Tears

                                    

                                          


                          
Hermione sat in Harry's box. He had been assigned the best box in the stadium after the war, to use whenever he liked. Whenever he did visit, it made the front page of the Daily Prophet. She pulled at the hem of her skirt, which Viktor had lowered three inches, chuckling to herself, knowing he only wanted that part of her to be on display to him.
                          
She heard Harry laughing as he entered the box.
"Yeah, I'll catch you later!" He called to his companion before turning and freezing in position seeing a very peeved witch staring him down.
"'Mione! It is so good to see you!" He called to her, rushing over and gathering her up in an awkward embrace.
"It's good to see you too, Harry. Listen, can we talk?" She asked, gesturing down to the plush seats that lined the box.
"Yeah of course. What's up?" He asked, looking nervous. There's no point beating around the bush now, Hermione. Just out and say it. She pepped herself.
"Harry I know about the letters." She said in a flat, matter of fact voice. She saw a panic dance across his features before he looked down at his hands in reverence. He thought to deny the allegations for a moment, but knew that this would do him no favours.
"'Mione, I-" He began apologising and without expecting it, Hermione felt tears pour onto her cheeks.
"Why would you do this to me, Harry? Why would you deceive both Viktor and I in such a horrible way?" She tried, with all of her strength to keep her dignity and soften the crying. But she could not. Her best friend had lied and schemed and it hurt.
                          
A few moments passed as Harry thought of what to say. He knew it was wrong, from the beginning. That tampering with other people's mail was wrong both in the muggle and magical world.
"I can not explain what I did, Hermione. I am sorry. I know that doesn't mean a lot. It was not my idea if that helps at all?" He pleaded to her, wanting her to stop crying more than anything. She looked up at him with curiosity in her eyes.
"Then whose idea was it?" She sniffled, wiping her nose. Harry sighed, he never wanted to get Molly in trouble with Hermione, but she was his friend and he thought he had better start treating her like one.
"Molly Weasley overheard us talking at the Burrow, about Krum and she said she couldn't have the handsome Bulgarian getting in the way of her son's happiness. Hermione, I'm sorry, I thought-" She nodded her head.
"You all thought a lot about what would make me happy." She sighed, other people deciding her fate for too long.
"Hermione we were convinced that Ron would make you happy. We were doing it because we love you, love you both." He attempted to rectify his actions, knowing it was attempted in vain.
"How did you even do it?" She asked, baffled at how the plan had even worked.
"Molly got me to give you a false address, so that the letters would get stopped at the ministry and Mr Weasley could pick them up, bringing them home to the Burrow. Then, when Krum asked me for your address, I gave him mine, so that I could take them to her." Hermione could not believe that they had thought so little of her happiness, only of Ron's.
"He still loves you 'Mione. Would you not just consider-"
"No Harry, although you made your thoughts very clear with the Daily Prophet you sent me, I have moved on with my life and I wish to speak no more about Ronald and his supposed 'love' for me. Goodbye Harry." She stood and stormed out of the room, tears streaming down her face. He had called after her, begging her to wait, saying he knew nothing of the Daily Prophet that had been sent to her. She sighed, realising it must have been the Weasley Mother, how she would fight for her children!
                          
Hermione ran through the sea of tents before bursting through her curtains. She had attempted to hold her tears, but now that she was alone she let them flow. She had been deceived and used to fulfill Ron's fantasy. It was not his fault necessarily, but she felt worthless knowing that Ron's happiness was worth her unhappiness. She gasped loudly as a pair of strong arms scooped her up, carrying her over to the large armchair. Viktor sat and held her as she wept, consoling her and attempting to nurse the fire that burned beneath his skin, as hot as dragons fire, directed at everyone and anyone who had made Hermione feel this way.