A Green Yule

……………

The girl in the periwinkle dress was laughing, smiling up into the face of the tall Bulgarian quidditch player. Even from all the way across the hall it was obvious how he was leaning toward her, how she was blushing. It was obvious how…

How much they liked each other.

Ron sighed and shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position to glare at his friend and her date.

He felt… he wasn’t sure what it was exactly. He felt… betrayal? That might be it. But this feeling was different then when he had thought Harry had entered the tournament without telling him. He felt anger, that much was obvious. But what was it for? So Hermione was on a date with Victor Krum, so what? It was just his best friend, besides Harry, of course, on a date with the Bulgarian seeker. Who was also the Durmstrang champion. And the hero of the Quidditch World Cup.

Hermione twirled in Krum’s arms and the light flashed off her strangely smooth, shiny hair. Krum was grinning, an expression Ron had never seen on the Quidditch star’s face in any of the pictures he had of him, photos carefully clipped from magazines and newspapers. It sickened Ron now to think of how he had idolized this sallow, hook nosed, duck footed idiot.

But wait, what was this? Hadn’t he, only this morning, been thinking of the best way to attract attention from the Bulgarian super-star? What had changed since then?

Well… Hermione hadn’t been looking up into his eyes with her face all aglow then.

No, he thought, that couldn’t be it. If his sudden hatred was caused only by Krum’s dating Hermione then that would mean that this blistering boiling feeling inside him was-

Jealousy?

But jealousy came when a person you liked, liked as more than a friend, showed interest in someone else. That couldn’t be right. He couldn’t like Hermione. Hermione was his best mate, next to Harry. He couldn’t be falling for his best mate. That couldn’t be it. It couldn’t be jealousy. There had to be another explanation.

Ron eyed Hermione’s unusually flat hair, distracted by its sleek presence on her usually bushy head. She had never tried to change her appearance for him or Harry… only for bloody Krum. Ron’s face flushed with anger as he remembered that he was in the middle of a mental rant. Here he was pondering hair styles when Hermione was standing a few feet away from him, on a date with Victor Krum! On a date with Bulgaria’s hero, the famous seeker, and the opposing champion, for Merlin's sake!

A light came on in Ron’s brain. Krum was the opposing champion! That must be the reason he was so upset. He didn’t like to see Hermione out with the champion from Durmstrang. Krum had probably only asked her out to get details on Harry. The anger inside him flared brightly. The smarmy git was using Hermione. Using his best friend. Of course Ron hated him. He had all the reason in the world.

So, it couldn’t be jealousy. It couldn’t… right?

……………

A Woman Spurned

……………

Even at this late hour, light spills from the Gryffindor sixth year dorm windows. Huddled inside, a group of three girls gather around one of their fellows. Giggles and whispers fill the room as together they discuss the newest love interest of the girl they surround.

On the far side of the dorm is one bed with hangings drawn, closed off from the happy chatter. Inside, lying stiffly on top of her bedclothes, fully dressed, arms folded and eyes unfocused, is Hermione Granger. The image of a pretty girl flinging herself onto one of Hermione’s best friends replays itself over and over again before her weary eyes. Her heart throbs and another set of tears leak out of the corners of her eyes and slowly slide down her face to drop onto her already damp pillow.

This was not supposed to happen. Ron wasn’t supposed to kiss Lavender, let alone date Lavender. That hadn’t been part of Hermione’s plan.

That plan had been simple. Make sure Slughorn’s party was not going to be during a Gryffindor quidditch practice. Ask Ron to Slughorn’s party. Take Ron to the party and have a wonderful time. Give him a goodnight kiss afterwards and observe his reaction. If positive, ask him to Hogsmeade. If negative, pretend it was not important.

The first two steps had gone flawlessly. But then, before she had even had a chance to go on to the next step, Lavender had flung herself into the middle of her meticulously researched homework and mangled her almost-perfect plan.

Hermione sighs.

Why did love have to be so complicated? When doing spellwork, one said a particular word, waved one’s wand a particular way, and the particular desired result occurred. In love one said particular things, and acted a particular way, and then suddenly there is a great deal of snogging going on, but it isn’t between the desired individuals, namely herself and Ron.

Somewhere on the other side of the curtain, Lavender laughs, and the sound digs the cruel blade of jealousy deeper into Hermione’s stomach.

Jealousy. What a bitter emotion. Hermione had thought she had dealt with it before, watching Ron’s slack jawed gaze whenever they had been in the vicinity of Fleur Delacour. But this… this is the real thing.

This jealousy has her imagining Lavender in various horrific situations and laughing at her pitiful imaginary squeal of fear. This jealousy has her stomach heaving in disgust as she remembers the way Ron’s lips and Lavender’s joined, like two suckers on the tentacles of the Giant Squid. This jealousy has her biting her lip to contain the pain of knowing that the one she loves is no longer available; knowing that he doesn't care.

Of these side effects of jealousy, the pain is the one she is least able to bear. If only she could somehow make Ron feel this pain… Then perhaps he would not go around kissing whatever female squid decided to latch onto him. If only she could make him jealous.

Suddenly Hermione sits up straight in bed. The excited chatter from the other side of the dorm continues, the happy speakers unaware of the change in their dorm mate’s mood, because of the curtains that hide her face. A look of malicious glee has replaced the stony anguish.

A new plan is formulating in her mind, a mad, half-baked plan entirely unusual for her. She would make him jealous. If there was even a spark of attraction for her inside that big red-headed idiot, she was going to toy with it for all she was worth. She was going to ask out his biggest rival.

How convenient that Cormac McLaggen is already part of the Slug Club, she thinks, and rolls over, finally ready to sleep.