The Last Confession

Bingblot

Rating: G
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 10/08/2005
Last Updated: 10/08/2005
Status: completed

Hermione finally gets the courage to tell Harry how she feels... But what will this do to their friendship? One-shot.

Chapters

1. The Final Confession

1. The Final Confession

Disclaimer: JKR still owns all things HP. Just borrowing her world for fun.

Author’s Note: This is for Gil, aka Romulus Lupin, because it was inspired by re-reading his oh-so-brilliant fic, “Writer’s Block”.

The Final Confession

Dear Harry…

Hermione stared at the blank piece of parchment, completely blank except for the two words at the top. She’d been staring at this piece of parchment for a good half-hour now and had written nothing more.

Dear God, this was insane. That she, Hermione Granger, would somehow run out of words or be unable to find words to say what she felt, what she thought- now, when she’d finally decided she needed to say the words she’d kept inside for so long.

But it was so hard… And there was both so much to say—and so little to say… She could say so much—but all she really needed him to know could be expressed in three little words… But it needed more than that. Those three words, alone, weren’t enough. She needed to explain, to tell him everything. That was what she’d decided. It was the only way.

She could see his face in her mind so clearly, the messy black hair, the round glasses, the bright green eyes—and the famous scar on his forehead. She could see him smile, see him frown, see him when he was angry or sad or hurt or affectionate…

She knew him so well; she trusted him, had always trusted him, with her thoughts and her life…

And, somehow, that was all she needed.

Slowly, she dipped her quill in ink and began to write, and write, the words simply flowing now at the same speed as her thoughts—with the same honesty she’d always been able to enjoy with him, the same level of trust.

We’ve been best friends for so many years now. What started in a casual meeting on the Hogwarts Express has turned into the two longest, best and most important relationships of my life.

We’ve experienced so much together; you’ve done so much, changed so much since that day we first met.

And I stayed with you through everything, watched you suffer and grow and learn…

I realized at the end of our first year—when I had to go back to where we’d left Ron and you went on alone—just what it meant to be you, that it wasn’t over for you, your being a hero. It wasn’t over then, maybe would never be over. But I also knew that I would stay with you. Leaving you at that moment was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do until that time—but I promised myself I’d be your friend whatever happened.

And I think I can say, I was.

I came to all your Quidditch matches, cheered for you. I helped you with homework and with spells, helped you to rescue Sirius, not only because it was the right thing to do, to save an innocent man, but because it was important to you. I helped you to get through the Tri-wizard Tournament and then nearly died in that moment when you’d disappeared, nobody knew where… I never felt such relief in my life as when I saw you again after the Third Task, even though you were pale and bloody and looked so beaten and tired—I was relieved just to know you were alive.

I watched you when you were angry, put up with your outbursts and your temper because I understood why you were angry and couldn’t blame you. I never in my life would have imagined that I would ever want to hurt another human being, ever hate another human being, ever want to attack another human being let alone a teacher, as much as I did Umbridge for what she was doing to you. I never told you- the way I felt every time that year when I looked at your hand and saw the scars from your detentions with her—the utter helplessness I felt because I couldn’t save you from her, couldn’t save you from those detentions. All I could do was offer you the essence of murtlap, a temporary solution.

I went with you to the Ministry even though some part of me had a bad feeling about it, but I went with you. I would still go with you if I had to repeat that day, even knowing what I know now—that my bad feeling was right. I would argue a little longer, try a little harder to persuade you not to go—but I know that it wouldn’t do any good. I know you—I know how much you care, how much you would do for anyone you care about. I would still go with you. I would always go with you- anywhere. Do you know that? Wherever you go, no matter the danger or the risks, I’ll go with you, stay with you. Always.

I think it was when I woke up in the infirmary after what happened in the Department of Mysteries- woke up not knowing what had happened to you or how we’d gotten back to Hogwarts and then later, when I finally saw you again—saw the misery in your eyes, the guilt and the sorrow, the secret I could see in your eyes, even through that detached mask you kept on in the days afterwards… I think it was then that I realized I loved you. That I’d somehow given you my heart and my soul- all I had in me to give.

And it scared me. It scared me so much, I panicked. I tried to deny it, tried to fight it. I told myself I could stop myself from losing myself in you, from giving too much of myself to you.

I didn’t understand—it was so irrational, so intense, so unexplainable—all these feelings I felt for you, the depth of the feelings I felt for you, this belief that I’d given you my soul…

I panicked.

I convinced myself I fancied Ron because of all the times I’d suspected he fancied me, because of all the times I heard Lavender or Parvati or other girls speculating about which of my two best friends I’d end up with, because of the occasional times when Ron would make me laugh or say or do something that made me realize that he really could be sweet, that he really was loyal and brave… I cared about Ron, I knew I did; for all our fights and our bickering, I’ve always known I cared about him. So I told myself I fancied him.

And then I began to suspect that you fancied Ginny.

You never said anything but I knew you too well and your embarrassment, your (badly) disguised curiosity about her and Dean, it all told me that you fancied her.

And when you finally kissed her in the Common Room, I was happy for you. I was happy for you and I smiled and supported you—and refused to acknowledge the tightness in my throat or the stinging of my eyes.

You were happy and I wanted you to be happy. You’ve known so little happiness; I know that better than anyone and seeing you happy made me happy too.

And then there was Ron…

I don’t want to talk about Ron or how angry he made me (he really can be the most insensitive, unfeeling sort of prat) or how I acted because of that. I’m ashamed to think of it but somehow, being around Ron just seemed to turn me into this other person, this girl I didn’t know I had in me, this girl I didn’t like.

And then everything happened—so fast, it seemed. You were leaving with Dumbledore to find the horcrux and then suddenly Hogwarts was under attack and you weren’t there and we didn’t know what was going on or how the Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts or anything. I won’t talk of that.

But then I saw you again, in the Infirmary. I saw you again—God, that look in your eyes! You looked so- so hopeless, so defeated, so miserable and I was just so glad to see you, to know you were alive I had to hug you.

The next days are something of a blur for me, a blur of questions and sadness and fear and uncertainty—and love. I loved you so much then, seeing how you tried so hard to hide your misery, seeing how you tried so hard to be strong. I loved you so much then.

I told you I’d stay with you—to find the Horcruxes, to do everything you need to do to defeat Voldemort. And I meant it—and I did.

We did it—we found the horcruxes, eventually found out how to destroy them and we did it together, you, Ron and me. And you faced Voldemort, alone as I’d somehow always known you would—it was one thing Ron and I couldn’t really help you with, one thing we couldn’t really be with you for—as it turned out, we couldn’t even be there, except perhaps in spirit. But you did it and you came back- scarred and bruised and bloody and changed, in some strange, indefinable way. A person doesn’t face what you faced, endure what you endured, without being changed.

But it was still you, after all, still Harry. And I still loved you. I knew by then that I always would. Nothing I did, nothing you did—nothing could change that.

I was with you as you tried to move on, tried to pick up the pieces of your life and somehow, find happiness, find a measure of peace…

I’ve been with you for all of it, it seems, always your best friend, always by your side.

I gave you my soul.

I gave you my heart and my mind and my soul—every part of me, the best part of me. For so long, so many years.

I’ve dated; I’ve seen other guys, tried to care for them, tried to find someone who could make me care for him as much as I care for you.

But always, always, somehow, in some small part of me, I think, I’ve been waiting—waiting for the courage to finally tell you all this.

And even now, I’m taking the coward’s way out in writing you this instead of telling you all this to your face.

You say that I can do anything, that I’m so much stronger than you are—I’m really not.

I just hide it better. And if I’m strong, if I’m brave, it’s because of you. You make me stronger and braver than I am—because I refuse to let you down.

When it comes to this—when it comes to confessing feelings—I’m a coward.

I can’t look you in the eyes and simply tell you that I love you, that I’m in love with you, that you are the most important person in my life, that you are—everything.

It’s taken me years (the fact that it’s been more than 3 years since I first realized at the end of 5th year that I love you should tell you that) for me to get up the courage to do this.

So now, I’m finally telling you. I love you, Harry James Potter. I love you with all my mind and my heart and my soul; I’ve given you all there is of me to give.

I know all your faults, your guilt complex and your insecurity and your stubbornness and your temper—but I also know your kindness, your caring, your humor, your courage—and I love you.

That’s all.

You don’t have to say anything; I don’t expect a return owl.

I just wanted you to know.

I just hope—I just hope this won’t change anything. I hope we can still be friends, the way we’ve always been. Because, Harry, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you as my best friend. We can still be best friends, Harry.

I just needed to tell you all this, finally. And maybe, now that I have, I can move on too.

I don’t regret any of it, I don’t regret loving you, I can’t regret it. It’s made me who I am today, made me a better person, made me a stronger person.

Now, finally, I want to tell you all this and move on.

I love you. I’ve always loved you and I think some part of me always will.

Hermione

~*~*~

She turned from closing and locking the door of her flat behind her and gasped, one hand flying to her throat in surprise. “Harry! You- you startled me.”

She turned on the lights in her dim flat so she could see more of him than just his shadowed presence in one of the armchairs, trying not to meet his eyes as she talked inconsequentially, putting her groceries away in the kitchen and all the while feeling his gaze on her. It felt as if it were burning her.

She wished she’d never decided to send that letter; she suddenly felt naked, exposed, vulnerable—having told him the secret she’d hidden for so long, that deepest-held secret of her heart. But she knew she’d had to tell him. It was the only way she could move on, to exorcise the ghost of that feeling, so to speak.

She turned back around from the cabinet and jumped again. He’d come up behind her, silently—until he was close, too close, trapping her against the cabinet with his body though there were still a few inches of space between them.

His gaze caught and held hers and her forced conversation stumbled to a halt.

“Harry, I--”

She never knew what she was going to say because he interrupted her. “Do you have any idea how your letter made me feel?” he asked, his voice quiet but forceful. “Do you have any idea…” he stopped, his throat working, and then continued, his tone almost vibrating with suppressed emotion. “Do you know how I felt to know that someone—that you—cared that much, loved me that much, had loved me for so long—and I never knew?”

She didn’t speak; she couldn’t; there seemed to be an obstruction in her throat.

“I felt—Merlin, I can’t even describe it. I felt—as if I’d never been truly alive before, as if all this time I’ve been waiting for something, searching for something—only to find that it’s been right next to me, all along.”

He stopped again and now he lifted his hand to touch her cheek with infinite gentleness, infinite tenderness. He bent closer, rested his forehead against hers as he finished quietly, “Thank you. Thank you for always being there for me, for helping me, for being my best friend. But most of all, thank you for loving me. And Hermione, I love you too.”

The tears she’d been fighting finally welled up in her eyes on hearing these words she’d somehow never allowed herself to really hope she’d hear him say and she blinked them back furiously.

“I’ve known it for months now but I never said anything because I didn’t know, I wasn’t sure how you felt or how to tell you or—or anything. But I love you. So much. I--”

She cut his words off with her lips as she flattened herself against him, kissing him with all the passion, all the love, all the emotion of years finally coming out and being expressed. Her hands slid into his hair—his messy untamable hair.

She felt his arms close around her forcefully, his hands clutching at her back and tangling themselves in her hair—and all she could think was two words, two words which seemed to echo in her mind that was rapidly losing all other coherent thought: at last…

After all these years, all these years of keeping in her feelings, of simply being his friend when she wished, in her secret heart, she could be so much more than just his friend—after all these years…

The last secret was out, her confession had been made, the waiting was over. She’d found what she’d been searching for, waiting for, hoping for… At last…

The End