Kindred Fallacy by Tic-Tac

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 16/05/2004
Last Updated: 16/05/2004
Status: Completed

[one-shot] It was sadly ironic that a day so carefree and saccharine turned so sour. Harry had
become passively immune to Ron and Hermione’s constant bickering, in which both sides were
hell-bent on defeating the other in a battle of wills, but this time, it has gone too far. He is,
without warning, thrown into the mix, suddenly blindingly aware of his stance in their quarrels.
And now, he just can’t ignore it any longer …




1. Kindred Fallacy
------------------

**Disclaimer:** I am not affiliated with Harry Potter and Co. in any way or form.

This was a random train of thought to – hopefully! – clear up my writer’s block. I hate it so
much. I swear it’s a symptom you get when you have the most perfect ideas at the most perfect spots
to start them. *sigh* Well, I’ve always thought that I don’t choose to write, the characters sort
of … *create* the story, as it is. If that’s so, then the characters are asleep and my
inspiration isn’t keeping up with my musings. Ideas, ideas. It’s the most frustrating when you
*have* ideas and can’t seem to use or organize them.

Oh well. Enough of my wallowing. *grins apologetically*

Enjoy!

**Summary:** It was sadly ironic that a day so carefree and saccharine turned so sour. Harry
had become passively immune to Ron and Hermione’s constant bickering, in which both sides were
hell-bent on defeating the other in a battle of wills, but this time, it has gone too far. He is,
without warning, thrown into the mix, suddenly blindingly aware of his stance in their quarrels.
And now, he just can’t ignore it any longer …

* * *

**- Kindred Fallacy -**

Of all the days Harry would have to spend writing long, painful essays, he would not have chosen
this as one of them. The weather was perfectly astounding: lolling, milk-white clouds spanned the
horizon; the sun shone brilliantly, bathing the grounds in smiling sunlight; and the fragrant
breeze from outdoors wafted through the castle corridors and classrooms like a disease, infecting
all that it came in contact with. No one seemed able to concentrate, but as fate had it, the
teachers took their absentmindedness to snap their fingers and tell their pupils about the grueling
essays they had assigned.

“You know, I’d reckon the school blowing up wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” said Ron blandly,
staring out of the window, which was streaming shades of dazzling sunlight. He scribbled an
illegible sentence on his parchment and backed up to observe it. He let out a defeated sigh and
turned to Harry, who just shrugged, indifferent. From behind the bookshelf, he heard a scoffing
snort.

“Maybe Fred and George have some explosives,” Ron mused obliviously, scratching his scalp with
the sharp tip of his quill. His eyes brightened. “You know, I bet they do!” he said with hearty
enthusiasm. “Mum was always having to throw out old fuses and stuff -”

At that moment, a stack of grimy old volumes was dropped violently onto the table. Ron yelped
and pulled his hand back just in time. He looked up in dubious annoyance at Hermione’s grimly set
face. She was wiping her hands free of the dust and looked fairly satisfied with herself. Both
hands went to her hips.

“There,” she said smoothly, narrowing her eyes. Ron’s jab about blowing up the school seemed to
have personally offended her. “I’ve saved you the such *agonizing* trouble of picking out your
own research texts, since I’ve decided, officially, that you’re unable to do it yourself.”

Ron seemed confused for a moment, but then he said, “Hey, thanks!”

Hermione gazed at his paper, clearly disgusted. She jabbed her finger at his piece of parchment,
nearly knocking his inkwell off the corner of the table. “You’ve been working on this for an hour,
Ron, and you haven’t even written the first sentence!”

“Yes, I have!” Ron responded defiantly, pointing to the scribble at the top. “Look -!”

“I would hardly call that a sentence, Ron,” Hermione said bitterly. “It’s your title.”

Ron glared at her. “What are you doing over here, anyway? I thought you were working on your
Ancient Runes project!”

“Finished,” Hermione said instantaneously. “I just –”

“You just decided to come over here to bother us?” said Ron aggressively. “I already have a
mother, Hermione, thanks.”

Harry saw Hermione’s jaw clench. “Fine! Fail! I don’t care!”

She stormed off to a table at the far end of the library, pulling up a stack close and plucking
one from the top. Ron was watching her antics, scowling darkly. He turned to Harry furiously, who
was quietly indulged in his own work.

“What has she got against me?” Ron asked incredulously. He frowned thoughtfully at Harry. “She
never attacks *you*, mate.”

Harry shrugged. “Sometimes you just have to let it go. She means best.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. She *enjoys* having complete control over my life. It’s
her life goal, to torture me into submission.”

Harry laughed lightly. “I doubt that.”

“Doubt what you may, I know it’s true,” Ron said firmly. He looked at Harry strangely for
moment, his gaze tinged with a trace of resentment; then, he shook his head forcefully and fell
silent. His gaze wandered aimlessly until he spotted the other students getting up from their own
tables. He jumped up and said happily, “Blimey! I almost forgot! Lunch!” He grinned, and peered
over his shoulder at Harry. “Coming, Harry?”

“Meet you there,” Harry said. His eyes were on Hermione, who was still deeply immersed in her
book. He turned to Ron. “Maybe you a were a bit harsh with her, Ron.”

Ron crossed his arms and said vehemently, “If she just minded her own business, then we wouldn’t
have this problem!”

Harry stared at him evenly. “If she had minded her own business, then we wouldn’t have become
friends, Ron.”

Ron turned a light shade of pink, turning away for a moment to look at the mob of students
leaving. “Yeah … well … I’ll see you two at lunch, then.”

Harry nodded his head and made his way over to Hermione’s table. He slid into a vacant chair and
said quietly, “All right?”

“Just fine, Harry,” she responded heavily. She looked into his mellow eyes and smiled warmly.
“Thanks for asking. I thought Ron had ordered you to kill me.”

Harry shook his head. He saw her troubled expression and said quickly, “It’s fine, Hermione. He
just doesn’t understand your motivation, that’s all.”

“You do,” said Hermione instantly. Her cheeks turned a delicate crimson.

He flashed her a grin. “Well, we all have our own obsessions, don’t we? I just happen to
understand yours.”

“I suppose.” Hermione smiled lightly.

Harry, without thinking, put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Would you like to go to lunch or would you like me to stay with you?”

Hermione watched him. Though she would rather exchange secrets with Pansy Parkinson than admit
it, she was completely distracted by his hand. “You don’t have to stay here with me … it’s rather
boring …”

“I guess the only other option, then, is to go to lunch,” said Harry. Grinning reassuringly, he
took her book from her hands and placed it on top of the stack. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist.
“We can come back here later if you’d like.”

Hermione was caught off-guard, and until Harry removed that blasted hand from her shoulder, she
was unable to speak as well. He prompted her silently.

“Oh all right,” she said. “You win. I’ll go to lunch. But really, Harry, I have to finish some
work … and I’m not really hungry!” She called out this last part, as he was already walking across
the room, grinning over his shoulder. Disgruntled, she sprinted and caught up to him. “Fine, fine,
I’m coming.”

Harry smiled.

* * *

The tension at the table was horrendously stifling - so thick Harry felt he would soon choke
from it. Even poor Neville had felt it, and moved, wide-eyed, from his usual spot to a safer seat
next to Dean and Seamus. He was staring at Ron and Hermione as if frightened that they would gouge
each other’s eyes out with their steak knives.

Truth be told, Harry was growing tired of the nonsense they argued about. It seemed too petty
and trivial, and he never understood its purpose. It was as though they lived to torment the each
other through smartly placed sarcasm and fruitless glaring.

“Pass the tripe,” said Ron. He scowled at Hermione from across the table.

Hermione bristled. “You don’t even like tripe!”

“Oh yes I do!” Ron shot back, holding out his hands crudely. “Pass it!”

“Don’t order me around, Ron!”

Ron breathed through his nose, his lips a white line.

Defiantly, Hermione set her jaw and scooped the whole tureen of the tripe onto her plate. A
little immature for a smart witch like Hermione, Harry had to admit in slight amusement, but
nonetheless successful. Ron looked lost for words. With an angry growl, he reached across the table
for her plate; and at the same time, Hermione slammed her fork down violently. A dull *thunk*
made everyone’s head turn. Hermione’s fork was stuck fast in the wood of the table, right between
Ron’s pointer finger and thumb.

Ron looked terrified. “Bloody hell,” he croaked.

Hermione’s eyes glowed a steely red. “Leave me alone, Ron.”

Harry stared at the fork. Around the teeth the wood was splintering. Surely Ron must have done
something to make her so angry, but in his eyes, he didn’t know what. Ron sputtered wordlessly and
lifted his hand off the table quickly as though frightened Hermione would use her knife next. And
if she did, Harry was sure, her aim would be spot on. The same thought seemed to strike Ron as
well.

“You can have the bloody tripe,” said Ron angrily, eyeing her cautiously. “I don’t like it
anyway!”

“Funny, neither do I,” said Hermione coolly, narrowing her eyes. She spooned it with malice back
into the tureen. “It nauseates me.”

Hermione stood up. “I’m going back to the library.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but
Hermione cut him off tiredly. “Just leave me alone, Harry, please.”

Resolutely, she gathered her robes around herself and walked out of the Great Hall. Ron ignored
her departure completely, still staring avidly at the fork still stuck upright in the table. He
looked up, expecting to see relief written over Harry’s face, but instead saw raw bitterness.

“What are you *thinking*?” said Harry angrily.

Harry had had enough of this fighting, of this arguing. Ron continued to pester her even when
she was just trying to help. He felt no pity for Ron, only for Hermione, who had to endure him and
his idiocies.

“You’re taking her side?” said Ron in obvious disbelief. “Did you see what she almost did to
me?”

Harry said bitterly, “You know, maybe she has a lot on her plate right now, Ron. Why you just
back off? You can afford to not attack her for one sodding day!”

Ron’s ears reddened. “I was not *attacking* her! An attack is when someone tries to shove a
bloody fork through your hand –”

“I don’t care about your hand, Ron!” Harry yelled. Raw, burning rage pulsed through him. “You
two are always having a go at each other, it’s driving me mad! Why can’t you just lay off her?”

“You’re just favoring her because she never comes after you!” Ron said in unashamed disgust,
raising his voice. “You know that she’ll always take your side!”

“I respect her,” Harry said scathingly, “that’s why. I respect her judgment.”

Ron glared at Harry. “Fine, take her side, I don’t care.” He pushed his chair out from the table
and stormed angrily from the Great Hall. Heads turned. A few students began whispering together.
Harry stared down at his plate, willing his pulse to slow down. And slowly, head spinning, heart
racing, it did, and Harry sighed heavily.

From a seat a few spots down, a voice said timidly, “Hey, Harry, could I have a bit of that
tripe?”

* * *

Minutes later, when he had finally gathered his thoughts together, Harry strode out early from
the Great Hall, hoping to retire peacefully to his dormitory. He thought it best to give both
Hermione and Ron some space, since they both looked ready to kill, and now Harry was blindingly
aware of Hermione’s rather ominous talent with a fork.

However, he reached the portrait hole and knew at once he would not be getting the peace and
tranquility he so sorely needed. He heard, muffled but still amazingly loud, the angry yells coming
from inside.

For some reason, Harry felt he had to figure out what was going on. He muttered the password
(“Hungry Hungry Hippogriffs”) and stepped through into the common room.

Months later, when he looked back on it, Harry would say that it was both the best and stupidest
thing he had ever done.

He crept forward, praying he would not be seen until he was hidden. He looked around the corner
of the wall, and his eyes widened. The common room was a complete mess. It looked as though the
students working and studying there had left the room in frantic haste. A smashed inkwell was
leaking into the carpet; a book was laying facedown, pages crumpled. It looked like a bombsite.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t go to the bloody library!”

“Couldn’t pass up a chance to make my life a living hell, could you?”

Harry focused his attention on Ron and Hermione, who were standing at least half a room apart,
bellowing furiously at each other.

Ron was red-faced, looking as though he would like nothing better than to throw a book at her.
Hermione was clenching and unclenching her fists, her eyes flashing.

“I –” Ron began heatedly.

“You know what you are, Ron?” said Hermione hotly, sweeping her hair out of her face angrily. “A
jealous, egotistical *prat*! Someone needs to knock some sense into that head of yours!”

“Well, it’s hard not to act like that when you’re *fawning* all over Harry like a lost
lamb!”

Hermione turned scarlet - whether from embarrassment or anger Harry could not tell. “This has
nothing to do with Harry, Ron! Leave him out of it!”

Ron glared. “I see how you act around him! You think he’s better than me, don’t you?”

Harry felt his insides start to wriggle uncomfortably. This was not in the direction he saw this
row going. Hermione looked stricken down, caught rather red-handedly in the spotlight.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, regaining her composure almost immediately. “I don’t
believe this! Why are you bringing Harry into this? He’s done nothing wrong!”

“Oh no,” said Ron, his face turning even redder to match his hair perfectly. “No, *he*
hasn’t. It’s *you*, Hermione.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione snapped.

“You don’t see it?” Ron asked, now looking brutally determined.

Harry suddenly felt the rage he felt at lunch return, accompanied by a strange feeling of dread.
The look in Ron’s eyes was malevolent.

“You fancy him, don’t you?” said Ron in raging calm.

Harry clenched his fist against his thigh. His heart did a pathetic flop inside his chest.

Hermione looked speechless. “This is why you yell at me? This is why you belittle me at every
single chance you get?” she asked in bemusement. “Ron, that’s completely absurd!”

Glaring, he turned away. “I don’t want to hear it!” he said fiercely, ignoring her. “I don’t
want to hear your stupid excuses! Just because he’s rich and famous –”

“That’s not true!” Hermione interrupted furiously.

“ – you think that he’s better than me. You have no regard for my feelings whatsoever!”

“A little hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” Hermione yelled. “Yes, I happen to love Harry.
But I love you too, Ron! Because we’re *friends*!”

“Why are you denying it, Hermione?” Ron asked, waving his arms around a little crazily. “It’s
only you and me. No one else is here! Tell me why you love Harry more than me!”

Hermione closed her eyes in a truly suffering way, and she seemed to make a decision before
saying softly, “Do you really want to know why?”

Harry had to lean forward to hear her.

Ron nodded firmly, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly.

Hermione said shakily, “We’re siblings, Ron … brother and sister …”

Hermione buried her face in her hands. Ron uncrossed his arms and stared, open-mouthed, at her
hidden face.

Harry went numb. Completely numb. Tingling sensations traveled down his spine. Brother and
sister? It was impossible, impossible … He didn’t know what to think. The closest feeling his mind
perceived was the sickening feeling that his entire stomach was turning inside out. He wanted to
retch. Why hadn’t anyone told him? Why hadn’t Hermione told him? Frantically, he searched his
thoughts. No … no, he had never known. No one had told him. No one. Not even her.

Worse than that was the glaring reality that she had lied all those years. That she had known
and not told him. That it could be true – no, that it *was* true … it was angering, saddening,
confusing …

Harry swallowed forcefully.

Ron was talking, but Harry couldn’t think. Pushing himself away from the wall in sudden anger,
Harry stormed out of the common room, not bothering to shut the portrait hole quietly behind him.
He didn’t care where he went … he just had to get away … away from *her* …

Unbeknownst to Harry, Hermione turned around at that moment and watched him leave,
horror-stricken.

* * *

As if he had left his footprints imprinted on the ground for her to follow, Hermione found him
immediately, brooding on the shore of the vast lake.

He didn’t hear her approach, but knew she was there, watching him. When her hand was placed
gently on his shoulder, he shrugged it away. He felt too resentful to think, let alone allow her
kindness to sink through into his conscious. It was bad enough that she had kept it hidden, secret,
covert. But to make him think that maybe he had a chance …

Harry stopped his train of thoughts as quickly as though they burned him. The uncertainty of his
thoughts made him feel sickened.

“Harry,” Hermione began, her voice sending chills down his spine. “Please, I need to talk to
you.”

“About what?” Harry said angrily. “I heard everything.”

Hermione winced. “I know … but Harry, you have to believe me, it’s not -”

“It’s not what? It’s not that bad, Hermione?” said Harry, standing up suddenly and turning
around to face her. “To think that we’ve been …” - He spat the word out like it was poison – “ …
*siblings* all this time … it’s just wrong!”

“Harry –” Her voice was pleading, her eyes filling with frustrated tears.

“YOU NEVER TOLD ME!” he roared. “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL?”

“Harry, please, you’re overreact -”

“OVERREACTING? HOW AM I OVERREACTING, HERMIONE? I’M FRUSTRATED, ALL RIGHT? I DON’T UNDERSTAND
WHY NO ONE EVER TOLD ME!” Harry was shaking. And the worse part was, all he wanted to do was gather
her into his arms and snog her senseless. He felt furious with himself, absolutely crazy with
rage.

“Harry! Please!”

And suddenly, without warning, a pair of lips were pressed against his own. Harry shuddered,
anger still evident, but began to calm down, closing his eyes and succumbing to the feelings of the
kiss. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing up against him firmly. Her hands wound
themselves in his black hair.

But suddenly, as soon as it began, it was over.

Hermione backed away, looking shocked at herself. Harry straightened his glasses absently.

“Please stop yelling,” she said quietly, swallowing as though amazed she had done something so
rash. “Harry, I’m not your sister. I said it to get Ron off my case. I didn’t know you were there …
if you were, I wouldn’t have said it …”

Absolute relief washed through him.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Harry looked into her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she didn’t need to say it.
“*I’m* sorry, Hermione. I didn’t stop to think. It was just …” He stopped, feeling the heat
creep into his face.

“I understand,” Hermione said kindly, and he knew she did.

They smiled timidly at each other.

* * *

From behind a tree, Ron watched them thoughtfully. He didn’t know how to feel, but for some
reason, the anger of being bested once again by Harry for Hermione’s affections faded. He saw
*between* them something that made him jealous – love. Hermione was just a friend to him, he
realized suddenly. She was frustrated because he tried for something he could never have with her –
a romantic relationship. And he was frustrated because he strived so desperately for that kind of
adoration she could never give him.

Slightly depressed by soothed, Ron began walking back to the castle. Suddenly, without warning,
he ran into something solid. To his surprise, Luna Lovegood was gazing back at him, smiling; atop
her head was a wreath of mistletoe.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked.

“Following you,” Luna said indifferently. Ron blinked.

“Oh.”

“Would you like to walk?” she asked dreamily. She held up two glasses of pumpkin juice.

Ron felt confused, but smiled all the same. He took one of the glasses she handed him.

“Sure.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! This was just a strange idea I cooked up while browsing innocently through
the forums … (Poor Ron, I just had to send him Luna, lol)

Oh, and by the way, those of you who haven’t checked out J.K. Rowling’s official website –
jkrowling.com, which was previously her publishers’ site – then do so immediately! It’s absolutely
*wonderful*, and there’s even a little H/Hr hint in the FAQ section (hehe) that people are
discussing on the forums as I type. *grins* Yes, yes, I know, a shameless plug. I feel terrible.
;)

The characters like to storm from the Great Hall a lot in my stories, don’t they? *laughs*

Cheers,

-Lauren