Keeping Watch
Chapter Three: Ron
I disabled the charm that was on the glassless window, and leaned out, sending a detection charm out to the edge of the wards. They shimmered a moment, and became invisible again. Nothing alive had approached them tonight. I pulled my upper body back into the room, and replaced the shield.
I stepped quietly over to the corner where Hermione and Harry had already kept watch, and sat quietly, my knees under my chin, wand out. Harry had climbed back into the bed on my side, and appeared to be already asleep.
His breathing was even and steady, but his face still looked strained. I felt a moment of pity followed by a flash of irritation. Couldn't he let go? Enough to just sleep for awhile? Idiot, I thought fondly, carrying the world around on his blinking shoulders all the bloody time.
At one time, I had envied Harry.
Not anymore.
When I first met him on the platform at King's Cross, I was in awe of him. I knew his name. Everyone did. He was a powerful wizard, so powerful he had defeated Voldemort from a crib. He had been branded, the only sign of his close brush with Avada Kedavra being a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. I'm not sure what I was expecting exactly.
But he was only a boy. A skinny, poorly-dressed - almost as bad as I was - boy, who had been brought up with Muggles. Part of me also felt sorry for him, even as I envied his fame…and his money. Perhaps I could take him under my wing, help him adjust, and maybe…just maybe, ride on the coattails of the Boy Who Lived to fame and wealth.
I had felt vaguely sickened with myself for even thinking about it, especially after Harry rejected Malfoy's handshake, our first night at Hogwart's.
He was clearly of a different sort.
And then I had appreciated him just for being Harry, for having things that had nothing to do with, that were there in spite of, his parents' deaths and Voldemort. His ability to fly, his Seeker reflexes, his love of a good prank, his generosity, his easy laugh, and his look of wonder at some aspect of the wizarding world that I had long taken for granted.
Being friends with him had always gotten me into trouble, often into danger, and sometimes into deadly peril. And I didn't regret a second of it.
Except maybe the parts where there were spiders.
I imagined what life would be like with no parents, to have father figures snatched away from you by the person that had wanted you dead for seventeen years. It was really astounding what Harry had had taken away.
Hermione and I refused to remove our friendship from him. I had seen the contemplative look in his eyes, the guilty shadow of death that he seemed to think hovered near him. He thought he put our lives at risk; our lives were at risk.
And now this…this hunt, this ridiculous quest…looking for things where Voldemort had stored pieces of his soul. We didn't know what they looked like, where they were, or how to destroy them once we had them. The task seemed utterly impossible, which is probably why none of us mentioned it very often.
All I knew is that I would die before I would abandon him. He had been abandoned too many times already. Hermione and I had discussed it, and were for once, in complete agreement.
Hermione and I… My eyes shifted to look at her. She was curled on her side, away from me now, but I saw the cascade of brown hair and the hunch of her slim shoulders.
Now there was something interesting. The first time I met her, she had raised every hackle I had. She was bossy, domineering, haughty, and frighteningly intelligent, the kind to give a bloke's inferiority complex nightmares.
It had been Harry who dragged me up to the girls' loo, when Quirrell set that troll loose on the castle. After she stood in the ruined bathroom, in her wet robes, and took the blame for the troll incident, I looked at her differently.
She had become as integral in my life as Harry. The three of us were multi-faceted together, a seamless team. I enjoyed being a part of that.
Then, during fourth-year, I began to look at Hermione differently still. Part of my irritation with Krum was that he was drawing Hermione away from us, breaking up our nice arrangement. But, then, at the Yule ball…
She was gorgeous. I had never seen anything so gorgeous, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. Padma Patil had been a bit irritated, as a matter of fact.
And now…well, I wasn't exactly sure what we had now, but it was going well. The year seemed to go well, except for the incident with the canaries… well, and the Death eater attack on the school, and Dumbledore…
Damn.
I had been worried about Harry at first, especially when Hermione and I were working everything out, but then he had gotten with Ginny. I was thrilled for them both, partially because Hermione wouldn't have to worry about Harry being alone.
She always worried about him….
She was worse than Mum, really. Was Harry doing his homework? Was Harry eating enough? Was Harry sleeping properly? Was Harry being possessed by Voldemort? Was Harry putting himself in danger?
The way she carried on about the Half-Blood Prince's book…you would have thought she was… obsessed…
I let my mind drift backwards through our years at Hogwart's. Her top priority had always been Harry. And perhaps I had always known that… and accepted it, on some level. After all, Harry was important, vital to everyone's survival. And he was our friend. Of course she worried about him.
But it had been Harry that Krum had been jealous of. It had been Hermione that Cho had angrily questioned Harry about…
I had played the second fiddle to Harry for so long that I was nearly used to it. What if I was playing second fiddle here too? What if Hermione was settling for me because she thought she couldn't have Harry? I stood to my feet, jerkily, almost before I realized that I had done it. I needed to move, to vent some of the excess frustration built from these new and scary thoughts.
She and Harry seemed to be able to talk to each other, without speaking. They would hunch together over some essay, with Hermione pointing out places where it could be improved. He would nod and take her advice, and then look over at me and grin, because that was just Hermione.
Hermione and I fought. A lot. And why did we anyway? She would say something in her know-it-all voice, and I would make fun of her, and she would roll her eyes, and say something rude about my intelligence, or lack of it, and I would….
It was a habit.
It was a habit, because without the fighting….
There was nothing there at all.
Nothing…
The sudden revelation stunned me as effectively as a spell, and I sat back down with a muffle thump, slumping over my bent knees. I tried to think of a time where Hermione and I had peacefully coexisted, even enjoyed each other's company.
We had gone to Quidditch games together…but that had been because of Harry. And there was that day in Hogsmeade, when the danger of Sirius Black had kept Harry trapped at the castle…and Hermione had fretted about Harry the entire time. We had banded together out of necessity at Grimmauld Place…but that was because Harry was so emotionally strung-out as to be bloody impossible to handle.
When Hermione and I were left to our own devices, we fought.
It was as simple as that.
Harry was the glue that held our mismatched jigsaw puzzle together. And where did that leave me?
The wind whined through the skeletal remains of the house again, and it sounded almost like someone was moaning in pain. And was that..? I shook my head as I thought I heard the faint, faraway sound of a woman screaming. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
I stood again, nervously, suddenly, and walked as closely as I dared to the edge of the house, where the fourth wall of the bedroom had crumbled away when the house caved in on itself. Then I saw it, glowing in the grayness of pre-dawn, the white wooden slats of a baby's crib….Harry's crib. Weeds grew under it, and were starting to protrude through bottom, tufting around the sides. It gleamed whitely in the dimness, but it probably did not look quite so pristine in full daylight. I swallowed hard, as I thought of Harry's rigid stance, and wondered how many times life would slap him in the face.
I had vaguely registered that something had upset him when I left to go check the wards at the beginning of the night. I had figured that Hermione would handle it.
I laughed aloud then, a short bark of bitterness. Hermione would handle it. Of course she would. She always did. She concerned herself with every detail of Harry's life, the minute nuances of Harry's moods; she studied Harry, she obsessed over Harry, she immersed herself in Harry. I shook my head, amazed at my own stupidity. I had been blind, dazzled by false hope, and mistaking friendship for something else, something more.
Hermione had always focused her attention on what was important to her, whether it was her studies, her exams, Spew, or … or Harry, my mind snidely supplied. That focus, that relentless determination was the keystone, the very center of what made her Hermione.
And I had allowed myself to believe that she felt that way for me. But why had she acted so angry at me last year? Was it because I was turning my attention away from where it should be…on how I should help Harry? Or was she angry at herself…because to be with me was the `easy' thing, the convenient thing, the comfortable thing?
Being with me was all those things, I thought…but not the right thing. Not the right thing. I wondered if somewhere Merlin was having a good chuckle at my expense. Shouldn't I have known? Shouldn't I have seen it?
There was a sudden movement and barely audible muttering, and I looked up to see Harry twitch on the mattress, in the throes of another nightmare.
"No," he said clearly, "not her. Don't!" and the words faded into muttered nonsense. Her? I thought. Who?
But then Hermione moved on the bed, her curly head lifting a little from the mattress, as she reached out one hand. The curve of her shoulder prevented me from seeing what she did, but I knew she was clasping his hand in hers.
"Hush, Harry," she commanded softly. "I'm right here."
"Hermione?" he cried out in a fretful, frightened way, like an abandoned child. And isn't that what he had been? The yearning plea in his voice told me what Harry would have probably died before uttering. I felt a pathetic compassion for him, that rose up and swamped any anger and bitterness I had momentarily tasted. He was Harry…snagged by Fate, forced into certain directions, being made to play a part that he had not chosen, but could not abandon.
How could I begrudge him someone like her?
"I'm right here. It's okay," her voice was soothing, heavy with meaning. He murmured something else that I could not understand, and appeared to calm down.
I watched Hermione's ribcage rise and fall. And I knew…I knew then. He needed her desperately. And she loved him…perhaps just as desperately.
It was over. I couldn't fight this. I couldn't change it. I couldn't reverse it. And I wasn't even sure I wanted to.
How had I not seen before? I knew them both, and what had previously taken me by surprise, now seemed glaringly obvious. They were spiraling toward each other, gravitating toward each other…they always had been. If I got caught in the middle, I would be crushed. I smiled grimly. When - if - when this was over… I wouldn't keep happiness from them for my own selfish ends.
He had been my friend for years, had saved my life on numerous occasions. Now I could return the favor. The decision had been made, and I sighed deeply, causing my breath to rattle somewhat painfully in my chest.
Why couldn't she have loved me?
I leaned back in my corner and watched them. As the dawn rose up over the willow tree, and glazed the overgrown lawn with silver, I could see more clearly their sleeping forms, turned toward each other, knees curled up, nearly touching. Hermione's hand lay gently over Harry's.
The look of peace on his face took my breath away.
FIN
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