Realizing

Disclaimer: Ah, what woe! Nothing is mine to keep.

Author’s Note: Just Ron’s account of how he comes to accept the H/Hr relationship. A light, entertaining plot bunny that’s been begging to be finished for months. Hope you enjoy!

***

There they are. Just sitting together, waiting for me.

In theory, anyway. I think it’s bollocks.

Sitting there, talking in low voices, pouring over the mountains of books she got for us at the Library…

And it’s the way they act, the way they sit so closely together, both squinting down at the writing on the page, arms brushing each other’s…

Like they don’t notice at all. Like it’s just normal. Like everything’s the same.

It’s not. Not anymore. Now, it’s like everything is different when it comes to them—when it comes to her. At least, to me it is. I can’t look at them sitting like that and not feel slightly annoyed. I can’t look at them like that and not feel…left out.

It’s just…they’ve always had that connection, haven’t they? That…thing between them, that they just understand each other completely, and know just the right thing to say all the time. Hasn’t she always been the one to pull him through when he’s upset? I mean, I’ve been there too, but let’s face it: she always does the talking. She always looks into his eyes and says the truth in such a soft way, and she always holds him when he needs it—even if he doesn’t realize it.

And I just stand there, feeling awkward and out of place, nodding occasionally to emphasize a point she makes, or saying ‘Yeah’. Once in a while, I throw in a comment of my own.

But it’s always her, and that…that just doesn’t make me feel at ease. I’m supposed to be his best mate, too, right? We both are—me and Hermione. Me, Hermione and Harry. We’re a trio. Always have been.

Always will be?

I ask myself…how long? Just…how long have we stopped being ‘the trio’? How long has it been ‘Harry, Hermione, and…oh, yeah, Ron’? For how long has their friendship been more? For how long have they had that connection?

And then I just know. Always. From the start. She was always different. They were always different. They were always on another level, with me struggling to keep up. I was the discordant note of the famous trio; the one that didn’t fit in with the harmony between them.

And Merlin, does it hurt to acknowledge that…

It hurts to know that I’ll still go and sit with them, and join in on their little game of pretend. I’ll just act like nothing’s wrong, like I’m not feeling anything, and we’ll go about our lives, knowing it’s a lie.

I really wish I had the guts to say it to their faces. I wish I could tell Hermione that I fancy her, and I wish I could tell Harry that it’s Ginny he should be with, not Hermione.

Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be, right?

I mean, Harry and Hermione? Their relationship would be about as exciting as a flobberworm. They’re too much alike…there’s too much calm and understanding. At least with Hermione and I, there’d be a bit of…tension. Passion, maybe? Blimey, there would always be something new everyday, unlike with them. They’d live the same, ordinary lives; no surprises, nothing new. Just the same stuff, every single day.

And who would want that?

And look at Harry and Ginny. She makes him laugh, doesn’t she? She gives him what he needs—a way out of all this mess. No offense to Hermione, but she…well, she couldn’t do that. She’s too concerned with what could happen to distract him from it.

See? Hermione and I, Harry and Ginny. It’s all well balanced. And besides, we’d all be family. That’d be pretty wicked.

And we’d all be happy.

Right?

Right. I just wish they would hurry up and realize that before I have to tell them.

***

They were having a tickle fight when I got there. A bloody, sodding tickle fight.

I didn’t even ask. I cleared my throat, and they both jumped, as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. I shook my head, asked if they’d found anything else, and sat down. They looked at each other and remained that way for half a minute. Hands still entangled and everything. Then they looked away from each other, returning to their respectful seats.

Hermione cleared her throat, “Err, you asked something Ron?” her voice was still breathy from laughing. At that moment I forgot Harry was my best friend and really, truly wanted to rip his head off.

I was the one that was supposed to make her laugh!

“Y-yeah, I asked if you’d found anything else.”

“Oh—no. Not even a mention of Horcruxes. This is really turning out to be harder than I expected.”

I nodded, pulling a book towards me and opening it on a random page. It was hard work, keeping my eyes locked on the page when all I wanted was to yell at them. It’s just—how could they be so stupid? This was all wrong…they didn’t belong together. They were brother and sister material; the kind of people that are better off painting a wall together rather than kissing. Blimey, is that so hard to understand?

“Ron,” Harry said tentatively, “Are you okay? You look really…tense.”

I shook my head, not looking up, “I’m fine—I’m just tired of looking through books,” I grunted. And that wasn’t a lie, really. We’d been at it all day, and we still hadn’t found anything. Not even a mention off the word. It was dull work looking through tons of dusty volumes full of things you don’t really care about, and not getting any type of reward. And if you add to that the fact that I had to watch them getting all cozy together…well, if I have to be honest, Snape in a short, frilly nightgown is more appealing.

“You might get something out of it—these books have some really interesting hexes,” Hermione said. I could practically feel her shrugging and giving me one of those know-it-all looks. In any other occasion, that would have been rather attractive, but right now it really, really annoyed me.

“Yes, well, I’m not particularly interested in hexes, thanks.”

“Well you should. We need all the knowledge we can have…it’s dangerous out there, Ron.”

“I know,” I snapped, finally looking up from my book, “I’m not blind, you know.”

She looked rather taken aback at my outburst, “I…never implied you were,” she paused, biting her lip. And that—that simple gesture—made me forget why I was upset in the first place. It was as if she knew exactly what made me go crazy. Literally crazy. I suddenly got an impulse to smile, and I was barely fighting it. She frowned, “ Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting so…strange.”

“I’m—I’m fine. Just…hungry.”

Harry gave me an odd look, then glanced at his watch, “Yeah, it’s about dinner time. Come on, then,” he said, standing up. I stood up, too, desperate to get out of there, but Hermione remained sitting.

“Oh…but I really think we’re almost there…” she said softly, looking at the book before her with a hopeful expression, “This one looks promising, doesn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, so did the last fourteen books you read, “ I wasn’t exaggerating. She’d said the same thing for each book she opened since we’d gotten here. And—big surprise—none of them had anything mildly useful. Mystery how someone could be so optimistic…I would have given up after the first three.

She glared at me, “At least I’ve tried to look. Don’t think you’ve fooled me—you haven’t read past the first page of most of those books!”

Of course I had! “Of course I have! You’re not the only one who takes things seriously!”

“Sure seems like it!”

Here Harry seemed to sense danger. He cleared his throat loudly, moving to step between me and Hermione so we wouldn’t see each other, “Guys, come—”

I ignored him, of course, peeking over his shoulder to see Hermione, “I’m just being realistic! If we haven’t found anything by now, we’re not going to find anything later. Just face it—there’s nothing here!”

“You’re just being lazy!” she retorted, standing up.

“Bloody hell, Hermione, give it up! We have to search somewhere else!”

“Where?” she said, her voice suddenly very high-pitched, “Where else can we go?” And then she looked away from me, hiding her face from view. I could tell she was crying before she even started. It was always like this…she never cried when she and Harry talked—it was always when she and I argued. I was always the idiot that made her cry, and Harry always got to look good comforting her. And I was always left to look in from the side, feeling lower than dirt because I’d been such a prat.

Sure enough, Harry was beside her in the blink of an eye. You’d think he lived for these moments—he was always so bloody good at comforting her.

They were talking in low voices…I couldn’t hear what Harry whispered to her, but I could listen as Hermione sobbed and said, “I just—I feel so lost, Harry…like this is all h-hopeless. I don’t know what to do…we’ve n-no leads; no hints that can help us d-do this. This is the best I c-c-can do right now, and we all know it’s not good enough. It’s not what we need…”

Harry shook his head, taking her into his chest and saying something in a very low voice to her. She was still crying, but her eyes were locked onto his, wide as dinner plates. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, and by Merlin, it looked as if she was holding on to him for dear life—her knuckles were white and everything. I couldn’t see his face, but his arms were curled around her small body protectively, and I could see a hint of his fingers buried in her hair.

They were holding each other in that way. Like any minute now they’d lean in and kiss passionately, even with me standing there.

And that just did it. I already felt horrible for making her cry—I know, judging by how often it happens, it may seem as if I like it, but I don’t, actually—and now seeing them huddled there together, I really couldn’t feel worse.

But I realized…it’s my fault, isn’t it? I drive her away from me with the bickering, and the teasing, and all the stuff I do. And by direct consequence, she gets closer to Harry because, aside from the fact that he’s actually nice to her, he helps her through the rough times. He knows exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. Heck, even when he tells her something she doesn’t want to hear, he ends up winning.

Bottom line: Hermione needs—and wants—a person who understands and treats her like she deserves. And though I really wish I fit into that description, I don’t. I am a bloody prat what makes her cry and get mad. End of story.

I mean, when have we had moments like that? I can only dream of holding her that way; of having her look at me that way…with care and thanks and…desire.

I sighed. So maybe we’re not exactly meant to be. I was wrong when I said we were right for each other. And…sorry, but I have to say it…Harry’s never been that way with Ginny. He likes her, but it’s just physical with them. You just have to look at him and Hermione like this to know there’s chemistry—real chemistry—between them. And maybe…someday…love, too. The forever kind.

I actually felt sorry for having to break up their moment by talking. Really, they looked quite content without me barging in on their little moment of love. But I wasn’t going to give them the double treat of getting together and calling me immature. They could call me prat---that’s just dandy—but not immature. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” I said, loud enough for them to hear but still keeping my voice low, “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m an idiot.”

They pulled away and turned to look at me. Their faces were expressionless—I couldn’t really tell what they were thinking or feeling…but then I’d never really been good at faces. Maybe their expressions were as clear as their emotions for each other, and I was as blind to them as they were to their own feelings.

“I know you are,” said Hermione, nodding. She was silent for a while, and I thought she’d actually left it at that—calling me an idiot after I’d apologized to her. But then she smiled, “But then, so am I. We all have out faults. I made you out to be an irresponsible liar. I’m…I’m sorry. I really am,” she sighed, and her smile faded, “’…we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.’ Do you remember that?”

No. I shook my head truthfully.

“Dumbledore said it during his end-of-term speech in our fourth year. He was urging us to stand united, because only them we’d be able to defeat Voldemort,” she paused, then said, “I don’t want us to be separated because of a silly fight, Ron. I fight with you a lot, but…you’re one of my best friends.”

I was silent for a moment. I could say she was right, say some more stuff, and leave it at that. I didn’t have to divert her attention to Harry. I could continue with out little game of pretend, and act as if I hadn’t noticed the way they looked at each other. And it would have been so easy to do that, really.

But it wouldn’t have been right. I took a deep breath, hating myself for this.

“Ron, can I…can I speak to you for a moment, please?”

I looked up from my shoes to find Harry looking at me. He gestured towards the towering bookshelves on the other side of the Library, giving me a pleading look. He actually looked rather nervous.

I shrugged. Maybe I could talk to him about Hermione, too—steer him in the right direction. He smiled, gesturing for me to follow him, before glancing back at Hermione. She was staring at him, looking quite worried, her mouth a thin line on her face. I rather got the feeling she knew what he wanted to talk to me about. And honestly, she didn’t look too okay with it.

I started to feel slightly nervous as we walked farther away from her.

***

About ten minutes later, we were heading back towards Hermione. And I have to say, I never felt better. I’d become a better person today, after all. And that’s a nice feeling to have.

Harry walked before me. Poor bloke—looked pretty eager to get back to Hermione. I don’t blame him really—it’s Hermione. I wouldn’t mind switching him for her on any normal day.

Wait—not supposed to think like that anymore. After all, Harry was now officially aware of his feelings for her, and vice versa. And I was officially aware of the fact that she and I were—and would always be—just friends. Ah, well…it’s her loss. If she wants a boring life full of understanding and care and all that stuff, she can go right ahead. Some other lucky girl will get the spice and passion that a relationship with me has.

But Hermione still ends up winning, doesn’t she? She gets to have the lifelong romantic relationship alongside the person she truly loves. Anyone who gets that already has it all.

Whatever. I suggested the big happy Weasley family plan to Harry, and he shot it down. According to him, that wasn’t what Hermione really wanted, either. I guess they really do love each other. And it’s weird…I mean, when did that happen? When did their feelings for each other go from infatuation to love? Was I there when it happened? Was it a long time ago? Does it even matter when or where it happened?

No…it doesn’t, really. What matters is that it did, and that they realized it, as is proved by the fact that they are snogging right now, as I walk towards them. It’s a really passionate one—hands in each other’s hair, Hermione’s leg twined with Harry’s…rather disgusting thing to watch, really. Romantic, yes, but…disturbing. When did Hermione find time in her busy schedule to practice that?

And as this thought passes through my head, I come to a halt, turn on my heel, and decide to leave them alone. I’ve meddled enough for one day.

FIN