halfbloodhill_logs | Covering Bases (Open)

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Covering Bases (Open)

Who: Hermione Granger and whomever happens to cross her path
What: Training/practicing her magic
Where: Near the lake
When: Sunday, August 4th, early evening
Why: Because after the hectic changes that occurred over the last week and a half she doesn't feel like angering any of the other gods

Of course she was secretly smug about the fact that she'd followed the rules this time. She hadn't incurred the wrath of Hera. She did feel slightly sorry for those who had been punished though.

On the other hand, this just pushed Hermione further into the mindset she often waffled on; was she there to learn, or there to make friends and push boundaries? She knew she belonged at Camp because she was a demigod and she knew she was there to train and protect not only her family and others in her home town, but herself.

Her magic was powerful. That much she also knew. Over the last three years that she'd been attending Camp she'd grown stronger and better than she had been as a 13 year old. But she also knew she still had a long way to go. Fire spells and the creation of illusions were impressive, sure, but if she settled for mastering only a few skills where would she be?

She waited until later in the day when the lake was more or less cleared out save for maybe a few of the other campers. They weren't a huge concern though. Not anymore. She was just going to mind her business for once and settle in to recite her incantations and focus on her magic. She's doing her best to keep one eye on her form and one eye on the area around her to ensure nobody sneaks up on her.

Yeah, good luck with that, Granger. It doesn't help that by now it's pretty well-known among her group of acquaintances that she always comes to the same spot.

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"So that's almost like cheating," she shrugged back. "It doesn't make you any more right than me." Sure she was smart and she had a head full of useful and useless facts and she could create spells and enchantments, but she still couldn't properly wield a sword if her life depended on it.

She examined the bow, obtaining an arrow and loading it onto the bow calmly. He was right; se wouldn't shoot him in the face with an arrow on purpose. Accidentally...well, her aim was a lot better if she just focused. She suddenly stopped though upon hearing those words. "How is any of that for good reason?"

"No it's not," he retorted, fishing for the right words, "it's me using my natural talents. You're good at school, I'm good on the field. It's the same." That was her own fault, really, it's not like he isn't trying to teach her.

Taking a step back out of precaution, Ron frowned and flicked open one of the blades on the pocket knife that didn't turn into his sword as a tick. She always had good form, but good form didn't mean anything when you had five seconds to noch and go. He was studying her before she stopped and his eyes went from bow and arms to her face. "What do you mean?" He responded thickly, "Pointing out you'll shoot someone in the eye like that is a good reason. So's telling you about learning to use a weapon."

"It's not the same when we're in a place where you have the advantage." Granted, that's probably how Ron when he was in school with Hermione. The playing field was never even for the two of them.

Her eyes are fixed on that knife in his hands but she'd made sure to perfect her form with graceful lines and strong angles. She did her best to avoid his eyes then, focusing on the tip of the arrow instead. "Never mind, Ron. " It was silly to bring up some of the insensitive things he'd said over the past and even the insensitive things he still says. "I'm not going to shoot eyes out."

"Funny that," he commented, "now you can see how the rest of us feel." He scowled unhappily, giving her a pointed look. Because at least he didn't purposefully try to be better than her.

He wasn't going to stab her with it. He just flicked it open and closed, watching. Strong lines and grace didn't matter much if you couldn't do this faster. He frowned. "Not never mind, go on," he said easily, moving to point to one of the markers out in the lake, "right then. Prove it. See that? You've three chances to hit it square in the middle. Fifteen seconds to nock the arrow and shoot."

"That's hardly my own fault!" she exclaimed. He'd struck a nerve, and he knew it. She was aware of her need to constantly be better than everyone els and her ambitions. That still didn't make everything her fault.

She knew he would never hurt her on purpose. If there was anyone she trusted her whole life with, it was Ronald Weasley. However, she's not stupid enough to look away either as she held her stance with the bow, adjusting the arrow a bit. "Never. Mind." She settled for glaring at him before whirling around to face the markers. She grappled with the arrow a bit, fixing it to adjust it properly and promptly firing it toward the lake. She hit the marker, but on the very edge of the square.

"Fifteen seconds?"

"Course not," he returned, though in part disbelief, "can hardly blame anyone else then, can you?" Because it made them even. Better at opposite things.

Frowning slightly, Ron rolled his eyes at the way she seemed to glare at him like he killed her pet or something. He decided to put the matter aside for the moment, but that didn't mean he would bring it up later. She needed t owork on this more.

"Loosen up. Feel and see at the same time, sort of the trick," he mumbled before giving a nod, "fifteen seconds. You've only two tries left."

"...well," she faltered briefly, stumbling on her words. "Ron if you would just try a little harder..." She knew two things about that phrase. A.) It was useless. They'd had that discussion for ages, too. And B.) It was a statement that was probably going to anger him because she knew he was trying. She knew he tried his hardest but sometimes she felt maybe it could have been just a little more.

She huffed in irritation, trying not to lose her composure as she reset. For as often as she went about correcting everyone else, she hated being corrected herself. She especially hated it when it came to Ron because it was just admitting her flaws. It was a reminder of the first Capture the Flag game all over again where she'd realized she only possessed magical skills and had run off in tears to hide deep in the forest. After that she'd started to learn a variety of weapons, but the only one she had any real grasp on was archery.

"I know how many tries I have left!" she snapped, lining up again and firing off the second arrow. It hit the mark again but still off center. She was definitely thinking too much about the theory and the trajectory rather than feeling the pull of the bow and the dynamic of the arrow itself.

That certainly was the wrong thing to say. Especially as he tensed and glared at her unhappily. "Don't you start," he said icily, "you've no idea what it's like." It was colder than his usual tone with her because he hated this. Or the idea that he didn't try. He did, every day. Sure, he'd kind of just stopped when he got too frustrated-- because nothing worked. And here she was acting like it was some sort of easy fix that he could do like that. It was just like every adult and teacher before who acted like it was him-- and maybe in part it was when he got too frustrated-- but he tried his damnedest along the way.

The tension didn't leave his shoulders as he let out a breath. He wants to not talk, to just walk away and leave her there, but he struggles with it and instead clenches a hand. "Stop thinking about it so much," he said, frowning, "try again before I start counting your time off now."

She immediately regretted it at least, but she doesn't hurry to apologize. Instead she shut her mouth and gave him a muted stare. He was right; she didn't know what it was like to have all of the complications that came with ADHD and dyslexia, but at the same time he didn't know all of the problems that came from having her amount of brilliance. Neither was a great option, in her opinion, but it was an argument they could have another day.

She was much more wary now that he was tense and annoyed. She still chose not to speak, following his instructions and only briefly opening her mouth to protest before closing it again. One more chance...she only had one more chance to prove that she knew what she was talking about and Ron was being ridiculous. She steadied herself, taking more than her allotted fifteen seconds before she fired the last arrow. It sailed through the air and sank into the marker, just a bit off-center but closer than her previous attempts. It was enough for her though and she turned toward her best friend, giving him a smug look.

"I told you. I can handle it just fine."

Because being brilliant was such a bad thing. He knew he could probably give her a run if he wasn't as bad off as he was-- or if he really cared so much about English, science, and history-- but he was. So he could read Ancient Greek with ease and repeat people back to them, normally in their own voice, but that was it. So he stared her down, easily enough. Because she didn't know what it was like and never would.

Folding his arms he scowled as he watched her. At least she seemed to be listening to him. Finally. But he winced slightly when she shot and still managed to be somewhat off. So when she turned to look smugly at him he gave her a look. Shaking his head, he moved to pry the bow from her hand and grabbed an arrow. In a matter of seconds he set the arrow and shot-- not bothering to watch as it sailed through the air and hit its mark dead center.

"You took longer and you were still off," he said easily, "even the slightest bit off in a monster's armor and you'll be dead. You've got to see and do. All this theory and perfect stance isn't gonna do you much good when you go slow and still miss."

The smug look slid off of her face. She knew it wasn't perfect and yes that bothered her, but it was still enough to prove her point, wasn't it? Obviously not. She set her shoulders, suddenly tense herself, as she let him take the items from her and shoot with ease. Instead of responding, she'll murmur a spell under her breath to retrieve new arrows. Magic was her strength. Physical combat was his. She was embarrassed nevertheless but she wasn't going to show it. The ease he had frustrated her, and the fact that he was in the power position suddenly frustrated her, too. It was a major flaw of hers and something she tried to work on, but it seemed like it was only Ron who could unnerve her this badly.

"I am seeing and I am doing!" She ground out, clutching onto the arrows she'd just summoned. "I didn't come out here to practice this."

Slinging the bow over his shoulders, he rolled his eyes when there was suddenly magically more arrows. Folding his arms across his chest, Ron's eyes trained on her. The more she tried to force her point the more she put his point more at center focus. She was, inevitably, proving him right.

"It shouldn't be the only thing you practice," Ron shot back, squaring his jaw. He waved a hand towards the marker. "You know just as much as the rest of us celestial bronze's the only way that actually works. But you've always been hiding behind your damned magic. Even when we were kids. You hate being worse at something than someone," he continued, leaving that to hang, "so practice. 'Cause the first time you can't rely on your magic you'll be dead. You'd be brilliant if you just practiced. Instead you go and run from the one thing you're half-bad at. What do you expect, eh?"

She was talking herself into a corner and she knew it.

"It's not the only thing I practice. I practice with my own weapons at least twice a week." But definitely not as often as she practiced her magic. She wasn't in the Arena as much as some of the other campers, rather spending time learning about the celestial bronze and analyzing what her best options would be should she choose to forgo the bow. She took another few steps back as though he'd just struck her across the face, very unhappy with the way the conversation just flipped. There wasn't really any way to deny Ron's accusations without looking foolish, but she there wasn't any way to agree with him without looking equally foolish.

"And what are you going to do the first time you can't rely on strategy and pure physical combat alone?"

"Twice a week. For what, an hour? The rest of us do it every day for hours and you know it," he said calmly, pulling a face. He knew she was just trying to get at that she did it at this point. But comparitively it wasn't enough. He has to snort at her remark though and raise a brow. "Then I'm dead anyway, aren't I?" Ron said, "Celestial bronze is the only thing that can really kill a monster. So if it's not working then I'm either decapitated or they're invincible. I don't need magic to defend myself-- not that I've much choice."

How he could still be calm at a time like this Hermione failed to understand. Didn't he realize what he was still implying? All she seemed to be hearing was that her magic wasn't good enough. Even though, rationally, she knew celestial bronze was the only material strong enough to kill monsters, she wanted to believe she could make things work strictly with her natural gifts. If she tried hard enough, if she was clever enough...there had to be a way around it.

"Well I do. Why can't you understand that?"

"I understand it just fine," Ron said roughly, "but you're the one ignoring the facts." Scowling down at her, he shrugged a shoulder unhappily. Slipping his hand into his pocket he breathed out. "So what happens when you meet a monster you can't defeat?"

"I'm not ignoring facts!" She hated when he was unhappy with her (even though it was fairly often.) They always managed to work through it after a few hours but when he was really upset? She never knew how to deal. She turned away from him so he couldn't see the expression on her face before mirroring his shrug.

"I don't know. If I can't defeat it with magic, then I'll pull back and re-strategize."

That just earned another snort. It didn't even warrant a "you are" or any such thing. Instead he kept his eyes on her and tried to focus. It was difficult because beyond buzzing anger- -well-- why was it like this anyway? He hated when she was mad at him and it wasn't even intentional.

Still, he had to scoff and speak up, "So in other words wing it, eh?"

A pause.

"S'a good thing you've me around."

Edited 2013-08-07 06:38 (UTC)

She didn't even give him a verbal response. Instead, she turned her back on him completely and began to walk away. She had a feeling he would follow her since she was heading for the main area of the camp, but she wasn't going to speak yet.

How dare he. How dare he say such a thing to her. She wasn't a damsel in distress that constantly needed his protection! Didn't he see that he needed her more than the other way around? Hermione had always been a compassionate girl, set to be a protector of the people like her mother and ready to fight those who attacked those she cared about. As she got older, she later came to the conclusion that one of the reasons she was so drawn to Ron was the fact that she could sense it; she could sense his loneliness and his bitterness that came from jumping between families. She could sense his anger and frustration for not being able to do his school work correctly. And she knew she could sense it because she felt the same things.

It always got under her skin when he made comments like that. It wasn't that she didn't trust people, and it wasn't that she didn't want to have close relationships with people. It was simply that she often times took on everything alone so that she could keep people safe. Why should Ron risk his neck to protect her when she was more than capable of surviving? Sure, it wasn't as polished of a plan as one crafted by an Athena kid, but she was clever. She could make things work in her favor.

If Ron was watching her back close enough, he might notice the movement of her shoulders. When she first started walking away, she had been tense and upset, ready to lash out and maybe punch him in the shoulder. As she continued to walk though her shoulders began to slump into defeat and shame even though she refused to look back and see if he was still there.

Yeah. It was a good thing she had him around, but at the same time it terrified her to know that he was almost too loyal to her. She didn't know what to say to him though, arms moving to fold over her chest in a protective sort of manner and eyes trained on the ground.

"...dinner's soon," she said quietly, but that was all she managed before she stopped speaking again and continued walking.

He said it because it was true. Not that he didn't think she was incapable of doing things. That wasn't it. He'd said as much a few minutes prior. But he knew even as a demigod she hated fighting. She avoided it-- she could stick up for herself when she wanted but, really, she was a nurturer. Not the other way around. Not a person who could see the need for someone sacrificing themselves in a battle. She'd always try to find a way around that and sometimes that wasn't possible.

He knew it. And he knew there would come a time where someone was going to die in some battle-- and it was going to be in a way where there was no other option. He could live with that, but he knew she'd hate it and beat herself up. That was why he was there, because at the end of the day when there needed to be someone who understood he was there. If, gods forbid, something had happened and a quest hinged on getting something back he knew she wouldn't be capable of leaving someone to fight if needed.

That was where their differences lie.

Ron knew he needed her, too. That had never been a problem. In the same way, it troubled him knowing how much he needed her. How many she needed to be around or to be safe or to not leave him. All of them, at once, jumbled in his stomach, he needed her for all of them and so much more. They were the reasons he was bound and determined to keep her safe, too, rather or not she liked it. She was home as much as this place was and maybe one day she'd understand that. Maybe. If he could voice it.

Instead, his throat filled with the cottony feeling as, indeed, he did follow her. His footsteps were heavy and his blue eyes bore into her skull. Even here he was a bit of an outcast, wasn't he? Ginger, blue eyes, not being so academic-- he wasn't really like his siblings either. Athena kid, sure, but at least it felt like Hermione belonged with her siblings-- he wasn't really sure about an oddity like him.

What was he even supposed to say or do? H e'd said the truth. Ron was doing it again, and he knew it. That was why he felt so uncomfortable when he took in her posture and heard her words. Even as his stomach rumbled dismally all he could do was clear his throat.

"Yeah, right," he mumbled, letting out a breath. And then, purely on instinct, his feet carried him the few strides closer and he made to grab for her arm.

"--Hermione."

Ron would know better than anyone at this point that sometimes facts could be waved right in Hermione's face and she wouldn't notice or she'd misinterpret things if she was emotionally driven at the moment. It had always been a problem of hers; panic and frustration never seemed to go well with her common sense. Still...she also wouldn't consider herself a nurturer if anyone ever pointed it out. She cared of course. She cared a little too much sometimes, but she was also blunt and she also knew when to point out people's flaws and let them know when things were their own fault. Because of that she was supposed to be better. She was supposed to be someone that had it all together.

Spot on, Ronald. Battles happened. Wars happened, but did death on their side always have to happen? She would have preferred the answer to be no. If she had her way she'd be able to use her gifts for the good of the world to keep demigods safe and the monsters at bay without anyone getting hurt. But she didn't have her way. She knew it, and Ron knew it, but it never made these discussions easier to accept.

Sometimes Hermione thought maybe things between them would be easier if they actually sat down and talked about things. But that required talking, and somehow both of them were not great at deciphering things. Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon (in her opinion) most of the time, and she always worked under the assumption that she was acting irrationally when she dwelled on her feelings too much. So what if the Aphrodite kids gave her something of an inferiority complex? So what if Ron said things to hurt her feelings? She had to move on, but sometimes it got to be a little much and that's when the yelling started. It was a lot more complicated than she bothered letting on. They were just friends that felt the need to look out for one another...yeah, right.

The truth, as it often does, hurt. It hurt a lot today for reasons she couldn't even explain and she thought it was better to take the flight route than the fight route. She jumps slightly when his hand finds her arm though and she stops even if she isn't facing him.

"I get it, Ron," she said, though the bite that was present earlier was completely gone. "You don't have to explain it again." Or perhaps he did. She just didn't want to hear it anymore.

Ron looked uneasy. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say or do around her. He tried. Damned if he didn't, really. Because she meant as much to him as his adopted family did, if not more on some days. But it was just so hard and frustrating. There was a lot he understood about her but then she got emotional and it was the most he could do to not pull his hair out in frustration. If there was one thing he wasn't capable of understanding it was emotion. People's stances? Sure. Why they feel a certain way? Never. And it was especially difficult with her.

His throat continued to have the thick cottony feeling when she finally stops. She doesn't turn back and for a moment it doesn't seem like she's even going to speak to him. His mind worked to find something-- anything-- to say but instead it fumbled. It knew what it wanted to say. Ron knew it did. At often times he could pinpoint exactly what he wanted to say and when he needed to, but instead it never came out right. This didn't even come out right, did it? How was it he could manage find on a chess board or fighting a monster but put him in a place where emotions and talking were somehow involved together he couldn't say a word? Well, no, he could say plenty, it all just came out dumb.

"No, I do," he mumbled lowly.

A swallow.

Another pause.

"Look," he tried, his voice weighty, "I don't want you to get hurt, all right?" That was a good place to start-- a good place to work with. He scrunched up his face, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. How he wanted to say it. Somehow he thought saying she was one of the most important things in the world to him aside from his family was a bad idea. It would probably come out wrong. Not that everything didn't with him.

So he swallowed again.

"I need you. Same as you need me, I reckon," he managed, thickly, "but that doesn't mean I don't see you and don't know you. So I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you're safe. Even if you hate me for it." Because he knew she did when he tried pushing her to overcome her fears and worries, but someone had to do it.

Another pause. He wants to add something else in--it's bubbling in the surface, but he exhales and let's her go.

"That's it then, suppose."

On the one hand, she had to give him credit. She knew he definitely tried there even if in the end somehow they always made it worse. These conversations and trying to work through every argument had become more frustrating especially in the last year or so. They were sixteen. She'd be seventeen in September and she still felt like they were those two eleven year olds who couldn't stand each other. The difference now, of course, was that she was a lot more wiling to listen to him.

When he spoke she turned her head a fraction to look at him, and it was blatantly obvious she was holding back frustrated tears. She hated crying. Hated it with a passion, yet somehow even after all this time she could be reduced to tears if people knew the right buttons to press. She was actually a little surprised that he was admitting anything to her.

"…we're not children anymore," she replied, though she still sounded unsure. For as often as she reprimanded him for not understanding people's emotions, she was just as bad when it came to emotions revolving around her. She honestly didn't even think it was anything more than Ron felt it was his duty to protect her because they were childhood friends. He'd do this for anyone he felt especially close to, and she knew that. But she also knew that only meant his adoptive family and her, and that's where her brain often got hung up. She let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding once those three words registered in her brain.

I need you.

She finally turned to face him completely even though she was still having a hard time looking at him. "…you're right." There. He could have that victory, at least. "You know me better than anyone else here. Probably better than anyone in my whole life." And in a way it still sort of scared her. She knew that Ron knew nearly every trick in the book to get her to semi-cooperate and she knew he'd push her time and time again whether she was ready or not. "Depending on what you do, I might really hate you." Not true. She'd be angry and she might try to light his eyebrows on fire again, but hate was too strong of a word. It was hard to say if it was because she trusted him or because she had no choice.

No, that was a lie, too. She trusted him more than she'd ever tell him.

"…that's it?" She looked up then, clearly confused. No. No, there was something else there, but she wasn't going to push him for answers yet. She was hoping he'd do it on his own (even though she had a strong feeling that wasn't the case.)

He shifted his weight, blue eyes boring into her until they finally drifted away. They were always going to argue. That had been their thing from day one. If their mothers had decided they needed each other they chose the wrong kind of people. They were both stubborn and opposite in very bad ways for agreeing on things. But, oddly, it worked in the end. Where they butted heads was where they needed the other most at, but that wasn't something Ron was going to think of and even say outloud.

There was a shrug. "So?" He quipped, quirking a brow, "that doesn't man I want you getting hurt any." Because, frankly, he wouldn't know what he would do if she did. He knew himself. In most situations he was fine in a fight, but there were times when his friends got hurt that he acted instinctively. All that Athena always has a plan business went out the window and all he saw was blind rage. That wasn't exactly a good thing. And he knew what it meant for him, too, and he wasn't going to let her fall on that side.

Feeling his ears heat up as she turned to him at his words, Ron's feet shuffled him backwards a foot or so. Hands hanging uselessly at his side as he avoided all eye contact. He didn't look up even as she began speaking. He knew it , all of it. They needed each other. He knew her at least half as well as she knew him. At least half because, well, it wasn't like he was all that good with people. It didn't change the fact that he knew she was brilliant and thereby would definitely know more about him.

Still, he managed to crack again and speak. "Yeah, well, then I'm doing what I need to," he said wolfishly, glancing up. Because if he was going to make her hate him it was going to be for a good reason. Make her-- that didn't mean by accident or some such, as he feared, but truly meant to. Right now he was far from that. He just wanted her to realize she wasn't leaving regardless.

When she speaks again his throat returns to the cottony feeling but for a different reason all together. He nods. Once, twice, then three times.

"S-suppose, yeah," he said with a swallow, face scrunched up, "well-- I mean-- there's something but I suppose it's not important..."

It was odd that they were more opposite than they were similar. Maybe odd wasn't the right word, but they were the most literal case of opposites attract that Hermione had ever come across. Attract, of course, being in the literal sense…not…not that other sense. Not really.

It was complicated, as usual. They had their moments where they got along and they were kind to one another, but usually they were supportive by pointing out when the other was being idiotic. They showed each other they cared by infuriating each other and forcing them to act. It was silly to pretend it was anything but, and that's where she always got caught up.

"Obviously," she shot back, quirking her own brow. She didn't even have to say that the feeling was mutual. "If it does happen though, promise me you'll try to control it." It, of course, being his rage. She'd seen hints of it when they were young, when he would jump in to chase off the childhood bullies. As they grew she learned it was actually sort of fatal. She refused to be responsible for that, and she refused to let him go that far.

She blinked as he stepped away, tears gone and replaced with a questioning look. 'And just where do you think you're going?' "There are other ways to get a point across without humiliating me. You know that, don't you?" Nevertheless she's less flustered now. "Besides…hate would be a hard thing to accomplish," she added airily. That was much easier to say than 'I could never hate you.' It was also safer; who knew where their friendship would be a year from now? Not even that far. Who know where they'd be even a month out from now? Life as a demigod meant unpredictability.

She took another step forward, still keeping space between them. Her brown eyes were busy staring at him imploringly, definitely curious as to what else he might have to say. "What is it?"

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