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Part I: The Lie
As Hermione perused the aisles of the library, running her fingers down the leather spines of books, she became lost in her own thoughts. After an early rise this morning, she’d finished the ten inches for Defence Against the Dark Arts, revised her Ancient Runes translation, and gotten started on her Arithmancy reading—and she would still be able to meet Ron and Harry for a late breakfast in an hour. Finally, her eyes halted on the copy of New Theory of Numerology, Vol. II that she’d been looking for . Pulling it off the shelf, she flickered through its pages, absorbing the information as her fingers hovered over key names and theorems until a shadow caused the words to disappear.
Hermione looked up and frowned at the sight of Cormac.
“Hey, Granger.”
“Hi.”
“I thought I’d find you here. You always have your nose in a book. Or your hand on one.” Cormac flashed her a pearly-white smile as if he’d taken lessons from Professor Lockhart. “So, the Slug Club’s Christmas party is around the corner. I'm single, and I know you are too…” When Hermione didn’t reply, he added, “Come as my date.”
“No.” Realising how curt she sounded, she forced a small smile. “I can’t.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked to a dance by someone she hadn’t wanted to go out with. When Viktor had asked, Hermione hadn’t processed that he was asking her as his date. Lost in the moment, she’d stuttered out a yes though her heart had cried out against it. Then Neville had also asked, but turning him down had come easily because she already had a date. Ron asking was different. Her stomach had squirmed with the admission of the truth and how much she wished it weren’t the case. But still, she knows now that her pride would’ve kept her from agreeing as he never had truly considered to even ask.
That date with Viktor, however lovely he had been, had caused her too much trouble. After the Yule Ball, she’d told herself she wouldn’t accept the first invitation that came her way. Just as she’d told Ron she wasn’t going to be someone’s last resort, she wouldn’t settle for the first person to ask her out. She would control who she dated, so now with Cormac, the “no” slipped out much easier.
Their conversation should’ve ended with that but Cormac didn’t leave. His smile never wavered. “Come on, you don’t have to play hard to get. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
“I can’t ,” she strained through her teeth.
“It’s not like you have another date lined up.”
“I do.”
“Who? Is it Potter?”
She scoffed and shut the book she’d held open until then. “Actually, I’m going with Ron.”
“You’re not seriously going to go with Weasley. Potter I would’ve understood.”
“Well, I am. In fact, we’ve been seeing each other for weeks!” she snapped, forgetting that Madam Pince would ban her if she overheard her screech.
“Come off it,” he sneered. “It doesn’t seem like you two are any more than friends. And at times you’re barely that.”
“Then you don’t pay any attention. And it seems you need to get used to losing to Ron.” Hermione swivelled on the balls of her feet. She found her bag and shoved her notes and books in, exited the library, stomped down the staircase, and huffed down the corridor until she came to the Great Hall, all the while fuming at the audacity of Cormac.
Barely friends. She snorted. She and Ron had been friends for years. Fine, they’d had their disagreements, but what friends hadn’t? Maybe not Lavender and Padma but they’re joined at the hip and share a brain. As for his ridiculous comment about Harry. Harry! Of course, she wasn’t oblivious to the chatter that Rita Skeeter had stirred two years ago and how it continued on, but she had never even thought about dating—
Oh no .
If Hermione was ever going to swear, it would be now.
She told Cormac she was going with Ron to the party.
Her stomach squirmed so badly, it was threatening to crawl up her oesophagus. Fine, that was fine. She had been thinking of asking Ron to go with her anyway. But that wasn’t what had her heart thundering against her ribs.
The other lie.
The outright fiction that she and Ron had been dating for weeks . How was she going to explain that to him?
Her cheeks were scorched as if by flames and she couldn’t quit gnawing on her bottom lip.
What had she been thinking?
She just wouldn’t tell him until she strictly needed to. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how soon that would end up being.
Part II: The Confession
Silverware clattered against porcelain plates, and the chatter of students buzzed in the air. With the Christmas decorations, the twelve-foot trees that marked each corner and the fairies that fluttered from candle to candle, it was more than enough to charge the atmosphere with festive cheer. It was mid-morning on a Saturday, and everyone had already rubbed the sleep off their eyes because a full day awaited them to put off homework, head to Hogsmeade, or even to have a fly in the clear, brisk winter day.
Hermione read her copy of the Daily Prophet, sat beside Ron and across from Harry as they usually did. Their conversation was light as they loaded their plates with food and filled their goblets with juice.
Once she’d greeted them, Hermione chose to believe her interaction with Cormac hadn’t existed. Instead, she focused on chastising Ron and Harry for their disregard over the growing workload that they continued to put off because of Quidditch.
As she turned the page of the paper, Hermione glanced up to see Cormac entering the hall. His eyes narrowed to fine slits, and he cocked his head as if scanning for any trace of the truth. Jolting upright, Hermione squirmed in her seat until her shoulder was pressed firmly against Ron. Cormac began to walk towards them. It needed to look real.
She had never forced a giggle, but she tried, unsuccessfully releasing a high-pitched cackle instead. Ron and Harry gaped at her, then each other.
Cormac was a couple of feet away, and Hermione did the only thing she could think of. She gripped Ron’s left arm, rubbing her thumb as she bared her teeth in what she hoped was a dazzling grin.
Hermione swept her neck so her hair fluttered to the side as Cormac walked past them and sat at the end of the table with his friends.
“What was that all about?” Ron’s voice startled her, making her release her hold on him.
“What do you mean?” She acted as normal as she could. Denial tended to work well for her most of the time.
“Why did you grab my arm like that?”
Harry burrowed his nose behind his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages . When he didn’t look up to pass the tray of pastries, she reached across for a croissant. “Like what?”
“Like that! You wrapped your hands around my bi—arm.” Ron’s ears flamed crimson.
She felt the warmth travel to her cheeks but maintained her composure as she spread butter on her pastry. “I did?” Her fingers missed how firm he was.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re hiding something.”
Hermione took half the croissant in her mouth.
“Hermione, tell me!”
He wasn’t going to let it drop.
“I might’ve told Cormac that we’re dating.” She tried to say as nonchalantly as she could, but her voice squeaked anyway.
Pumpkin juice spewed across the table. Ron coughed, choking on a sausage, which plopped back on his plate but a fit had taken hold of him. Hermione had to give three hard blows to his back before he finally settled.
“You what?” Harry’s eyes looked strangely similar to Professor Trewlaney’s.
Ron gulped down his goblet.
“I told Cormac that we’re dating,” she repeated, her voice coming out with an insincere calmness. It didn’t betray the panicked thoughts that were fleeting through her mind. Was it really that unrealistic, that bad for Ron to imagine dating her? He’d choked at the thought of it.
“Why?” Ron gasped.
Hermione looked from Harry to Ron. “Because he asked me to go with him to Slughorn’s Christmas Party.” She scanned Ron’s unblinking face before adding, “As a date.”
“And how does that escalate to you and Ron dating?”
“Because he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She cut into the pear on her plate, the knife emitting a Mandrake-like screech against the porcelain, causing Harry and Ron to wince. “And, the only way I thought of getting him off my back was to say I already had a date.”
“But why me? And not Harry?”
“Because I was going to ask you anyway. Harry and I would’ve had a bore without you.”
“Hold on.” Harry had cleared the spilt pumpkin juice. “But you still said you told McLaggen you and Ron were dating .”
Harry’s words triggered the same irritation she’d been chiding herself with ever since her encounter with Cormac.
“Look, Ron, if you don’t want to come to the party with me, that’s perfectly fine. I didn’t think it would be that big of a problem for you—”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Oh.”
At that moment, Harry took off his glasses and wiped them on his robes, dabbing each lens with serious concentration.
“And I don’t mind pretending to be dating.” One of the corners of his lips rose into a half-smile.
Hermione jerked her neck, turning to Ron. “Really?”
“For the party.”
“Right, yes. For the party.”
“I forgot that I promised Neville I would go see him in the…” Harry mumbled, swung his bag over his shoulder and left.
Part III: The Revelation
It was awkward at first. Hermione couldn’t look at Ron without profusely blushing. It happened so often that on multiple occasions, she was asked if she was feverish and was told to see Madam Pomfrey. She didn’t, knowing that she couldn’t turn up to the Infirmary because her symptoms—a wild, frantic heart, constant flips of her stomach, and trembles in her hand when she touched Ron—couldn’t be explained by a malady.
For the most part, they didn’t change much about how they acted with each other. Maybe Ron was more polite than usual, like checking which route she preferred to go on during their prefect duties, or offering to get all her potion ingredients so she wouldn’t have to stand. Now that she thought about it, their arguments had ceased since they began the farce.
With each passing day, rumours fluttered into a full crescendo until the whole castle, including the ghosts, teachers, and house-elves, knew Hermione was dating Ron.
One night in the dormitory, she snapped at Parvati and Lavender when they asked for details of how physical they’d gotten. Hermione wasn’t sure if Ron had endured the same incessant bombardment of questions, though judging by his crankiness towards Seamus, she presumed so. Besides Harry, the only person who knew the truth was Ginny, who accosted Hermione in the girl’s bathroom. She’d helped carry on the charade, fuelling speculation over how she saw the romance blooming for years.
Hermione only rolled her eyes but was otherwise grateful to have a girl help her, especially after she’d told her why the charade had begun.
“Is Cormac still pestering you about the date?” asked Ginny as she helped Hermione fasten the zipper on her dress for the party.
“No, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of thinking Ron and I have broken up tonight.”
“So you’re doing this to save Ron’s pride?”
“I’m doing this because Cormac is an arse.”
Ginny’s wicked smile had the same features as Fred and George’s mischievous grins. “And this will all be over after tonight?” Ginny patted Hermione’s hand, signalling she could let her hair drop.
“I’m sure it’ll all die down after Christmas and no one will even care. Then, Ron and I will go back to normal.” She ignored Ginny’s snort. “Come on, we’ll be late.”
Walking in heels proved difficult as she descended the stairs of the girl’s dormitory, but by the time they’d trekked down multiple staircases to reach Slughorn’s office, Hermione glided with grace—as long as she held onto Ginny.
When they stepped in, lanterns with the same bluebell flames she loved to conjure glowed like orbs above them. Lilting notes of decadent highs and lows floated in the air. Guests wore fine dress robes and dresses, the likes of which Hermione hadn’t seen since the Yule Ball two Christmases ago.
“There they are!” Hermione’s gaze followed Ginny’s finger.
Ron and Harry stood with their hands in their pockets. Ron bobbed on his feet, but Hermione barely acknowledged his unease. She had never seen him wear dress robes as elegant as he did now. They were not maroon, nor scruffy or holey. There was no lacey collar.
They were the finest clothes Hermione had ever seen him wear.
Velvet cobalt trousers and robes complimented the perfect shade of blue in his eyes. And the white shirt he wore only accentuated the colour more.
Before Hermione could blink, he and Harry had made their way over.
“Harry, let’s get some drinks, shall we?” Ginny roped Harry’s arm under hers and pulled him away.
Ron smiled a half-grin and said, “You look nice in red.”
Hermione glanced down at the dress and smoothed out the ruffles of the skirt. “The blue suits your eyes.”
“Er, yeah I guess so.” Ron extended his forearm, which Hermione took, inhaling a blend of dark wood and ginger that emanated from him. “How are we going to sell this?”
Distracted by his new scent, it took her a moment to register his question. “Just one dance, I reckon.”
“Sure, one dance.”
They moved to the centre of the room where people were dancing. Ron placed his arms on Hermione’s hips, and she recalled the ballroom lessons Professor McGonagall had given the Gryffindor students what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Er, is this okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She could hardly breathe. “Do you think people will believe it?”
Ron shrugged. “They’ve believed it so far…”
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For doing this crazy scheme to get Cormac off my back.”
Ron chuckled. “Well, yeah. I reckon it is a bit mad but it says more about him than you that you’ve had to get a fake boyfriend to get him to stop. Is this a normal thing girls go through?”
“You have no idea.”
“That’s mental. If someone told me no, I’d back off straight away.”
“Well, you didn’t really do that for the Yule Ball.” Hermione smiled, not wanting him to think she was mad about that, and she was right to try to comfort him. Ron’s ears turned crimson.
“That was different! I was younger and, just, er—”
“It’s fine, Ron.”
“You weren’t my last resort… You were—wait, hang on. Did you ask me as a last resort?”
“Of course not!” Hermione smacked his arm.
“Faced with the option of Cormac though, you chose me! I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“I already told you that I wanted you to come with me!”
Ron grinned that goofy half-smile that revealed his dimple. Hermione grinned back, wishing she could count the freckles that dotted his face, could memorise the nuances of blue in his eyes like a vast sea or a universe. But slowly, Ron’s smile dissolved into a frown. “Cormac is here. Staring.”
“What?” Hermione turned, but Ron caught her chin. “What?” she repeated.
“Dunno… Maybe we could…”
“What?”
Ron craned down. The tip of his nose grazed the bridge of Hermione’s. The music swirled in her ears until the scent of wood and spice swarmed and overcame all her senses, so much so that she let her lids drop to a close as it was the only way her skin could hum with a buzzing warmth.
And then his lips were on hers, and her heart couldn’t take the tickle of his breath because he was hovering, unsure. So Hermione pushed up on her toes until she pressed back and he responded.
It wasn’t passionate, hungry, or intense. It was tentative and relieving, letting her soar as her heart drummed in her ears.
Slowly, she fluttered her eyes open and found piercing seas of blue staring at her.
“I don’t want to stop pretending,” she whispered.
Ron shook his head. “I haven’t been pretending.”