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Ron was so happy, grinning like her face was going to split in half, and Hermes was happy for her as he watched her be dragged into the after-game party. People were congratulating her, talking about her saves, half-singing Weasley is our King all out of time with each other.
Hermes would never really get Quidditch, but he could be happy that it made Ron the center of attention for once.
And then, as he watched, Seamus Finnigan came up to her, practically shouting his approval about her skills—
And then, Seamus Finnigan leaned in and kissed her square on the mouth, and kept kissing her in front of the whole Common Room—
And then Hermes’ good mood plummeted like a fumbled Quaffle, souring in his chest into something sharp and hot and awful. He found himself raising his wand, his thoughts flashing from Ron’s smile to a spell in a book he read only last week; a spell that would hurt her, a spell that would be so easy to cast with this anger rolling in his chest. He raised his wand and wanted to point it at Ron, not Seamus—
And then his senses came back to him all at once, that hot, sharp anger replaced with something dizzying and sickened. Had he really been about to—about to hurt her? Hurt her badly, just because Seamus had gone and kissed her?
Confused and disoriented and afraid, he turned around and rushed out of the Common Room and into the cool hallways of the castle. He had to be somewhere else, right now. Somewhere quiet and alone and where he wouldn’t fire a hex at his friend.
He found an abandoned classroom filled with old, heavy furniture shoved into a corner and sat down in one of the chairs next to a table, stirring up the dust coating the room. He thoughtlessly cast a banishing charm on the area around himself and stared down at the wand in his hand.
In that moment—it had felt like it’d be so easy. A jab of the wrist and an incantation, no more difficult than the spells he mastered in class.
Hermes hurriedly dropped his wand on the table. He didn’t want to be holding it. He didn’t really want to look at it at all.
Quick footsteps made their way closer to the end of the corridor where his classroom was, and Hermes hoped dearly that they wouldn’t come in. No luck, of course. The wooden door opened and Hattie’s face peered into the darkness of the room.
At least it wasn’t Ron. Hermes did not want to face Ron right now, more for her sake than his.
The thought of her happy, bright face made him feel sick all over again.
“Hermes?” Hattie said, still standing in the doorway. “Are you alright?”
She made her way to him, letting the door close loudly behind her, before he could even answer. With a flick of her wand the sconces in the room lit themselves up with a roaring flame, lighting up the room.
“Why’d you leave so quickly?” she asked, sitting down in the chair the corner over from his.
Her eyes were so kind—so worried, worried for him when she should be worried about him and what he might do—that Hermes felt compelled to admit the truth.
“I—” he started, and balked. “I had to leave. After Seamus and Ron…”
“Oh,” Hattie said, looking sorry for him. “I know you, uh, like her—”
“It’s not that,” he said. “Or, it’s not exactly that.”
He hesitated for a long moment, warring between wanting someone other than him to know what he had thought and not wanting Hattie to look at him with—with fear or horror or disgust or anything else she might feel.
“When I saw them start snogging I—I got so angry,” he started in a rush, refusing to let himself back down from this, “and while I was watching them, this thought popped in my head of this spell I had read about, a hex that would send these little birds and attack whoever you directed them to, and they’d hurt like, well, real birds. I wanted to use it on Ron.”
There. It was out, now. Hermes felt even worse for it.
Hattie’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open a little. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Hermes sunk down in his chair, setting his head on the table and feeling thoroughly miserable. That awful sick feeling roiled in his stomach.
“I didn’t actually do it,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”
He wasn’t sure whether he was talking to himself, or the table, or Hattie, or even some higher power he didn’t really believe in anymore. He didn’t want to look up and see what expression was on Hattie’s face now.
“No, you didn’t.” Hattie’s voice was equally quiet. “Do you still want to hurt her?”
Hermes jerked his head up off the table. “No!” he almost shouted.
He tried again, in a more acceptable volume. “No. I don’t want to hurt her, either with that hex or anything else. I swear.”
With great trepidation, he looked at her again. Her face was decidedly neutral, and her green eyes cold. It was the sort of look she took on when forced to speak to Snape or Umbridge, and he hated to see that closed-off expression directed at him as much as he felt he deserved it.
“Alright,” Hattie said. “Alright. So you wanted to hurt her, and knew how you’d do it, all because she went and kissed someone—or rather, someone else went and kissed her, and she didn’t mind it.”
He winced, but still nodded.
“And then you thought about that spell, and left the room immediately to go somewhere else, and now you’re sitting here, feeling terrible and sure you don’t want to really hurt her. Is that right?”
“Yes,” he said.
Hattie leaned back, her face still so perfectly closed off.
There were a long few seconds before she spoke again. “The way I see it, thinking something and really doing it are two different things. I’ve thought of doing plenty of awful things to people, but I still haven’t done them and I probably wouldn’t even if I had the chance. So, I don’t think you’re the worst person in the world now, or anything. You didn’t hurt her.”
She set her hands down on the table, looking at him with dark eyes.
“But if you ever do hurt her or hex her like that, I don’t think I could stand to have you as a friend anymore,” she said.
He shuddered at the thought of losing both her and Ron, but made no move to speak. What could he argue with even if he wanted to?
“You don’t do that to friends, and you absolutely don’t do it to the people you love like you do Ron. If you had done that, or you do it in the future, I will do my best to make sure she doesn’t forgive you, and I won’t forgive you either. I’ll tell her about your feelings and make it clear I don’t think you two should be dating if you’re willing to hurt her the minute you feel jealous. Alright?”
He rubbed his face, feeling terribly tired and sick. “You’d be right to.”
“And the fact that you admit that is the main reason I’m not storming off to do that right now,” she told him, voice almost kind again. “Do you want to go back to the Common Room, or stay here?”
“I need more time,” he said. He felt guilty for asking for it.
Hattie took one of his hands, squeezing it firmly. It was wonderfully grounding, and he didn’t understand why she was willing to do it. He didn’t let go.
“You’ll need to keep an eye on this,” she said. “If you keep—keep feeling the urge to hurt Ron, or even me, you need to know that about yourself and keep an eye on it so you don’t make a mistake you can’t take back. I don’t want that for any of us.”
He closed his eyes, taking a harsh breath.
“I will,” he promised. “I will.”