that follow her, Hermione's quick to discover she's not alone in the kitchen.

"Want to tell me why you're upset?" asks Ron.

"I'm not upset. Just getting some water." Hermione keeps her back to Ron. Her face is probably flushed — hopefully she can blame the alcohol.

"You seem pretty upset," he pushes.

"So I guess you're not too drunk to notice," she snaps back.

"Hey," says Ron as he rounds the kitchen island toward Hermione. "Are you mad at me for drinking?"

Hermione shrugs and shakes her head.

"Or is it something else?"

"Ron, I don't want to talk about this."

"So there is something else."

Ron is right next to her now, clearly able to see her flushed face. "Just needed a break."

"From?"

Hermione's jaw clenches. She buys herself some more time by taking a long sip of water. It sounds like Ron is fishing for something specific, so maybe she should just tell him. "Lavender's a lot."

Ron nods. "She is."

So he agrees. "Then why do you like her?"

Ron takes a step back, clearly confused by her question. "Sorry?"

"What do you see in her?" she specifies.

"You don't like her?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just making conversation."

"You're implying it."

"I like her just fine. Just curious why you like her."

She knows she sounds ridiculous, and that this is none of her business. But her words spill out anyway. Maybe she should blame the alcohol.

"You just don't like me with her?"

Hermione groans. "Forget I asked."

"No, I'll answer," he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Starting with the obvious: she's beautiful. And friendly. Not to mention fun — I like that she encourages me to try new things."

"Like shooting beer cans? Smoking weed?"

"Sure. Among other things."

"What other things?" she asks, full well knowing she doesn't want the answer.

"I don't think you want to know about those."

He knows her so well. She doesn't want him to continue, so she merely shrugs.

Yet, he continues. "It's casual, you know. Just like you and Krum."

Right. Her and Krum.

"Won Won!" calls Lavender from the living room.

"Speak of the devil. Ready to return to the party?" Ron asks.

Hermione takes another swig of cold water. "Yeah."

The pair returns to the living room to find Lavender and Krum waiting for them. Lavender is sitting on Krum's lap and stroking his hair. Their faces are awfully close. Krum turns toward her and she closes the gap between them, pressing her lips against his.

"Erm… what's going on here?" asks Ron.

Lavender breaks away from Krum and beams. "We switched!"

Hermione narrows her eyes at Krum, who shrugs. Then she turns to Ron, whose face has lit up like a flame.

"Care to join us?" Lavender adds as she ruffles Krum's hair. "We could all be together tonight…"

Hermione looks back at Ron to gauge his reaction, but he's frozen in place, his thoughts hidden behind his stoic poker face. His prior words echo through her mind. Lavender encourages me to try new things. Was this what he meant? Have they done this before?

For a moment, she lets herself imagine it. His hands in her hair, her legs around his hips. Tangled in the sheets, exploring each other. With Krum and Lavender right there. Watching. Participating.

Nothing has ever sounded so wonderful, and so repulsive at the same time.

Looking at Ron, she knows one thing: She wants him. More than anything.

But not like this.

Hermione's eyes well with tears she can't quite explain, and she turns on her heel and leaves the room before anyone can see her. The room becomes deafeningly quiet the moment she leaves.

When the door to her bedroom slams behind her, she tumbles onto the bed and lets her tears flow freely.

How did she let her attraction to Ron get so out of control? He was never attainable in the first place. Dating her roommate would have gotten pretty messy, so why does it feel chaotic already? She has Krum, so she shouldn't be jealous of Lavender. It doesn't matter that Lavender is clearly more adventurous than her, more beautiful, more fun. It doesn't matter that Ron dating Lavender means that his taste in women is so far away from anything she'd ever live up to. None of it matters, so why can't she stop crying?

She clutches the blanket with her fist and uses the pillow to muffle a sob. Her own distressed breathing is so loud that she barely hears the door creep open.

"Hermione?"

Viktor Krum's soft voice doesn't calm her down as much as it should, nor does the feel of the bed sinking under his weight as he crawls next to her and lays his hand on her back.

"I'm so sorry."

His apology catches her off guard. She's the one who should be sorry for ruining Krum's opportunity for a foursome. How is she supposed to be someone's girlfriend if she can't even be a good fuck buddy?

In an uncharacteristically soft voice, Viktor continues. "I shouldn't have kissed Lavender. I didn't know that would upset you."

Caught off guard, Hermione freezes. Yeah, she was upset, but not by Krum kissing Lavender…

"I should have come to check on you before. It shouldn't have been Ron. Obviously he said something to make you angry, and then to walk in on Lavender and me… I'm really sorry."

"Viktor," says Hermione before clearing her throat. How can she possibly explain? "It's okay. We're not exclusive or anything."

"I know," he says, his voice soft. Nervous. "But we could be."

Hermione pauses and looks up at Krum. His eyebrows raised in question. "Wait, what?"

"If you want to. I mean, clearly we get along and have fun together. I know I didn't want anything serious to begin with, but maybe that's changed now. I would have much preferred to be kissing you back there, not Lavender."

Her gut instinct is to tell him no — she wants nothing more than friends with benefits, she never agreed to exclusivity in the first place. It might have been clear before, but it's even more evident now that her motives for being with Krum border on selfish. No matter how much she denies it, she wanted to make Ron jealous.

But obviously, it didn't work. She could tell by Lavender's muffled laughter from the living room and the way she called him Won Won — girls don't just throw out nicknames like that without some sort of positive feedback. Ron clearly likes Lavender, and there's nothing Hermione can do about it.

"Hermione?" asks Krum, his fingers rubbing her back gently, but expectantly.

She wishes she had more time to sort out her options, to make a pro and con list. To be exclusive, or not to be?

"Yeah. I do want that."

The words feel foreign in her mouth, but it has to be the right choice. Things might be great with Krum. He's available, and if things do go south, it won't blow up her living situation. She has to get over Ron, and focusing her energy on Krum is probably the best way to do that. The other option is being single.

Ron's not going to be hers either way.

Krum silences her spinning thoughts with a kiss, and Hermione can tell he's smiling through it.

See, this is good. She would have hurt him if she'd said no.

The kiss intensifies as Krum flips her onto her back, his hands sliding up her sides to caress underneath her shirt. "I'm so glad you said yes."

Me too, she wants to say, she should say. But she doesn't.

Instead, she does her very best to get lost in the sheets with Viktor, her boyfriend, pushing a certain red-haired roommate to the back corners of her mind.

The next morning, Hermione awakes to blinding sunlight, a pounding headache, and a dry throat, evidence of a little too much to drink the night before. She turns over and groans, awaking the man beside her, who appears just as hungover and miserable as she. His dark hair is disheveled, there are thick circles under his eyes, and his lips are chapped with dehydration.

"Fuck, I need some water." Krum turns onto his side and snakes a hand around Hermione, pulling her close to him. "Nothing good happens after midnight," he mutters into her hair.

His words ignite a chain reaction of memories from the previous day. The shooting range. The power outage. Then the drinking.

Ron and Hermione arguing. Lavender and Krum kissing. Hermione's emotional outburst. Krum's assumption that it meant she had stronger feelings for him.

She agreed to be Krum's girlfriend.

There's a moment of panic when Krum's lips brush against her forehead and he whispers, "Well, one good thing happened."

His lips travel to hers, capturing her in a kiss that she doesn't return. He pauses, before pulling away. "Are you okay, 'Mione?"

Krums use of a nickname instantly makes her shudder. Not that she's against nicknames, she just never thought she'd hear one from Viktor. It doesn't sound right coming from him. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just need some water."

Hermione slides out of bed and takes a moment to regain her composure. She's still disoriented from the night before and unsteady on her feet, and it takes a few focused steps forward to reach the door without stumbling.

Her heart is pounding when she reaches the kitchen — either her body really wants to be in bed, or she's staving off a panic attack. She fumbles for a glass in the cabinet, paces over to the sink, and fills it up, her hand trembling under the stream of water.

It takes her two seconds to finish a glass, which barely quenches her thirst. She fills it up again.

"Someone's thirsty," comes Ron's familiar voice behind her.

Hermione turns to see her roommate taking a seat at the barstool. His hair is messy, just like Krum's, and his eyes are bloodshot, suggesting he's been awake all night. The image of Ron and Lavender comes to mind, creating a jealous knot in her stomach. Not that she has any leg to stand on, unfortunately.

"Long night?" he presses.

"Yeah," she says. "Too much to drink."

"Happens to the best of us. I'll heat up some water for tea."

Ron rises to his feet and makes his way to the stove, where there's a tea kettle. The power is still out, so he pulls a lighter from his pocket to help ignite the stove.

"Morning, Ron." Viktor Krum has emerged from the bedroom. "Morning, babe."

Hermione's face heats up the moment Krum utters 'babe'; his confident use of the pet name feels like a spotlight on her, even more so when Ron whips his head around to face Hermione.

"Babe? That's a new one."

Krum approaches Hermione and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. "Well, Hermione and I made things official last night."

Hermione looks at Ron, his piercing blue eyes boring into hers. "That true?"

She nodded, slowly, uncomfortable under his intense stare. "Yeah. It's true."

"Well," he continues, his voice stiff. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you!' Krum beams, oblivious to Ron's stiff tone. "Where's Lavender?"

There's an extended, tense silence as Ron shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. "She left."

"What?" asks Hermione.

"She left," repeats Ron, with emphasis this time. "We ended things last night, and she left."

"Oh no… why?" asks Krum.

Ron shrugs and turns his gaze back to Hermione. "Turns out we wanted different things."

"I'm sorry to hear that," says Krum. "That's rough timing."

"Rough timing, indeed." Ron's eyes never leave Hermione's.

"Well, we better get packed up," says Hermione with a pat on Krum's chest.

Hermione slithers out of Krum's embrace to head back to the bedroom. She needs to get out of here. This cabin weekend needs to be over.

She was so sure that Ron and Lavender were getting on fine. If she had known they'd break up…

No. She can't think like that. It's not fair to Krum. Ron may be single, but she's not. Not anymore.

Even if she was, Ron is her roommate, and he was off-limits from the start.

She ignores the contradicting voice in her head that says her rules are arbitrary, that she can date her roommate if she wants to, that it won't lead to a crumbling disaster, and she doesn't need to be with Krum. That's not her logical brain speaking.

She'll get over him — she has to. She has a boyfriend now.

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