Oh man, I’m so excited you asked for this one, @weasleyswizardwinter !
So, as some of you already know, I have a WIP called Tangled that’s a post-war angsty Romione fic. I have four chapters posted so far (on FF.net and Ao3.org), and I decided to re-write this short scene from chapter 4 from Hermione’s perspective.
Enjoy!
- POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective
Hermione wanted to disappear.
She would love nothing more than to get up from this table, run full speed out the front doors, and disappear into the cool night air. Maybe, if she moved quickly enough, she would have a real chance at getting past the perimeter of the protective enchantments and could Disapparate before they could stop her. She was quick – not as quick as someone athletic like Harry or Ron – but she was smart, and no one at the table would expect her to bolt.
Then again, she was in a room with two fully trained Aurors and her boyfriend, as well as a house full of staff. She barely had any moments alone as it was and she knew it would be nearly impossible to make a break for it without an army of witches and wizards chasing after her.
Her eyes flicked down to the watch on her wrist. She breathed heavily. She pursed her lips and took another sip of wine.
Chris hadn’t stopped talking since they sat down to dinner, but she could barely muster up the energy to feign interest. She knew all his stories by now, backwards and forwards. She knew all the names of the famous and important people and the laundry list of favors, compliments, and gifts that had been bestowed upon him since his business had exploded, post-war. But she didn’t begrudge him his success or his pride in his work – she found his enthusiastic attitude endearing most days. Yes, the humble-bragging about famous friends could get boresome and there were times she had to fight to stifle a yawn or the urge to roll her eyes, but he worked so hard at everything he did and Chris was, if nothing else, a businessman to a fault. Anything he could do to bolster his brand and forge constant connections, he would. It was… refreshing.
Well, sometimes it was refreshing. Recently, it had started to become a bit tiresome. Today, it was downright exhausting.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to melt into a puddle and evaporate into thin air, never to be seen or heard from again, she thought as she pushed a pea with her fork on her plate. She watched as it rolled across the porcelain surface before bumping into a potato and came to a stop.
It was trapped. There was no escape.
She took another sip of wine.
A small cough sounded from across the table and it took everything she had not to look in its direction. Hermione could feel Ron’s eyes on her, ocean blue but with a fire behind them that took her breath away, and straightened up in her chair.
He had always thought he was so sly – so sneaky and undetectable when he would watch her across the room. Well, the joke was on him because even after three years of training to be an Auror, he was still as obtuse as ever in his less-than-secretive observing of her.
Was he trying to get her attention? Perhaps, but to what end? What could he possibly have left to say to her that he hadn’t already unloaded earlier that day? Ron had made it clear how he felt: she was a fool for putting herself in harm’s way and ignoring the obvious risks of being there, she was a snob for taking up with the likes of Christopher Rhiney, and she was cold and awful for pretending that he, Ron Weasley, was nothing more than a stranger.
But he was a stranger. They had been strangers to each other for years now. He even looked different; he was strong and confident, his copper hair a brazen contrast to his charcoal gray Auror robes and with an almost austere professionalism about him that was so unlike the fun-loving boy she had known at Hogwarts. The Ron who appeared to her today was a ghost of the teenager she had once known, though the flashing of his eyes and rumble of his voice had sent shivers down her spine.
If he had just spoken to her like a normal human being, he’d have realized that the choice to live with Chris hadn’t really been hers. It was a quick, split-second decision made by her decisive and matter-of-fact boyfriend who felt she would be best served living with him after the fire at her flat. She had made it clear to Chris that, while appreciative, the arrangement would be temporary. But he had all but shushed her outright.
And then earlier today, after a three-year absence, when given the first chance to speak to her alone, Ron had chastised her so thoroughly, she’d actually been embarrassed – mortified even. But then, in an instant, she had felt enraged.
And now here she sat. A tiny pea stuck on overcrowded porcelain china. Nowhere to go, nowhere to escape, no choice in the matter.
Ron coughed again and she shifted in her chair, glancing at her watch once more.
She hated him… didn’t she? It would be so easy to. And there would be a certain satisfaction in indulging in every cruel, hurt, and angry impulse she had. There had been nights in the past when, late into the evening while alone with her thoughts and emotions, she would allow herself a moment of catharsis. She hated to be vulnerable more than she could say, but her tendency to bottle up her feelings created the sense of being poisoned from within. Allowing for a moment to grieve was like bloodletting; out with the poison so as to balance the humours.
Ron’s eyes were still on her. She could feel him studying her the same he had when they were at school. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to stop or if she would be devastated once he did. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to run away from him or towards him. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry.
She just wanted to disappear.
Instead, she took another sip of wine.
Headcanonsandmore 