A Thing of the Past

A/N: this is the first one-shot I've written, and probably one of the few. This guy has been on my mind for the longest time, and it's been frustrating me to no end...inspiration isn't the right word for it, but here's the story that was the end result of that frustration. I know it's the typical Harry-and-Hermione-get-together story, but right now, I really don't care. I'm just desperately hoping that by writing and publishing this story on portkey I relieve myself of thoughts and memories that I'm really too good to be thinking about. So I hope you enjoy.

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A Thing of the Past

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People often tell me that I'm perfect. Beautiful. Smart. Everything a woman should be.

But it never means anything...the one person who never says it to me is the one person I wish who would.

Strange, isn't it?

Ron was always the one who was uncomfortable with the "emotional bleeding feely shit." He was always bad when it came to tact...he was adorably oblivious to everything in the world. But lately, he seems to be the only one who can remind me of the person I really am.

"Oh 'Mione..." he murmured, his hands cradling my face delicately. "You do know you're bloody beautiful, don't you?"

And that's when I broke down.

Ron swore, cursing as he pulled me close and held me tightly.

"Who's the bloody bastard who did this to you?" he demanded, his hand making lazy circles on my back. Ron's always done that-always known just exactly how to make me smile.

"N-no one," I finally blubbered out. I heard Ron swear under his breath and I couldn't help but choke out a laugh.

I did love him. I really did.

But I didn't want to.

Harry Potter wasn't the type of man that I should fall in love with. Yes, he was my best friend...and yes, I had been there for him during the times that counted most. But he didn't know how to hold me tenderly. He didn't know what my favorite book was, who my favorite author was. He didn't even know that I was allergic to carrots.

I mean, who really cared if his smile could make me melt. Who cared if his beautiful, emerald eyes could pierce through any emotion and make me feel as if everything was all right in the world. Who cared if his touch could send shivers down my spine, make me dizzy.

"Just being stupid," I murmured as I pulled away from Ron. "Really."

"I've never seen you like this," Ron muttered back, his concerned eyes trying to catch my own. "Besides that bloody day in the loo during our first year."

"You were a bastard," I said, and he smiled. "But I'm fine, really..."

"I don't believe you," he said simply. He blinked, brushing a few stray tendrils away from my face. "But 'Mione...you do know that you're bloody perfect, right? Beautiful?"

"Ron," I said, shaking my head.

"No, I'm serious," he asserted, taking my hand and rubbing it lightly. By the warmth emitting from his fingers I knew that my hands must've been cold, pale from my misery. "You are."

"Maybe to you," I muttered.

"To everyone," he replied. "And anyone who doesn't see it can come to me. Or Harry."

Harry. As if Harry knew I was beautiful...perfect. Damnit, why did I have to be in love with him?

Just thinking about it created more tears, and as Ron saw them leaking out of my eyes did he swear and wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs.

"Don't curse, Ron. It's so unbecoming." I laughed, smiling up at him. "Thanks..."

"I don't want to leave you here, by yourself." Ron peered into my eyes, his gaze unwavering. "It doesn't feel right."

"You can't leave Landi waiting." At the mention of Landi's name Ron's face softened, his eyes sparkling as he smiled at me.

"Yeah."

Landi was an American witch, and Ron had met her while on tour there. She was on the newly formed Quidditch Team the Lacineras, and they met at a victory party for the Cannons. The Lacineras had shown up to prove that there were no hard feelings. Ron and Landi hadn't been apart since.

"Don't worry about me," I muttered, trying to smile through my tears. "I'm okay. Really."

"No, you aren't," Ron repeated.

"I'm a big girl, Ron. I don't need you to take care of me...I'm fine, all right?"

"No," he said stubbornly, but I saw his resolve melting slowly.

"Just go..have fun, okay? I'll stop by your place tomorrow morning, just to prove that I won't drown in my tears tonight." Ron frowned at me, but I could see his little brain calculating.

"Fine," he finally said, grinning cheekily at me. "Not a second before noon, though. You never know how late-or early-I'll get home." He wiggled his eyebrows, making me laugh. "G'night, 'Mione. Don't eat too much chocolate." Ron then bent over, leaving a chaste kiss on my cheek before straightening up to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Till tomorrow," I said as I watched him reach for his wand in his robe pocket. With a pop he disapparated, leaving my flat feeling wonderfully empty.

I really hated all this.

Normally I was strong, never cried unless need be. Over the years I had toughened up from the weak self I was during my early years of Hogwarts. Seeing the carnage and despair in the war I had realized that my problems were nothing to cry over...and besides, my tears wouldn't accomplish anything. Would crying save me-Harry?-from Voldemort? No.

So as I angrily brushed my tears away I walked into the kitchen, determined to do something with my evening.

Really...why did I expect that Harry would gather me into his arms and kiss me senseless? What had I imagined him to do but stare at me, his eyes unblinkingly gazing in horror as I told him I loved him. To utter my name weakly, swallowing as he thought of how to respond.

"I'm...sorry..." he finally muttered, and that's when I disapparated away from there, that horrible place I had agreed to eat dinner at.

I returned home as the doorbell rang. I ignored it, walking swiftly into the bathroom as tears left stains on my cheeks. As I washed my face, however, I felt a presence behind me and I grabbed my wand, turning around angrily.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, frowning upon noticing my blotchy red eyes and my trembling lips. "What're you..."

And that's when he had told me how beautiful I was. And after all that....here I was, leaning on the counter in my kitchen as I stared outside. The perfect weather was no more...a sudden thunderclap jolted me from my place and I scurried around, absolutely petrified.

I don't know what it was about storms. Maybe it was because they were uncontrollable, and no matter what I did I couldn't escape from them. Or maybe it was the fact that when I was a little baby, I had been left outside during a thunderstorm accidently and it was my primitive intuition to be fearful.

All I know is that I screamed when a knock came upon my door, mistaking it for thunder.

Swallowing I shook my head, attempting to regain composure. It's just a stupid thunderstorm I told myself, but that thought couldn't stop my hands from trembling. With timid steps I walked towards my door, forcing my eyes not stray to the windows to witness the spectacle that was occurring outside.

I instantly regretted opening the bloody door.

"Hermione," Harry muttered, absolutely soaked from the rain. He appeared as if he had walked here from the restaurant, his clothes sticking to him, his hair matted down, his glasses foggy.

I closed the door on him.

Why should I hear him out? Exactly why should I let him into my home? No reason. Taking a deep breath I took a step back, blinking as I thought about what I just did.

But no. This was my best friend, out in the rain. What if he caught a disease from standing out there? Did I really want Harry to die?

I stepped forward quickly and opened the door, relieved to find that he hadn't moved.

But damnit, Hermione, don't let him in! He broke your heart, he has to realize that, it just can't be the same. You can't let him back into your life just yet!

So I did the only thing I could. I closed the door again.

Make up your bloody mind, Granger!

Taking another deep breath I walked backwards, towards the kitchen. Harry didn't have to come here. He could apparate to his flat, go to Ginny, go anywhere, really. He was god damn Harry Potter. He didn't have to be here.

"Hermione!" I heard him yell from outside the door, his fist colliding with the wood as he pounded it, begging for entry. "Hermione!"

With my trembling hand I grabbed my wand from the counter and pointed it to the door, the silencing charm whispered from my lips.

And that was the last I heard from Harry Potter.

Until now.

It was another rainy day, lightning and thunder and water droplets and stormy clouds and black sky. And I was curled up on my futon, watching my favorite movie with a warm cup of cocoa in my hands.

Wouldn't it be nice if life was like the movies? If your Patrick Swayze could just literally waltz into your life, take your breath away, make you happy?

I had found my Patrick Swayze. But he couldn't dance. Couldn't waltz into my life and take my breath away and make me happy...he made that clear a while ago.

And yet I was still thinking about him. Still obsessing over that tiny moment in time, the what ifs and how comes formulating in my mind over and over again. Why couldn't he just leave me alone? I had closed my front door on him and still he penetrated all barriers, his name taunting me, the image of him frustrating me, the mere thought of him making me crazy.

And that was when there was a knock on my door. Frenzied, frustrated knocking. As if it were the last possible thing the person could do.

Sighing I got up, setting my cocoa gently on the coffee table. I lightly padded to the door, not worried in the slightest of who it could be.

"Hermione," Harry muttered, and I was made speechless. It was deja vu-he appeared exactly the same as a few weeks ago when I saw him last. His hair was matted, his glasses foggy, his clothes revealing every crevice and muscle in his body-but yet all I could see were his eyes, his pleading, regretful eyes. "Hermione," he muttered again after clearing his throat. "I-"

But what exactly he had to say I wouldn't know. I closed the door on him again, shaking my head as I turned around to walk back to my movie.

I didn't need him interrupting me anymore. Over time, I would forget him. I didn't need this.

Just as I settled myself into my futon cushions the door blasted from its hinges, a sodden Harry stepping into my flat.

"Harry!" I screamed, my eyes going from the broken door to the torn door frame to a heaving Harry. "What the bloody-"

"I love you," he said as he swallowed.

"Wh-where's your wand?" I stuttered, suddenly realizing he wasn't holding it.

"I love you," he repeated, taking another step into my flat.

"You're tracking mud on my floor," I whispered, not able to tear my eyes away from him. Damnit he looked delicious, breathing deeply and wet in my living room. I wanted to run my hands through his hair, tug on its silkiness, trace patterns onto his wet skin...

"Damnit, will you listen to me!" he screamed. "I love you!"

"That's nice," I said, rising from my seat.

"Nice?" He blinked at me, frowning. "What do you mean...nice?"

"That's just cheeky, wonderful," I said, taking a deep breath. "It's just nice."

"But...you..." His face fell, his fists relaxing, his eyes lowering to the ground.

"It's nice," I repeated, just for good measure. I kept my chin up, forcing myself not to jump into his arms. Who did he think he was, expecting me to be overjoyed and ecstatic. I told him my feelings weeks ago, and now, after he broke my heart, didn't speak to me, and ignored the one call I gave him, tells me that he loves me? Please. I could do so much better.

"I know," he finally said, his eyes closed.

"What...what did you expect?" I asked, wanting to know how he would respond. I crossed my arms and took a step closer, reveling at Harry Potter in all his manly glory. This would probably be the last time I would see him...at least, last time in a long while...and I wanted to savor it.

"I'm sorry," was his answer, completely ignoring my question.

"Sorry?"

"Yes."

"Just what are you sorry about?!" I exploded, my arms uncrossing as they fell to my sides rigidly. "For breaking my heart? Ignoring me for weeks? Coming here to tell me you loved me after muttering those exact, two words the night I confessed my feelings?!" He stared at me, his eyes gazing into my own. "Well?!" I demanded.

"I'm sorry I waited this long," he finally muttered. After giving me a contemplative look he walked towards me, his mouth set in a determined line.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I demanded, grabbing my wand. Pointing it at him with shaky hands I yelled, "Get away from me!"

I knew I would never hex him. He knew I wouldn't, either. And before I knew it he was holding me, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, his face buried in my hair.

And before I knew it I was holding him, my wand falling to the ground as my fingers clutched his wet shirt instead. Oh how I had dreamed about this moment for years, when he would finally confess his feelings and hold me tightly to him, reassuring me of our bright future together.

Harry pulled back, his eyes searching mine before he leaned in, his lips capturing mine desperately.

And it was perfect.

Wild and passionate. That's what my mum had described her first kiss to be like...and I had told myself, years and years ago, that my first kiss would be just the same.

It wasn't. It was simple, an attempt made by two flustered people who only wished to know what kissing was like.

But this...this wasn't an attempt. It was the closest thing to success that a kiss could be.

And as Harry pulled away his hands came to my cheeks, his fingers tracing patterns as if reveling in its smoothness and softness.

I gave up.

I did love him...who was I kidding? Nothing would change it. Nothing.

And everything that had happened up to that point...it was all a thing of the past.

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reviewing's good for the soul...

I'm pathetic. Damnit I hate it when guys make you feel like you're worthless without them. I need ice cream, lol.