In Which Hermione Jean Granger Does Not Want or Need Extra Tomatoes, but Would Appreciate If Harry James Potter Would Just Stand by Her Side for a Minute, Yet He Proves Himself a Clear Traitor
They walked over to the Three Broomsticks, where a warm and pleasant atmosphere greeted them, a welcoming change from the chaos and confusion of the post office. The pub was alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs, the warm, golden glow from the lamps casting a soothing light over the room.
They quickly found an abandoned table at the back of the pub, comfortably close to the fireplace. Hermione eagerly headed toward the seats nearer to the fire, but Ron and Lavender beat her to it. Not wanting to endure a meal next to the lovey-dovey couple, she took a seat next to Harry instead. Theo sat on Hermione's other side, while Draco slid into the spot directly across from her.
Madam Rosmerta soon arrived to take their order. As she went down the line, it was clear that everyone chose their usual order for the occasion. Who cares if it was the last day of the year? People stick to their habits.
When it was Hermione's turn, she didn't deviate from her favourites either, "I'll have a Butterbeer, a portion of your Leek and Chicken Pie, and a Chocolate Brownie for dessert, please.”
Hermione turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"You forgot the chips."
It took her a moment to process his comment, but then she realized he was right. With a small smile tugging at her lips, she turned back to Rosmerta and added, "Yes, and that as well, please."
A warm flutter stirred inside her—a reaction she hadn't anticipated. It was silly, really. Draco remembering her exact order shouldn’t have affected her this way. But it did. That stupid Malfoy, and how absurd it was that something so trivial could make her heart leap.
As they waited for their food, lively conversations sprang up around the table. Ron and Lavender were immersed in their little world, while Draco and Blaise engaged in a private discussion. This left Hermione between Theo and Harry. She expected she would need to kick off the conversation, but she was mistaken.
“So, Harry,” Theo began with interest, “did you manage to finish Murders on the Cursed Pitch?”
Harry’s eyes lit up. “Not yet, but I’m really enjoying it so far! The idea of a murder mystery set at the Quidditch Pitch is brilliant. Grey’s description of the game is spot-on, it makes me think he’s definitely been a player himself.”
Theo’s face brightened. “I knew you’d like it! Where are you in the plot?”
“I’m just past the part where the second player is found unconscious. The tension is building up, and I’m struggling to piece together the clues. I still can't figure out who the killer is."
“That’s such a gripping part!" Theo nodded eagerly. "The plot starts to pick up from there. Do you have any guesses so far?”
Hermione listened with amazement, astonished to see Harry reading a book for pleasure—especially since it wasn’t about Quidditch. True, the novel was set in a Quidditch field and centred around a game, but it was still a novel, not a manual on broom maintenance or Quidditch tactics. She never thought anyone could get Harry to read a book, but Theo had done it by appealing to his interests and making it truly engaging for him. Hermione, of course, had read and enjoyed the book herself. She would have loved to join the conversation, but the boys were so absorbed in their world that she didn’t stand a chance. As the boys exchanged thoughts, their food and drinks finally arrived. Hermione took her first bite of pie and was instantly transported to heaven. She couldn't fathom how a greasy, quaint countryside could produce the best chicken and leek pie.
Theo sighed. “I just wish there were more Grey books. The next one isn’t out until May.”
Harry's eyes twinkled. “Actually, I might have something for you. There are some really good books you might enjoy.”
“Really?” Theo asked, leaning forward with interest. Both boys were engrossed in their conversation, and Hermione felt a bit in the way sitting between them.
“Yes,” Harry said. “They’re similar to Grey. They follow a detective named Holmes who investigates crimes.”
“Never heard of him,” said Theo.
“Oh, that’s because they’re Muggle books. But I think you’d like them.”
“I’ll ask Sirius to send me a few copies,” Harry said with a smile. “Then I can lend them to you.”
"What are you doing?" she asked angrily, though she wasn’t entirely sure why the gesture irked her. It was just the amount of attention he paid her in such a short period of time —first, he remembered her order, and now he was offering her tomatoes. Not that she disliked tomatoes; quite the contrary, she loved them. That was precisely the problem. How dare he?
"I'm giving you my tomatoes," Draco stated matter-of-factly, as though puzzled why there should be any question about it.
"I don't need your tomatoes," she insisted, spearing one with her fork and passing it back to his plate.
"You like them, so take them," Draco said assertively, picking up a tomato and tossing it onto her plate. Hermione promptly forked it back, holding it over his plate and shaking the fork until the tomato fell off.
"But I don't want it."
"Granger stop it, for Merlin's sake, just accept them and eat," Draco retorted.
"You stop it," she shot back. She didn't need his tomatoes. She didn't need his attention. She didn't need... She was just beginning to lift herself from her melancholy, and he had to make everything more difficult for her. How was that fair?
"Malfoy, it is starting to make me angry and upset," she declared, her voice rising.
"Fine then, tell me, Granger, why do my tomatoes on your plate bother you so much? I've always passed them over to your side whenever we eat here," Draco said, looking annoyed at the ceiling.
"Because," Hermione began with a sad smile, "there's no more 'always.' That was then, and now is after. No more tomatoes from your plate to mine." With deliberate care, she gathered all the tomatoes with her knife and fork and placed them back on his plate.
There was nothing more to say on the matter. They both turned back to their own plates and resumed eating. Hermione could feel, from time to time, Draco’s gaze lingering on her from across the table. Each time, she felt a jolt of discomfort. Determined not to let it unsettle her, she focused all her attention on her meal.
"Here, it's the last bite, Won-Won," said Lavender to Ron, holding up the last spoonful of her stew. "I can't eat anymore."
"Anything for my Lav," Ron replied, opening his mouth for Lavender to spoon the food in. It was quite a sight.
Blaise for one, looked positively shocked and made a snorting noise, which he tried to cover up, not so successfully, with a cough. Lavender turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "What’s so funny?"
"Nothing," Blaise said, struggling to keep a straight face. "It’s just a bit much, watching you both go on with those absurd pet names everywhere we go."
"What’s the matter, Zabini? Are you envious of our love?" Ron shot back.
"If that is love, I'd rather pass on it," the Slytherin boy retorted.
“You only say that because you haven’t experienced it yourself." Lavender agreed, "When you’re in love, you give your partner a special, caring name. Look at Draco and Hermione. They’ve been together for almost two years and didn't even have nicknames for each other. Can you believe it? No wonder they ended up breaking up. Without those small signs of affection, how can a relationship survive?”
“That’s not true,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “We had our nicknames."
Lavender raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“He would often call me Mimi when we were alone, and I, in turn, called him Drake on certain occasions.” Hermione continued.
Lavender shrugged. “That’s hardly significant. It's just being on a first-name basis. If anything, it just reinforces my theory: not using a real nickname shows that the relationship might not last long. It’s part of nature to give someone a special name when you’re truly invested.”
Theo interjected, “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Look at Blaise—he calls every girl ‘love’ or ‘sweetheart’ because he’s convinced that by using enough endearments, he can avoid remembering their actual names!”
“True, mate,” Blaise said with a grin, raising his Butterbeer towards Theo, laughing and taking a good gulp of it.
“But wait a minute,” Hermione said, clearly exasperated, “you two believe we broke up because we don’t have silly nicknames for each other?”
“Of course not,” Lavender replied dismissively, waving her hand as if to brush off the notion. “There were dozens of other signs, too.”
“Like what?” she asked, clearly bewildered.
“Like other things,” the other witch said vaguely.
“Care to elaborate?” She pressed.
"Well, as I told you before," Lavender began, lifting her left hand, "you argued all the time. We almost never do." She gestured with her right hand when talking about her relationship.
"You never agreed on anything," she continued, moving her left hand. "We are always in agreement." Her right hand lifted again.
"You didn’t have any cute nicknames," she noted, shifting her left hand. "We have nicknames for each other." Her right hand moved once more.
"You didn’t fit together as a couple," she concluded, her left hand dropping under the table. "But we do." Her right hand stayed confidently in place, while she shook it in triumph.
"Can I add one more thing?" Blaise interjected.
"Sure," Lavender replied, eyeing him suspiciously.
"When they broke up, I didn’t laugh," Blaise said, imitating Lavender’s hand gestures, lifting his left hand as well into the air. "But when you two break up, I’ll probably laugh and say, 'I told you so'." His right hand raised into the air, and then he clapped his hands together.