More Important Things

Bingblot

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 27/04/2005
Last Updated: 27/04/2005
Status: completed

In which Ron finds out. And learns that some things are more important than jealousy and fancying a girl... One-shot. The sequel to "Something Like Love".

Chapters

1. More Important Things

1. More Important Things

Disclaimer: All things HP-related belong to JKR, etc. etc.

Author’s Note: A sequel to my fic, “Something Like Love”, adding some substance to the fluff and tying up a loose end. Enjoy!

~More Important Things~

He awoke inexplicably, uncharacteristically early, suddenly completely alert and lay in bed for a few minutes trying to will himself back to sleep before he gave up the attempt. It was an insanely early hour to be awake on a Saturday morning, he thought irritably, annoyed at himself for being awake.

He sat up, automatically glancing over at Harry’s bed and then frowned. Harry’s bed was empty.

His stomach rumbled and he grimaced slightly before getting up and hurriedly throwing on his robes. He’d just nip down to the kitchens and ask the house-elves for a snack, he decided.

He was on the last step of the stairs to the Common Room when he looked up and froze.

His mind went blank as he stared at the sight in front of him, emotions crowding into his chest. Shock. Consternation. Hurt. Betrayal. And finally a growing anger.

They were kissing.

His two best friends, Harry and Hermione, were sitting together on the sofa and they were snogging. A real, honest-to-Merlin snog.

He stared unable to look away and heard a strangled sound break the silence, only belatedly realizing it had come from him.

Harry and Hermione sprang apart turning to stare at him with nearly identical expressions of first embarrassment and then dismay on seeing him.

“Ron! I- it’s-” Harry began and then faltered on seeing Ron’s expression.

He stared from one to the other of his best friends not knowing what to say or how to express the way he felt. Heck, he wasn’t even exactly sure what he felt or what he was most angry about; he just knew he was angry.

What did he feel? Betrayal that they hadn’t told him about this; hurt that Harry had taken Hermione, the girl he rather fancied himself; an insidious fear that now Harry and Hermione wouldn’t want him around interrupting their snog sessions and he’d be left the odd one out; anger that Harry hadn’t even told him that he fancied Hermione before just going and snogging her. This wasn’t what best friends did!

“I- you-” he managed to choke out through the tightness in his throat.

Harry swallowed and opened his mouth and something snapped. He didn’t want to hear it! Didn’t want to hear any excuses!

“Don’t!” he said sharply and then he ran, refusing to look at them again, ran out of the Common Room and through the quiet halls of the castle. Ran blindly, fueled by his own anger until he finally stopped to find he’d run nearly all the way to the Quidditch pitch without realizing it.

The Quidditch pitch was as good a place as any to be alone right now so he made his way there and sat down on the side.

His thoughts were beginning to clear a little, his blank shock being replaced with a sudden, intense and almost morbid curiosity. How long had Harry and Hermione been snogging behind his back? Had they been laughing at him, poor Ron fancying Hermione and not even knowing his two best friends were snogging all the while? Why had they lied to him? Why hadn’t they told him? He wouldn’t have been nearly so anger if they’d only told him. If Harry had even said anything at all to hint that his feelings for Hermione had changed like that. He’d always been rather sure in the knowledge that Harry didn’t fancy Hermione in that way. (He didn’t know how Hermione felt.) Why hadn’t Harry said anything? Harry should have known that he, Ron, fancied Hermione too; Harry should have said something! It was what best friends did. They were honest about things. He’d known perfectly well that Harry fancied Cho during 4th and 5th year (then again, Harry had been rather obvious about it too.) He’d never suspected, never imagined, that Harry fancied Hermione that way.

(Maybe, a small nagging voice in the back of his mind suggested slyly, he’d been afraid to imagine that Harry might fancy Hermione because of course Harry would get the girl. Harry was Harry Potter, after all, big bunches of hero and all that rot.)

He glowered at the grass.

Harry had Hermione now; they’d be going off to snog in private and he’d be left with Seamus, Dean and Neville.

So much for friendship. So much for the Trio.

For a moment, Harry wondered if he was going to be sick.

This had been why he’d decided not to act on his feelings for Hermione; this had been what he’d been afraid of. And of course Ron just had to wake up early and come down this morning of all mornings and of course Ron just had to see him and Hermione kissing. As if they hadn’t just kissed for the first time less than an hour ago. Bloody stupid Higher Powers, complicating things like this to make them even worse than they already were.

“We need to explain,” Hermione said, her voice sounding as if she were holding back tears and he turned to look at her in swift concern, his arm tightening around her. “He’s so angry at us.”

He nodded silently, his eyes roaming over her face, so familiar and so dear. Her eyes were shimmering with tears and he felt a pang of regret. He brushed his lips against her forehead and realized that he didn’t regret having kissed Hermione. He couldn’t regret kissing her or telling her he cared about her. He couldn’t regret realizing he loved her. She was too important to him; this was too important to him, meant too much. He regretted Ron finding out the way he had, regretted the strain this might put on their friendship but he couldn’t regret Hermione.

He could fix things with Ron; he knew he could. He had to.

But he couldn’t regret—couldn’t give up— Hermione.

“I’ll tell him,” he said quietly, his arm slipping from around her shoulders to take her hand instead. “Come with me.”

They finally found him sitting in the stands of the Quidditch pitch.

He glared at them when they came up. “Sod off.”

Hermione flinched at the coldness of his tone.

Harry let go of Hermione’s hand, with a last reassuring squeeze, before moving to sit next to Ron.

“Ron, I know you’re angry and you need to know—what you saw- it- we-” he stumbled over his words, “it only happened this morning. We haven’t been hiding it or anything, Ron, and we would have told you once you woke up. Honest. I- I don’t know what else I can say. This- it doesn’t- it won’t really change anything for us.”

Ron let out a bitter unamused little laugh. “Like bloody hell it won’t change anything! You’re snogging her! That changes bloody everything!” His voice cracked slightly and he glanced at Hermione, the anger leaving his expression to be replaced with a combination of hurt and regret. “Just once,” he said so softly it was almost a whisper, “I wanted to be the one who had something you didn’t. I wanted to be the one.”

Harry frowned, meeting Hermione’s gaze where annoyance was beginning to replace regret and concern. “Hermione’s not an object, Ron. I don’t ‘have’ her, as you put it.”

“Ron,” Hermione spoke now, with a sigh, “you’re my best friend. You’ll always be my best friend. Harry’s my best friend too and more than that—but that’s got nothing to do with you. It’s just- it’s just the way things are. The way I feel…” she added very softly.

“You already do have something, lots of things, I don’t have,” Harry interjected wearily. “You have a family, a normal life, a home… You have parents…”

It was Ron’s turn to wince. “Harry, I didn’t- I mean, I never—I-” he stopped, looking guilt-stricken now.

“I know. It’s ok. Just- just don’t say that.” He met Ron’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ron sighed heavily. “Yeah,” he responded curtly.

He said nothing more, didn’t know what else he could say. He wasn’t angry- at least, not much- anymore. He was still hurt—after all, he did rather fancy Hermione—but the sharp sense of betrayal had faded. He was—he didn’t know exactly what—he was confused…

Harry sighed softly. This wasn’t over yet; he wondered if it ever really could be over. Could they ever just go back to the same Trio they had been, bound by the same loyalty and friendship? Things were different now—not entirely bad, he thought, glancing at Hermione, but not completely good. They were just different…

And somehow sitting there, Harry knew he had to tell them. He hadn’t planned on telling them at least not yet, certainly never imagined it would happen like this, but he knew he had to. It was time they knew.

“I need to tell you both something. I- it’s about me and- and Voldemort.” He spoke quietly, not looking at either of them but staring at the stands on the opposite side of the pitch. He heard Hermione’s quick intake of breath and sensed her worried gaze- and also knew Ron had flinched at Voldemort’s name. “That Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries- it wasn’t completely lost. Dumbledore remembered it and he- he showed me his memory of it. I- I’m the only one with the power to defeat Voldemort; I’m the only one who can, because I- I have a ‘power the Dark Lord knows not’. So he has to kill me- or I have to kill him, because neither of us can live while the other survives.” He kept his voice expressionless, flat, only faltering slightly on talking about the unknown power he had. God knows he’d been thinking about the Prophecy and all it meant for months now. He’d about exhausted all his own emotional response to it.

He finally managed to glance at them. Ron was pale and staring at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns. Hermione- his heart clenched at the sight of her pallor and the fear, fear for him, in her gaze. “Ron, I know you’re angry and I’m sorry; I am—but there are more important things at stake here. I- I need to defeat Voldemort and I can’t do it without you, both of you, helping me. I can’t.”

Ron’s mouth opened, then closed, his throat working, before he said in a strangled voice, “Harry- I- you- it- I don’t know--” He leaped up. “I- I need to think, be alone. I- I can’t stay here. I- I’ll see you around.”

And he ran as if being pursued by Aragog and all his children.

Harry sighed again before turning to face Hermione, almost afraid as to what he’d see in her eyes and expression. Now that she knew his fate, his curse—maybe she would decide she couldn’t be with someone who would probably die so soon…

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner? You’ve known this for months now. Why didn’t you tell me?” There was the tiniest thread of hurt in her voice at this lack of trust and he flinched.

“I- I don’t know. I was afraid, I guess, afraid of what you’d say. Then I didn’t really feel like talking about it, just wanted to get used to it myself, before I told anyone. And I- I was worried about how you’d react,” he admitted slowly.

She moved to sit next to him, taking her hand in his. “Oh, honestly, Harry, don’t you know me better than that? Did you really think one Prophecy, no matter what it said, could possibly make me care about you any less?” Her tone was crisp, matter-of-fact, belying the tenderness in both her actions and her words, but they warmed his heart nevertheless.

She still cared; she hadn’t reconsidered… The Prophecy hadn’t changed anything between them.

He turned to face her, meeting her eyes, seeing the unshakeable, unwavering loyalty and friendship and, yes, love, in them, as the last doubt he’d ever felt as to her feelings vanished, never to return.

He brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle hand and then bent his head to kiss her with all the gratitude and love he felt.

Ron stopped running when he was halfway back to the castle, breathing hard, his mind filled with memories of the past five years of friendship, all that had happened, all they’d been through together...

He turned, a sudden rather dark need to torture himself (or so it seemed) making him want to see Harry and Hermione together.

As he watched, Harry brushed a strand of hair out of Hermione’s face with a movement so tender it was obvious even to him, watching from this distance, and then they were kissing again. He saw Hermione’s hands slide into Harry’s hair, saw Harry’s arms go around her…

He flinched but kept watching, unwillingly, somehow needing to see them together to accept the finality of it, the reality of it.

And the thought crossed his mind that they looked so- complete, somehow. They looked at peace, happy… He remembered all too well the way they’d looked earlier in the Common Room, how cozy they’d looked, and again heard Harry’s voice in his mind saying, “There are more important things at stake here…”

More important things…

And he realized with a clarity he hadn’t had before, that Harry was right. There were more important things. More important than his own petty jealousy, his own niggling sense of hurt and persistent sense of betrayal even though he knew, intellectually, that they hadn’t really betrayed him…

There were more important things- like the friendship they had all shared and the loyalty. He remembered Harry dismissing his being such a prat before the First Task in 4th year, remembered finding out that he was apparently the thing Harry would miss most, remembered Harry’s guilt and tormented expression on telling him of what had happened to his Dad last year…

Yes, their 5 years of friendship were more important than his jealousy and his anger…

And Harry had said that he needed them to help him face You-Know-Who—so he, Ron, needed to do that. He would help Harry; he had to; it was what best friends did. And that was more important than his fancy for Hermione. She was his best friend too, would just stay his best friend.

There were more important things…

And on that thought, he felt the last of his anger die to be replaced with forgiveness, with understanding.

Harry needed Hermione and she, well, she obviously cared more about Harry than for anyone else. And Harry needed him to be his friend.

There were more important things—things like friendship and fidelity and courage and- and love, like what Harry and Hermione felt… These were the more important things.

The End