Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR, etc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Written for Cheering Charm's birthday.
Time to Say I Love You
It was going to happen now.
She knew it in a split second. Knew it in her bones.
What they'd been avoiding, stepping around the unspoken like it was a puddle they didn't want to wet their feet in, for months now.
She'd never said anything; he'd never said anything. There had been little moments, little touches, words begun but cut short. Times she'd caught his gaze on her lips-or her gaze had fixated on his mouth.
But nothing had been said, nothing had been done overtly.
Because of the past-of those few months with Ron. She knew it and she knew he knew it and every time he might have said or done something to cross the line, she knew the thought of Ron and what he might think-to say nothing of the additional danger it would put her in-would stop him.
And they would go back to their little dance of tension and unacknowledged feelings.
She had begun to think of it as their dance; it almost seemed like one. She took a step; he took a step in parallel with her; they moved together it seemed, sometimes awkwardly admittedly, but together-so far and no further.
Because of Ron… Ron and her and their history… Because no matter that she and Ron had ended relatively amicably after what seemed like a couple months of snogging, fighting, crying and then more snogging-there was still a history.
And she and Ron couldn't get past it. Just like she and Harry couldn't get past it. She supposed it was inevitable.
It was the shadow of the past.
She could almost have laughed; it seemed so cliché, so much the warning in all the stories and movies about what happens between a trio of friends when two are of one sex and one is of the other. Love triangles and awkwardness because naturally it would be impossible to stay platonic forever.
She and Ron were over-but there were moments, memories intruding and making things awkward even when the feelings behind the memories were gone. She knew Harry remembered every time she and Ron had disappeared to snog and then returned flushed and breathless. She knew she remembered every time she'd felt guilty about abandoning Harry like that. And they hadn't been particularly happy months.
She'd felt guilty over every time she and Ron spent some time alone (and guilt was not conducive to romance, she'd found); she'd felt miserable and hurt every time she and Ron fought (which, amazingly, seemed to happen more often when they were together than when they'd only been friends) and always, along with the guilt and the hurt, she'd worried over Harry and the horcruxes and Voldemort. No, they hadn't been happy months and she'd felt mostly relief when she and Ron had let their relationship die what seemed a natural death, snogging sessions becoming less and less frequent and when they did occur, shorter and more and more awkward, until finally she'd looked at Ron and he'd looked at her and she'd just said, with some regret, "It's not working, is it?" It hadn't really been a question, more a statement, and he'd sighed too and just shaken his head.
It had taken weeks for her to feel even relatively normal around Ron again but then neither of them had had time to think about their personal lives. She'd thrown all her energy and her waking (and often her sleeping) moments into helping Harry.
And it had taken months before she realized that she wasn't just helping Harry because he was her best friend (although he was) and the dread she felt every time she even thought about Harry facing Voldemort wasn't because he was her best friend either-but because she loved him. Because he was the most important person in her life. It was why she tried so hard these days to get him to smile or laugh, why she sometimes had to stop herself from just hugging him, hard, and never letting go-as if by holding on to him, she could protect him from whatever was out there.
She loved him-and she'd absolutely die if anything happened to him.
But she hadn't said anything. Because there was still Ron but more because, at first, she didn't know how he felt about her.
But eventually she'd realized that he must love her too-somehow. Not that he ever said anything or treated her differently-but she knew.
And still neither of them said anything.
For so many reasons, really. There was no time for romance when they were fighting a war and Harry was in near-constant danger, when they were destroying horcruxes and trying, desperately, to keep up with Voldemort's movements. And he refused to put her in danger. He'd broken up with Ginny for that reason; he wasn't going to put her in even greater danger.
It hadn't been the time.
But now-now, it was.
They were out of time now. And he'd be leaving in a few minutes to face Voldemort for good. They had a plan, knew where Voldemort was going to be-and they all knew this was the end. The final horcrux had been destroyed just hours before-and they knew Voldemort had felt it. He hadn't felt the other horcruxes being destroyed-but he had felt the last one, and he knew now that he was vulnerable. So he wouldn't wait, would attack once he'd gathered his forces-but Harry was attacking first in what would look to anyone, Voldemort included, like a suicide mission-except for the knowledge she, and a very few others, had-that Harry had found, through the help of Dumbledore's portrait and Professor McGonagall, an old, old spell more powerful than anything they'd yet found to separate Voldemort's soul from his body once and for all and destroy the last remaining part of Voldemort's soul.
It was a last, desperate risk, a last, desperate gamble-and if- if it failed-no! She refused to think it! She could not think it!
But now the time for avoidance and denial was over.
There was only now-because there might not be a later…
And had the sudden realization that really, the reasons for why she'd never acted on her feelings before, were incredibly silly and inconsequential. Yes, she and Ron had been together; it was over now, had been for months; she loved Harry and he loved her-and everything else didn't matter.
She moved across the Great Hall quickly, where Harry stood talking quietly and intensely with Professor McGonagall and Remus, going over the last-minute details of when Harry would leave and when the Order, nearly every single member capable of combat with any experience, would follow. The Order's force would include herself, Ron and Neville, over the objections of nearly everybody, because, as she'd argued forcefully, she and Ron were the two people most concerned with this and no one had more right than they did to be fighting alongside Harry at the end-and no one could deny Neville's right, quietly asserted, to face Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Harry."
Her voice was quiet but it seemed as loud as a gunshot would have been, despite the low hum of conversation in the Great Hall.
He abruptly stopped talking as Professor McGonagall and Remus seemed to discreetly melt away into the rest of the crowd, and turned to face her.
Her feet suddenly felt as if lead had been poured into them but she forced herself to move forward, her heart thundering so loudly she was convinced it must be echoing in the entire room.
Her eyes never left his, held his gaze steadily-and for the first time, she didn't try to hide her feelings, didn't look away or blink or any of the other tactics she'd used over the past few months.
I love you, Harry.
There was a flicker of a smile in his eyes. I know. I love you.
She was now within 3 meters of him. Her steps slowed, a first pang of nervousness (for what, she didn't know) going through her-but she saw the look on his face and as quickly as it had come, the fleeting uncertainty was gone.
And she closed the rest of the distance between them in a rush, throwing her arms around him in a hug-much like the hugs she'd given him before but never before had she hugged him with so much feeling-or, for that matter, before so many people.
She had the vague thought that this should really be happening when they were alone-but after all, it didn't matter in the slightest that they had an audience. None of that mattered; nothing mattered-except him and her and this moment, right now, when she was finally, finally, crossing the line.
Her face was buried in his shoulder for a long moment as she simply breathed in the scent of him.
She didn't say anything and neither did he. They just held on to each other, tightly, as if they were drowning and the other person was their only chance of survival.
He was the first one to let go, his arms loosening their embrace as they drew apart slightly, just enough for him to see her face.
Their eyes met in wordless communication.
We should be alone.
It doesn't matter.
And then his hands cupped her face, gently, and he kissed her with a mixture of tenderness and passion. Kissed her as her eyes closed, her arms sliding around his neck. Kissed her in front of just about every person they'd ever met. Kissed her as if they were alone-and until she felt as if they were alone, alone in the room and in the world… Kissed her as if he'd been wanting to kiss her for months, even years, and was finally acting on it. Kissed her as if he could happily go on kissing her like this forever, as she knew she would be…
Kissed her as if it were the last time-and by God, he was going to make it count…
She had no idea how long the kiss went on; it seemed to last both no time at all and forever-and she had the odd feeling that this was what she'd been waiting her whole life for.
They finally drew apart, both of them flushed and out of breath, neither of them noticing-and wouldn't have cared if they had-the complete and utter silence in the room as every eye in the room stared.
The slightest of smiles curved her lips as she looked up at him; he didn't smile but his entire expression softened, lightened, as he looked at her.
They hugged again, although it was gentler this time.
And then the moment was over; they stepped apart, people resumed their conversations albeit in a more subdued fashion.
She could see the change in him, as he switched into his single-minded determination mode, the hero in him coming to the front.
Professor McGonagall and Remus appeared again and they finished their conversation-and said their own goodbyes.
But at the last second, when all the other spoken and unspoken goodbyes had been said, before he left (to be followed by the Order in 10 minutes if he didn't send a prearranged signal), his gaze searched for, found, and held hers.
I love you-and I'll come back to you.
I know…
And she knew an odd, completely irrational, moment of peace and certainty. He would survive and he would come back.
She wasn't even sure why she thought so, but she did, knew it somehow. This wasn't the end; could not be the end, for him, for them…
~The End~