"It was the shine and glint of the sun on Hermione's skin and glasses that moved Harry through the back door and across the hot tiles, his reflection flying across the water of the pool and his shadow reaching up her legs as he stepped to where she lay." All Hermione ever wanted was a minute of quiet, but he never gave it to her. Neither of them ever gave it to her. But in these moments of no pretending, it wasn't what mattered.
(Not really angsty. More...reflective.) It's Christmas, a day Harry's never had before. Not like this. " Just me and...and you. Just me and you, laying down together and just...looking up from under a Christmas tree. I've never done that. I've never had...this kind of quiet."
This wasn't what Ginny had expected to find when she showed up. "But now here they were, and it was written right in front of her in stolen glances she'd been forced to witness and god knew how many hugs and kisses they'd spared her. Still, she plowed on –maybe if she could just remind him of what it'd been like when Hermione wasn't the only girl in his life."
(Maybe a bit angsty/humorous...) It's Halloween, the anniversary of when they all became friends...and Hermione's alone, with only a pumpkin to smile at her. What, pray tell, will brighten up her night?
(The H/Hr is more hinted at then anything. But still--give a chance. It's romantic in it's way.) She seated herself between them, the fabric of each of their tight-fitting clothes touching. She gripped Ron's elbow and kissed Harry's cheek, as the quiet bells of the old Grandfather clock struck and the Witching Hour ticked into place.
"I just need..." she sniffed again. A small rub of her back by Harry's hand seemed to coax the rest of what she needed out of her. Voice breaking and muffled, she said, "I just need to be with the people who love me." Hermione misses her family. Can Harry make her understand?
"Considering this is the sixtieth time you haven't been able to find the correct key for the correct lock--which, by the way, works out to twice every day for the last month--and considering that none of those times have resulted in some sort of Dark-Wizard infiltration, I think it's safe to conclude that the door has simply whooped your arse. ...Again."
"...Well, then, using your own logic, I know that you're in love with Harry. You may just not know it yet, because no one has pointed it out to you, isn't that right? So I am now. You. Are in love. With Harry. And it wants to be freed."
"Please. Ron, I need you to hear me...I know I--neither of us have any right to ask anything of you now. But--but--," she faltered for a moment, and he could hear her swallow. "But...because you love me, I need you to just hear me. To look at me." 'You always hurt the ones you love' never rang so true.
While keeping watch on desperate, pleading Ginny, Hermione considers the 'love' in her own life. "There was no desperation with him, no pain that Ginny had described with such passion and anguish. Ron had, quite simply, told Hermione that he loved her, one day. And…the easiest thing to do at the time was to just say it back. That was all." One-shot.
And now, moving his hand from his swelling eyes to look at the girl he could barely recognize, he understood, all at once, that it was his fault. Every bit of what she had gone through was because of what he had done to her first.