Least Complicated

Goldy

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 01/07/2005
Last Updated: 01/07/2005
Status: completed

"He’s seen the meticulous way she arranges her life. It’s about allotting time and lists and careful arrangement. For the first time, he understands how he’s changed that." Hermione Granger is nothing but rational - everything love is not.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Title: Least Complicated

Author: Goldy

Disclaimer: JKR is still the genius behind these characters—the genius that will happily bless us with a new book in 16 days.

A/N: The title was a suggestion from Carondelet and it comes from an Indigo Girl’s song. *hugs Carondelet* Thanks for the help, my dear.

A/N 2: Written because I’m beginning to get tired of the “Harry pushes Hermione away for her own good” plotline.

When he kisses her, she makes tiny little “Oh’s” and her fingers will curl around his neck, sometimes straying into his hair.

He loves surprising her, pushing her up against the wall, right in the middle where anyone can see them. He loves that she’ll drop her books, her quill, her homework, anything when he kisses her.

In class, she beams at him, her leg brushing against his. Always beside you, she seems to say.

He loves her. And he never thought it could be like this—not after that mess with Cho Chang, and the guilt that followed him after the Department of Mysteries.

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” she always tells him. “It was waiting for you to love me back that was difficult.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. And he is.

She laughs. “Oh, Harry, it wasn’t your fault. You had quite enough to worry about without adding me to the mix.”

“That’s not true.”

Her mouth quirks upwards and her hands squeeze his. He’s not sure if she believes him. He’s not sure if he believes himself.

“Look—it doesn’t matter,” he says. “What matters is what we have now.”

Now…

Perhaps it has been building for years, unnoticed by him. They’ve always been close. Maybe he’d been the only who hadn’t seen it. Maybe.

They made love on Valentine’s Day while everyone else was in Hogsmeade. He tried to do something romantic, but she scoffed and told him he’d be horrid at it.

“I just want you,” she said. “Not candles and—and stupid music. Just you.”

He’d been uncertain—and, yes, awkward, but it had been a big moment for them. It seemed wrong, somehow, not to commemorate it properly, but she assured him that they weren’t that kind of couple.

“What kind?” he demanded, rather heatedly.

She waved a hand, not seeming in the least put out. “I don’t need flowers and chocolate to be impressed, Harry. It just… it’s not you.”

He was indignant. ”What d’you mean?”

She only laughed and kissed him, before beginning to undo his trousers. After that, he realized that she was right—it wasn’t about the big gestures and the romantic rubbish.

It was just about them.

***

She’s breaking up with him.

It’s like having the floor ripped out from under him and he’s falling. His breath is coming out in uneven gasps and the room is tilting around him. Colours are blurring together, the reds and golds of Gryffindor and the fire gives a starling little snap, and it’s not real—it can’t be real.

She’s breaking up with him. She’sbreakingupwithhim.

He can’t breathe. His chest hurts and he has to sit down—no, she’s leading him over to the couch, he thinks he might pass out. He might pass out.

I can’t, he thinks with desperation. I can’t pass out. I can’t do that—then she’ll know… then everyone will know…

She’s breaking up with me.

“What… why… I don’t…”

He struggles against a lump in his throat. He might cry. He hasn’t cried since Cedric died.

“Harry, look,” she says patiently. “It’s not you—really, it isn’t. It’s me.”

“You?” he repeats blankly. “I…”

He must’ve done something wrong. He wishes he knew. He’d fix it if he knew.

“I just need some… time… to sort myself out.” She sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he swallows.

How can she be so calm about this? How can her brow be furrowed? How can she look at him as if this is simple, as if it’s nothing? How can she look at him like that when he feels like he’s been sliced open and he’s bleeding all over the floor?

“Yes,” she says. “It’s complicated. I can’t fully explain, only I think this is what’s best for right now.”

“Best?” he croaks.

His voice breaks and he’s thinking about the future and how he imagined it with her. Beside you, she said, and he believed her, and she promised never to leave him, not when he finally faces Voldemort. It hurts because she can’t be in that anymore—there is no future.

You love me, he wants to say. I know you do.

“Yes, Harry, it’s for the best,” she says gently. “Right now, I don’t think… I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to be together.”

He cradles his face in his hands and he reminds himself to breathe, but the world is spinning all around him and he’s dizzy.

“Shhh,” she says, putting a warm hand on his arm. “It’s alright, Harry. We’re still… I mean, we’re still best friends, aren’t we?”

He bites his lip and it bleeds. He wonders if she can see it. He wonders if she cares.

But this isn’t right—this isn’t his Hermione, who would drop everything at the sight of his pain. This isn’t the Hermione who whispered and promised her love for him over and over.

What a mockery it is, to take what they have, and push it back to some platonic friendship that they never really had to begin with.

He lifts his head and stares into her eyes, waiting for him to tell him it’s all a lie. Don’t be silly, Harry. I’d never break up with you! I love you, you know that.

He shakes his head because he can’t speak.

She sighs. “Alright, I suppose going back to being best friends is rather… premature. But I know we can—”

“I love you.”

He blurts it out—as if that will somehow end this nightmare he’s fallen into. It will bring her back.

Something in her eyes flickers and she looks unbearably sad.

“Oh, Harry, I know you do…” she slowly withdraws her hand from his arm. “It’s not… this isn’t because of you. I promise it isn’t.”

He’s lost and confused and waiting for her to tell him it’s all a joke. He’s waiting for her to come back and put her arms around him.

His voice is hoarse. Is he crying? He can’t tell.

“Is this real?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “It’s… it’s real. It’s… we’re…”

“Over.”

She hangs her head. “I’m sorry.”

Why? he wants to ask. What happened? How could you change so quickly?

“I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

He nods numbly, his whole body aching. The common room is eerily silent. Has everyone been listening? Do they all know?

“Come on, mate.”

Ron grabs his arm. He’s taking him out of the common room, up the stairs. Harry stumbles along, blinking blindly.

“That’s right. You’re okay.”

You’re okay…

He stops suddenly, nearly knocking Ron down the stairs. “It’s a spell!” he says and his voice is stronger. “It’s… it’s Voldemort or Malfoy… or… I don’t know… someone. They know how close we’ve gotten… they know they have to take her away from me…”

His mind is whirling, what was a mushy haze is now wide-awake. It’s a spell. It has to be a spell. Someone’s manipulating her—or worse yet, it’s not even her. It’s someone polyjuicing Hermione. Which means…

“Ron, we have to save her.” He reaches for his wand. “Hermione could be in danger. It’s a curse or—or, I don’t really know, but that wasn’t her, Ron. I know it wasn’t.”

“Harry…”

“It wasn’t her!” Harry says, seeing that Ron doesn’t believe him. “You don’t understand,” he says. “She wouldn’t break up with me, I know she wouldn’t.”

Ron’s pale. “Harry, mate… I… I reckon you need… some sleep or something. You’ll be thinking clearer in the morning.”

“I don’t need sleep!” he yells. “I need to just… figure out what’s going on! It is not her!”

“Harry, listen to me,” Ron says. He takes a firm hold of his arms until they’re staring eye to eye. “People fall out of love. It’s what happens. She isn’t… she hasn’t been cursed, Harry. She’s just…”

“No.”

“Harry…”

Harry presses a hand to his eyes. “She’s not—you don’t understand—you don’t know… she loves me.”

“I know,” Ron says heavily. He takes his arm and begins walking him upstairs again. “I can’t understand, Harry. I’m sorry. But… I reckon this… it’s something Hermione had to do.”

***

She goes to class. She eats in the Great Hall. She talks to Ginny and Ron and Dean and Lavender and Seamus. She holds a meeting with all the prefects. She goes to the library.

She doesn’t stop.

He feels like he’s been ripped out from the inside and she hasn’t slowed down. She goes and goes and goes—like nothing has happened.

He stares at her and he knows he stares, but he can’t concentrate in class or do his homework—he can barely make it out of bed in the morning. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not even Ron. It doesn’t seem possible that it can hurt him this much and not bother her at all.

“Pass the orange juice, Harry, please,” she says.

It takes him a moment to react, the “why?” almost slipping from his tongue. Finally, he moves, the juice going into her waiting hands and she smiles in thanks.

He can feel the other Gryffindors staring at them. They’re waiting for him to make a scene. Maybe he’ll burst. Maybe she’ll finally show some emotion.

There must be something wrong with her. He still thinks it isn’t real—Hermione wouldn’t do this, she wouldn’t act like this. He knows her.

He thinks he knows her.

***

He can’t sleep. He rolls back and forth—wondering when it all went wrong. He knows she’d been pulling away. He told himself it had been the stress of N.E.W.T.’s.

Maybe not. Maybe he should have seen it. He could’ve stopped it, he could’ve…

He doesn’t know.

Only that he misses her, he misses them. Having Hermione by his side is a comfort he took for granted. She was always there, faithful, bossy, loving, kind, haughty, generous. Hermione. Together they were stronger, he knows that. The magic came easier.

They weren’t overly romantic or sappy, they were just Harry and Hermione. Still. Best friends. It was in the small touches, the hands on shoulders and knees and palm to palm that made the difference. Or it was in the late night “study sessions” in the common room and daring trips to the Room of Requirement under his invisibility cloak—careful not to get distracted along the way.

He wants to know why.

People change, Ron said. Sometimes they do, but not for them. Not Hermione.

He can’t sleep so he throws his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, squinting into the darkness of the room. He finds his wand and his glasses before shuffling over to the door, not knowing what time it is. Not caring.

He goes downstairs. He wants to be alone, surrounded by their memories. So he can think. So he can figure this out.

He wishes he could ask Hermione what to do.

He stops halfway down the stairs. He can hear muffled sounds of crying. His hand is on the banister and he tells himself to go back upstairs. This isn’t right, sneaking up on a person when they’re in this state…

He continues down, the curiosity getting the better of him—or maybe it’s just that some part of him knows.

It’s Hermione. Of course it is. He’s not surprised.

He watches her cry, her knees pulled up to her chest, her hands clenched and her nose running and he feels relief. She’s crying over him.

It doesn’t occur to him that might not be it. It’s what makes sense. He’s been looking and looking for some sign that this was hurting her as much as him and, now, here it is, right in front of him.

He waits for her to acknowledge him. She knows he’s there.

He waits for a long time. She keeps crying.

He moves, slowly, feeling as if his legs are heavy. They don’t belong to him. The fire snaps in the hearth. Is he still in the Gryffindor Common room?

The same burning question seems to echo in his ears. Why?

He sits down next to her, the couch soft and he sinks down into it. He wants to say something to her, but he doesn’t know what.

She wipes her eyes, her hair sticking to her wet face. Her chest still hitches with her ragged breaths.

“Harry…” she whimpers, moving to him.

He gives a small oomph of surprise when she slams into him, her arms curling around his neck. Her face presses against his shoulder and he can feel her hot tears on his skin. Her grip on him is frenzied, her fingers tightening compulsively on the collar of his shirt.

“What’s… Hermione…”

She sobs harder, climbing almost all the way onto his lap, shifting closer until it’s almost as though she’s trying to burrow into him. He feels her lips against his neck, pressing tiny butterfly kisses below his ear.

He wants to close his eyes and pretend nothing’s changed, but everything’s changed and he still doesn’t know why.

Hands slipping around her waist, he gently pries her away from him.

She sniffs, and looks at him, eyes red and face blotchy.

“What’s wrong…” she says, the words dying on her tongue. Her face screws up as the words seem to hit her. “Oh, god, Harry…”

“Yeah,” he says, in a hollow voice.

“Harry… I didn’t… I…” she wipes her cheeks, her teeth biting dry lips. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

She presses her face back against his shoulder, as if that will stave off her shame. Harry releases a deep breath.

“Why?” he whispers. His heart pounds and he thinks something is tearing inside him. “Why, Hermione?”

She just shakes her head, her hands clenching and unclenching the material of his shirt around his collar. She presses herself closer, seeking comfort and reassurance. Harry isn’t sure if he wants to give it to her.

“You… you didn’t care…” he says. “Nothing ever hurt me so much… and—and you didn’t even care.”

“I did,” she whispers. “Oh, I did.”

“I don’t understand!” he bursts out. “Hermione, why… is it a spell… were you forced…. If anyone cursed you, I’ll kill them, I swear I—”

“No,” she says, sagging with the weight of her words. “It was my own choice.”

“Oh.”

He sounds defeated and his arms drop to his sides. He doesn’t want to touch her anymore.

As if suddenly realizing their position, Hermione moves backwards, almost falling off the couch in her haste to get off him. She stands, her eyes bright.

“Harry, you must understand… what I feel for you…” she searches for the right word and clenches her hands. “It makes me… different. I’m obsessed, I’m… I’m… I can’t focus. I can’t be rational. I can’t think straight. I don’t know how to be like that. I didn’t… I didn’t know what that meant.”

“You didn’t know what that meant?” he repeats loudly. He drops his voice and stares at her, a defiant look on his face. “It means you were in love!”

“I know!” she shrieks. “Don’t you see? I was scared! I’ve always loved you, but it’s getting deeper all the time… and I don’t know what to do. I’m not good at emotion, Harry. I never have been. It… it was hard to hide from it in my books. Before we were together, I could push it away. It was almost as if it didn’t exist.”

“You got scared?” he demands. “That’s why you broke up with me? You were scared?!”

“Yes! No!” she says. “It was… it was everything. I needed time to sort myself out, prove that I could still push those feelings aside if I needed to. I had to know if I could keep going on without you.”

“And?”

“I can,” she whispers. “But it felt like I was breaking inside. Especially seeing you… ”

She sinks down to the floor as if her legs can no longer hold her.

“I made a mess of things, I know I did. I should have just talked to you about it. I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t… I mean, Hermione… a relationship isn’t…” he stares into the fire. He can’t look at her anymore. “You can’t just pick and chose. This is the stuff we’re s’posed to deal with together.”

“I know,” she says. “But I… I… the future… the war… I don’t….” Her hands curve into fists, bracing herself on the floor. “I’m not… rational when it comes to you.”

She looks up at him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Harry wipes his hands on his knees.

He wants to blame her, rage at her until she can feel the same pain he’s felt. But he’s seen the meticulous way she arranges her life. It’s about allotting time and lists and careful arrangement. For the first time, he understands how he’s changed that.

“Love isn’t about being rational,” he whispers. “Don’t you understand that?”

“I know, I…” her voice catches again, and she stares down at the carpet. “I wanted it to be. I thought… I thought I could… make things normal again.”

“By breaking up?”

She looks startled by his raised voice. He jumps to his feet and paces angrily, resisting the urge to start throwing things.

It had taken him so long to let himself love her, to accept that she could love him. To have her throw it so carelessly away…

“It didn’t work!” She stands up, planting herself in his path. Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and glares at her. “Harry, please, you must understand… I thought I could go back… but I can’t! I don’t care how irrational it is… I… I love you.”

“And I TRUSTED YOU!” he shouts. “I TRUSTED YOU MORE THAN I’VE TRUSTED ANYONE IN MY LIFE! AND YOU TOOK THAT AWAY FROM ME!”

She flinches, her arms hugging herself around the middle. “I… I…”

“Forget it,” he grits out. “We’re through, remember?”

He turns to go back to the boy’s dormitory. Anger is making his hands shake.

“Harry, don’t…”

“We’re through!” he hollers, whirling around. “D’you hear me?”

She pales. “Harry, please…”

His jaw clenches. He won’t listen. He won’t allow himself to care.

She sounds frustrated. “Harry!”

He’s almost to the stairs leading up the boy’s dormitory. He can’t look back—somehow he knows he won’t be able to leave her if he looks back.

“Harry… you…” she huffs loudly.

Without warning, he feels her body slam into him, and he has just enough time to register that the carpet is rushing towards his face before his nose crashes into it.

“Ow.”

He tries to move, but his body is pinned down.

“Oh… oh, Harry… I’m sorry…”

“Ge’off!” he mumbles, his face still pressed against the carpet.

“Are you alright?” she says. “I didn’t mean to knock into you so hard, I swear I didn’t!”

She rolls off him, scurrying around to face him. Harry slowly raises his head from the floor, his nose stinging. His eyes are watering and there’s a long crack in his right lens.

“Hermione!”

Hermione presses her lips together and Harry stares at her.

“Are you laughing?’

She presses a hand to her mouth and shakes her head.

“You… you are laughing!” he sputters. “How can you—”

“Oculus reparo!” she says. She leans back, smiling to herself. “Harry, I’m really, really sorry.”

“Yeah. Alright.”

“No, I’m…” she moves closer to him. Her face is too close to his—he can feel her breath on his chin.

“I’m. Sorry.”

“You said that already,” he says.

She tilts her head back to look in his eyes. Harry swallows.

“I know… I…” she leans forward and brushes her mouth to his, hesitantly at first. She gains confidence, her hands coming up to frame his face.

He pulls away. “Hermione—”

She kisses him again with more insistence, pressing herself against him. It’s like he’s no longer in control, his arms come around to wrap around her waist and he kisses her back, tongue darting out to meet hers. There’s a small voice in the back of his head telling him to stop, but he ignores it, hands brushing along her back until he can feel the end of her hair curling against his fingers.

He pushes her against the floor until he hovers over her, his lips straying down to her neck. His tongue licks against her skin and he knows he should stop, the voice telling him it’s over echoing over and over—but she feels good and he’s missed her and he doesn’t want to think about the other stuff, not right now.

He can hear her panting in his ear. Her lips are kissing every part she can, blind kisses against his lobe and cheek. Their noses bump and they find lips again, pressing themselves closer and harder until they both gasp.

She slides his shirt off his shoulders, the cool air a welcome relief. Her hands slide along his chest, down from his shoulders, along his sides and he shivers, pressing his face to the crook of her neck and releasing a long breath.

This is wrong, he thinks. It’s over. Over. OVER.

He pulls away and her hands automatically drop to her sides, her mouth bobbing open. A horror-struck look crosses her face and she immediately scrambles up, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hermione…” his voice is shaking. He reaches to begin doing up his shirt, but his coordination is lacking.

“I thought… I…” her head drops down to rest against her knees. “I wanted to show you that I… that I still...”

Harry shakes his head and stands up. “I don’t understand you anymore.”

Unmistakable hurt flashes in her eyes. “What do you want from me?” she whispers. “I’m trying, Harry! I don’t know how to make this better!”

“It’s not that simple!” he shouts. “You can’t—Hermione, you can’t just make things go away by having sex! It’s not like that!”

Her chin trembles. “I wasn’t—”

“You know you were,” he says. “It’s the Gryffindor common room! Anyone could—”

“I know! I KNOW!” she shouts, standing up. “I know!”

Her face crumples, her shoulders slumping. Harry stares at her, not knowing what to do.

“I can’t… I won’t accept that it’s over,” she says. She wipes at her eyes and stands tall, her hair a tangled mess around her face her fists clenched. “Not for us. You wouldn’t give up on us before and I won’t give up on us now.’

He turns his eyes to the floor. The room is spinning around him. There, right on that couch, that’s where she broke up with him and he felt his heart shatter in his chest.

“It can’t be over… it simply can’t be.” She goes to him and frames his face, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Are we, Harry?”

“I…” he swallows. “I dunno.”

That’s the best answer he has for her.

***

She’d kissed him first.

He can’t remember what they had been talking about—only the change that came into her eyes. Then her lips were on his, a soft brush, before she pulled away, silently pleading for reciprocation.

He touched her cheek with his fingertip, unable to fully grasp what was happening. He could only see her face. Her cheeks were flushed and the tip of her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

He kissed her the second time, letting his lips linger on hers. They grasped hands, making smalls moans of surprise.

Memories of their first moments together swirl around in Harry’s mind as he walks towards the lake. Wind blows through his hair and he draws his cloak tightly around his shoulders.

Weak, March sunshine reflects off the surface of the lake, making him wince as he plods along. Finally he reaches Hermione, a lone figure staring pensively into the lake in front of her. He stumbles to a stop at her side in silence.

“Do you ever wish you’d never met me?”

“What?” she said, startled. “Harry, how could you think such a thing?”

“I should think that’s obvious.”

“Of course I don’t! Goodness, Harry, you know full well what you mean to me.”

“I know… I… it’s just, with Voldemort and all… I can’t help but think that it’d be… easier… to love someone else.”

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, Harry. Never forget that.”

“What changed?” he asks her softly.

Her face is drawn together. The emotional toll of their estrangement has left both of them pale and withdrawn. Harry knows he’s left with a choice between mending their rift or separating them forever.

“What… what are you talking about?”

“You said loving me was easy,” Harry says. He moves closer to her until their shoulders bump.

She looks heartened by this gesture. Without looking, she reaches out to grasp his hand. Her fingers are cool when they link through his, but it warms him.

“I… I really miss you, Hermione,” he says. “I was sitting there today in the common room, just sitting there, and I started thinking about S.P.E.W. and how—how you’d never make me wear another one of those stupid badges again if I didn’t do something.”

“Oh, god…” she says. “Oh, Harry…”

His grip on her hand tightens. “I just… I need to know, Hermione. I couldn’t bear going through this again. What changed?”

“It was too easy,” she whispers. “It was… it was too easy. I was stupid, Harry, alright? I can’t learn this from a book and I’m going one step at a time here, and I got scared, and I panicked, and I don’t know what to tell you outside of that. I panicked and pulled away and I don’t know how to justify that to you.” Her chest hitches. “I don’t know how to justify that to myself. I’m sorry I hurt you—I’m sorry if I’ve ruined things forever, but I just don’t know. I don’t know.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans against him. She’s warm against his side and he lets his thumb rub aimlessly up and down her arm.

“I reckon that’s okay, Hermione. This is the stuff we figure out together, right? You and me. This relationship stuff. I don’t… I don’t have a better understanding than you do.” He pauses. “But I do know that it’s worth it to keep going. I’m stronger with you than I am without you. Everyone knows that.”

She gives a small laugh. “Figuring it out together. That… that’s smart.”

“Mmm. I know. I s’pect you’re beginning to rub off on me.”

Hermione gives a small sniffle and turns her head to bury it in his shoulder. Her arms hook around his waist

They stay like that for a while, staring out at the lake.