Work Text:
Clementine
Author's Note: Originally published on December 14, 2025
~*~
The first thing she felt was the intense throbbing in her head. The consistent pain was shooting throughout her skull, just adding to a long line of existing aches and ailments.
Hermione was absolutely drained. She’d been plagued by dreams of Ron returning to the tent. When she saw him, his arms slightly raised as he dripped water onto the ground for some reason, she’d been filled with such anger from his betrayal that her hands stung from the imagined slaps she’d unleashed on him.
She coughed and sniffled, her throat was raw. She couldn’t afford to get sick now, on top of everything else. She hated that she could never get truly comfortable.
Letting out a muffled groan, Hermione pushed her overgrown hair out of her face, before barely cracking open an eye. Her blurry eyesight was met by something orange in her vision.
She sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she gasped loudly, sucking in air as if she’d forgotten how to breathe.
It all came flooding back—Ron’s return, the sword, the Deluminator… all of it. She clenched her hands, feeling the tingling from the blows she’d thrown at him. Her head was aching from the emotional explosion of fury upon seeing Ron for the first time in weeks.
As was her habit, she glanced toward his bed, finding it empty aside from his rucksack. It was neatly made… not exactly something Ron did unless pestered.
“He’s outside, he took your watch.” Harry’s voice cut through her daze. He was tinkering with the shattered pieces of the locket and watching her with cautious eyes. “You’re not going to attack him again, are you?”
She rolled out of bed, before aggressively straightening the blankets and punching her flimsy pillow. “He deserves it.”
He nodded toward the metal pieces in his hands. “He did save my life and destroy this.”
She continued tidying to keep her hands busy. “That doesn’t change what he did, Harry. He left us.”
“I know that, Hermione. But he came back, too. I saw what the locket was doing to him and—”
She cut him off, her voice razor sharp. “What do you mean you saw? I knew you weren’t telling me the whole story.”
Harry had the decency to look ashamed. “You need to ask him about that, it’s not my place to tell.”
She stomped her foot. “You are so frustrating.”
“Just give him a chance.”
She pointed a finger at Harry, her voice rising. “You don’t get to tell me that! I get to make that decision. Just because you accepted him back doesn’t mean I will.”
Harry squirmed uneasily, holding up his hands in concession. “Fine. All I can say is that he cares about you, Hermione. A lot.”
“If he cared, he wouldn’t have abandoned us.”
Feeling her rage building, both at how quickly Harry had forgiven Ron and his nosy attempts to repair their relationship, she searched for a distraction to calm herself down. She’d lost control last night and that wasn’t something she wanted to do again.
Spotting the small dimpled fruit sitting next to her bed—the orange thing that had been in her sight line when she woke up—she picked it up and stared at it.
“Did he say anything about this?”
Harry shook his head.
She squeezed the textured oval. “If he thinks he can just walk back in here and—”
There was a rustling and Ron ducked inside, pulling the flaps closed behind him. His look was appropriately sombre and he hesitated near the entrance. “Thought I heard voices.”
Hermione’s face twisted into a furious look and Ron recoiled slightly. She held up the compact citrus. “What is this?”
He shrugged. “It’s a clementine.”
“Yes, I know what it is,” her voice shrill. “What is it doing here?”
“It’s for you.”
“I don’t want anything from you!”
Hermione flung it at Ron’s head as hard as she could. He snapped it out of the air, his keeper skills still well-honed. Calmly, he walked forward and placed it back down on the table next to her bed, before backing up a couple of steps.
“I grabbed it right before, you know, the light. I didn’t have time to bring anything else and risk missing my chance.” Ron shrugged again. “You told me in first year that your parents always put one in your stocking at Christmas. Remember? I thought they were barmy for giving you fruit instead of sweets.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise that he remembered that fact, but she fought off the sudden warmth which blossomed in her chest. Her stupid, traitorous body. She wanted cold anger, not this. She crossed her arms tightly and stuck her nose in the air.
“You can keep it.”
Ron pleaded with her. “Please, just eat it. It’s good for you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Harry gently nodding in agreement. It almost felt normal again for a moment, like it had always been, between the three of them.
She snarled at him. “You don't have a clue what's good for me.”
Things couldn’t go back. He’d seen to that. Even if he was right.
Mimicking what she wanted to do to him, she grabbed it and clawed a finger into the soft peel, tearing it off in small pieces and tossing the discarded skin at Ron. She could smell the orange scent in the air, a welcome contrast to the usual mustiness of the well-worn tent.
“I’m only eating it for the vitamins. Since I’m sure Ron’s had his fill since he left…” Hermione viciously ripped the fruit in half, holding a section of segments out. “Take this, Harry.”
She saw Ron flinch, jealousy flashing across his face for a microsecond before he tried to cover up, his mouth forming an awkward smile.
I get it, you choose him.
His ridiculous, hurtful words from weeks prior echoed through her head. Was that what he really thought?
She pushed that niggling reflection to the dark recesses in the back of her mind, not willing to truly entertain what it implied. How frightfully inaccurate it was. The spark was doused by the memory of the freezing rain she’d chased him out into when he left. She could almost feel it against her skin again, leaving her shivering.
Harry stood up, looking between them. “Hermione, it’s for you.” He flipped his thumbs toward the spot at the entrance Ron previously occupied. “I think I’ll just…”
The black-haired teen practically ran out of the tense tent, leaving the two of them alone.
“This doesn’t change anything.”
“I don’t expect it to. Just have the damn thing.”
She restrained herself from cursing him. “Fine!”
She forced herself to eat the bitter pith on the outside, as it contained the nutrients her body so badly craved. Biting into a segment, the explosion of citrus in her mouth was so foreign after months of bland cuisine, she almost gagged from the cloying sweetness.
Hermione coughed, and Ron was at her side in an instant. She straightened up, staring at him with narrowed eyes, as if daring him to do something.
Ron murmured. “You just have a little something...”
As if in slow motion, she held her breath as he swiped his thumb against the corner of her mouth, his skin absorbing a drop of juice. His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t meant to do that, and pulled his hand away.
Coming to her senses, she immediately shoved him, causing him to stumble back.
“Hey! I was just trying to help.”
“I don’t want your bloody help!”
She continued glaring at him from a distance and eating the small fruit, which she had to admit was a refreshing change. She could see the proud look on his face as she devoured each piece.
It hit way too close to home in her fragile state. The orange of the clementine reminded her of his hair. Working through the bitterness of the pith to finally get to the sweet juicy flesh underneath felt eerily reminiscent of too many interactions with Ron.
Every time she thought something was going to happen, she got a taste of that same bitterness.
Overwhelmed, she felt her eyes fill with tears. She collapsed back onto her bed as she cried, her salty tears mixing with the tangy, sticky specks coating her lips. She dropped her face into her arms and sobbed, her whole body convulsing.
Ron hovered in place, unsure whether to comfort her or stay still. He chose the latter, respecting her earlier wishes. She didn't want his comfort, anyway. At least that’s what she told herself.
She could taste the clementine as she spoke, her crying words directed at him. “Do you have any idea what we’ve been through? What I’ve been through? I’ve never been hurt like this. Congratulations, Ron, you’ve somehow managed to top last year. This was the worst Christmas ever.”
“Not for me,” he defended himself. “Getting back to you—and Harry—was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. When I felt that warm light enter me, I-I knew I was going home.”
She looked up, tears streaking her face. It was almost worse, seeing the sincerity on his freckled face.
“You probably don’t want to hear this, but I swear I wanted to come back as soon as I left. I swear on my life, Hermione. I messed this up so badly, but there’s nowhere I want to be but with you and Harry.”
Hermione believed that he wanted to get back as soon as he left. She needed to believe it. Perhaps it was still worth the fight—to get through that acrid pith and reach the tender deliciousness inside.
She buried her face in her hands again, her whole body shaking as she hiccupped again and sniffled. “I-I can’t speak to you right now.”
His voice was soft, but held a firm edge. One tinged with commitment. “I understand, Hermione. I’ll be here, I promise you.”
She didn't know if she could afford to trust that, but she kept that thought to herself.
Tense silence and pointed looks were all she could offer now as the shield around her heart tried to harden again, despite the cracks he’d inflicted upon his return.
She needed time to let the wounds heal. The bitter taste on her tongue only served as a reminder.
One day, perhaps, she would be able to enjoy the sweetness again.