Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR.
Honesty Between Friends
The Truth Can Hurt
Ron got back to his flat to find Hermione waiting for him.
Not that there was anything unusual about this; what was unusual, what made his step falter and his greeting die on his lips, was the sight of her bags packed and sitting by the cloak rack.
"Hermione," he began hesitantly and then stopped as she turned to face him and he saw the tears in her eyes, tears that slowly streaked down her cheeks when she blinked.
He looked at her face-and he knew. He couldn't even say he was very surprised. It had been building for a while now, even though he'd tried to deny it, avoided thinking about it as if ignoring it would make it go away-but now he could only feel a little surprise that it had taken this long. A little surprise-and a lot of regret.
"I- I can't do this anymore," Hermione managed to say, her voice pained. "I've tried- so hard, to be happy, to make you happy, to make it work-but I just can't… I- I care about you so much, Ron. You know that, right? You're my best friend and I thought, I hoped, we could be so much more-but it just isn't working…"
Ron stared at her, his throat tight with a knot of emotion, for a long moment before he found his voice and choked out, "I know."
He could see some of her tension visibly leaving her at his words, relieved that he wasn't arguing with her.
There was another long, painful silence, broken only by a sigh from him and a muffled sob from her, as they alternately stared at each other and avoided each other's eyes-looking around at his flat where they had spent so much time in the few months since he'd gotten it, where they had talked and laughed and argued and made up, more arguing than anything else in the last few weeks.
He made a vague gesture toward her bags. "Where-" his voice cracked and he swallowed hard before continuing, "Where will you go?"
"Probably back to my parents," she answered softly.
He nodded dumbly. "Okay."
She got up to leave but then paused, hesitated, and then threw her arms around him in a last hug, which he returned, his arms closing around her tightly-it was a hug for past memories, a hug that spoke of regrets and some hurt, a hug of friends.
She drew back after a moment as he released her. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Me too," he said equally quietly.
She put on her cloak and picked up her bags.
"We're still best friends, right?" he blurted out, uncertainty and vulnerability and the hint of old affections in his tone.
She looked back at him, trying to smile but only managing a slight twitch of her lips. "Always," she said simply-and that, at least, was true.
It was the saddest part of this whole thing, really. She and Ron were best friends-still, and always would be; it was simply that they didn't work as anything more than best friends, no matter how much they tried and no matter how much they cared. It hadn't been enough to get over what was, essentially, an incompatibility of natures; he hadn't been able to understand her and she hadn't been able to understand him. It had manifested itself through their arguments, more and more frequently as the months went on-until lately, they'd stopped spending any time together as just the two of them and basically avoided each other except when in the presence of some mediating other person, Harry more often than not, although Ginny and the twins had also served that purpose.
He looked as sad and as resigned as she felt-and she had to look away.
"Bye, Ron," she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear it-and then she was gone.
~*~
Harry started at the sound of a knock on the door, putting down the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly which he'd been idly flipping through.
He opened the door expecting to see Ron as Ron had casually mentioned that he might stop by to talk about going to see the Chudley Cannons game against Puddlemere United the next weekend-but then his breath caught in his throat.
It was Hermione, tears staining her cheeks, looking so vulnerable his heart hurt at the sight.
She hurled herself at him the moment the door was open, with enough force to knock him back a step, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder with a muffled sob. "Oh Harry!"
He just managed to understand the words, half-wailed into his shoulder as they were, as he hugged her back. And he didn't ask what was wrong or why she was here; he could find that out later. For the moment, all he needed to know was that she was crying and had come to him for comfort.
And then his gaze dropped to the bags sitting just outside his front door.
His entire body stilled as his mind registered the significance of those bags. Oh…
He sternly stifled any reaction to the realization of what must have just happened; he would think of that later.
She drew back slightly, her arms falling from around him, as if she'd just realized what she was doing and where she was. She flushed slightly, not quite meeting his eyes. "Oh Harry, I'm--"
He cut her off before she could say what he knew she was going to say, reading the apology in her expression. "It's okay, Hermione." He half-led her over to sit on the couch before he went back to bring her bags into his flat, shutting the door behind him.
Hermione relaxed into Harry's couch, letting the comfort of just being with the person she trusted the most seep into her consciousness. She hadn't really meant to come here, had been intending to go home to her parents, where she still nominally lived even though she spent most of her time in Ron's flat, but when she'd closed the door to Ron's flat behind her and gotten to the nearest Apparating point, she'd known as she closed her eyes just where she wanted to go, who she wanted to turn to. The one person she somehow always turned to and who understood her and could comfort her-Harry. And even though she had always before kept herself from going to Harry when she and Ron fought, so as not to put Harry in the middle of it (he'd had quite enough of the position of mediating between his two best friends during their 7th year), this time, now-when she and Ron were finally over-she couldn't help it. He was the only person she knew she could turn to. And so she'd found herself outside his flat and knocking on his door almost before she'd consciously decided to do so.
She had closed her eyes but she opened them again as Harry came back with a mug of steaming hot tea and she knew even before she accepted the mug that it was her favorite kind of strawberry-flavored herb tea sweetened slightly with some honey, just the way she liked it.
"Thanks," she said gratefully.
He shrugged a little as he sat down beside her. "It's nothing," he paused and then asked, gently, "what is it?" even though he knew what her answer would be.
She kept her gaze on her tea rather than looking up at him. "Ron and I broke up," she told him softly, knowing he would have probably guessed the truth from the moment he saw her bags.
She wasn't surprised when he didn't react. He had guessed it, then.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded. "I- I just couldn't do it anymore, Harry. We've tried so hard and- and we care so much about each other but it just wasn't working. I- I wanted it to work. I tried to convince myself it was working, that I was happy-but I just couldn't do it anymore." Her voice broke slightly as she blinked back renewed tears. "I don't know, Harry. It- it seemed so perfect, you know-Ron and me. After the Yule Ball in 4th year and then Lavender and everything else, I thought-I thought we would finally be together and it would work. And Mrs. Weasley was so happy for us and Ginny was glad and the twins said they thought it was about time-and with Voldemort gone, it just seemed so perfect. Finally. It was going to be even more perfect when you and Ginny got back together-but then you didn't."
There was no reproach in her voice, just a simple statement of fact, but he responded anyway. "I didn't care enough about Ginny. I- I thought I could make myself care but I knew before it had been a week that I couldn't and I thought it best to tell Ginny honestly before anything else happened." He paused and then repeated, "I didn't love Ginny." He refrained from saying what he'd also realized about his feelings when he saw Ginny again-and knew that he didn't love her, because he loved someone else… He sternly killed the thought before it could even fully form, as he had for months now, not even letting himself think it.
"I know," she said. "And I don't blame you. I just thought-Ron and I would last, that when we finally got together, everything would be okay." She gave a half-laugh, although there was no amusement in it and only some self-deprecation. "I guess I've been a right idiot."
"No," he interrupted, "you haven't. You and Ron did care about each other and Ron had fancied you for years anyway. Of course you'd think that once you got together, everything would be okay. Everyone thought so." (Well, not him, but he refrained from saying that.)
She let out a shuddering sigh as she finished her tea. "I- I thought I could make it work if I tried hard enough. I guess I just wasn't good enough…" Her voice trailed off as tears welled up again.
Harry took the empty mug, putting it onto the table, before he gently pulled her into his arms, letting her cry into his shoulder as his hand rubbed soothing circles on her back. "Don't, Hermione," he said, his heart hurting at the sound of her soft sobs. "Don't. It's not your fault. And it's not that you're not good enough; you are. You deserve so much and you'll find someone else who can make you happy. You and Ron both will."
And he thought-as he always did whenever he saw her cry-that he would do anything- lie, cheat, steal, kill, anything- to keep her from crying. To make her happy, to see her smile-he would do anything he could…
It was a few minutes before her sobs quieted and she simply leaned against him, drained now.
"Harry?" Her voice was soft, tentative. "Could- could I stay here with you tonight?"
He froze for a moment, reacting automatically even though he knew she hadn't meant anything by it.
She sat up, blushing, as she realized what her question could be interpreted as. "I just don't want to go home to my parents and have to answer all their questions today."
"You can stay as long as you need to. You know you don't need to ask."
"Thanks, Harry."
He got up, suddenly needing to put some space between them. "I'll get your bags," he volunteered, picking them up and carrying them into the spare bedroom of his flat. He was suddenly immensely glad that he had decided to spend the extra money to get a two-bedroom flat.
She followed him inside. "Harry, I- you really--"
He managed a smile as he interrupted her, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "I don't think I've ever seen you so inarticulate."
A flicker of wan amusement passed over her face. "I guess being broken-hearted does that to a person."
He stilled, his expression somber. "Are you broken-hearted?" he asked very quietly.
She paused, thinking about it as his tone, the look in his eyes, told her that her answer would mean a lot to him-more, some small part of her mind said, than it should mean to him as her best friend. "No," she finally said slowly. "I'm sorry that Ron and I aren't together but I know it's right and this would have happened eventually. No," she said again. "I'm sorry and I have regrets-but I'm not broken-hearted." She paused and then added, so softly it was more to herself than to him, "And Ron isn't broken-hearted either."
He nodded but didn't say anything as he left her alone.
~*~
He couldn't sleep.
He wasn't surprised at his insomnia, had even expected it after the news that Ron and Hermione had broken up and with Hermione staying in his flat, sleeping just a few feet away.
Carefully, quietly, he got up out of bed and made his way through the darkness of his flat to the spare bedroom. He paused at the door which she had left slightly ajar, listening to the sound of her even breathing, before he gave in to impulse and slowly pushed the door open a little wider, enough so he could see.
He lifted his wand so the light from the tip of it spilled over the bed, grateful for nonverbal spells, as he watched her sleep.
It was a rare privilege to be able to watch her sleep, even from the distance of him still standing at the door, one hand lingering on the door knob.
She was lying on her side, one hand under her pillow and the other resting on her pillow by her face. He was glad to notice that there were no tear stains on her cheeks, evidence that she hadn't cried herself to sleep. He smiled slightly as he realized she was wearing the shirt he had bought her as a joke as part of her last birthday gift, a large t-shirt that said, 'Bookworm and proud of it.'
She was sleeping peacefully, her expression open and clear in a way he hardly ever saw it when she was awake. He let his gaze wander over her familiar-and so dear-features, caressing her with his eyes.
She shifted in her sleep and he quickly killed the light from his wand and closed her door again.
Hermione and Ron had broken up… Finally, a small voice in his head inserted.
Hermione was no longer Ron's girlfriend.
And he couldn't help but feel relieved, glad-despite his guilt. What kind of best friend was he to feel relieved over something that had hurt both his best friends? Then again, what kind of best friend was he to have been secretly in love with his best friend's girlfriend for so many months?
Because he was in love with Hermione. He allowed himself the luxury of admitting it honestly to himself, for the first time. He had spent months denying it, months making excuses for why he sometimes had to squash the flicker of resentment at Ron every time Ron said something that hurt or angered Hermione, why he always looked away and felt his stomach (and his heart) twist whenever he saw Ron and Hermione snogging-why he reacted the way he did every time he saw Hermione smile, why he tried so hard sometimes to make her laugh. No more excuses.
He was in love with Hermione. He had begun to realize it when he'd understood that he simply didn't care- that way- about Ginny anymore, if he ever really had-that he was fond of Ginny in the 'She's a Weasley' way but didn't care about her in any special way, anymore than he was fond of Mrs. Weasley. Ginny was a pleasant memory-but no more.
It was Hermione he loved-maybe it had always been Hermione he'd been in love with. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't care more about Hermione than any other girl, when he didn't trust Hermione more than anyone else. And he'd slowly come to comprehend that, somehow, without his realizing it, he'd also begun to think of Hermione as the prettiest girl he knew too. She didn't have Fleur's Veela-like beauty or Ginny's more fiery charm or even Cho's slightly exotic prettiness-but she was lovely. He loved the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked when she was excited or angry, loved the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating hard, loved how expressive her face was of her every mood-and, he'd finally noticed, her mouth was lovely. Maybe just a shade too wide for perfect beauty but it suited her face and was delightfully shaped- and- and- perfectly kissable. Entirely too kissable for his sanity or his thinking of her as only his platonic best friend.
He was in love with Hermione-absolutely, completely, irrevocably. He'd tried to stop, tried to deny it, tried to forget it, but nothing had worked.
And now she was free.
He hated himself for feeling glad, hated himself for feeling that it was about time Ron and Hermione broke up… For all his affection for Ron, he had never understood how Ron and Hermione managed to sustain their relationship with all the disagreements they had-only he'd always had to wonder how much of that was his own bias because he wanted Hermione for himself.
Hermione was free…
He would comfort her, help her, be her best friend as he'd always been.
And maybe, just maybe, he would tell her that he loved her-someday…
To be continued…