the deck
"Remember, Ron, pronounce it clearly. Enonciate! " Hermione's voice projected through the room. "Ver-mil-li-ous. Vermillious. Be cautious as well, the sparks are very-"
"Bloody hell, Hermione, I get it," Ron interrupted, his voice...vexed.
Hermione felt her mood drop as well. Ron always reacted that way when she was just trying to help. Hermione wondered why she even bothered, before remembering that Ron was one of her best friends and that she was likely the only reason his grades were still at an adequate level.
The impromptu common room study sessions were rather familiar if Hermione was being honest.
They weren't just Hermione tutoring Ron, however. It was more of a two-way thing, with Hermione tutoring Ron in certain subjects, and Ron introducing Hermione to certain aspects of wizarding life and culture that Hermione...couldn't really read about. Music, customs, wizarding superstitions...
Ron was definitely getting more out of their studying arrangement than Hermione was, and they both knew it. But Hermione was still getting something and, although she didn't have much experience in the friendship department, she knew that this was what friends were supposed to do. Help each other with the things they needed help with.
"All right then," The girl beckoned to Ron. "Go on."
Ron crossed his arms defiantly, his wand resting over his left cloaked arm. "Fine."
"Fine."
"Fine."
Hermione sighed. "Are you going to do it or not?"
"Yes, I'm just...getting ready."
"You have your wand out, what else do you need?"
"It'd be nice to have some space, as well."
"I am as far away from you as the seating arrangement lets me be."
"Find another seating arrangement then!"
Hermione crossed her arms, similar to the way Ron did only a minute earlier. "Quit stalling, would you? If you can't do it, just tell me. I'll only tease you a little."
Ron didn't react, seemingly analyzing his options. Swallowing his pride and admitting that he couldn't do it, or attempting it and praying he could. After a moment, he nodded, as if coming to a decision, and smirked at Hermione confidently. "Need me to prove it?"
Without moving, he recited 'Vermillious'. And, as the first spark came out, Hermione realized Ron's mistake.
________________________
Vermillious, more commonly known as the Red Sparks Charm is a rudimentary spell that allows the caster to conjure small red sparks out of their wand's tip.
While this charm is primarily used as a signaling device, there are instances of this charm being used in combat, due to the high temperature of the sparks (around 50 degrees celsius, though the temperature varies depending on the caster's experience using the spell).
_________________________
The sparks hit Ron's cloak first.
Red sparks collided with the pitch-black of Ron's sleeve, small traces of smoke rising in the air. Ron screamed, pulling down his cloak sleeve before the fabric caught fire. That was his second mistake.
Without the layer of protection the thick robes had given Ron, the hot sparks collided with his skin. His eyes widened, and, although he didn't scream, the noises of pain mixed with the smell of burned flesh was going to haunt Hermione for weeks.
The girl, previously frozen in shock, rushed forward as the sparks disappeared, leaving Ron, who sank to the ground, hyperventilating, as he choked out sobs. "Ron- bloody hell- No, no...Ron!"
Ron looked up at her, staying silent.
"I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey, you'll be fine - how could I be so stupid-."
Ron shook his head, gripping his burned arm like a lifeline.
"Ron, please! Come on!"
"Hermione, breathe!"
The words weren't loud, but they didn't need to be, slicing through the girl's panic. Hermione turned towards him in shock, to see the ginger staring right at her. Carefully, he stood, wincing in pain.
"How bad is it?" Ron questioned, once he was on his feet. "Dad said once that Muggles have-" He winced. "-a system to - label injuries. Since they don't have spells and all, he said - they needed to classify."
"Ron."
"If you don't know what I'm talking about, then I'm a bloody centaur."
Hermione let out a shaky breath. She knew what he was talking about, and was surprised he had thought of it. What was he getting to, though? It was obvious he wasn't going anywhere until she answered, like the stubborn idiot he was.
Meaning Hermione had no choice but to play along. 'What an idiot'. Ignoring the fondness that thought held.
"...yes, there is a system like that for burns."
"What's mine?"
Okay, this was getting stupid. Hermione wasn't going to just...sit there and
"Ronald Weasley, we have to go to the nurse!"
"Aren't your parents muggle-healers?"
A soft sigh. "Ron, my parents are dentists."
"Exactly!"
"They don't help with skin burns!"
"Then who does?"
"DOCTORS! Ron, we really need to get you down to Madam Pomfrey."
Ron shifted his voice into a poor imitation of Professor Flitwick, their charms professor. "Before that... Ms. Granger, do you know the answer?"
Hermione let out a giggle. "You're ridiculous, Ron Weasley. Honestly, ridiculous!" But a look at his burns had Hermione responding. "I'd guess a first-degree burn or a second-degree burn. No nerve damage, so that's a good sign..."
Ron grimaced. "First-degree burns? Dunno what that means, but that sounds bloody awful. What would nerve-damaging burns be considered? Muggles are insane, I'm telling you!" He winced. "Well, I have burn cream in my luggage, up in the boys' dormitory. Dunno how much that would help, but I'd reckon quite a bit. Not really worth seeing Madam Pomfrey, something like this."
The brunette nodded, turning to get it, though a part of her was yelling at her, asking her why the hell she'd be going into the boys' dormitory. Behind her, Ron was yelling instructions as to where to find it, as he sunk into his armchair. Talking so much but saying so little. 'Typical.' Hermione rolled her eyes fondly.
The first thing Hermione noticed when entering the dormitory was the complete and utter MESS inside. Most bunks looked like a warzone, with only a few looking anywhere near orderly.
One bunk had posters of the Muggle sport football on the wall around it. Hermione had never been a fan of football, though she enjoyed it a lot more than she enjoyed Quidditch. Which, to be fair wasn't saying a lot. She supposed that bunk belonged to Dean Thomas. She wasn't close with him, but he was kind and they'd talked enough for her to notice his fondness for football.
The bedframe to another one was pitch black as if something had exploded there. Wincing, she quickly put a name to the bunk: Seamus Finnigan.
One to the right was somewhat messy, but otherwise rather normal. Probably Harry's.
That left the one with clothes piled under the bed and an oversized trunk underneath. Bingo.
She wasted no time opening it and ruffling through the stuff inside. A maroon sweater, a shirt, another shirt, pants, another pair of pants, boxers...yeah, no, forget those. and if she blushed at the thought that Ron trusted her to go through his stuff like that, that was nobody's business.
Quickly, she stumbled across a box. It was the kind of box that held the scented face cream Mrs. Granger wore so much. It would have been almost nostalgic, had it not been such a pressing situation. The label said: 'Billian Baker's Burn-Protective Balm', with a picture of a kind-looking brunette pointing and smiling at the logo. An odd labeling decision, but this was the wizarding world. Oddness was routine, and she'd just have to get used to it.
It wasn't until she had gotten back to the commons and applied the cream to the burn that she noticed the box sticking to the cream container.
"What's that?"
"What?"
Hermione tried to pull off the box, quickly noticing the strange sticky substance coating the bottom of the container, but unsuccessfully. "This."
Ron glanced at the box. "Dunno, it's a box."
"What's in the box?"
Ron glanced at it again and offered a one-shoulder shrug when suddenly his eyes lit up. "I think I know. Give it!"
"What's in it?"
"Hermione, I'll show you if you just hand it over!"
"Ron, could you be any vaguer?" Hermione asked brows furrowed in annoyance.
"You don't know how to, do you?" Ron sat up straighter, his lips twitching upwards. "Bloody hell- I can't believe this day has finally arrived!" The ginger laughed incredulously.
Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. The burn cream seemed to be working, Ron wasn't wincing or biting his lip or anything. Even if that meant he was extra annoying. It didn't matter much to her, though. Hermione would rather have an annoying best friend than a best friend sobbing in pain. "Be quiet..."
"You're all red," Ron sang, grinning as if he'd just won the lottery. "Don't want to admit I know something you don't?"
"No, I'm not. And...no!"
"How about a deal?" Ron was still grinning, his arm apparently forgotten. Hermione would be surprised if Ron didn't demonstrate the attention capacity of a goldfish on laughing gas (not that she'd ever tell anyone about that incident). "You admit that I know so much and that my intelligence surpasses that of everyone else here...and I'll show you the box."
The brunette sighed, shaking her head.
"Please?"
No.
Ron seemed to have gotten the message. "Fine, I'll lower the cost. You just need to say that you don't know how to get the box unstuck, and I'll show you the wonders in this box."
Hermione wished she hadn't mentioned the box. She contemplated leaving the room, or just refusing to say it, but...she kind of wanted to know what was inside the box.
Fine.
"...I...don't...know how to ...get the box. There, happy, Ronald?"
It took a good five minutes to get Ron to stop celebrating. It took another minute for Ron to explain how the sticky material could only be dissolved with fire. It took 30 seconds for Hermione to melt the glue-like substance off, and 30 seconds for Hermione to register what was in the box.
...
"Trading cards?"
Hermione couldn't quite hide her disappointment.
"Chocolate Frog trading cards! Impressive, aren't they?"
They were slightly more impressive than muggle trading cards, but only slightly. They were featuring important wizards and witches from different points in history. It was surreal, having figures like Helga Hufflepuff bow, curtsy, and wave at Hermione when most had died centuries ago. Not surreal enough for her to understand why Ron had bothered collecting hundreds, but it was a strange sensation.
"You like that one?" Ron asked, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts. She was still holding the Helga Hufflepuff card.
"She's pretty." Hermione shrugged. And Helga was. She had beautiful waves of dirty-blonde hair, cut right before reaching waist-length, perfect heart-shaped lips, perfect olive skin, a small nose, and large gray eyes that somehow told entire stories. Stories of acceptance, loyalty, ambition, and greatness.
"She is," Ron agreed, and Hermione felt a sudden pang of jealousy, which she tried to fight off. "I got that card...oh yeah, I was nine, it was at that store..."
Ron continued explaining where he'd gotten it in such detail, that Hermione wondered for a second if the bad memory he displayed was just an act.
"You can have it, though."
What?
Ron had just gone through a whole story about how he'd gotten it from a chocolate frog Percy had given him after he'd gotten taunted at a birthday party. It had emotional significance, she couldn't just...take it!
"You're not taking it, I'm offering it to you," Ron said. Hermione reddened, realizing that she had said it aloud. "And Percy's a prick anyways. Even then. He'd probably rather you have it than me. You're the next head girl."
"That's if we make it to that point without losing limbs or...getting expelled." She shuddered at the last option.
Ron looked at her, then laughed, shaking his head. Hermione joined in soon after. Her priorities were strange. Honestly, so was she! But so were her two best friends, and that was okay. They were strange people, but they were a happy group of strange friends, as cliche as that was.
And Hermione would have it any other way.