The Final Truth

Bingblot

Rating: G
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 12/09/2005
Last Updated: 12/09/2005
Status: completed

'Do you suppose we'll ever find that someone who's perfect for us?' she asked. 'I've already found my perfect someone...' One-shot.

Chapters

1. The Final Truth

1. The Final Truth

Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR; just playing in her world to try to rectify what I saw as the problems in HBP… No money is being made, etc etc.

Author’s Note: Written in a bout of insomnia so I’m not sure how good it is… This is, I think, as close to expressing my new-found hatred of Ginny!Sue that I’ve yet come.

The Final Truth

“He looks so happy, doesn’t he?”

Hermione turned at Harry’s quiet question and smiled. “Yes, he does.”

They both turned their eyes to Ron who was grinning from ear to ear in the same absolutely besotted manner he’d had this entire afternoon once the ceremony was over and he was actually married.

“They’re so well-suited, perfect for each other, really, odd as it might seem,” Harry commented.

Hermione glanced at him. “Why do you say it’s odd?”

Harry shrugged one shoulder and grinned a little. “Well, he used to call her Loony Luna and insist she was barking mad, remember?”

Hermione laughed softly. “Oh Harry, that was years ago. You know he would probably jump down anyone’s throat who called her crazy now.”

“Yeah. I know.”

A little silence fell as they both watched Ron and Luna talk softly to each other, seeming completely oblivious to the other people around them.

Hermione was the first one to break the silence. “Do you suppose we’ll ever find that someone who’s perfect for us?” she asked suddenly.

Harry glanced at her as she was still watching Ron and Luna with a half-wistful sort of smile on her lips. And found himself blurting out without thinking—maybe due in part also to the influence of the few drinks he’d had—“I’ve already found my perfect someone.”

She whirled around to stare at him.

Oh Good God, he’d actually said that. He’d actually said that- to her, of all people… He wondered frantically if he could laugh it off as too much alcohol—or just turn tail and run, for Papua New Guinea or some other remote location—or find a rat hole to jump into and hide himself…

“Harry! You have? Who is she? And why have you never mentioned anything? I didn’t know you’d gotten a new girlfriend.” She gave him a reproachful glance. “I would have thought you’d tell me if you were serious about someone.”

“I would. You’d be the first to know, you and Ron, you know that,” he said hastily, reacting instinctively to get rid of the flicker of hurt he could see in her eyes and hear in her tone.

She frowned. “But you said…”

He glanced upwards praying for some disaster to just strike and take her mind off him—or for some merciful lightning bolt to strike him on the spot. No disaster or lightning bolt appeared, however, and he swallowed and continued, reluctantly. “I only said I’d found my perfect someone. I never said--” he broke off, swallowing again, and looking away from her. “I never said my perfect someone felt the same way about me,” he finished quietly.

Hermione was silent for a moment, although she put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

“Oh Harry, I’m sorry…” she finally said. And then she frowned. “But Harry, who is she, anyway? I must say I don’t think much of her taste or her intelligence if she doesn’t like you. She sounds too much of an idiot to be worthy of you.”

“She’s not an idiot. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met,” he corrected her automatically—again before his brain managed to stop the words from coming out of his lips.

He made a mental note never to drink another drop again. Since when had his mouth stopped listening to the commands of his brain—or since when had his brain been so sluggish that it was left to groan silently at everything his mouth decided to say…

He needed to get away—after that revealing statement. He’d never been more thankful in his life for Neville who hailed him at that moment and he went to join Neville with an eagerness he’d never felt before—and leaving Hermione, again with an eagerness he’d never felt before.

Hermione stared after Harry as he went to talk to Neville, her thoughts and emotions in complete and utter disarray after the last few minutes.

She didn’t—she couldn’t—had Harry really said—could Harry really have meant—what did it all mean?

He said he’d found his perfect someone. That was clear enough—and if some small part of her felt a ridiculous pang of hurt, well, she ruthlessly and effectively quashed it.

His perfect someone didn’t feel the same way about him. How could anybody not love Harry? How could any girl not love Harry—especially if he loved her? Harry, who was so kind, who could be so sweet… Harry, whom half the witches between the ages of 15 and 40 seemed to be in love with—and that was without even knowing him.

She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.

Again she stifled the little voice in her head that protested, I thought I was the smartest person he knew…

He’d said so…

But he couldn’t—he hadn’t—he couldn’t have meant…

She was suddenly terrified, terrified of the flare of hope she felt, the sudden upsurge of a feeling she’d thought she’d conquered and gotten over long ago when she’d finally given up…

She found herself walking over to where Harry was still talking to Neville almost before she thought to do it, managing a smile at Neville as she asked, “Hey Neville, can I talk to Harry for a minute?”

“Oh sure,” Neville smiled and went to join Hannah where she was talking to several other girls they’d known at Hogwarts.

Left alone, Hermione was suddenly sure that this had been a very stupid idea, that Harry couldn’t possibly have meant what she’d thought, that she was only setting herself up for a world of heartbreak…

But it was too late now as she heard her voice ask, not quite steadily, “Harry, what happened between you and this girl?”

“Don’t ask me that.” He swallowed and looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She’d obviously forgotten as he’d rather hoped she would; he wasn’t about to remind her again, confess his hopeless feelings. Not now.

“What happened?” she persisted.

A muscle worked in his cheek as he stared blindly out at the dance floor for a moment, before he finally said, “I wrote her and sent her an owl telling her how I felt and asking her to send me a return owl if she felt the same way but not to respond at all if she didn’t. Well, I never got a return owl.” He looked down at the floor and then up at her, his eyes flashing as sudden anger got the better of him. “You ought to know that better than anyone, so why ask!”

He stormed off leaving Hermione to stare after him with the beginnings of tears in her eyes before she hurried after him.

He had gone outside, was taking deep breaths of the cool night air when she found him.

“Harry.”

He stiffened and then said, his tone uncharacteristically harsh, without looking at her, “So now you know the real reason why none of my other girlfriends have been that serious. If you’re going to say you’re sorry, don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I’m only sorry I brought it up in the first place.”

She took his arm, forcing him to face her. “It does matter—because I never got the letter.”

“What? You must have gotten it; the owl I sent it with came back to me, without the letter, so I know you must have gotten it.”

At least there was no anger in his tone now, only skepticism.

“I don’t know how or what happened; I just know I never got that letter.” She stepped closer to him, her gaze holding his. “Harry, look at me. Do you think I’d lie about something like this?”

“No,” he finally admitted slowly and stared at her, something dawning in his eyes.

She opened her mouth to say something—what she didn’t quite know and she never found out because at that moment, they were interrupted by another voice.

“I took that letter.”

They both turned to stare at the girl who stepped out of the shadows where she’d been, resolutely, though there were tears in her eyes and regret in her voice.

“Ginny!”

Ginny met Harry’s shocked gaze head on. Her voice trembled slightly but she persevered. “I took the letter. Hermione was asleep when the owl came and so I took the letter and let the owl go. I knew I shouldn’t open the letter but I recognized your handwriting, Harry, and I wanted to know why you would owl Hermione when either you or Ron floo-called her every week or so to talk about the latest things Hermione had found in her research. So I read it.”

Anger was beginning to grow in Hermione as she stared at this girl she’d thought had been a friend. “Ginny, you…” she began.

Ginny turned to Hermione. “It was the nicest letter, the sweetest letter. I still remember it. It said- it said that he’d realized finally that he loved you and not just as his best friend, that you were the most important person in his life. That he would have waited to tell you this until after everything was over but he didn’t want to risk not being able to tell you in case something happened and he wanted you to know that he loved you. And he thanked you for always being there for him, saying he loved you for your loyalty and your courage.” Her gaze faltered for the first time as her voice broke. “And oh God, but I wanted that letter to be mine. I wanted it to be me he’d written to saying that. I wanted it to be me that he loved. I’d always wanted it. And I just couldn’t stand to think that you would have him, that he loved you and not me—when I’d let him go and was waiting for him and always hoping that after everything was over, he’d come back and we could be together…”

Hermione lifted a hand to her mouth as she blinked back tears at Ginny’s memory of the letter, pierced with a profound regret. Oh if only she’d gotten that letter…

“Oh Ginny…”

Ginny continued on as if Harry hadn’t spoken, pale but determined to finish now that she was finally confessing. “I hid the letter and then later that day, I burned it.” She turned to Harry. “I told myself you couldn’t have really meant it, that you would come back and realize that you really loved me more or something—and when we got together again after you came back, I told myself I must have been right. But then—well, then, I realized that maybe I didn’t really love you the way I’d thought; I couldn’t understand you so many times; you never let me in. When we broke up, I was going to tell you but I told myself it didn’t matter anymore, that you’d obviously forgotten and that you hadn’t really meant it because you and Hermione were still best friends and nothing had changed between you two. I’ve been telling myself that for years—that if you’d really meant what you’d said, if both of you felt the same way, something would happen eventually, no matter what I’d done—but nothing ever did and I never told you. Then I heard you talking tonight, heard you tell her about the letter…”

“You were eavesdropping?” Harry asked, somewhat inconsequentially in light of the greater revelation she’d just made, but he couldn’t help it.

“No!” Ginny protested with the first return of her usual spirit. “I was just passing by; you really should know better than to have private conversations at a party like this.”

She stopped, her gaze faltering. “So now you know. I- I don’t suppose you could ever forgive me or that you’ll even believe me when I say that I really am sorry. I am—I’m so sorry; there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t been sorry but I just couldn’t bring myself to confess. Harry, Hermione,” she looked at each of them in turn, trying to smile through the tears in her eyes but not quite managing it, “I hope you two are happy. And I’m glad for you.”

She turned and left to go back inside to the party.

“That must have been on one of the weekends I was staying at the Burrow,” Hermione said lamely, not sure why she was so uncomfortable but unable to help herself from saying something so inconsequential it was ridiculous.

He didn’t say anything only turned to face her, lifting one hand to touch her face, so her eyes met his.

“So now you know,” he said again, very softly. “You know what I wrote to you seven years ago and how I felt—how I still feel. And now I need to know—would you have written me back if you’d gotten the letter?”

She managed a trembling smile. “Yes,” she whispered and then repeated in something approaching her normal voice, “Yes.”

He smiled, his eyes tender and shining with happiness and love. “I love you, you know,” he told her quietly.

“I love you too.”

He closed his eyes briefly on hearing those words he’d never thought to hear and realized at that moment he couldn’t even be angry at Ginny anymore. He was too happy to feel angry…

He drew her closer to him, bending his head and finally, finally—after so many years of thinking this would never be his—his lips touched hers and he kissed her.

At last…

~The End~