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“Viktor,” Ron mutters over a game of chess in what has become a nightly refrain over the past few weeks. The common room has emptied save the two of us, and this is Ron’s cue to begin this conversation for what must be the hundredth time since the Yule Ball. “Viktor fucking Krum.”
His knight slices one of my pawns in half, but he’s not even looking at the board, his eyes drifting instead to the dormitory stairs where Hermione disappeared not long ago. I ponder my next move as I ask, “What about him?”
I know what comes next. We’ve been over this time and time again, and although I figured out why Ron’s knickers are in such a twist over Viktor and Hermione after about five of these late-night chats, Ron still seems to be in the dark. Maybe tonight will be the night it hits him.
“Just, y’know…” Ron watches me reach for a knight and gives a tiny shake of his head. I pull my hand back and try to formulate a different plan, though Ron has probably already got me beat no matter what move I make next. “What does she see in him?”
“Same thing you saw in him until about four weeks ago, I reckon.”
“Somehow I don’t think Hermione’s cozying up to him for Quidditch tips and box seats at the next World Cup.”
“You never know. Maybe we’ve rubbed off on her.”
Ron snorts. “Yeah. Maybe.”
It takes me another five minutes to move my next piece on the chess board, and Ron exactly ten seconds to move his. He’s going to have me checkmated in two more moves at this rate. Forgoing chess strategy, I decide to try a distraction instead.
“You never ask me what Viktor sees in Hermione.”
“Huh?” Ron’s gaze had shifted back to the stairs again. “What do you mean?”
“You always ask me what Hermione sees in Viktor. You don’t ask me what Viktor sees in Hermione.”
“Well…” Ron stalls, and I’m sure his ears are burning under his too-long hair. It’s a wonder Mrs. Weasley hasn’t taken a severing charm to both our heads this year. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s our best friend. She’s a good person. Of course he would want to spend time with her.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah. But I mean, what is it about her that makes him want to snog her?”
Ron sits up so fast he nearly falls out of his chair. “You think they’re snogging?”
“I have no idea, but I assumed that was the intent.” I slide my knight into position, preparing for victory. “Check.”
“Well, bugger if I know. It’s not like I want to snog Hermione.”
Or maybe tonight will be the night that I hit Ron.
I just keep from rolling my eyes as I reply, “No, of course not.” If he hears the sarcasm in my voice, Ron doesn’t mention it.
“I’m just worried about her.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I mean, he’s older. And he’s not from here. What happens when he leaves if she really does…fancy him?” Ron looks ill at the thought. “I just don’t want to see her get hurt, that’s all.”
“That’s nice of you. What are friends for, right?”
“Exactly. Checkmate.”
“Wha—?” Ron swipes my king from the board and grins at me. “How did you—?”
Ron laughs as he waves his wand and the board packs itself away. “Better luck next time, mate. I’m heading up to bed. You coming?”
I follow him up the winding stairs to the dormitory, noting the lingering glance he gives the girls’ side as we go. For someone as brilliant as Ron is at chess, he sure is blind about Hermione. I wonder if I should tell him?
As we each settle into our four-posters, Ron says, “It’s Hogsmeade coming up next weekend. You think Hermione wants to go?”
Nah. He’ll figure it out.
***
The portrait hole closes with a click and I hurry to stuff my potions text under a sofa cushion. At this hour, there’s only one other person who’s not yet gone to bed in Gryffindor Tower, and I don’t need her giving me another lecture about the Half-Blood Prince’s book.
“Hey,” I greet Hermione as she shuffles into the room. “What are you doing out so late?”
She shoots me a wry smile as she settles into the armchair across from me. “You have to ask?”
Her eyes flit around the common room, so I spare her the trouble. “They’re upstairs.”
“Who?”
Oh, for Merlin’s sake.
“Who?” I scoff back at her. “The bloody Spice Girls, Hermione, who do you think?”
Hermione rolls her eyes as she folds her legs up into the chair. She glosses over my quip and echoes with a grimace, “Upstairs?”
“Yeah, they both went up to bed a while ago. Separately.”
“Oh.” She nods and relaxes a little. “Doesn’t it bother you? The two of them flouncing about all the time, snogging under everyone’s noses?”
“Sure, a bit, but I don’t think it’s for the same reason it bothers you .”
I level my gaze at her, and she averts her eyes, fiddling with one of the buttons on her cardigan. She’s never come out and said it—hell, neither of them have, they’re both too bloody stubborn—but I know how she feels about Ron. Hermione tends to ignore the subject anytime I try to bring it up, while Ron favors outright denial of his own feelings, but it’s gotten obvious to the point of ridiculous, and I need them to do something about it before I go completely mental.
“Because overt public displays of affection are a violation of school rules?” Hermione suggests with a chuckle.
I shake my head. “Try again.”
She groans. “Harry…”
“Come on, Hermione, you two have been dancing around this for years. What’s it going to take for one of you to finally admit it, someone on their deathbed in the hospital wing?”
“Don’t say things like that, it’s not funny,” Hermione scolds.
“I’m serious. I’m on the outside, and even I can see it.”
Hermione stands up and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Maybe that's the best view, then, because from here, he seems perfectly content with Lavender.” She tugs the beat-up copy of Advanced Potion Making out from under the sofa cushion and hands it back to me with a roll of her eyes. “Goodnight, Harry.”
As her footsteps fade away up the dormitory stairs, I flop back against the sofa and open the potions book, but all I can think about is my two best friends. My two stupid, stubborn, head-over-heels-in-love best friends, who would rather torture me and each other than just admit how they feel.
Fuck. They’re never going to figure this out.