Author's Notes: * * indicates POV change //...// indicates thoughts. THANK YOU & much glomps to V.V., Mindy, and Jayne for betaing. THANK YOU THANK YOU! (Reviewers thanks at the bottom)

Not All Sugar And Spice

Chapter Four: Trying

By Lilyria Ali


"I know when he's been on your mind

That distant look is in your eyes

I thought with time you'd realize it's over, over

It's not the way I choose to live

And something somewhere's gotta give

A share in this relationship gets older, older

You know I'd fight for you but how could I fight someone

Who isn't even there

I've had the rest of you now I want the best of you

I don't care if that's not fair

'Cause I want it all,

Or nothing at all,

There's nowhere left to fall when you've reached the bottom it's now

Or never..."


Ron was furious.

No, he wasn't.

Nope. Ronald Matthews Weasley was outraged.

His best friend had just-just left with that little brat and told him to not interfere. He was still storming and fuming outside Dumbledore's office when Hermione lightly touched his arm.


Ron sighed. "Yeah, Herm?"

Hermione was chewing her lip. "Do you think...he wanted to leave?"

A sudden thought flashed through Ron's mind.

What if Harry never forgave him?

He had always assumed Harry never, well, cared. He seriously didn't act like it. He had a distracted look in his eyes all the time, even this year, like he was puzzled over something constantly, but, when Ron asked him about it, he just muttered, "It's complicated".

That was one of the main annoyances in Harry's behavior. It was like Harry felt superior over them, like he knew things and felt things both Ron and Hermione didn't. And it bothered him relentlessly.

Of course, they'd spent a long time over the summer talking about 'it', over and over until Ron could almost memorize the inscriptions on his bedroom wall. Being unskilled in latin, Ron had no idea what they meant, but he could spell them anyways.

But what if Harry never forgave him?

Ron cursed himself silently about his condemnations.

Maybe if he'd been sneakier...just a bit more patient...

"Ron?" Hermione's voice was louder now, to shake him from his reverie.

"Oh. Yeah. Where were we?"

Hermione's lip trembled. "I think Harry never forgave us."

"It was last year!" snapped Ron irritably. "Besides, he's been acting pretty normal all year! He doesn't *hold* grudges that long!"

"He still seems like he's You-Know-Who's enemy," observed Hermione.

"That's different, Herm."

"But we-we..." She didn't seem to be able to say it.

"Password," said Ron to the Fat Lady, who rolled her eyes, muttering darkly about stupid passwords.

"We cheated on him, Ron!" said Hermione once they entered the empty common room.

"He didn't love you, Herm!"

"That's no excuse!" exclaimed Hermione agitatedly.

"Of course it is! You were not in the right relationship!"

"Did you see him when he looked at me? It was..." Hermione wrung her hands helplessly. Ron had never seen her look so in the dark.


"And then there's times you look at me,

As if I'm all that you can see...

Those times I don't believe it's right..."


But the thing was that he did remember how Harry looked at her. Ever since sixth year, his eyes had carried a haunted, blackish shadow. Harry looked like he had nothing to live for, but after he'd hooked up with Hermione, he'd looked at Hermione in such a way that drove Ron crazy. When he set eyes on Hermione, his emerald eyes would light up, sparkling with a kind of happiness, a kind of hope.


"I do love her, Ron, really."

"Harry, I-"

Harry had grinned. "Thanks," he said.

Ron hadn't said anything. Obviously, Harry thought he was congratulating him.

"She's worth living for, really," said Harry wistfully.


Harry patted him on the back fondly. "You'll find your beautiful damsel in distress someday, too."

"Hermione's not in distress!"

Harry's grin widened. "Maybe," he had said.

*End Flashback*

Ron sat down and held his head in his hands.


"How could you, Ron? I trusted you. I loved you. You were like a brother to me." Harry's voice wavered, tears silently rippling down his face.

"Harry-Harry-No, Harry you must understand!"

"There's nothing to understand, Ron. I saw it. I might not have perfect vision, but I think I saw very clearly everything I needed to see."

"Harry, I-Harry, you weren't made for Herm! Harry, I-"

"Considering that *I'm* not made for her, I assume that you are doing me a favor?" Ron didn't like the way Harry's tone had changed. It was suddenly very cold, sarcastic. It was beyond reason. Harry's eyes flashed with a green he'd seen only once, when Dumbledore had stopped Harry's attempt to sneak out of Hogwarts and back to the Department of Mysteries. His eyes weren't their usual soft green, but like icy silver knives.

Ice and metal.

Hate and betrayal.

*End Flashback*

"What have we done?" whispered Hermione.


In his office, Dumbledore smiled as he withdrew a very small blue bottle and a larger, black bottle before absorbing himself in a very interesting read.

"The Lake of Life, also known as the Holy Lake, will not give up its precious waters unless it has a reason for it. So far, only one has been able to bottle up the water and come back unscathed. Nicholas Flamel, inventor of the Sorcerer's Stone (please check index pg. 8,438). Why this occurrence happened we did not know until Albus Dumbledore (please check index pg. 5,103) found that-"


Dumbledore looked up to see Minerva McGonagall standing in the doorway. "Minerva," he said pleasantly, shoving the book calmly into his desk drawer. "Come in."


Pansy Parkinson raised one uninterested eyebrow at Gregory Goyle, Jr. who was trying (and failing horribly) to impress her. "Oh, go bother Millicent," cooed Pansy, trying to contain her annoyance.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah, sweetums." Goyle looked delighted at his new nickname. "Okies," he mumbled, vainly attempting a sexy smirk before bumbling off and leaving Pansy in peace.

Now, thought Pansy very seriously, as she held out a silver-lined book and snuggled up in her favorite position next to the fire, with sufficient light to read. //How I wish I could snuggle up to Draco instead...//she thought longingly, but flicked open the book. //Now, where was that page on love potions...//

As she skimmed the text rapidly, a heading title caught her eye.

"To Kill Love"

Utterly shocked, she closed the book, sending a small puff of dust into the air before she realized exactly what book she'd taken off Draco's shelf.


By Malfoy.


Miles away, Arthur Weasley sighed as he read the Latin script on his youngest son's wall. Who would think? He and Molly never checked, but he'd be damned if the Malfoys would ever forget about the incident four thousand years ago.

Being a Muggle Artifacts worker, Arthur knew Latin, as Muggles (especially Muggle authors, including one called Edder Allen Poke...or something of the like) seemed fond of Latin.

"Never has anything hurt like love,

The way the blade can pierce your heart.

Never has anything hurt like love,

The way your tears seep through your fingers.

Never has anything hurt like love,

The way the whip slaps against your face.

Never has anything hurt like love,

The way nothing seems right anymore.

Never has anything hurt like love,

The way you don't seem to feel.

Never has anything hurt like love,

The way you can't stand the pain.

Never has anything hurt like love,

The way you know you've lost everything."

Arthur smiled very bitterly.

How very true that poem was. And meant only for Weasleys too.

//Don't think of Molly//. Arthur forced himself to begin scrubbing away the brownish script.

Below the poem were sets of anagrams and analogies. If Malfoys weren't known for their hesitance of revealing secrets, Arthur would've thought they had taken a couple too many standardized Muggle reading tests.

Eventually the inscriptions slid from the wall with the grimy gray soap.

One last phrase stood out against the wall before it, too, disappeared alongside the rag.

"That's what love is."


Author's Notes: Heh. I promise, no love potions. No love potions. No love potions. R&R! I only have like what, 9 reviews? *sniff* Please REVIEW!! ^^

Next Chapter: Back to Delhi w/ Harry and Draco!! *blares sappy love tune on a tuba, though I don't know how to play* except this is an angsty story *slaps herself on head*

Mucho encanta (uh...proper grammar?) para Edgar Allen Poe, esp. his story about Fortunato and the cask of something dry sherry. At the end of the chapter he says "Resquisant in pace" or whatever you spell it as in Latin (heh, no memory) which gave me a brainstorm. BTW the poetry, called "How Love Hurts" is solely by me, thank u very much :)

If you have any questions/comments, feel free to email me at: glassy_depths @!

P.S. My friend (aka Felise) had comments about the "only for Weasleys", so I want to clarify. The script can be read *only* by Weasleys, so Harry/Hermione can look at the wall but will see nothing. Good?

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