Chapter Text
If the night of the Yule Ball had started off as a balloon filled-to-bursting with adolescent excitement and anxious energy, it had long since deflated by now. At this point in the night, the party had diminished to a few couples stepping in time to a slow song. The entire hall was lulling in a drunken sway, perfectly happy to bask in the afterglow of a raucous night.
That is, except for one couple.
“He’s using you.”
“How dare you! Besides, I can take care of myself!”
“Doubt it. He’s way too old.”
“What? What? That’s what you think?”
“Yeah, that’s what I think.”
Harry could hear their voices from outside of the Great Hall, engaging in one of their usual arguments. How Ron and Hermione hadn’t killed each other by now was beyond him, what with how often they were at each other’s throats. Tonight was no different. Ron was saying stupid, belligerent things and Hermione was running herself ragged pointing how stupid and belligerent those things were, just like always. And, just like always, here Harry was, inevitably, stuck in the middle of it all.
Shuffling awkwardly past another drunk couple, Harry spotted the pair heading his way. Any second now, he would be forced to step inside the ring and mediate. Maybe he could turn around and pretend he had disappeared from the common room.
“You know the solution then, don’t you?” Hermione retorted as they paced ever nearer.
“Go on,” Ron huffed, trying his best to appear aloof and failing.
“Next time there’s a ball, pluck up the courage and ask me before somebody else does! And not as a last resort!”
Harry could read the impact on Ron’s face. Hermione had hit the nail quite soundly on the head there and all his friend could do was flail.
“Well- th- that’s out- that’s completely missing the point.” Ron quickly looked anywhere else but Hermione and found him. Harry shook his head, not wanting to get pulled into the argument, but it was already too late. Ron had just called out his name, beckoning him to come save him from Hermione’s wrath, which was now fully directed at him. Harry preemptively tried to appear occupied but his meagre effort did little to deter his fate.
“Where have you been?” Hermione’s seething voice struck Harry like a slap across the face. She was rarely ever this angry at him. It immediately set him on edge.
Harry was about to reply with some quick excuse - that he had just gone out for some fresh air - when he finally noticed the state she was in. The words disappeared from his tongue as he took in her face. There were tears shimmering at the sides of her eyes, her lip was quivering, her shoulders shaking. The elegant twirl that she had somehow twisted her hair into was now a frayed mess. She looked like she was barely keeping herself from bursting into sobs. Her face was a picture of genuine distress akin to physical pain.
By the time he had gotten his bearings back, about to rattle off something about going outside to… well, whatever, Hermione had already interrupted him.
“Never mind! Off to bed, both of you!”
Harry stared at her for a moment, before his eyes then found their way back to Ron’s indignant face. As Harry walked past Hermione, he glared at Ron, as if to ask what the hell he had done to get her into this state.
As they ventured up the stairs out of the entrance hall, Ron was still looking back at Hermione, not ready to let her have the last word. Harry was about to tell him to shut up and carry on walking, but the words had already left Ron’s mouth.
“They get scary when they get older.”
The effect was immediate and vicious. Hermione wheeled back towards them, her volcanic fury exacerbated by uncontrollable sobs.
“Ron, you spoiled everything!”
The pair jumped out of their skins and doubled their pace up the stairs. Harry half-imagined Hermione would chase them down and kick their arses with her high heels. That was not what happened. Instead, Harry noticed as he glanced back over his shoulder, she came to rest on the stairs leading down the Great Hall, crumpling in on herself and she began to cry.
The sight froze Harry to the spot. Hermione, his friend, who he liked to think of as indomitable, was crying. She looked so defeated, despondent in a way that was so unbecoming of the Hermione he knew so well.
The image sat in stark contrast to earlier that very same evening, the joy that she radiated in beams. Harry remembered that moment well, when his brain had collapsed in on itself and his jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of her walking down those steps. In fact, it was those very steps that she was now sitting on, sobbing into her bright blue dress that once gleamed as bright as her smile. This was supposed to be her big night. How the hell had it gone so wrong?
Oh, yeah, Ron. Of course, it was Ron. How could it not be? If there was one person who knew how to push Hermione’s buttons it was Ron, and he frequently did just that. The truth was, this was not the first argument of theirs that had ended in tears, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
As he followed Ron up to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry only wished that there was something he could do.
Then a thought occurred to him and he stopped.
Why? Why was he not allowed to do anything? Why did he feel so indentured to whatever Ron wanted to do? He had done nothing but insult, demean and antagonise Hermione all night, he was clearly in the wrong, and yet Harry was just supposed to follow him as if this was all business as usual? His friend was on her own, right now, probably still in fits of tears. Was Harry just supposed to leave her to it? To just abandon her as if she meant nothing to him?
Harry turned around and gazed down the hallway, thinking. By this time, Ron had noticed that his friend was standing stock still in the hallway and had turned back to face him.
“You coming or what?”
Harry glanced up at the redhead, gritting his teeth with indecision.
Hermione would never have left him alone if the positions were reversed. She would have stayed by his side no matter what, even if she thought he was in the wrong because she was his friend. That's what friends do, they help each other when they need it.
And with that, Harry made his decision. He swivelled on the spot and began walking back down to the Great Hall.
“Where are you going?” Ron called out to him.
“To be with Hermione,” Harry replied.
He heard a scoff from behind him.
“Oh, I see. You’re picking her side, are you?”
Harry knew he should have just shrugged it off and carried on walking. It would have been the more reasonable thing to do, but at this point - at some early hour past midnight, feeling tired, angry, hurt, confused - Harry was beyond reason and he was beyond tired of being silent. He had been silent all night and look where that had got them.
So, Harry stopped and glared at Ron from over his shoulder.
“You know, you make it so hard to be your friend sometimes.”
Without another word, Harry continued walking.
“What does that mean?” Ron’s voice echoed through the hallway, but Harry ignored him. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
Harry strode and fast as he could back towards the Great Hall, the image of Hermione crying by herself propelling him through the castle as fast as his legs would carry him.
When he arrived back into the entranceway, Hermione was still there, clutching the folds of her dress in one hand and her shoes in the other. Her whole body was hunched over, jittering with quiet, uneven sobs. It broke Harry’s heart to see her like this. He felt ashamed with himself that he had even thought of leaving her in this state.
Treading carefully down the stone steps, Harry approached her. Slowly, he sat himself down next to Hermione and reached his arms around her shoulders. Her body stiffened against his intrusion.
“Harry, go away,” she sniffled, trying to shuffle away from him. Harry wasn’t about to let her go so easily.
“No,” he replied resolutely as he tightened his grip around her.
“I said go away, Harry!” Hermione cried, now pushing against him. Harry’s hold refused to acquiesce.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted. “You see, my friend needs me.”
“Stop it!” she said, even as he felt her resistance begin to wane. “I don’t want you here!”
“Tough,” he soothed, rubbing circles into her back with his palm. “I’m staying.”
“Go away!” Hermione’s cries had dulled to hoarse whispers. “Just, just go…”
“It’s okay.”
She had stopped trying to push him away by now, having exhausted all of her energy in crying. He felt her wilt against him, clutching at his evening dress robes to pull herself into his embrace.
“Harry…” Despite saying only one word, Harry understood her perfectly. He adjusted his embrace, allowing him to shift her legs into his lap.
“I’m here,” he smiled reassuringly. “I’ve got you, now. Just relax.”
Eventually, Hermione’s head came to rest against his shoulder and she closed her eyes. Harry was almost convinced that she had dozed off until he heard her whisper.
“I… hate him.”
Harry continued rubbing her back affectionately, lacking the spirit to say otherwise.
They just sat together for a while, until they were one of the only few couples left that had yet to go to bed. By now, the band were playing their final slow songs of the night, winding down the audience for the end of the ball. At that point, the sniffles had faded away and Hermione gave into the quiet mood that now echoed through the Great Hall. Without realising it, Harry had started rocking back and forth, ever so slightly, to the beat of the music. Hermione must have found it relaxing because she didn’t stop him, allowing herself to be moved in time. It was their own kind of slow dance, just the two of them, and Harry preferred it that way. Harry found that he preferred the quiet; maybe it was just in his nature.
It was as the band announced their final song when Harry decided that they had best be leaving. He carefully jostled Hermione out of her daze, jolting her awake. She quietly studied him, only to cringe as she looked down at his robes.
“Oh, Harry,” she gasped, “I’ve ruined your shirt.”
Harry couldn’t help but laugh softly at her.
“Sod the shirt, Hermione,” he chuckled. He stood from his seat, pulling Hermione up with him. “Let me look at your dress.”
“Don’t bother,” she scoffed. “I’ve probably ruined that too.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Harry muttered under his breath, before offering Hermione his hand. “Come on, it’s getting late. Let’s go back.”
For a moment, Hermione didn’t move, which puzzled Harry. She subconsciously wrapped her arms around herself and Harry worried for a moment that she might be cold.
“I don’t want to go back if he’s going to be there.”
A cold wave of realisation washed over him. He had forgotten all about Ron since he arrived, having focused entirely on making sure that Hermione was okay. He had hoped that Hermione would forget about him too, but clearly, she hadn’t. It was evident from her entire demeanour - from her face to her body language - that she was dreading meeting the redhead again. He could imagine why. The chance of meeting him again in the common room, potentially alone, would only provide him with another opportunity to renew their argument, to make her share in his misery of a night gone wrong. She was afraid that she was going to be hurt again, by someone she cared about.
That won’t be happening tonight, Harry promised himself. With a renewed resolve, he took Hermione's hand in his and squeezed it in calm solidarity.
“I’ll be with you.”
Those words must have done the trick because she stood a little taller and nodded to him. There was still a trace of reluctance in her face, but she was squashing it down, channelling her Gryffindor courage. Her fingers wrapped around his and a moment later he was leading her up the stairs out of the entrance hall.
They walked hand in hand back to the common room, never straying far from each other along the way. Every so often, Harry spared Hermione a glance, just to make sure she hadn’t spooked, but every time Hermione was there, ready to meet his gaze with a tentative smile. As they made their way through the castle, Harry felt Hermione’s side pressing closer and closer into his as if seeking constant reassurance. It was strange, Harry noted, to be the one giving Hermione comfort, to be her rock, as opposed to relying on her support as usual. It felt nice, though, to give something back to her after how much she had helped him when he needed it.
Eventually, they found themselves in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait, which swung open for them at the mention of the password. Whatever hope the pair had that Ron had decided to just go to bed evaporated the moment they entered the common room. They found the redhead in question lounging on the sofa, staring into the fire. Sensing their arrival, his eyes turned towards them and glared.
“You two enjoy yourselves without me, then?” Ron grunted at them, which only served to stoke Harry’s nerves.
“Ron-“ Hermione began before Harry interjected on her behalf.
“Ron, we’re both very tired so either shut up or go to bed.”
Both Ron and Hermione gawked at Harry, stunned by his steely tone of voice. Ron was looking particularly scandalised, possibly because every time he and Hermione had fought, Harry had dutifully chosen either his side or no side at all. This was far from Harry’s usually delicate approach, but by this point, Harry’s patience had well and truly been worn thin. After having spent most of his night having to tolerate Ron’s attitude, seeing him insist on being the victim in all of this was the last straw. The redhead was silent for a few moments reeling in his seat before he began speaking again.
“What the hell has she been-“
“I said shut up!” Harry shouted with enough force to make Hermione jump by his side. “I’ve had to put up with this all night and I’ve had enough of it! We’re not going to argue with you, so unless you apologise to Hermione right now, you can get lost!” He waited for a response, but all that came was a wall of stunned silence. “Well?”
Ron blinked, opening his mouth to say something and then closed it again.
“Yeah, whatever,” Ron eventually managed to reply, grumbling as he rose from his seat. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”
He slouched out of the common room up to bed, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the aftermath. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and felt his body sag. It would be far too awkward to follow him straight up to bed, into his nice, soft sheets and slip off to sleep, but he certainly wanted to. Well, it looked like he was stuck down here, for now, so he might as well get used to it.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he heard Hermione whisper from his side. He glanced at her, reading her anxious body language as easily as she read any tome.
“Who said that was just for you?” Harry scoffed, trying to lighten the mood. He let go of her hand and unceremoniously fell onto the sofa. “Besides, he doesn’t get to say those kinds of things to you anymore.”
Hermione stood by herself for a moment, observing but not really seeing, before allowing herself to sit beside him.
“You two only just started talking to each other.”
“Yeah, well, what’s he gonna do? Stop being my friend again?” Harry sighed, palming his forehead as it started to sink in. He imagined what it would be like to have Ron ignore him again, how he did at the beginning of the year. It would be extremely annoying to lose that companionship so quickly after he had only just got it back, but then again, he’d still have Hermione. It should have been a comforting thought, and it was, but it served just as well to remind Harry of other incidents, going further back. Those times when he had chosen to remain neutral, to let the arguments boil over and be forgotten, only to emerge once again more vicious than before. Every time, he had chosen Ron over Hermione, even when he knew it was wrong. Even when he knew Hermione wouldn’t have done the same.
“I’m sorry, for what he said,” Harry spoke, breaking the silence that accumulated in his mind’s absence.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione’s hair tussle as she shook her head.
“It’s not your fault that he’s jealous of Krum,” her small voice attempted reassurance but it came across as more defeated than anything else.
“Not just that,” Harry instead. “I mean everything else he’s said to you, from the beginning. I’m sorry that I never brought him up on it, that I never stopped him.”
“Harry,” the Hermione he knew, that authoritative spark, was starting to reappear, “Ron’s behaviour isn’t something you need to apologise for.”
“But I want to.”
“I know you do, but that should be Ron’s job, not yours.”
He knew she was right. She was always right, even, paradoxically, when she was wrong. However, the guilt that sat in the pit of his stomach refused to go away, reminding him of just how long it had taken to finally choose her side for once. How many times he had failed to act like her friend. He was brought out of his brooding when he felt Hermione’s hand take hold of his.
“Hey,” she whispered, beckoning him to focus on her face. Harry looked up into her big, brown eyes, wishing that he had the words to say just how sorry he was. “When it comes to you and me, there’s nothing that needs forgiving.”
“Are you sure?”
She replied with a calm smile that sent a wave of comfort rushing through him.
“Yes.”
Despite the certainty with which she spoke, there was still a niggling feeling in the back of Harry’s head that refused to let him rest. She had cleared him of all wrongdoing, all possible guilt, that should have been enough. Why wasn’t it enough?
“Why do I still feel like I need to apologise?” he asked because of course, she would know. She often knew him better than he knew himself.
“Because that’s who you are,” she answered as if it were obvious. “You always want to make people feel better. It’s something I like about you, your kindness.”
Harry blinked, feeling the heat slowly creep up into his cheeks.
“Thanks, Hermione.” He looked at her for a moment, trying to think of what to say. “I… I think you’re kind, too.”
“Really?” she asked, to which Harry nodded back eagerly.
“Yeah.”
The smile he got in return was small, but to Harry it was radiant.
“Thank you.”
They sat side by side, listening to the fire crackle away, burning the last few logs down to ash. Hermione had turned away to peer at the last embers of the fire, allowing Harry a better view of the once-intricate knot that kept her hair in place. How she had managed to get her tresses into this intricate twirl was beyond him. The amount of time it must have taken to get each stand exactly right beggared belief. Even now, in its admittedly more unkempt state, each lock still moved like waves and danced around her face. Her pale skin, contrasting so vibrantly against her dark chocolate hair, complemented by the soothing blue of her dress coating her shoulders. His eyes drifted downwards, following the intricate shapes of the fabric appreciating the way the dim light danced across the material and made it glisten.
Harry could stare at Hermione like this all night. He took a moment to capture her in his mind's eye, burning the image into his head, so that one day in the future, when Hermione ever doubted herself, he could remind her of just how beautiful she looked on this night. How she had turned every head at the Yule Ball without even trying.
“You look great in that dress.”
The words tumbled from his lips and dropped between them with all the grace of a boulder in a pond. Immediately, Harry’s brain went into panic mode. Oh god, had Hermione heard that? He really hoped that she hadn’t. Nope, she was looking right at him now. And now she was blushing. For the love of Merlin, she was blushing, this was officially a crisis! She must be embarrassed and Harry couldn’t blame her one bit. Oh god, when did it get so quiet in here? Course correction, course correction!
“I mean,” he stammered, “it’s a really nice dress. And you look great on you- I mean, in it, and I- It’s blue, right? I mean, of course, it’s blue, I can see it’s blue, but it’s nice and I think it’s just-”
“Periwinkle,” Hermione interjected before Harry could continue to embarrass himself. “The colour, it’s actually periwinkle.”
Harry blinked, then he found himself smiling.
“Isn’t that just blue?”
“No, Harry,” Hermione smiled endearingly at his confusion, “it’s not just blue. It’s a very particular shade of blue.”
“But it is blue, right?” he insisted, happy to push the conversation into a new direction.
“Yes, I suppose it is blue,” she conceded in a manner that reminded him suddenly of McGonagall in its imperiousness, “but it’s called periwinkle.”
“Doesn’t that get confusing?”
“No, because it’s named after a flower and therefore the colour of that flower is called Periwinkle.”
“Ah, like how orange is named after an orange?” Harry concisely observed, to which Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Oranges are not flowers, Harry.”
“I never said they were-“ he spluttered before he noticed her smile growing wider and wider, creating dimples in her cheeks. His eyes squinted at her. “You’re just teasing me now.”
His indignant tone sent her spiralling into a chorus of childish giggles. Harry huffed, dramatically crossing his arms across his chest.
“After all that I’ve done for you,” he accused with as straight a face as he could pull, “and you’re teasing me. Honestly, I’m insulted.”
Hermione laughed gleefully, relaxing against the cushions, so contagious that Harry couldn’t help but join in.
“I’m sorry. But yes, periwinkle is a kind of blue, just like how apricot is a type of orange and lavender is purple.”
“I thought she was blonde,” he immediately replied, earning him a slap on the shoulder as he laughed at her.
“You’re an absolute prat!”
They both continued to laugh at each other, their attempts to keep the noise down only making their mirth more intense. Still, Harry considered the risk of waking the rest of the house worth it, since it meant he got to see Hermione happier than she had been in quite a while. It was a welcome change from the state she had been in not half an hour ago. If he had the power, Harry would endeavour to make sure that Hermione was never unhappy again, because seeing the joy that she was experiencing at that moment fulfilled him in a way that made his heart fill to the brim.
It wasn’t long afterwards when they both went to bed, but not before Hermione stopped Harry on his way up the stairs and wrapped him in a tight hug. As he hugged her back, he felt her softly whisper into his ear,
“Thank you for coming back for me.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered with all the sincerity that he could muster. “I’m here for you, now and always.”
Even after he bid her goodnight, Hermione remained at the front of his mind and refused to leave. Those few moments at the beginning of the evening kept repeating in his head. The sight of her walking down those stone steps, in her blue- no, periwinkle dress, her hair, her smile. Over and over again they would appear, like a broken record, so much so that he had trouble sleeping that night. When he eventually did fall into an unconscious embrace, those thoughts of Hermione followed him into his dreams and for the first time in far too long, Harry woke up the next morning having had a good night’s sleep.
Ron was still sulking throughout the next day, refusing to speak to either him or Hermione, so Harry continued to ignore him back. It felt like he had travelled back in time to the day after Halloween when Ron stubbornly refused to believe that he was telling the truth about the tournament. It frustrated Harry how Ron could fall into old habits so easily, even after all they had done to try and bring him up on it. However, as much as it pained him to go through this whole fiasco again, he wasn’t going through it alone. Just like last time, he had Hermione with him to keep him company. She also helped to remind Harry how, even though he hated being so distant from his friend, this was a lesson that Ron needed to learn.
No longer would Harry or Hermione accommodate his poor behaviour. Unless he owned up to his mistakes and accepted that he was wrong, they wouldn’t give him the time of day. Hermione was just as much Harry’s friend as Ron was, and she deserved to be treated with respect. If Ron couldn’t understand that then he could go stuff himself.
There were a couple of times when Ron tried to insert himself back into their conversation, as if nothing had happened - his usual technique - but Harry was having none of it. His only response was to remind Ron that they were still waiting for his apology to Hermione and that they wouldn’t be back on good terms unless they heard it straight from his mouth. To Harry’s immense disappointment, Ron decided that keeping his pride intact was more important than admitting that he was sorry for his actions. And so, their relationship with Ron remained distant.
That night, Harry and Hermione stayed up in the common room until after hours, waiting just in case Ron decided to come down and finally say that they had been waiting to hear. However, Ron never turned up. The pair went to bed that night, disheartened but not ready to give up on him just yet. Harry felt the urge to apologise on Ron’s behalf resurface frequently, just so it would go back to normal, but he resisted every time. Just like Hermione said, it wasn’t his job to make up for Ron’s mistakes.
Harry and Hermione were still waiting for that apology the following day, and the next day, until ‘maybe tomorrow’, became ‘maybe next week’. Slowly but surely, they feared an apology might never come.
“Maybe we’ve been too harsh on him,” he heard Hermione say as they were eating breakfast by themselves once again. “I’m sure that he’s sorry by now-“
“If he was he would’ve said it,” Harry insisted.
“He’s not good with expressing his feelings-“ she pleaded.
“Tough.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione’s shoulders sag as her fingers wrestled nervously. Just like on the night of the Yule Ball, he carefully laced his hand through hers, bringing her anxious fidgeting to an end. “Hermione, you deserve that apology.”
“Harry-“ she shook her head, ready to say how she wasn’t worth all the trouble, but Harry was having none of it.
“You do.” Her eyes looked up at him through her fringe, wanting to believe him, to which Harry sent her a look that brokered no argument. “I won’t let you diminish yourself like this. If I’m not allowed to apologise for his behaviour then neither are you.”
That was the end of the matter, but Harry’s hand remained encased in hers throughout all of breakfast. Eating toast with one hand was admittedly a challenge, but for Hermione’s sake, he’d overcome any obstacle.
Later that evening, as the last shadows of twilight melted into the night, Harry and Hermione found themselves back in the common room, it all came to a head. The pair were sitting in adjacent armchairs, quietly reading to themselves - or at least, pretending to, because despite having sat there for at least half an hour, Hermione had yet to turn a page. Every so often, the portrait hole would open and both of their eyes would shoot up from their forgotten books, only to look away in disappointment when they didn’t see their redheaded friend. Just as the wait was starting to become unbearable, the portrait hole opened once more and three people walked through. Dean, Seamus and, trailing along behind them, Ron.
Harry and Hermione immediately sat up to attention. As Dean Seamus departed up the stairs, he spotted them sitting in their usual seats by the fire. Time froze as the three friends regarded each other, waiting for something to happen. For a moment, Harry locked eyes with Ron, pleading to him in his mind.
‘Come on, fix this. There’s no one else around. We’ll forgive you.’
His eyes ventured from Hermione to Harry and back again. His foot inched forward and his mouth began to open, only for him to stop very suddenly. He stood frozen in the middle of the common room for a few seconds, just looking at them. He looked like he desperately wanted to say something to them, but he couldn’t. Instead, he turned away and strode up to the boy dormitories. The pair were left alone, suffocating in the emptiness of the room.
Harry glanced over to Hermione and saw something slowly breaking inside of her. Like an automaton, she slowly closed the book that she wasn’t reading and made her way out of the common room. Harry was alone, left only with his many thoughts and a sense of having lost something very dear to him. It was a while before he followed Ron up to the boys' dormitories. He couldn’t face seeing his friend again so soon after he had turned his back on them. He could only imagine how Hermione felt in all of this.
‘This is for her sake,’ Harry reminded himself. ‘This isn’t about you. It's about being there for her. If Ron can’t do that or even say that he’s sorry, then he doesn’t deserve someone as brilliant as Hermione in his life.’
He took some solace in that fact. Ron’s actions had cost him far more than they had cost them. Harry only wondered how long it would take for Ron to realise that fact. He hoped that it wouldn’t take forever. Maybe one day they would have Ron back in their lives, but it would be on their terms from now on.
He promised Hermione that he would always be there to help her and he wasn’t planning on going back on that promise any time soon. She was a friend worth standing up for, even if no one else would.