The Point Where Glass Breaks

meeker

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/08/2004
Last Updated: 08/08/2004
Status: completed

"All matter and antimatter will break under a critical pressure." The Trio's critical pressure occurs when Harry Potter rejects the affections of Ron Weasley and finds himself in Hermione Granger's waiting arms. Hermione-Harry and one-sided Ron-Harry. [ONESHOT]

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

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The Point Where Glass Breaks

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He told the boy that he loved him.

Ron had never said that to anybody before, save his parents after particularly good birthday or Christmas. It just wasn’t something he said. It’s not like he didn’t love them, it was just that saying it meant he had to do something about it, and if that was what love was all about, he was sure that he wanted no part of it.

Harry looked at him for a moment, eyes searching his for any trace of laughter, for he thought it was some kind of joke, some cruel joke conjured up by a foulest of moments that run through a twenty-year-old’s brainwaves. But to his utter dismay there was no laughter hidden in Ron Wesley’s bluish-green eyes.

The black-haired boy cleared his throat, suddenly unable to properly speak. “I…Ron… I don’t…”

Ron stood up from the large reclining chair that rested in his room and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Blue tears were peaking out from under his red eyelashes. “Please don’t say anything right now. I… I think I know what you’re going to tell me, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Harry pushed Ron’s hand off, suddenly aware of his close proximity to the youngest Weasley male. The red head shifted away slightly, dejected and feeling utterly alone. His feet searched out the exit to the door, and within moments the hinges creaked as Ron left the room.

A stunned Harry sat on the floor.

---

He told the girl that he hated her.

Ron paced the room, crying freely and openly now. “How could you make me do it, Hermione? What on earth possessed you to tell me to tell him? And for that matter…” He hit the wall with his fist roughly. “Why on earth did I listen to you?”

Hermione shook her head, lost for words completely. “I… I didn’t think… I mean, I thought that there were signs and things… oh Ron, I thought that he felt the same way that you did!”

Ron growled. “Yeah, well I guess you don’t know everything, Hermione.”

---

He figured that he should talk to somebody about it.

Harry had spent most of the day sitting in his room, staring at a photo taken almost a whole decade ago. It featured a shorter, ganglier version of himself, a Hermione whose body mass was half composed of her hair, and a Ron who was a great deal taller than both of his friends. It had been taken during his second year by a slightly overzealous Colin Creevy, who, Harry was certain, had a number of reprints of this exact photo in his office.

Harry sighed; things had been easier then. It had been simple when half the school’s population thought he would eventually just get married to Ginny Weasley someday, and Ron and Hermione would get married, and then they would all be one big, joyful family. Thing dramatically changed when Ron started dating Dean Thomas, much to the surprise of… well, everybody. Though Harry dated her briefly, Ginny Weasley had gotten married right out of high school to Neville Longbottom, thus ruining any and all chance of himself and Hermione becoming Weasley by marriage.

Hermione. He was having a harder and harder time dealing with her being around. It had happened somewhere along the way, through their seven years together in school and their three years of sharing a flat, that he had discovered that she was an untapped source of happiness. He had always loved her, there was no doubt. But his simple, friendly love had turned into something else along the way. It was a new desire that welled in the pits of his stomach and made him a better person. Her calm, knowing smile made his stomach jump, and her wisdom always aided him in making difficult choices.

Harry nodded absently to himself as he rubbing his thumb over picture-Hermione’s long brown locks. Yes, Hermione was definitely the person to talk to.

---

She was not expecting him.

She had been lounging around her room in her underwear, listening to old Eric Clapton records, and reading the newest Jane Green novel when she heard the abrupt knocks on the door.

“Don’t come in yet!” she shrieked, attempting to fix her hair, and throwing on the first articles of clothing she could find (which happened to be a rather battered Cannons tee-shirt that Ron had absently left in her room and a pair of boxers of Harry’s that were far too large). She turned off the stereo, and threw on the lights.

“Harry!” she said as she opened the door and noted his befuddled expression. “Fabulous, fabulous. Come in.”

He did, and took a seat at the edge of her bed, pushing off old album covers and books. Harry took no time in gracing Hermione with the honor as asking him what was wrong. Biting his lip, he started to speak, terrified of what she might say after he was done. “Hermione… this afternoon, Ron…”

She looked surreptitiously at her hands, her brown eyes never catching Harry’s own tracing the curves of her body. “Oh. You want to talk about that. You don’t have to tell me, Harry. I already know.”

“What? How do you already know?”

“I thought… maybe…” Hermione looked guilty. “I thought that maybe you liked Ron. And… well… I told him that. And I kind of told him… to tell you.”

“Why?” Harry sputtered.

“You never really expressed a deep interest in women. I mean, you dated what, three girls during school? It seemed like a natural conclusion. I thought, just thought, that maybe you liked Ron that way. And plus you never actually said that you weren’t gay when Ron asked you.”

“I did that to try and be supportive of Ron. So he’d feel like he had somebody who might, just possibly, be going through the same thing he was going through. I never thought that you’d think I was gay, Hermione. I thought you were clever enough to see through that.”

“Obviously cleverness does nothing,” Hermione replied sarcastically, slopping back on her pillows. “It hasn’t exactly gotten me in good with any men lately.”

“Now what are you going on about?” Harry asked as he hugged her body towards his own. “You are one of the most clever, most attractive witches in the entire world. Any and all straight men are at your beg and mercy.”

“You never were,” Hermione replied, flushing slightly. “That’s another reason I thought… well, maybe you were gay.”

His green eyes shot open. “What?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I did flirt with you once and awhile, didn’t I? I’ve always been attracted to you. Who isn’t? And I guess, just after all the times you didn’t really respond…” she sighed. “Well… I kind of thought you were gay. Hoped is more like it. Because, you see, if you were gay, then I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that you dismissed my advan...”

She stopped mid-sentence as her usually very responsive thighs registered two other, larger, thighs resting outside her own. In her hurry to speak, she hadn’t noted that Harry had taken it upon himself to sit up against her, his glasses discarded, eyes darker than their normal gem-like tone.

---

He wasn’t quite sure why he did it.

Usually Harry Potter was more than capable of containing his male urges. He had been, much to his consternation, somewhat repressed in that area when he was younger. Of course there had never been somebody who had turned him on the way Hermione was now, with that slightly distraught, ever zealous look clouding her russet eyes.

“Harry…” she breathed as he ran his hands along her sides. Her lips tingled in anticipation of his own. “Harry, please… what about Ron?”

His breathing came in heavy spurts. “He’s not the one who I want, Hermione Granger. You are.”

Harry pushed himself forward, forcing Hermione down on her back. He looked down into her eyes, and then kissed her with all the reserved craze he had left in him, the craze bottled since his days as a naive schoolboy.

To his utter delight, she kissed him back.

---

She found herself more confused than not the next morning.

Hermione woke up under Harry’s weathered arm, sheets tousled at her hips, everything above her waist exposed to the warm air of her room, and lips bruised with the infatuation of the evening before. Her head tingled slightly, as if she had been drinking too much or wanted to drink much more than she knew she should. She moaned lightly, and snuggled closer to the balmy body that lay aside hers. Drinking in his manifestly masculine scent, she pulled her head to his own, and kissed him lightly. The raven-haired boy stirred, and began kissing her back.

“Good morning,” he whispered, fingering her brown curls and rubbing his calf against her own, slimmer one. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she whispered back, chuckling lightly. “I had very good company.”

“Me too,” he replied, leaning in to catch her ruby lips with his own. “Probably the best company I’ve had ever…” And with that he began kissing her again, holding her body to his own, and taking in the aura that was distinctly Hermione Granger.

Had he not been kissing her with as much fervor as he had, the kind of fervor that blocks out all other noises and motions, he probably would have heard the five sharp raps that Ron Weasley placed on the door before turning the handle.

---

He had never felt so alone in his life.

Ron left the room, eyes glued to the shag carpet, tears dripping down his cheeks. He figured out that he would be okay with Harry not returning his feelings. He was even beginning to forgive Hermione for persuading (no, forcing!) him to admit his feelings for Harry in the first place. But all the pain that he felt the moment that Harry said the words I don’t rushed back the moment he saw Hermione’s breasts being covered by Harry’s Quidditch-worn hands. The pain had progressively multiplied itself until he could hear nothing save for the blood rushing past his ears.

He had thought that maybe, just maybe, something was going on between the two. He was around the two of them all the time, watching them interact. He thought it was friendly flirting; for Merlin’s sake, he flirted with Hermione, why wouldn’t Harry? But, he had convinced himself, Harry was still up for grabs. Harry had approved of his sexuality back during his school days. Harry had also never said that he himself wasn’t gay, a question posed to him by more than a couple people.

So much for that reasoning.

Ron pushed his door open and jumped into his bed, tears wetting his pillow like salty rain.

---

Things became gauche after that day.

The three twenty-year-olds had been living in the same flat for three years and never before had there been such tension, even when Hermione was found snogging the life out of Draco Malfoy on the kitchen table. Even then it has only been awkward for a couple of hours, until Hermione managed to convince her roommates that she was only snogging Draco Malfoy because she was under the effects of a Love Potion (which was a lie, but it kept Ron and Harry quiet for the meantime).

It wasn’t like it was small things that changed, like less frequent how are you’s or how was your day at work’s. Instead it was Ron leaving the room anytime Harry or Hermione came around. He didn’t even leave in a hurry, just finished up what he was doing as haphazardly as possible, and leaving the room without so much as a glance towards his roommates.

Dinners were absolute nightmares. Since Hermione, Harry, and Ron all came home around the same time from work, it was impossible for them to miss one another on the way in and even less impossible for them to eat dinner at different times. Harry was traditionally the cook of the house, as Hermione and Ron burned water when given the chance. Therefore Ron and Hermione had to eat whenever Harry cooked, or be reduced to ordering expensive takeout. As neither was financially secure, they depended on Harry’s home cooked meals each and every night.

The most poignant example of the tension was two days after Ron caught Hermione and Harry in their state of undress. Harry was cooking chicken Alfredo (Ron’s favorite dish), and Hermione had just come home from a day at the hospital. Her hair was slightly disheveled (an entire Quidditch team had been brought in after a thunderstorm hit their pitch and she had not been able to take a vanity break all day), and her eyes were misty from spending too much time in the OR. Harry, alone in the kitchen, greeted her with a kiss.

“Mmm…you’re good to come home to,” she said after pulling away. She raised her arms to wrap around his neck, but was interrupted by a slamming door behind her. She winced, full well knowing that Ron had seen everything. But Ron made no odd movements. He simply took his place at the table, poured himself a glass of water, and drank from his glass moodily.

“Ron…” Harry began, ladling out the pasta into Ron’s bowl.

“Don’t start,” the redhead growled, eyes plastered to Harry’s. He shook his head in disgust. “Just don’t start.”

“Ron…” Hermione pleaded with him, taking his large hand in her own. “Ron, please, just listen to us for five minutes…”

“No.” He pulled his hand away, and slapped Hermione across the face. She doubled to the side in pain, astonished at the brutality Ron was showing. “I don’t want to listen to any of your excuses or explanations. Bitch.”

He walked away without touching his dinner.

Silence screamed through the house.

---

She finally had enough of it.

Hermione took Ron and Harry by the hands and dragged them into living room. “This has to end,” she said, not bothering to look at either boy in the eye. “I can’t deal with this anymore. Where did it all go wrong? What happened to the Dream Team? The Fantastic Three? When did we deteriorate? ”

“I think it was somewhere between my confession to Harry and you shagging him!” Ron bellowed, the red in his face more brilliant than that atop his head. “And don’t pin any of this on me. It’s all your fault, Hermione. Take the blame for once in your godforsaken life!”

“Don’t you dare blame this on Hermione!” Harry interpolated, shoving Ron angrily towards the wall. “I initiated it as much as she did.”

“I can’t believe you, Harry! I bloody go and put my heart on the line and this is how you repay me? By fucking our roommate, our best friend? Fabulous timing Harry. Bloody brilliant. Way to make me feel good about my choice to be honest with you and myself.”

Hermione cut in. “How can you be so unbelievably self-centered, Ron? Do you think the whole world revolves around you and your drama? Well I have news, Ron; it doesn’t! Harry and I want to be together, and so what if it came of your ill decision to tell Harry something you needed to get off your chest? You should be supportive of your two best friends no matter what!”

Ron laughed sarcastically, bitterness dropping from his lips. “Why should I be supportive?”

“Because whether you like it or not, you love us!” exploded Hermione, who finally broke down into tears. Harry wrapped his arms around her, and looked at Ron with firm eyes. “And though only Merlin knows why, we love you too!”

Harry spoke with a strong voice. “Ron Weasley, I swear by this; I never imagined that Hermione and I would ever get together. I swear to you, she thought I was gone on you! While this isn’t true, she tried her best to help two friends out. And so what if she and I are together now? I don’t know why we can’t get along now.” Harry gave the redhead a pointed look as Hermione crawled out of his embrace.

“Because… well… just because…” Ron trailed off, looking to the side. After composing himself slightly, the boy continued, guilt melting into his stony expression. “I can’t live without you,” the red-head confessed, grabbing Harry’s hand awkwardly. Harry flinched slightly. “Even if we’re not together… like I want us to be. Please… please don’t let this ruin our friendship. I need our friendship.”

Harry tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t move. His eyes flashed over the redhead, the boy he considered to be his best friend, and took him in his arms for a moment. Harry felt Ron stiffen, and then slowly return his embrace.

“Though it’s not in the way you’d like, Ron, I do love you. I would die without you. You and Hermione are my saviors. You’ve been with me through thick and thin. You and Hermione are my life.”

You and Hermione… the word echoed through Ron’s mind, bitter in tone. He knew he was gripping Harry’s waist too tightly then, possibly cutting off circulation to Harry’s legs, the legs that carried him from one journey to another. And he knew that though Hermione wanted it, things would never be the same. He knew that he was squeezing even harder, to the point where his own freckled arms ached from lactic acid buildup, and he knew that Harry was murmuring for him to let go, but Ron knew that he couldn’t.

Ron knew, but he no longer cared.

---

He moved out a week later.