(II) The Bench By The Fence

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HaPPy NeW YeaR, dear PortkeyMates!! ^_^

I'm a bit late, I know, I know. But I'm a little girl suffering her New Year's tradicional Faringitis-Tonsiilitis Set, and therefore isolated for the rest of the world, so to me it's still New Year, lol.

This little two/three…-shots happens after what happens in The Girl Sitting On The Grass. You can read this without having read the former, but you'll see the whole picture better if you do it .

***STePHaNie, my dearest and hard-working beta, deserves all the honours relating to support me, beside technicals and grammar and syntax and.... In summary, you should've seen this before her touch…^_^ You're the best STePH!!!

And you, the one reading this, THANKS A BUNCH! I do hope you like it ;)

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

THE BENCH BY THE FENCE

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The Girl Who Looked Pretty.

oOo

You think you look pretty.

Every toe on your feet is aching for freedom. The shoes aren't high heeled, but they aren't the type of shoes you're used to wearing either.

However, they are beautiful, so you picked them up.

"Your dress matches your beautiful-but-uncomfortable pair of shoes. Your mum says that midnight blue is definitely your colour. You think the same. Your dress is not only wonderful, it also happens to make your figure look remarkably…better. Not that you could be taken for a veela. But you didn't know that just one particular -and a tad expensive for your liking- dress could do that to your body… and your soul, because you're feeling ten times prettier than you know you are.

"Even your hair looks different today. Instead of bushy and rebellious, you've managed to change it into something more than tolerable. Since your arrival, you've been told -more than twice- that you look very beautiful with the highlights and curly locks you chose for this day. So it must be true."

"You must look pretty today."

"But that's just not the way you feel. Because you're feeling like an old pair of shoes.

"

At Harrods. "

It's not that you truly wish you were a veela, as most of Fleur's relatives are. They are… stunningly pretty, though you're not sure if the word stunningly -or any other, truth be told- does justice to the way they look today. You've even caught yourself staring at Fleur's little sister Gabrielle -without blinking- a couple of times. But you couldn't bear being a half-veela, with almost everyone staring at you. Stares have always made you feel nervous and uncomfortable, because people don't stare at you often; not in that way."

But she is not a veela, you remind yourself, in a sort of self-torturing mantra.

And then, sitting alone out there on the bench near the fence, you have found out that it's possible to feel even worse.""

You can clearly hear the music and the laughing and the cheering. It's a wedding, after all.

And you were there just a few minutes ago, chatting animatedly with an ecstatic and happily-in-love Tonks. Though it rather was like Tonks doing all the chatting and you doing all the listening about how your former professor had finally agreed to give them a chance. But suddenly your gaze, little traitor that it was, went upon him, and you started to feel sick. So you gave Tonks some random excuse, and ran off.

You needed air.

And so here you are, still needing the air, because the stupid tears in your eyes are slipping down your face. You know they are a threat to the titanic efforts you've made in an attempt to have your face match your shoes, dress and hair. But who cares?

An old shoe, you chuckle sadly.

And you suddenly feel angry with yourself. This is not the first time it has happened to you. You should have learned to deal with it by now." But, as it may seem, there're still a few things that Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, just won't ever learn.

And you're even angrier because you've never been concerned about something so trivial like your looks before. Better said: you've never been concerned about your looks in comparison to other girls. Not even with -you still feel the nausea- Lav Lav.

But then you know that you're angry for a very different reason than your looks.

Little eight-year-old Mione comes to mind. You remember, as if it were that very morning, the first day you started to listen to the girls at school, spreading horrible lies and rumours about Father Christmas. You were so sure about magic, even then, several years before you discovered you were right, that you just couldn't believe them. You could feel that magic was out there, so you, always a thoughtful girl, decided that you had to help those poor girls to see they were wrong."

The only thing you wanted was to help. And you were only eight. Therefore, you could have never seen that one coming. You could have never seen that your help would bring back such misery." Maybe Trelawney was right after all. No trace of the Inner Eye, indeed.

"

It was an awful Christmas that year.

"

And right now, almost ten years later, at the Burrow, you're feeling that very same ache in your heart.

I didn't see this coming either.

You could have never imagined, in a million years, that helping her would lead you to this wall, this night, with this pain in your soul.

Wiping your tears away, you slowly become aware of the music and the laughing and the cheering again.

Maybe Ron is looking for you at this moment. Maybe you should be looking for him too, instead of wallowing in your misery out here. But, in all honesty, you know that going back there is not really at the top of your wish list right now.

Maybe he's dancing with her, you think sadly, as you hear the music playing slow.

You were staring at him. Even when you had specifically forbidden yourself to do it… Not that you didn't know it was a lost match long before it started.

Tonks was saying something about Lupin, but you were barely listening to her anymore. Or breathing, or feeling. At all. You could only watch. Watch how he was there at the opposite corner, oblivious to whatever Ron, Fred and George were laughing at. His gaze was on her dress, her elegant bridesmaid's emerald-green dress, which not only matched his wonderful eyes, but also made her figure look even more perfect. His gaze was also on her beautiful mane of red hair, today half tied and adorned with glittering green little jewels, matching her dress. She was beautiful without make up, for Merlin's sake. And still you helped her look even better.

No. She's not a veela, but he couldn't have been looking more intently had she been one.

Wiping away your tears once more, you scold yourself immediately. You don't want to compare yourself with her. You know you shouldn't. You know it's not healthy. And you know you won't win.

But still.

You realize that you can't stop crying. You're only seventeen, after all. Life is not supposed to be that complicated when you're only seventeen.

But you don't like to cry. You like to be strong and logical, not feeble and pathetic.

And it's embarrassing because you're quite aware at any moment someone might come and find you, and then you'll have to make up a whole stupid cover for your tears, instead of screaming out the truth and only the truth—that you're scared. That you've finally come to terms with it." That you simply love him. That you always have. Not like a friend. Not like a brother. But that way he doesn't love you, but her.

When did it happen? How did it happen?

With your eyes fixed on your beautiful shoes, you try to remember. But it's difficult to point out a moment, a day, a fact. You have loved him for so many years that you just can't say when it all started to change.

One moment you were so sure about your feelings for Ron, crying over him and Lavender. But later you allowed yourself to think that maybe everything would be all right in the end. Not only because Lav Lav was now history, but because you saw that Harry, blessed and always blatantly obvious Harry, had started to see Ginny the way she had been seeing him for years.

Seeing Harry and Ginny finally kissing, you felt like jumping, because you knew she was happy, and Ron was happy, and he definitely looked happy. Everything would be all right.

That night, later in your room, you were still beaming thinking about Ginny's happiness, but mostly about Harry's happiness, and how much he deserved it. It's always been about that for you. It's always about him being happy and content and safe. What else could you do but beam?

The next few days you were ecstatic. The four of you laughing together, studying together…"Then one day you missed Harry after lunch time. You thought he would join Ron and you to finish a couple of essays, but he had preferred to go by the lake with Ginny. Quite understandable, you thought with a grin.

But days went by, and even if you did not fully realize it by then, your stock of grins was coming to and end. Maybe it helped that you seemed to be growing more and more apart. Or the fact that Ginny started to act like you were a burden to him. As if she never had come to your room crying her eyes out because he would never love her back." As if you never had supported her. Or him."

He's not you're business, she told you the day you arrived to the Burrow for the wedding after a rather cold welcome and a rather tense talk.

That was it. That was, you know now, the moment you became aware of what those little twinges you had been feeling in your stomach for a while meant. Great timing,Granger.

But she was right, after all. He's not your business. You helped her to make him her business; you did your best to help Ginny out of her nervousness, her shyness and her clumsiness around him. Just like you did with those little girls years ago.

And so now, at this very moment, you're seriously taking into consideration that perhaps you should stop helping people at all."

All of the sudden you feel very tired. You just can't stand your shoes anymore. You wish you were at home, in your room, far away from the music, and the people…and away from him.

You would gladly give all the galleons in your Gringotts vault and all of your Outstandings just to trade these tears for the ones you spilt over Ron and Lavender during the last term.

Enough is enough."

"

As you calm down and wipe away your last tears once more, you promise yourself, your old self, that you're going to sort this out. You're not going to lie to Ron, nor to yourself. You're going to focus on the quest. You're going to focus on his safety.

You're not going to focus, not even for a single minute, on the fact that you're never going to be her, but you will always be his Hermione.

You are so lost in your new resolutions that you fail to notice the soft steps approaching until it's too late to come up with a believable explanation.

Don't let it be him. Please don't let it be him."

"

Your rotten luck.

"

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

The Boy Who Looked After

oOo

It was a wonderful night.

?The summer had started with a heat wave coursing through the country. But as the wedding day approached, the temperature slowly cooled, and a refreshing breeze began to blow. It seemed that even the weather wanted it to be perfect, because that wedding was a wedding in a time of war. And weddings in times of war were not only ordinary weddings, but also meant the victory of love over hate; of hope over fear and uncertainty.?

?Everyone seemed happy tonight. He was observing the guests laughing and dancing around the magically enlarged garden of the Burrow, as if nothing was wrong in the world. As if Voldemort didn't exist and Snape had never killed Dumbledore and people weren't dying everyday.

?But he understood. There would be plenty of time to think of Voldemort and Death Eaters and murders and dying.

?Today was simply not the day.

?So he was there, standing near the punch table with Ron and the twins. He didn't really feel like partying, but the Weasleys were trying their best to change that fact, and he was grateful for it. They were talking non-stop about Fleur's relatives. The feminine ones, to be more accurate. Ron had made a terrible mistake of continuing to stare at one of Fleur's male cousins for more than a couple of seconds, sealing his fate forever. Ron, like everyone else, knew that Fred and George wouldn't ever let him -or anyone else- forget it in a while.

He couldn't help but laugh along with the twins at the poor attempts his best friend was making to clean his image.?

But then his smile faded away. He was staring at her. Again. Even when he had specifically forbidden himself to do it.

He knew it wasn't going to be easy. He knew it at Dumbledore's funeral, the moment he told her to stay away. He knew at the Burrow, the moment he arrived and saw her as beautiful as always, but a bit sadder. And he knew it that very morning, the moment he watched her standing near the aisle in her bridesmaid dress.

Now she was there, dancing and smiling with that very same cousin that gave her brother the troubles with the twins.? She looked ridiculously pretty in that green dress, with those little glittering things in her hair.

Swallowing hard, he wished things could be different.

While twirling, she caught him staring at her, but he looked away way before she could even attempt a smile.

It's better this way, he reminded himself for the millionth time.

So he forced his gaze to wander around. And after a couple of rounds, he realized that it had been a while since he last saw Hermione. He recalled that she had been talking to Tonks then, but the pink-haired witch was now chatting with Molly and another red-headed woman. Hermione was not there.? He looked all over the place. She wasn't with Luna and Neville. She wasn't with their fellow Gryffindors Angelina, Katie and Lee Jordan, who had been invited to the wedding as well. She was not with Lupin and Alastor Moody, nor dancing with anyone.

She wasn't anywhere in sight.

He started to feel nervous. It was a dangerous time for his best friend to go missing. He was almost expecting something awful to happen all day, and although his worries hadn't manifested yet, he was still in alert mode. So, with a random excuse, he left the Weasleys and walked towards the opposite corner.

In less than five seconds, he had reached Tonks' chair.

“Harry, dear! Are you ok? Is something wrong?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

Harry really did appreciate Mrs. Weasley's concern, but he was starting to have serious problems with her continuous questions.

“No…no. I'm just looking for Hermione, but I can't find her. She was talking to you a while ago, wasn't she?” he directly asked Tonks.

“Yeah, she was…” she told him in that perpetual wedding mood she'd been having lately.? “…but suddenly she said something about needing fresh air. And I think she truly needed it. She looked a bit pale and-”

“Thanks, Tonks,” he cut off.

And without stopping to hear what Molly was telling him, he ran outside the party.

~*~

The Burrow was not very big. He thought he would find her somewhere. But she wasn't anywhere in sight.

After a few seconds of wandering through the gardens with his hand always near his wand, he finally saw a little silhouette sitting on a bench by the fence.

She's ok, he thought, feeling a powerful wave of relief. But then he realized that there was something odd. She was much too quiet, her gaze fixed on the ground. He started to walk towards her.

When he was merely a few steps from her, a very deep sigh stopped him. She was definitely not ok. If she was ok she wouldn't be wiping tears off her face.

He looked at her intently. Her best friend was not being herself lately, even if she was trying to mask it all the time.

But he knew better.

He saw how Hermione seemed to be pulling herself together. She was a big girl, after all. It was thanks to her that Ron and he had managed to stay calm and ready to spend sleepless nights talking and planning. It was thanks to her that he had started, only started though, to believe that he had a chance, because he was not alone. ?But the more he stared at her, so tiny and fragile, wiping tears alone, the more he could see the little girl that was simply terrified of being expelled in the first year at Hogwarts.

It's because of this nightmare. This damned quest, a little voice inside his head reminded him. Maybe even today, a happy day, and she couldn't forget about it.

He resumed his walking with slightly heavier steps, finally making his presence known. Now that she seemed to be calm, the last thing he wanted to do was startle her.

Once he felt she had noticed him, he took his time before speaking.

“You do realize that we are making a habit of this, don't you?” he said softly, the hint of a smile in his voice.

She looked up at him, and he could see that her eyes were slightly puffy. She's been definitely crying. She was attempting a smile, and finally managed, but it didn't reach her eyes.

“A bad one, indeed,” she answered, making more room for him on the bench.

Smiling back, he placed himself next to her.

“Tonks told me you weren't feeling very well,” he said, looking closely for her reaction.

“Oh…yes, but I'm fine. It was just a little…well, I just needed fresh air,” she answered. He couldn't know why she seemed so flustered. Maybe she was embarrassed, because Hermione Granger didn't cry. “And I'm a bit tired, you know…”

Harry saw her pointing graciously to her feet. They were high heels, and although he knew nothing about girl's fashion -or girl's anything, now that he thought about it- he thought they were perfect for her beautiful dress.

He had been aware of the large amount of stares at his best friend. His had been one of them, although he had felt like he was doing something he shouldn't. Ron didn't really say anything, despite having caught him looking at his…well, at her, the way he knew he had been looking. To Harry's relief, he just smiled. Hermione did look pretty after all.

Not that she could have been taken for a veela though. Her beauty went deeper than that. She didn't look as sophisticated as Ginny did either, but again Ginny was…well, Ginny. He knew very well what a tease she was, and that she liked the fact that people ogled her red mane of hair…among other things.??

But he was not used to seeing Hermione like this. The Yule Ball was two years ago, and the little girl that impressed everyone then was very different now. She had become this great woman that sometimes still seemed to have trouble fully understanding how worthy she was.

His best mate was a lucky guy, and he didn't seem to be fully aware of just how much.

“Harry?” Hermione called him for the third time.

“Sorry,” he said smiling, and with the feeling of having been caught red-handed. “I just got lost in thought.”

She returned a smile, but her stare went back quickly to her hands in her lap.

Harry wanted to know. He wanted to know why she was out there, all alone, and not with Ron and the others. He wanted to know why his best friend looked so nervous and upset lately, though he had a vague idea -an idea that involved a madman and a mortal peril and devastated muggle dentists, to name only a few issues.

And although he was aware that this was a silly thing to be worried about, he also was very interested in his best friends. Harry had never asked, but he was desperate to know. He just wanted to know if she and Ron… How could he ask her?

“Are you ok, Hermione?” was the only thing he could manage.

“Yes, Harry. I'm ok.”

“People don't cry when they are ok.”

“People cry for many different reasons, Harry.”

“Ok,” he conceded.? “What is yours?”

She didn't respond immediately, as Harry had expected. He knew she wasn't telling him the truth, after all. ?

“Happiness,” she finally answered, her eyes to the night sky. “Happiness in times of war.”

His breath got caught in his throat. He just couldn't believe his ears.

“Hope over uncertainty,” he whispered with a slight nod.?

She looked at him.

“Love over despair…yes.”

“Yes,” Harry said in a whisper, wondering once more how she could do that all the time-feeling the same things, choosing the same words. It was starting to be creepy.? “Love over despair.”

Silence fell between them, but only in the outside; Hermione's words were still echoing in his mind.

“Why did you come out, by the way?” she said, breaking their silence.

“I couldn't find you,” he said simply. “And besides, I don't feel like celebrating that much, you know.”

“Well,” she said in a lighter tone. “It seems that maybe red hair is a must to fully enjoy a Weasley wedding then...”

He laughed. “Or not…the twins were giving Ron hell. He made the mistake of staring too much at this veela…”

He saw Hermione's eyes falling again to her lap, so he quickly explained his words. ?

“It was a male veela; he wasn't staring at any of the girls, but at this relative of Fleur's, so Fred and Ge…”?

Harry decided to cut off his rambling. Hermione didn't seem to find it funny at all, even though he was sure he had been quick enough with the explanation.

“Hermione are you…did I say something? I mean…everything's ok with Ron, isn't it?”

Hermione's hands were playing with the fabric of her dress now.

“Yes...yes, we're ok,” she said too quickly.

Harry made his decision. It was now or never. ?

“Hermione, look…I know we don't talk about this but…well, I want you to know that I'm perfectly used to the idea of you and Ron together, and it's more than ok and…”

“Harry…” she tried.?

“I mean, I—well, I just would like to know for sure if you and Ron…if you are, you know…something.”

Since their talk by the lake that afternoon back at Hogwarts, he had somehow started to pay closer attention to her reactions and moods. Why or how it had happened, he didn't know for sure. He only knew that their renewed friendship was even stronger than it was before, and he was determined to make up for every day she had spent feeling miserable and lonely. So Harry started to look after her meals and sleep hours, her frowns and tiny smiles. He comforted her when she was missing her parents badly, and lately he had found himself comforting her even after any tense moment that she had with Ron, something he had never attempted to do again after that day in that classroom, where she had hexed Ron with those birds.

And because he knew her that well, he regretted his question the moment he saw the look on Hermione's face.

Damn it. ?

Maybe that wasn't the moment after all. Maybe Ron still was being the same moron of a best friend. Maybe his question hurt her, because she was not a veela, and Ron hadn't been staring transfixed at her.

Damn it.

Harry was almost expecting to see tears on her cheeks again, but fortunately there were none.

Great best-friend performance, Potter. Say something, what are you waiting for?

Hermione looked…hurt. And it was then when Harry realized, fully realized two things. One, that he was more than willing to drop the subject forever if it made Hermione feel miserable, no matter how desperate he would get to know. And two, that, for some reason, he wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

But an answer is what he got.

“Yes,” Hermione finally said after taking a deep breath. “We are.”? ?

“Oh…”

Harry would have never imagined that his own blood could be pulsing this hard on his temples without actually bursting out of his head. He wondered how long it would take until it finally happened.?

So that's it. ??

He knew it. He just knew it. But that knowledge wasn't helping. At all. He would like to have been told. Maybe they thought he wasn't going to be ok with it? Of course he was going to be ok. This…thing had been going on and on for years now— it was just the logical ending. But still he felt a pinch in his stomach. Because I can't have the same with Ginny, he reasoned to himself. Not at the moment.

“Harry,” he heard Hermione resume calmly, “we …we are best friends.”

He looked at her, not sure he was understanding her words.

“We would have told you otherwise.”

They are best friends. And they would have told me. They're only best friends.

“I'm sorry, Hermione.” He truly was.

His hands, moments before he could give any conscious order to them, had taken Hermione's in a slow motion.

“Don't be,” she said shaking her head.? “I am not.”

“Hermione, I know Ron, and I'm sure that he truly—“

“I know, Harry. I know.”

Apparently his face was doing a great job at showing how totally confused he was at the moment, because Hermione smiled tenderly at him.

“This…thing has been spinning around in circles for too long. It's been always so complicated. And it shouldn't be, Harry. I believe that…well, that it would take some time for things to work out. And we -I just don't think I have the time…or the energy.”

Harry looked down at their hands, knowing that she was now staring at him, paying close attention to his reaction; looking for any little sign that could betray his thoughts.?

Because this was Hermione Granger, and Hermione Granger knew him. And because she knew him, she knew what he was thinking.

It's because of me.

Always the clever girl, she had managed to make him promise to her and Ron that he was going to stop feeling guilty about anything happening to them from now on. He had to understand that they were with him because that was their choice.?

“All these years and you still don't understand a thing, Harry.” She had yelled at him one afternoon. He'd never seen her like that before. Not even with Ron.? Can't you really see that we are together in this? The three of us? Your path is our path. Your fate is our fate as well. Listen carefully, Harry: We. Chose. This. ?We had more than enough time to back up! But we're here, and I'm sorry to break the news, but it's our choice to make, Harry, not yours.”?

?“But it's because of me that you won't give it a try,” he blurted out without thinking.

Hermione's head turned with such force that he was almost expecting to hear her neck crack.

“Wha…what?”

Harry was sure that she was going to yell at him, or just get angrier than ever. But Hermione looked nothing like that.

Hermione just looked… terrified.?

“I know I promised, Hermione, and I'm really sorry,” he said quickly, “but even you can't deny the fact that maybe you'd have the time and the energy if not for me and the Horcruxes and—”

He stopped in the middle of his sentence. There was no way he could go on with Hermione doing the last thing he would have expected her to do.

She was smiling. She was…relieved??

“Oh, Harry…”

Oh-Harry had never been very good with girls. He had been even worse at interpreting their hints and actions. But he had thought that Hermione was an entirely different thing, because he knew her.

Until now.

She squeezed his hand, the remnants of her smile still lingering on her lips.

“No, Harry,” she said.? “This is not your fault. You know us…the way we are together, and the way we are apart. It's…complicated. I'm tired. And I'm going to need all my strength for other things.” Breathing deeply, she caught his gaze. “It's not our time anymore. And you're not responsible for that.”

All of the sudden Harry understood why Hermione seemed to find her hands so interesting. They were a great help when you felt like there's nothing to say, or when you want to hide somewhere; when your mind's racing and you just can't look straight into someone's face.

Someday you'll realize the terrible mistake you did by letting her go, mate.?

“Ron's a lucky guy, Hermione,” he started, finally finding words. “A very lucky one. He just never realized how much.”

Harry saw his best friend's cheeks turning pink, but at least she was still smiling. He knew that she hardly laughed or smiled very often since the end of the term. She always seemed so anxious. But now, right there on the bench, she was smiling.

And he felt so good that he could have kissed those pink cheeks.

“Oh yeah, very lucky indeed,” she said only half jokingly. “I'm insufferable, Harry. Don't think I don't know about that…”

“You have your moments, you know…” he answered after a fake deep thought. “But you know what they say: if you love the rainbow, you have to put up with the rain.”? He saw that Hermione's cheeks were getting even pinker, if that was possible.? “You're worth way more than a little rain, Hermione.”

He hadn't intended to sound so serious but, somehow, the mood had changed. Her hands felt so warm in his. And he couldn't stop talking.

“Most of the time you're just scared for us. And always for a good reason. I don't think I've thanked you enough for being with me all this time. For still being with me.”

He looked at her. She was doing it again.

Hermione's lips were wearing a tiny smile, but there were also tears in her eyes. He would never understand the mysterious beauty of this act.?

“Even when I stick my bossy nose in your business when I just should be minding my own?” she asked still smiling.

But Harry was serious.

“Especially then. I am your business, Hermione, and you are my business, no matter what others may say.”

His words took her completely aback.

“Harry, what are you…“

“I heard you,” he said. “The day we arrived here. I didn't mean to and I wish I hadn't.” ?

“Oh…I'm sorry, Harry,” she said, remembering her conversation with Ginny. “But Ginny was telling me nothing but the truth. You are not my business and—”

“Stop it,” he cut her off.

Hermione was lovely, but could be as stubborn as the best of them, so he wanted her to pay full attention to what he had to say. She had to understand a couple of things. He had been thinking about it since the moment he overheard the conversation between the two girls.

There were certain limits. Even for Ginny.

?

“Ginny shouldn't have said those things, Hermione, or at least she should've spoken only for herself. That's not the way I feel about you, and I thought you had understood that...”

He looked at her best friend sniffing, and that's when he gave in. Closing the distance between them, he took her in his arms. She was shivering.

“You've never been a burden to us, and definitely not a burden to me.”?

Hermione was still in his embrace, but then he felt her letting herself give into it, her arms around his waist.

He couldn't say how long they were like that, only that when he let her go, he was feeling lighter than he could remember being the whole day.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Anytime, Hermione.”

And they both smiled amusedly; they were talking like they were two extremely formal people.

“Uh…Harry,” she said hesitantly. “How-mmm, you know, how's been things between the two of you by the way?”

Harry lowered his eyes.

“Oh sorry,” she said hastily. “I shouldn't have—“

“No, it's ok. Well, you've seen us. We barely talk at all.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

She smiled at his answer, and so did he.

“But, Harry,” she whispered. “Well…I don't know, but maybe—maybe you deserve another opportunity. I mean, she's already a target, being a Weasley and all, and—“

“I know,” he cut off. “I already know.”

He understood the look of confusion that appeared on Hermione's face. He was confused too.

Seeing Ginny everyday at the Burrow was painful, yes. He still clearly remembered their little escapades by the lake, or the way she was able to make him forget about how miserable and complicated his life was with just one kiss. But as the days went on, even when his dreams were still of her, he started to feel that things wouldn't be the same right now. He wasn't the same either.

“When we…er, talked at Dumbledore's funeral, I told her that our days together were like something out of someone else's life,” he said in a low voice, as if he were explaining all those things to himself instead of Hermione. He probably was.

After a short pause, he resumed talking.

“Remember fourth year?”

Hermione smiled a little.

“Hard to forget, I'm afraid,” she said.

“Well, the first day, after Dumbledore announced the Tournament, I started to kind of daydream about it. You know, stupid things about how it would feel to be in front of the whole school doing those tasks. How it would be to hold up the Cup, people cheering and clapping and calling my name with admiration. Merlin, I even pictured Cho smiling full of pride…” he remembered with an embarrassed smile. “But then my name came out of the Goblet, and everything stopped all of a sudden. The daydreaming turned into reality. And in reality, I wasn't a champion I didn't really want to be a champion. I didn't want to witness Cedric's murder, nor fight Voldemort for my life.”

Hermione's hands were on his again. He hadn't notice when she had taken them, but he needed the grip.

“Oh, Harry…”

“I'm feeling almost the same way now,” he said with his gaze still lost in space. “My time with Ginny was like those daydreams. I was happy, my only worries being the ones of a normal guy: the captaincy of the team, win the Quidditch Cup, cheating in Potions, trying to show your girlfriend that you're not such a novice at kissing…things like that.”

He felt himself take a deep breath, as if he had been holding the air in his lungs. “Like I was normal…”

When he looked at his best friend, he noticed that she wasn't crying, but teary.

“That's why you didn't tell her anything.”

She wasn't asking.

“Yeah. I—I've been thinking about this. I'm quite aware that Ginny is already a target. I didn't lie to her, though; I'm scared of her being hurt because of me. She has told me that—well, maybe she's right, maybe we could…you know, go on with what we had. But I feel that she doesn't belong to this reality. In this reality is Ron, and you, and me, and the Order…but not her.”

He felt exhausted all of a sudden. It was the first time he had poured his heart out in…well, forever. He even hadn't put those thoughts into words until they had already spilled out of his mouth. But somehow he had known that this was the right moment. That she was the right person.

Around them seemed to be nothing but silence, although some corner of his mind was still registering the cheery noises coming from the party.

Harry looked at Hermione's hands. They were holding his very tight, as if she thought he could fall in some horrible black hole if she loosened the grip just a little.

She worries all the time…

“Hermione…” he started to say. But before he could even guess what he was going to say, she launched herself at him, her arms tightly around his neck. Maybe she was the one afraid to fall.

“I love you,” she said softly, tightening the embrace.

Closing her eyes, Harry smiled between her locks. Those words sounded so good put together... Now, at almost 17 years old, he had finally discovered what it was like to hear them. ?It wasn't awkward at all. It was wonderful.

And they had been meant for him. Only for him.

He wanted to say something, He really did, but he had never been so overcome with emotion in his whole life.

“Uh…Hermione, I...” he whispered hesitantly. “Thank you.”

The Burrow wasn't that big. That's why after a few steps, anyone could easily find the bench by the fence. That's why it was so easy for him to find them. ?

oOo

Hey!!

How are you doing! I'm really mad at new techs right now. The thing is that I have no computer. AT ALL. One day Grissom (my pc) started to make odd noises, and the next thing I know is that it couldn't even reach the desktop . And my works? My works are lost in some kind of black hole. The third part of this fic among them. Dammit.

I don't even know if I can send this note properly… Arghh, I could swear so badly that it would make a sailor blush like a lady… >_<

But don't worry, this fic is not anywhere near abandoned or something. It's been only a little accident I'll fix it!! ^_^

Hugs and kisses to everybody who read and review! And I'm sorry!

PS: To my dear beta Stephanie, I hope you read this! ^_^

oOo

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Hi! ^_^

Well, after all the troubles and the fights against the gang of Black Holes bullying my Grissom -my pc- I'm finally posting the last part. I liked better the one that got lost forever, but I hope this is not so terribly awful ^_^u

I hope you like it. And I also hope I can write the next scene -another fic- in no time.

Hugs and kisses to everyone for your time. You guys rock!

And as always, thanks to my wonderful beta Stephanie. You are a treasure. In fact, you are the real owner of the right half of my Author's Badge, lol. ;) Thank you SO MUCH!

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oOo

The Friend Who Looked…and Understood.

oOo

People tend to underestimate him.

Well, it's not that they do it without a good reason. Most of the time he's shamelessly oblivious to any subtle form of emotion. To any form of emotion, period, someone would say. And well, it's the truth…but only most of the time.

Sometimes, he believes being underestimated is not necessary a bad thing. Because when people assume that you are hopelessly oblivious, they feel like they can let their guard down. And with their guard down, it's pretty much easier to catch all those subtle little things that probably would go missing forever if people thought differently of him. So, as surprising as it is, he really doesn't mind.

Because he knows there are times that he watches. And he listens. And he understands.

He's been watching his parents today. They are happier than he remembers they've been in a long time. Probably since his prat of a brother decided that his family wasn't worthy enough for him to be related to.

He never tells them, but seeing them suffering hurts him badly. He doesn't like to see his mother crying with a rejected knitted jumper in her lap. He doesn't like to see his father being treated like he was shite by one of his sons, the one who happens to be the prat of the lot. Nevertheless, he knows that they wish the prat were here, at his brother's wedding, with his family.

And he won't tell anyone, of course, but he wishes it, too.

He's been watching his brother. His eldest. Mum's been nagging him for weeks. She thinks that he could show a little more interest in the whole event, considering how hard it's been for Bill. For them all. What Mum doesn't know is that, although he's not jumping all over the Burrow, he couldn't be happier for his big bro. Not only because of his now wife -and Merlin, what a wife!- but because the fact that Bill, in spite of his scarred and almost unrecognisable face, and all the pain caused by his wounds, exudes a very infectious and much needed happiness. He still remembers how Bill used to take him on his broom after the twins made him cry. He used to cheer him up: “Ron, one day you'll have your own broom, and you'll fly higher than me…even higher than Charlie!”

Today, as he watches his eldest brother laughing at something Charlie said, he knows that Bill was wrong on one thing at least; he's never going to be better than his brother on a broom. And he smiles. He doesn't really care anymore.

He's been watching his little sister, too, among the crowd that was the Weasley-Delacour wedding. Better said, he's been watching the red-headed beauty in the green dress that his little sister had somehow turned into.

She looks pretty. Very pretty indeed. At first he had a laugh because of the bridesmaid issue. When Mum told her that she was actually going to be one of the bridesmaids, she went pale. She looked so angry that for a few moments he seriously thought his sister was going to point her wand to her own chest and end her life right then and there. Well either that, or just kill their mother.

After watching her earlier dancing with that damned cousin of Fleur's, he can only think of one question. When? When did she stop being little Ginny and became this pretty girl?

Maybe, he reckons, brothers aren't supposed to notice those kinds of changes in their little sisters. Or maybe he just missed it, as he misses many other things.

But again, not every thing,

Because even as he had been fighting hard to regain his lost honour - the bloody cousin was a bloody veela, but he wasn't staring at him, but at his suit, a different thing entirely - he noticed. He had noticed how his best mate had suddenly stopped laughing. He had noticed how he wasn't listening to their jokes anymore. He had noticed how his eyes couldn't look away from someone on the dance floor.

And he felt sorry for him.

Because his look was a look of sadness, a look of longing, a look of resignation. The look of a boy watching the happiness he can't have, even if the reason he can't have it is only himself.

It's not that he is just that clever and sensitive, and now he can suddenly understand what everyone's feelings are at the moment, he tells himself. It only happens that he knows that look. He knows it very well.

He took a quick glance at him. Although his friend was too distracted to notice, he had looked away quickly anyway, because he didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. Harry is his best friend in the whole world, and she is his sister. But still they won't talk about it unless the moment -this is, Harry - seems to call for it.

It hasn't yet.

And now there he is, looking up to the night sky, breathing deeply. It's a wonderful night indeed, just as the entire day has been. While definitely not a fan of Astronomy, truth be told, somehow he feels like standing out there, a few steps away from the music and the joy that suddenly he doesn't feel like sharing, just looking up to the dark and starry sky.

Who would have thought?

But somehow he can feel that many things are slowly changing. He is slowly changing. Otherwise, it would have never occurred to him to leave a wedding party and go seek solitude, or maybe company. He's not completely sure.

He takes a few distracted steps into the garden, and then he stops in his tracks.

The bench, the stony little one by the fence, is poorly lit by the almost-invisible moon and the lights from the party, but he doesn't need more than that to recognise the two figures sitting on there. Poor kind of a best friend he would make after all these years if he didn't.

He's not surprised at all. Whom else would Harry have gone to after leaving the party all of a sudden?

He takes a step towards them, but then he changes his mind. He doesn't really need any lights to guess what's happening on that bench; he already knows.

They are talking. And when they talk, he steps back.

So he watches them in silence, almost reverently. And once again, as it's been for a while now, he is surprised at his own feelings. Under other circumstances, he surely would have felt a pang of jealousy, of being left over, betrayed…but somehow he can't feel any of that now. Perhaps, he thinks, Ron Weasley, the Ron Weasley that never got to see Albus Dumbledore's dead body being carried by Hagrid, could. But not him.

She's comforting him, he knows almost immediately. Or maybe this time he is the one offering the comfort. He can't be sure. It works both ways.

While he still vaguely registers the sounds from the party behind him, he tries to pinpoint an exact day, an exact moment, and exact something, when things became like this. But he just can't think of a time when things were too different from how they are now. Hermione I-Give-Planners-To-My-Best-Friends-On-Christmas Granger, as Harry and he had secretly called her with a smile, has always cared for Harry in a way he never thought much different before, but that now he can clearly see. To her, nothing's more important than their safety. Than his safety.

He now understands that this was one of the things he noticed during the last year, even when he didn't fully know it back then. The fact that Hermione Granger's world wasn't revolving around Harry Potter's. That was it. And so, for a few months, he had felt that Hermione had actually seen him at last.

He smiles at the thought as he watches them hugging each other.

Because now he thinks -no, he knows- that he was right. Hermione did see him last term. It's just that what turned out to be the really important matter is what she didn't. What maybe she still doesn't.

But he knows better. Because sometimes he does watch. He does listen. And he does understand.

As Harry and Hermione let their embrace go and continue talking, he wonders why he doesn't feel worse than he already does. It's been like this for a while now, after all. But, surprisingly as it is, he understands. He knows it's not deliberate. They don't leave him out. They don't share secrets he doesn't know about. They don't even spend much time alone. He had caught Harry staring almost open mouthed that very morning at the ceremony, when he first saw her in that elegant dress. But he can't blame him. Hermione did look pretty, after all. Even more than she usually does to him. And he has also seen how his mate has been looking and acting around his sister. But he knows that it is there, and he can feel it. He doesn't understand it, or maybe he doesn't want to, but that doesn't mean that he can't feel it. That he can only follow them to a certain point, but then the path is only wide enough for two.

Again, old Ron Weasley would have gone mad at the sight of the girl he loves more than anything in the world and his bloody famous best mate sharing a bond he knows he can barely grasp. But, again, not him. He can say now he finally understands, really understands, what being Harry Potter means. What on Earth possessed him to believe that his best friend could ever be seeking eternal glory? Hermione didn't believe it for a second.

And for a moment he feels the need to lower his gaze, incapable of looking at them without feeling like an idiot. But things are very different now. Because the two figures sitting on that bench are the most important things he has in the world. The two that, without second thought, come first no matter what. He would never tell that to them, of course. Not because he doesn't mean it. He does. He truly does. And not because he doesn't want them to know— he's sure they already know. It's just how things are. How the trio is. How Ron Weasley is.

And just because of that, Ron Weasley will never say he loves Hermione Granger, either. Nor that he finally understands that the first huge mistake in his short life was to let her go, because he knows it's not their time anymore. Maybe last year, or even before…But not now. The same way that he will never say that he loves -yes, loves, in his mind he can say it without the threat of the twins making fun of him- Harry Potter. It's not true he doesn't like to be the sidekick. Being Harry's second it's an honour. And it is even a greater one since Harry's never seen him as his second, but as his brother. And he knows he will do anything for Harry, as Harry has been doing for them all his life. He knows he will die for him if the moment comes, and he won't hesitate for a second, as scared as he surely will be.

He can't tell these things to anyone.

But it's nothing but the truth. Blood bonds are very important, and he knows it and values them a great deal. He loves his family to death -with an exception…or maybe not. But soul bonds are something entirely different. Something of another kind. And he's so proud of the one they have that he doesn't care it's Harry who is making Hermione eat, making Hermione rest, or making Hermione sleep. He, Ron Weasley, is making the both of them smile.

Not an easy task, by the way.

He has almost decided to come back to the party and leave them alone when the sound of soft footsteps startles him.

“What are you doing here all alone? The party's the other way around.”

“I needed to breathe a little,” he tells to his sister, who looks flushed. “I don't think Mum would like to celebrate the wedding of a son and the murder of two other sons all in the same day.”

Ginny grins at his comment. “So I've heard…but we're brother and sister, Ron; you only had to tell me and I would've let you have a couple of songs with him…”

He wants to joke back, or pull a funny face, or something he would normally do to let her think that everything's ok, but he knows he's failed when she stops teasing and looks at him closely.

“Everything ok, Ron?”

He nods.

“Listen, Ron, you have to learn to ignore Fred and George once and for all. You know how they-”

“It's not because of those gits,” he cuts off his sister, who is now looking at him with a frown that reminds him of one of Hermione's. But he doesn't really know what to say after that. Without thinking, his eyes turn to the bench by the fence instead. And so do hers.

“I was going to ask you about Harry and Hermione just now,” she says more brightly, the frown forgotten. “Are they the ones over there?”

“Yeah…” he answers. “I was looking for them.”

His sister looks at him, then at the bench, and then at him again. And he knows exactly what's coming.

“So why are you here all alone then? Come on, let's go and join them. We're at a wedding after all. They shouldn't be playing solitaire heroes today,” she says, and starts walking towards them.

He's quicker, though, and is grabbing Ginny's left wrist before she can take one step more.

“No.”

“What?” She spits the word, almost. But he's adamant on this.

“I said we're not going.”

Even he is startled by the harsh tone of his voice. He hadn't planned to sound that way. But now Ginny's looking at him, a familiar look. She's confused, he can tell, but also angry. She has never taken orders very well.

It's not going to be easy, he thinks resignedly. But, surprisingly, he doesn't care. He's choosing what he knows is right, not the easy way out.

“And why, pray, tell me, can't we go to them exactly?”

He doesn't respond immediately.

“They are talking,” he says calmly after a few seconds, as if it were the most evident thing in the world. Not that he was expecting Ginny to understand.

“They are talking, ok,” she repeats, crossing her arms in her confrontational way. “And?”

“And that's why we are not going to butt in.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ron? It's Harry and Hermione; we're not going to butt in anything, as you put it.” Her tone is less nice this time.

“You don't understand anything,” is the only thing he says, his voice flat. He knows that if there's something that infuriates his sister more than telling her she doesn't understand, is just this; staying calm when she's ready for a brawl. But he's really fed up with her sister's tantrums.

She doesn't burst out, though. She just looks at him with an unreadable face, which hardens visibly when her eyes turn to the bench and see Harry and Hermione too close for her liking.

“Yeah, I see…” she says coldly. “Maybe you're right, dear brother. Maybe I don't understand a thing about what's going on. But you can enlighten your little sister, can't you? So Ron, please, would you be so kind as to tell me why you're not with them if they're only talking over there? And would you be so kind as to tell me why you won't let me go to Harry? What are you afraid to find out, Ronniekins? Or is just what you have actually found out?”

“Shut up, Ginny,” he says, but it's barely whispering.

“Why should I? I'm telling nothing but the truth here. It's not my problem that you choose not to see it just because it's about darling Hermione,” she says with her gaze fixed on him, as if daring him to deny her words. “Do you think I'm stupid, Ron? Because I'm certainly not. She won't let Harry live his life the way he wants to, always `Harry, I don't think you should' or `oh, Harry, you must do this or that...'” she says mocking Hermione's worried voice. “Who does she think she is?”

“Ginny…”

“She just can't stand the fact that Harry won't listen to her and only her; that he's finally found love and he got tired of her constant tight grip. She's not his heroine anymore and she just can't stand it! If I didn't know better I'd swear she's just trying to…Have you seen how she looks at him, dear brother? I've been in love with Harry since I was ten, for Merlin's sake! Did she really think I wouldn't notice? And here I thought she really was the cleverest witch at Hogwarts…”

“Ginny, just -”

“Just what, Ron? Don't like the truth, huh? You like her, don't you? So why are you standing here like an idiot? Why aren't you there with them? And you won't even let me go? I'm sure Harry wants me to be there for him! I'm sure she just played the little willing victim thing, the jealous bit-”

“SHUT UP!!”

He was sure he had been managing to stay calm enough while Ginny was spitting her venom, but his own shout echoing through the garden seems to prove him wrong. Ginny's looking at him, speechless, open-mouthed, as if she can't really believe it's him who has cut her off with a shout. In all honesty, he can't really believe it either.

But he feels angry, very angry, because she doesn't know a thing, and yet she does. He considers the possibility of turning on his heels and just leaving her there. But he's been listening to her; it's his turn.

“Now you listen to me, dear sister. You don't know a thing; you don't understand a bloody thing. What the hell do you know about us, Ginny? Do you think you're part of us? Do you really think that a few weeks of snogging Harry give you rights over his whole life, over the friends who have been there with him since the very first bloody ride to Hogwarts?”

“Of course it does!! I'm his girlf -”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he says, incapable of restraining a rather scornful laugh. “You are not a part of us, little sister. Sorry to burst your little pink bubble, but better your older brother than a stranger, don't you think? What's your problem anyway? I thought I heard you say you weren't stupid. Can't you tell when you are sticking your bloody nose in things you have nothing to do with? When did my friends or our friendship become your business? Look at you, talking about Harry as if you just won all sort of rights over him, when you know that he won't talk to you about what he doesn't want you to know. And what's that, talking about Hermione as if she had ever treated you like the shite you're spitting out about her? Look in my eyes and then tell me who the jealous bitch is again.”

He feels light headed after blurting all this out. But regret's not anywhere near his thoughts right now.

“You're so blind, Ron...” Her eyes are full of rage and tears, but at least she's not shouting anymore. “Blind and pathetic.”

Her face is hard, but so is his as he holds her stare without blinking.

“And so are you.”

And with this he knows it's over. He knows it is because, instead of shouting back at him again, she just looks down at the ground, clenches her jaw, but says nothing. No; Ginny Weasley is not stupid.

Her eyes turn one last time to the bench by the fence, before pushing him aside with all her fury on her way back to the party.

I had to do it, he whispers to his feet.

Suddenly he really wishes the party was over. The last thing he needs right now is his mother asking him to apologize. Because he's sure Ginny won't let this go without her having the last word. Well, maybe he'll be lucky enough to hide among his Gryffindor mates until the storm passes.

He's about to leave when his gaze returns once more to the place he knows he belongs.

“Ron,” he thinks he has heard. And he must have, since his two friends are standing up now, looking at him, as if waiting for him to come. He can't see their faces, but he can almost picture Hermione's eyes, full of concern, and Harry's look, ready to be there by his side.

While walking towards the bench, he smiles. It is a wonderful night, indeed.

OoOoOoO