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But a part of her—a small, indefinable part which she could not shake—felt nothing but sorrow over the news of his betrothal to the beautiful French witch. How could she possibly compete with someone like Fleur Delacour? Of course, there was no competition. He was now engaged; it was done. Nothing she could do would change that fact. She would never be anything more to him than a best friend, and even that would slip away as they matured.
How could this have happened? How had she developed these feelings for her best friend without even realizing it? How had it managed to slip past her over-organized mind, one which was usually so adept at catching every little thing? What was she to do now?
Automatically, she glanced over at her other friend, Ron Weasley, who appeared to be lost in a world of his own. Hermione was not unaware of Ron's feelings for her. He was not the type to hide his emotions; they were usually plain for anyone to see, and Hermione was nothing if not observant. Although she had not been aware of it, her attention had largely been on Harry since he had arrived at Grimmauld Place, and she knew that attention had in turn garnered the attention of her other best friend.
What Hermione did not know was whether she could return Ron's feelings.
Ron was a good friend and while he did occasionally descend into jealous fits and he argued with her incessantly, he was also fiercely protective of her. Hermione had always known there was an even chance she would end up with one of her two best friends, but until now, she had always assumed it would be Harry rather than Ron. She and Harry made a much better match than she and Ron. For one thing, they did not always argue, and while her tendency to boss and nag did annoy him as much as it did Ron (in her own defense, she was learning to curb that particular facet of her personality), she knew her drive and determination helped his sometimes lackadaisical manner, whereas his boundless courage and ability to have fun helped balance her own tendency toward overwork and occasional timidity. She seriously doubted she could have had the courage to punch Malfoy in the third year without Harry's influence.
What did she have in common with Ron? Nothing sprang to mind, but what she did remember were their frequent arguments and Ron's tendency to belittle her achievements and anything with which she found enjoyment.
Still, it was apparent that if she was to end up with one of her best friends, it would be Ron, as Harry was now unavailable. It was a difficult admission to make, but she knew for the good of them both she had no choice but to suppress the feelings she had always harbored for Harry.
But could she transfer those feelings to Ron?
Leaving Harry outside in the waiting room, Jean-Sebastian entered the minister's office, finding the Headmaster and Minister waiting for him, one with a welcoming smile and the other with an exaggerated mask of patience engraved upon his face. Jean-Sebastian barely held back from rolling his eyes at the man—his attitude was only to be expected from such a cowardly excuse for a minister. Hopefully, this meeting would take him down another peg or two.
The office was large and lavishly furnished and decorated. The furniture was of the finest dragonhide, the walls were dotted with paintings, and every nook and cranny was filled with objects and artwork, stowed here and there with little apparent thought to organization or style. It was obviously the office of a man who loved his comforts, and it appeared to be calculated to remind the visitor that the office was occupied and that the occupant was here to stay for the foreseeable future. Taste was certainly not a consideration, if the sometimes gaudy and overdone ornaments were any indication, and there was no thought given to the arrangement or display, except to bludgeon the viewer over the head with the wealth of its owner.
The man needs the services of an expert in interior design, Jean-Sebastian thought with some sardonic amusement. With any luck, he would not occupy the office much longer.
He appeared to have interrupted a conversation between them—one, unless Jean-Sebastian missed his guess, which included a healthy dose of complaints from the Minister. The comments from the Headmaster's side had likely been vaguely placatory but entirely noncommittal. The subject of those complaints, of course, was obvious.
"Have a seat, ambassador," Dumbledore said, waving his hand at one of the chairs.
The Minister glared at the Headmaster, presumably unhappy over Dumbledore's liberality with his office, but he said little, merely echoing the sentiments in a barely civil tone.
Laughing lightly to himself, Jean-Sebastian sat in the indicated chair and gazed at the Minister, wondering what the man's reaction would be to his little announcement. Nothing good, unless he missed his guess.
After a moment of silence, Fudge sighed in an embellished manner and fixed Jean-Sebastian with a glare.
"I'm told by Dumbledore that you requested this meeting, ambassador," he ground out. "If you have something to say, please say it. I am a busy man."
Jean-Sebastian bowed his head, forcing the urge to laugh at the man's pomposity to remain unexpressed. "Indeed, I have, Minister. I have a few reasons for being here now. Foremost is to ensure the things we discussed in the Wizengamot chambers would be implemented without delay."
Fudge fixed him with an unfriendly eye. "Ambassador, I will not lie to you—I am extremely displeased with the outcome of the trial. Your ward has been a thorn in the side of this Ministry since he began attending Hogwarts, and I am not happy with the favoritism he has been receiving and the way we have bent over backward to accommodate a young boy whose only claim to fame was an accident which occurred when he was merely a baby."
"Favoritism? You mean a trumped up trial designed to promote character assassination and a basic denial of rights? Is the favoritism to which you refer?" Jean-Sebastian intervened quietly, his voice deadly serious and unfriendly.
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