~~ 11 ~~
Change of Heart
"Fear makes you fragile darling
Hate is so heavy when you're weak
Now we're both lost in anger
When we're alone we'll find some peace."
--Goo Goo Dolls
My throat is so constricted by this point that I can barely force the air through my wind passage. Once again, my brain seems to have been numbed by some inner force that is just as fierce as the chill that has rendered my fingers useless and unfeeling. I long to swallow the lump that has risen in my throat, but that is just not possible. Even the fact that Ron is standing there, glowering at me with something as close to disgust as I've ever seen him direct at me, isn't enough to stop my mind from exploding in questions and confusion.
What did I just do? Have I gone utterly and irrevocably mad? I must have! What on earth gave me the idea to kiss her? Not a handshake, not a hug-hell, not even a peck on the cheek-a kiss! Where did that come from? What deeply buried part of my soul rose up and took control of me in that instant?
But I can't hold my indignant denial for long. The fact is, I know perfectly well where the urge to do what I did came from. Since the end of fourth year, when Hermione kissed me on the cheek during our departure from King's Cross Station, I've toyed with exactly how I felt for her. My understanding that Ron, my best friend, also harbored somewhat of a crush for her kept my own feelings at bay. But once she seemingly betrayed us, I had plenty of time to stew over exactly how I felt. I realized that I had liked her-I stopped trying to keep it hidden from myself. And now, with the sudden, solid understanding that all these years she wasn't the evil Dark supporter I'd assumed she was, I had longed let her know how I felt before some outer force took her from me again.
She hadn't looked all too pleased right off, either. She'd almost pushed me away, and even though she didn't, once I pulled away, she wasn't exactly grinning. She looked horrified, and shocked, and a variety of other emotions-none of which could exactly be called positive. True, I hadn't had much time to examine her expression before Ron intruded on the moment-something that left me feeling even more conflicted inside-but I could feel my heart sinking nevertheless.
"Well?" Ron demands after several moments of heavy silence. "Are you going to say anything, or are we going to stand here gaping at each other until our limbs drop off from frostbite?"
Ron's sarcasm hasn't changed much, but I can tell that this is not an attempt at humor, but rather an angry comment spoken to get some rise out of Hermione or I. I send a backward look at Hermione, who is still sitting on the steps, staring at Ron. Her cheeks are red and she is seemingly unable to speak. I sigh, knowing that even had she been willing and able to talk, anything she could say Ron would turn against her.
I level my gaze at Ron, who is tensed and looks ready to jump on me at any second. Realizing just how wound up he is right now, I know that it is best not to take the hostile approach. Ron's on a razor's edge right now, teetering dangerously between control and blinding rage. Should I say the slightest thing to provoke him, he'll go flying off to the wrong side. I've seen Ron in such a state before, thought the emotions that had been toying with him then had not been quite the same. Right after Hermione's 'betrayal', after he'd learned of his parent's death, he'd been in a state much like this. It had not been pretty. While Ron's always had a short fuse, I'd never seen him as uncontrollable as I had that night. Now, in an effort to prevent that from happening again, I fight to keep my voice even and emotionless as I say, "Ron, we-the three of us-need to have a talk."
He shakes his head in a short, abrupt manner, and stares at me, refusing to look at Hermione. "No. You and I-we'll talk. There is no 'the three of us'. The three of us ended a long time ago. Now there's the two of us, and quite unfortunately, the traitor."
I feel my temper rising, but I still fight to keep my voice even. "She's not a traitor. I'm sure you've been informed by now about what we just did. I got the evidence I needed. Everything has been a big misunderstanding, and the three of us-yes, the three of us, because Hermione deserves a say-are going to talk, even if I have to put you under a full-body bind."
I immediately see that making this threat was a poor choice. Ron's wand is out now, quivering in my face, before I can even reach for mine. I raise my hands a little over my head, the way Muggles often do in television cop shows.
"All right," I say. "I won't curse you, if you will just hear us out."
Ron's eyes flash in uncertainty. At last, he sets his mouth once more in a grim line. "I'll hear you out. Not her."
I am ready to release a chorus of choice words for Ron, but realize that doing so with his wand mere inches from my nose is most likely a bad idea. I look back at Hermione, who looks frightened and saddened by Ron's reaction. Never in our Hogwarts days was Ron so violent towards anyone. It must shock her to see him react so coldly towards me-and it must hurt her to know that she will never be anything more than a traitor in his eyes.
At last, I nod. At least Ron has come here with enough of an open mind to listen to me. And if I can get him to believe what I say, then maybe, with time and effort, he can start to listen to Hermione too. I knew even before we put our plan into action that it would take more than my word to convince Ron that she is truly on our side. It will take a lot of time, but I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to reconcile them. I'd give anything to have the three of us together again. Not the way we were before of course; that could never happen. We've been through too much, seen too much, done too much, and been hurt too badly to ever return to the way we'd been. But that doesn't mean there's no chance for us to be the trio again. A different trio, yes; but a trio nonetheless. And now that there seems a good, solid chance of that happening, I don't intend to let it go.
Ron tilts his head toward the door, aims his wand at it, mutters, "Aperio!" It opens immediately, narrowly missing the back of Hermione's head in the process. She scuttles backward quickly, and I bite back a comment. I know Ron did that on purpose, and even had Hermione been sitting just a little closer where the door would have hit her, he'd have done it anyway.
"Inside," he says bluntly, his eyes darting between Hermione and I nervously, as though expecting one of us to curse him the moment his back is turned.
My patience with his attitude is dwindling, but I nod as respectfully as I can and walk up the steps and into the building. I cast a small look back at Hermione, who is standing some distance away by the fence, her eyes on me, face unreadable. I momentarily consider mouthing at her something reassuring, but decide against it.
Once we are both inside, Ron closes the door sharply behind me. The slight increase in temperature makes me worry slightly for Hermione. Despite her assurances that the cold air had been doing her good, that would only be true for so long. It was far too cold to be outside for any extended period of time. She didn't even have a wand to warm herself with.
I dare not mention my concerns to Ron-whom I am glaring at as he warms his hands by the dying fire-for I would run the risk of angering him. The only way for me to make him see reason is for me to keep him as calm as I possibly can. I know how difficult he is to reason with under normal circumstances, but that is to say nothing of how he is when he's angry. It feels ridiculous, being so overly conscious of keeping my best friend in a stable frame of mind, but I know that it is the only way I can do this.
As I watch, Ron conjures two armchairs with a flick of his wand and positions them so that they are near the fire and facing each other. Before sitting down himself, he looks up at where I still stand by the rear exit. The silence is broken only by the soft crackles of the flames. He motions at the empty armchair across from him. "I didn't summon a second chair to rest my feet on, you know," he comments. His tone is bland, almost conversational. He no longer seems angry, but I know how quickly he can take on that emotion, particularly when he's in such a fragile state of mind. Being best friends with the guy for seven years has left me with some understanding of the way he works, and I can sense that the slightest mislaid word could be enough to set him off.
Obligingly, I cross the room and sit down, hiding my apprehension. I am silent, at a complete loss for what to say. This is different from earlier, during my conversation with Hermione when my mind had stopped responding; no, my brain is fully functional. I just cannot think of how to touch upon the subject without angering him. There aren't even any words rolling through my mind-it is silence, inside and out. In the end, I realize it is he who must speak first. I need to start off playing the defense, allow him a chance to yell at me for being a fool and everything else I know he is thinking. Allow him to vent all his anger, leave him feeling hollow and uncertain. Then I will gradually take up the offense.
At last, Ron speaks softly, his eyes trained on the fire's phosphorescent, flickering flames, the shadows tap-dancing across his face and the light glinting in his eyes, "Haven't had a day this cold in a long time."
Despite my decision upon a tactic of handling this, I must admit that controlling my emotions has never been my strong suit. While I'm not as much of a hothead as Ron, I can have my moments and this, unfortunately, is one of them. I am unable to bite back a response. "Yeah, I feel sorry for anyone left out in it."
Ron does not miss the implication in my words, but to my great surprise, he does not rise to the challenge, or grow angry. He sighs, and lifts his eyes to mine. I can see in them now a different emotion than I'd been expecting-there is no trace left of anger, only a deep, scarred sadness.
"You love her, don't you?'
I had been expecting an angry, sarcastic retort, an insult, a rude comment, anything other than this. I am taken completely off-guard. "Wh-what?" I stutter, blinking erratically from surprise.
Ron sighs. "Oh, come on, Harry. You've gambled everything on the slight chance that our beliefs about her were incorrect, you risked your life numerous times for her, you just kissed her-do I really have to ask the question again?"
I consider a response, my mind still racing. Though Ron could never know it, he's just asked a question I've been struggling to ignore for days. A question that's been eating at me, one that I've ignored because the answer is one that is too risky, too unlikely, too dangerous to ever let myself acknowledge.
I open my mouth to lie, but know that Ron would catch my lie in an instant. At last, with an inward groan, I try to explain my complex web of emotions without denying or agreeing with his question.
"I'm not sure if love is the right word," I finally mutter. "It's too soon. I need more time. Maybe before I could have said it . . . but not now, really. After everything that's happened . . . she's like a stranger to me, yet at the same time, I've never known or understood anyone better. It's confusing. But I do feel something-something I don't know how to classify. Something stronger than friendship, but less than love."
Ron shakes his head and glances down at his hands. Suddenly, it is I who begins to grow irritated.
"Go on, then," I snap, making him glance up at me, frowning in confusion. Though I've not really acknowledged it, I've had a good deal of frustration at Ron pent up inside me ever since he exiled Hermione and I. In the ongoing silence, sitting across from him, I just don't feel as though I can hold it in any longer. "Tell me how you feel about me right now. Yell, scream, it all out! Tell me I've been an idiot for trusting her, insult me, insult her, say all the choice words I know you're dying to. Go on, don't hold back. I'm waiting!"
Ron just stares at me. The silence has grown heavier than ever, and I suddenly feel humiliated for my angry outburst. Ron's expression is impassive, unreadable. My face is burning a little bit by the time he finally speaks, his voice not having raised an inch over the tone he'd been using since we'd stepped inside.
"You want to know how I feel, do you?" he asks. At first, I take it for a rhetorical question, but once his gaze remains leveled on me for a good ten seconds without a word, I realize he does want a response.
"Yeah, I do," I agree, not wanting to back down now, but keeping my voice civil.
"Well, I'd love to tell you, except I don't really know myself. I'm rather numb right now," Ron states slowly. He shakes his head a little, and rubs his temple. "I came here today knowing pretty much what to expect-you and Hermione, together, you claiming she's really on our side. I didn't like it, but I was prepared for it. When I walked around the side of the building after I checked inside, I didn't see you right away. Of course I wouldn't have-the invisibility barrier and all. I heard your voices, though, so I assumed about the barrier. I just kept walking forward until I went through it, and then . . . well, needless to say I didn't exactly expect to see what I did. I was livid. I couldn't believe you were kissing her. You were betraying all of us. As long as she was in my line of sight, I just couldn't think straight. I wasn't even angry with you like I thought I was at first-just her. I was laying every bit of blame on her. I think I've blamed her for literally everything-from you kissing her, to the snow falling. But now that I'm a bit calmer . . . I don't know what to think. Part of me feels like a real jerk. But the other part of me still doesn't trust her. I just don't understand anything anymore, Harry. When did everything get so complicated? How did the line between enemy and ally become so blurred?"
My aggression has diminished just as quickly as it arose. For the first time since all this started on that cold snowy day when my eyes met Hermione's at the top of Gryffindor Tower, I am seeing Ron for himself again. Despite all his anger and coldness, deep down he's just lost and confused. I've not thought much of his feelings lately. All I've been able to see is his anger, his thickheaded refusal to grant Hermione another chance. I never bothered to look deeper, to see what was really fueling his anger. But now I do see it.
Ron blames Hermione-and Hermione alone-for the death of his parents. He believes that by letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, she started the chain of events that led to his parents' demise. It's a somewhat irrational belief-Voldemort would have found another way to power, and his parents died because they were doing their best to restore peace-and I've known that for some time. I think he knows it deep down too. But that's not something he'll ever admit to, because he wants someone to blame for it, and it's easier to blame Hermione-one girl without a whole lot of power-than it is to blame Voldemort, whose fault it really is. By blaming Voldemort, he has to face the fact he'll never have the strength to avenge his parents. He'll never feel as though he's doing anything-he'll feel helpless. But by laying the blame on Hermione, he can believe that one day he'll be able to really get revenge in a way he'd never be able to do if he were to blame Voldemort. Sadly, Fred and George seem to have taken up this same belief. Ginny alone of the Weasleys has managed to avoid falling into this idea. She has hated Hermione because of her betrayal-but she has blamed Voldemort for the destruction of her family.
It was easy for him to choose to believe this when she was far away, just like it was easy for me to see her as a cold-blooded betrayer. But when we saw her that day, his beliefs had begun crumbling, just as mine had. His depression and confusion had come out as aggression. He didn't want me to become involved with her in any way, for it could jeopardize his carefully erected mental sanctuary, where everything was Hermione Granger's fault. When it hit so close to home that I had brought her to our hideout, it was all he could think of to get rid of her through any means necessary-taking me with her if it came down to it, which it did. But now it's gotten too far beyond his control. He's beginning to realize that he can't live in denial forever-but he's still so hesitant to let go.
"Ron," I begin, "I understand."
Ron gives the floor a sad sort of smile. "No, you don't."
"I do," I repeat with a fierceness in my words that makes him look up. "I lost my parents, too, remember? Sure, it's harder for you-you knew them, you were used to having them around. But I still know what it feels like-the hatred, the burning passion of anger that you feel for the person to blame. Those feelings are all right; they're natural. You just can't direct them at the wrong person."
"I know!" Ron cried, his voice somewhat strangled. To my great alarm, he looks like he might cry. "But I just can't . . . it's not easy, facing up to the fact that you've been a grade-A jackass for the past two years. It's not easy to set aside beliefs that you've held for so long. It's not easy to look into her face . . . the lingering anger and the guilt . . . I can't do it, Harry. My strength is depleted. I don't have enough left to face up to it."
"Of course you do," I say softly. "It may seem too hard now, but Hermione is not going to hate you. Trust me. She's too worried about us hating her. She still isn't completely firm in the belief that I don't hate her for what she's done, and she certainly won't be with you."
"Exactly!" he said. "I'd rather have her hate me! I could deal with that-we've been arguing from the day we met. Anger between us would be nothing new. But to have to watch her be constantly fearful that I hate her makes me feel awful. I noticed her expression out there. I didn't care at first-I was too angry. But now I do. I believe you, Harry. It took me a while, and I'll probably still end up acting like a jerk for a while, but I do believe you. I know you wouldn't trust her fully unless you had a reason. That's why I was so scared when you started to trust her. Because I knew I could trust you."
I feel a slight feeling of elation. We are getting somewhere! With work, this can be sorted out, I just know it.
"You don't need to be telling me this," I say quietly. "You need to talk to Hermione."
He shakes his head vigorously. "I can't. Not yet."
"You have to!" I insist.
"No," he says. "Look, just . . . just give me a day or two, will you? Then I'll talk to her. I can't right now. But let her know that whatever I may say . . . I don't hate her. I did at one time, but not now."
"I'll tell her," I assure him. "But she won't take it as anything more than me trying to make her feel better unless you say something."
He nods. "Yeah, I know. But it's all I can do right now. I need time."
"Okay. Just don't take too long. You have a chance to get something back that you never thought you could. Don't sacrifice it," I warn.
He nods again and stands up, looking uncomfortable. He scratches his head, clears his throat, and says in a businesslike manner, "Well, I came here originally to tell you that you're to stay here until dark. Sirius will come for you then and take you to our hideout. We have a lot of strategizing and discussing to do." He turns abruptly and begins to walk toward the front door. I can tell he is desperate to escape, but I call after him nonetheless.
"You should stay," I say emotionlessly.
"I really can't," he mutters. "Got to get back or . . . Ginny'll get worried . . . you know . . ."
The words are true; knowing Ginny, I know she will grow to worry. But while they are true, the reason is a lie. I nod anyway and say quietly, "Safe traveling."
"Right," he says before quickly scuttling out the door.
As it closes behind him, the door clicks softly. The sound is slightly jarring. When we entered this building, not ten minutes before, I'd half expected it to end with him slamming the door shut in my face, for perhaps the final time. The silence and softness with which he has excused himself is startling, and at the same time, relieving. Everything is working out as I want it, for the first time in longer than I can remember. Hermione's on our side again, Ron's almost ready to forgive her, we're on the verge of being the trio again. But even as a slightly lighthearted feeling overcomes me, I just can't shrug off the terrible feeling that things are too perfect. Perhaps these past years have just made me overly cynical. Or perhaps deep in my mind, in a place I refuse to acknowledge, I am sensing something real.
I rise and walk toward the back door, to summon Hermione inside and wait for darkness to fall.
A/n: Here we go, chapter eleven! I would have posted this earlier, along with the Interlude, but thunderstorms decided to hit and I had to shut down my computer for several hours, so . . . :-) Anyway, you got it in the end. Thanks for all the rapid feedback, guys! This is another one of my favorite chappies. I just like Ron and Harry's confrontation. I hope you did, too! As always, a note:
Kw702955: Congratulations! Tell me if you liked the movie in your next review. I'm going with my friend on Monday after school-we have advance tickets and didn't want to fight the weekend crowds, and I'm too tired to go at midnight . . . Fun, though!