Never Let Go

As far as ideas went, this was arguably one of the stupidest that Emilia had ever had in her life and the fact that Harry had deemed it absolutely necessary to carry it out, made her wonder whether or not there was something off in his brain, because there had to be something wrong with a person that’s willing to get punched in the face . . . there just had be. And as Emilia walked alongside him, she wondered if she might be able to have him institutionalized for a few days, just to get out of punching him, but as he slipped into the routine they’d spent the night working on, she knew there was no getting out of it. Their plan was in full swing and she just had to hope that everything would work out like they’d planned.

“So do you think our parents are happy? With us being friends and all?” asked Harry, this was the seventh time he’d brought up their parents since they’d started walking to class, this was the mention that was meant to set it all up.

Emilia’s hands balled into fist at her side, she forced her brow to start twitching violently, she needed – she had to seem genuinely fed up with Harry’s incessant mentioning of their parents. She was determined to do it well so that any injury that Harry sustained, wouldn’t be in vain.

“You think it’s possible for you to stop fucking talking about our parents?” she snapped.

Harry stopped walking just as they were at the entrance to their Potions classroom. “Everything alright?” he asked.

“Is everything alright?” she repeated, her voice dangerously low. “Is everything alright?!” her voice grew louder, startling the students that were walking through the corridors. “No, HARRY! Everything isn’t alright. And do ya wanna know why things aren’t alright? They’re not alright because you won’t stop going on and on about our parents! I'm fucking sick of listening to you drone on about them. Guess what? They’re dead. They’ve been dead for ages now so just . . . just forget about them! Just stop mentioning them in every single conversation we have!”

“Just cuz you don’t care about your parents doesn’t mean I don’t!” Harry shot back.

“Come on guys, you don’t mean this, you –” from beside them Ron tried to act as peacemaker, he didn’t want his two mates going at one another.

“Like hell I don’t!” bellowed Emilia. “I'm sick of you, Harry. Everyone always all like you’re so fucking amazing, but you’re not, you’re pathetic and even though you pretend that you hate the attention, you know you love it, because if you weren’t the boy who lived, no one would give a damn about you!”

“Oh. I'm pathetic?”

“Did I stutter when I said that? Don’t think I did, but in case you had trouble hearing me, let me say that again, YOU’RE PATHETIC!”

“At least my parent’s LOVED me!” cried Harry.

Emilia grew even more flustered. “My parent’s loved me to!”

“Really?” he sneered. “Because both my parents died for me, but for you . . . if I remember right, your mum died for you but then your dad killed himself and I bet he did it so he wouldn’t have to deal with such an annoying brat!”

And that was it. That was the moment that Emilia was supposed to punch him in the face. Harry hadn’t wanted to say those things, he’d told her that they were to cruel a thing for him to say, even to Malfoy, but she’d persisted. If she was going to punch him, she needed a good reason to punch him and there was no better reason than that. No better reason. And so, amidst the gasps echoing throughout the corridor, Emilia took a step back, lifted her right arm into the air and sent it hurling towards Harry.

Students watched in mute horror as her knuckles violently collided against his pale nose, breaking it instantaneously and clearing the way for a gush of blood to shoot from it. No one had thought that their argument would end in a fistfight. They’d seen the pair walking around the castle, laughing happily in each others presences, but apparently their friendship hadn’t been as strong as everyone had thought. In the crowd, there was only one person looking on in intrigued amusement. It was Draco. He, like everyone else, had thought her friendship with Harry to be strong, almost as strong as Ron’s. And to know that he’d been wrong about that, made him wonder what else he’d been wrong about in relation to her. She wasn’t obsessed with Saint Potter like everyone else. She hated him. After punching Harry in the face, Draco had reason to believe that she would now be enemies with Harry . . . she would be the enemy of his enemy . . .

The first to react to the punch was Ron, he launched himself at Emilia, pulling her away from the bleeding Harry as Hermione tried to clean the mess up with a handkerchief. She thrashed in his arms, wailing at the top of her lung for him to let her have another go at Harry. Ron said nothing. He was far too confused and upset to speak. All he did was hold, her, his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, pressing her back to his stomach and lifting her a few inches off the ground. He may not have comprehended why they’d all of a sudden started hating each other, but one thing he knew was that he wasn’t about to let Emilia hit Harry again. He didn’t want Emilia to get into more trouble than she already would. He didn’t want Harry to sustain anymore injuries.

“Out of my way!” bellowed Professor Slughorn. “Come on look alive! Move! Go on!” the students cleared a path, letting him make his way through them with little inconvenience to himself. “Harry? And Emilia?” he shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t believe it! You two . . . fighting . . . oh no, no, no, no! This can not be. But there it is the blood on his shirt and on her knuckles.” Professor Slughorn was not a man that made it a habit of punishing students, but on this occasion he knew there must be a punishment, although his favor for one student would save them from it. “Weatherby,” he spoke to Ron. “Please be so kind as to escort Miss Renner to Professor Dumbledore’s office. I shall send a note directly. He’ll know what to do.”

“But it was just a fight.” Ron blurted out. “Won’t a detention be enough?”

“Weatherby, take her to Dumbledore’s office now.” Professor Slughorn repeated.

Ron nodded and relinquished his hold on Emilia. “Let’s go then.”

“And Miss Granger,” he turned to face the frizzy haired youth. “Escort Harry to the Hospital Wing, that nose of his needs tidying up, isn’t that right?”

“Professor, I'm fine, really,” Harry looked up, not wanting to go at the same time because it could make Draco think that this was a diversion they created to get out of class at the same time.

“But the blood –”

“I’ll clean it up myself.” Harry interjected. He would go to the Hospital Wing after class ended. For the meantime, he’d just have to deal with the pain.

“Very well,” Professor Slughorn patted his coat. “Weatherby, pick up the pace!” he ordered. “And all of you, get into class, there’s a lot to cover today.”

In the near distance, Emilia walked alongside Ron, still pretending to seethe in anger. She wouldn’t be able to talk to him until they were at least a few more corridors away. There was a broom closet on the way to Dumbledore’s office and it was there that she planned on explaining everything to him. She hoped he wouldn’t be to cross at her. The look he gets whenever he’s upset isn’t one she’s particularly fond of, in fact, she absolutely hates it.

“Mind explaining that bit back there?” he asked.

Emilia didn’t respond.

“You really not gonna say anything? Bloody hell, Emi, that’s not like you to act that way. I know Harry acted a right git when he said that about your dad, but you shouldn’t have provoked him like that. Only talks so much about his parents with you, because yours knew his. That’s all. Doesn’t do it to be a git, really, he doesn’t.”

There was no response from her.

“Why you being cross with me?” Ron bellowed. “You’re the one that just punched my best mate. You shouldn’t be cross with me! I should be cross at you. Just stop, look at me, will you?!”

Emilia grabbed his hand and pulled him forwards, towards the broom closet up ahead. He shot her a questioning look, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she pushed him inside and then magically locked the door with her wand. This was it. The moment of truth and she hoped that it would go alright. The last thing she wanted was to have Ron mad at her. He was too important to her, too dear to her.

Ron stared at her in silence, his breathing hitching when she lifted her gaze to meet his. The broom closet was small. There was hardly enough space for one person, let alone two, which meant that their bodies were pressed right against one another. He could feel her chest rising and falling against his own, her legs brushing his. His hormones were running wild, making his heart pound violently within his chest. Bloody hell, he hated being a teenage boy. All he ever seemed to think about anymore was her. Sometimes it was great, but other times it just felt wrong to be imagining all the things he was imagining, about his best mate.

“Ron,” she whispered his name softly, almost pleadingly. “I'm real sorry about what happened with Harry. I can explain it though. Just give me a chance and promise not to get mad at me. Please?”

“What do ya mean, explain? You punched Harry in the face. Nothing more to it . . .”

“There is.” Emilia took in a breath, struggling to calm her nerves. “Ron, please promise you won’t get mad at me. Please promise you won’t be cross.”

“Emilia . . .”

“Ron, please.”

“Alright, alright, I promise,” he grumbled.

“That fight . . . well, it wasn’t really a fight.”

“Not a fight?” he laughed. “That was a proper fight if I’ve ever seen one. Harry didn’t punch back, but that’s because he can’t hit girls, not right for a bloke to do that.”

“It wasn’t a proper fight, because we planned it.”

“Y-y-you planned it?”

She dropped her gaze, ashamed by their decision. “It was the only way for Draco to want to be friends with me again. I just sort of blurted it out and Harry thought we should do it. Told him it was a stupid thought but he thought it was worth doing and we carried it out and the only reason we didn’t tell you was because we needed a genuine reaction from you and Hermione!” she blurted out.

“So you two made me think my best mates were actually fighting just to get a reaction out of me?” he was hurt, his voice made that perfectly obvious. “Did you think I’d be alright, seeing you two go at it? I thought I was gonna have to choose a side. I thought . . .”

“Ron,” she whimpered, gently cupping his right cheek in her hand. “I'm sorry.”

His eyes closed instantly, his breathing grew softer as he relished in the feel of her flesh against his.

“I didn’t want to lie to you. Neither of us did, but we wanted to convince Draco that the fight was real. And I'm sorry, so, so sorry for having kept the truth from you. It was stupid of us.” Her face searched his for any reaction. “Ron?”

He opened his eyes, instantly regretting his decision, because the moment his brilliant blue orbs met her stormy grey ones, he forgot his anger and wanted nothing more than to bring the warmth back to them.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, alright?” his breath tickled her upper lip. “Don’t care what you’re planning with Harry. Just tell me. I’ll practice reactions. Do whatever I’ve got to do, but don’t keep me in the dark, Emilia. That’s not right. Not after knowing each other for ages.”

Emilia, overjoyed by what he’d said, threw her arms around his neck and nestled her face into the crook of his neck. “You’re amazing Ronniekins.”

“What have I told ya about calling me that?” he complained, playfully.

Emilia moved her head so she was staring him directly in the face. “You say a lot of things Ron, can’t keep track of all of them. And anyways, I happen to like Ronniekins.”

“Do ya now?”

“I do, my dear Ronniekins.”

And then she went to peck his cheek, as she had done so many times before, but this time . . . this time it was different. This time it wasn’t just a simple peck on the cheek, the sort of thing that friends do. This time there was a spark that ignited deep within their beings. Ron knew what that was. It was a feeling he’d gotten very well acquainted with in the last few months, but Emilia – she’d never felt it before. Not towards Ron, at least. The only time she’d ever felt something remotely close to it was when she’d kissed Lazlo, but even then it had been a more subdued feeling. It was nothing compared to what she’d just felt.