There's a Fine, Fine Line

A/N: Death to the Good Ship. Long live Independent!Hermione.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don’t own HP. If I did, this fic would not be necessary since I would never throw together two such ill-suited characters that so clearly need untangling.

There’s a Fine, Fine Line

There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend;

There's a fine, fine line between reality and pretend;

And you never know 'til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb.

They have been living in this apartment playing at how they think adults live. They dust furniture, and buy groceries, and do laundry like adults. They argue almost daily, making biting, caustic comments that cut so close because they’ve known each other since they were 11, and have been learning what buttons to push ever since. Then, when they have torn each other to shreds, they come together and, with the flush of anger still lingering in their cheeks, they fuck. They’ve been all over the apartment- the buffet in the dining room, the cold marble kitchen counters, the rumbling washing machine.

This is love, she thinks, because it must be. This is what she’s been after since she was 15, or at least that’s what everyone tells her righteous indignant anger signified. She loves him, she is assured, and they are perfect together. She’s never wrong, this can’t be wrong, because it’s what she wanted, isn’t it? Him, this apartment, passionate arguments and subsequent reconciliations?

It’s all terribly grown up.

There's a fine, fine line between love

And a waste of time.

She tells herself things like this everyday. Because the efficiency embedded in her bones will not let her entertain even the slightest doubt that this is it. Because if it isn’t, then she has flushed 5 years and more down the toilet of time. If it isn’t, then the thousands of cruel retorts and cool criticisms were not foreplay- they were just as mean and petty as they appeared. If it isn’t love-

It is easier to accept that love hurt like this sometimes (a lot of times) than to contemplate that it might not be love after all, so she keeps playing house.

There's a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a lie;

And there's a fine, fine line between "You're wonderful" and "Goodbye."

I guess if someone doesn't love you back it isn't such a crime,

But there's a fine, fine line between love

And a waste of your time.

She reads articles about the two of them sometimes and tries to see the life she is living in the romance described… childhood friends… unresolved sexual tension… pursuing each other in spite of the war raging around them… finally succumbing to their mutual passion as they aided their other friend in defeating the worst evil of their time… living together now, but expect an engagement announcement any day now…

It’s like reading about perfect strangers.

She remembers sarcasm… tears in her four poster at night as she wondered how ugly she had to be if her best friends couldn’t even realize she was a girl… lofty, cooing comments from Lavender about her wonderful boyfriend, and wasn’t it sad about Hermione?... anger… and finally confronting Ron one night as she desperately scrambled for something human to cling to, to save herself from the vortex of inescapable grief that Hagrid’s death had unlocked.

Harry had gone off on his own as soon as Hedwig had arrived at their small hut in the forest north Godric’s Hollow, his face completely inscrutable. Harry was always alone. Ron had made some comment about “stupid half-giants” and the tears brimming in his eyes damned his words as lies, but she had yelled at him anyway because yelling felt good. She wanted to yell, needed to yell, to let out her anger at the world, let Ron have it all. At some point shouting tumbled unpredictably into snogging, and she indeed let Ron have it all that night.

Everyone said it was love but Ron. She was sure he loved her, even if he hadn’t said it. He must, though, because everyone knew he’d been in love with her since they were children, he just hadn’t said it yet. He was waiting for the right moment.

And they’d get married someday. As soon as she got past the uncomfortable lurching she felt in her gut every time Ron mentioned how she’d leave her job as soon as the babies came and the vague sense of nausea that came over her every time someone told her how much they reminded them of Molly. Eventually Ron would see how much she loved her work, and see she wasn’t his mother, would see, like she did, that there was no reason that any children they did have couldn’t attend a nice muggle daycare and primary school while she continued to make the world safe for them by hunting down the baddies.

She was sure of it. She was positive. He would see, one of these days and then everything would be perfect.

And I don't have the time to waste on you anymore.

I don't think that you even know what you're looking for.

For my own sanity, I've got to close the door

And walk away...

What am I doing here? What was she doing? Why was she sitting here justifying the behavior of her boyfriend, who assumed she’d quit her job and have his babies even though he couldn’t even bother to tell her he loved her? Why was she planning on marrying a man- wishing to marry a man- who saw insults as a major form of foreplay? Why was she letting everyone but herself tell her how she felt?

How did she feel? She loved him, certainly, but the idea of spending the rest of her life with him, fighting, arguing, and insulting each other ‘til death did them part…

After she finally washed the taste of vomit from her mouth she started packing. She had always been the strong one; she’d have to be the one to save them from themselves.

She’s always been the picture of efficiency and from the time she finished retching it only took her two hours to be collect her things (magic is useful sometimes).

There's a fine, fine line between together and not

And there's a fine, fine line between what you wanted and what you got.

You gotta go after the things you want while you're still in your prime...

She doesn’t like to let herself think of those years as wasted. For one thing, she can’t even definitively state how many years it would be- the two of them had danced on that line for so long that it was impossible to pinpoint the beginning- only how long since they had added sex to their long practiced song and dance.

She does not rush to a new relationship. She can feel herself coming back to herself as she thinks contrarily that she has no need of a boyfriend: she is Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Age. She is friggin’ fabulous!

Ron never really told her that. She could see it in his eyes sometimes- like when she had received her OWL scores- but it had always been followed by a threatened inferiority that it had never been particularly affirming.

But now, on her own again, she is remembering how it felt to be sure that you were brighter and cleverer and quicker than everyone around you. It felt good to walk with that lift in her shoes again. She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten a lot of things.

She’d forgotten that she was only 21, and had decade upon decade ahead of her. She’d forgotten that she needn’t take anything she didn’t want. She’d been so busy playing house that she’d forgotten to be young and vicarious and adventurous. She’d forgotten that with most of her adolescence eaten up by defeating a murderous megalomaniac, that maybe she still had some maturing left to do. She’d forgotten how to listen to herself.

So she pursues what she wants whether it be a promotion, a book or a hot guy in a smoky bar and she does it with all the vim and vigor she has always invested in everything she does.

There's a fine, fine line between love

And a waste of time.

She doesn’t think of wasted time. She only goes forward determinedly, self assured and free of self doubt. There is an entire world out there and everyone’s waiting.

There’s a Fine, Fine Line is from the musical Avenue Q.

A/N: Ya’ll didn’t really think I was just going to leave you there, did you? This was always intended to be a two part story because it is the song fic of a two part song. Thus:

There’s a Fine, Fine Line (Reprise)

Everyone may have been waiting, but perhaps her Institute for Inter-Species Studies wasn’t what they were waiting for. If the empty ballroom before her signaled anything, it signaled that no one wanted to sponsor her Institute. The table settings remained undisturbed. The balloons in the net above rested in their berth. The wizard party favors lay unpopped. The unmanned string quartet played for no one. She sighed into her wine glass, and looking up at the bartender, signaled that he could go. He left the bottle he’d opened for her on the bar and left silently.

Even her friends hadn’t come. Most of the friends she’s made as an Auror had were still put out over her quitting to go and crusade for “half-breeds.” Neville and Ginny had little Alice and had begged off, though they had made a small donation. Ron was still largely ignoring her, five years after she’d left him. He’d play nice over major holidays and for Harry’s sake, but he certainly wasn’t going to attend what he termed, “a giant meeting of SPEW.”

Which left Harry. Things were tough with Harry.

He’d never quite been the same after the last battle with Voldemort. Where he’d always been solitary, he had become downright reclusive. Where he’d been short-spoken, he had gone nearly mute. In short, he’d all but turned invisible.

At first she hadn’t noticed. She’d been much too wrapped up with Ron and their terribly grown-up life to pay any attention to Harry beyond occasionally encouraging him to maybe take another try with Ginny. He hadn’t done anything, and Hermione didn’t fuss herself as the suggestion had only been in passing.

It was only after she’d left Ron, walking out of their apartment and never looking back, that she’d realized she hadn’t lost just one of her best friends. She’d lost both. And despite all her efforts to pull Harry back into life- for her own sake as much as his, she could admit that- he remained distant. He was holding something back, something she hadn’t yet loosened, despite five years of digging.

And now he wasn’t here. He’d promised too.

Or was he?

Princeton:

You said you couldn’t make your dreams come

True by yourself, so I shot for the stars.

Because he was here, striding into the empty ballroom, his flashing green eyes- when was the last time they’d been so radiant? Certainly not since before the Last Battle- seeking her out, and finding her seated at the bar, he strode towards her, undeniably handsome in his well-cut black robes.

“More fanciable than ever.” The phrase echoed back to her, across the transom of time, truer now than she could have ever imagined at sixteen.

Arriving at her side, he fetched himself a wine glass and poured himself a glass from the bottle beside her, topping hers off too, for good measure. He lifted his glass and somberly stated, “A toast. To the Rubeus Hagrid Institute for Inter-Species Studies.”

Hermione put her glass down, rather than clinking hers with his. “Oh, Harry, don’t tease me now. I know the whole thing is an abysmal failure, but you needn’t take the mickey.”

“I’m not taking the mickey,” he stated simply, reaching into the pocket of his robes to pull out a sheaf of parchments, “Because, according to these documents, the Institute incorporated this afternoon, with you as the director.”

Hermione snatched the papers out of his hand and shuffled through them frantically. Her eyes grew wide as she gasped wonderingly, “But how is that possible? I hadn’t come near raising enough money to incorporate, much less do anything. And…oh, Merlin, a Gringott’s statement… we’re in the black…by a great deal! But where did all this money come from?”

“All sources say that some galleons were furnished by a donor who would prefer to stay anonymous.”

Hermione stared at the papers a moment longer before looking up at him as comprehension dawned on her. “Oh, Harry. You didn’t.”

He remained silent, so she continued, “It’s too much, I couldn’t possibly accept it…”

“Of course you can. It’s not my money, in any case. I just gave you what I inherited from Sirius. It is appropriate in every way. He would have done anything to have helped create a world in which Lupin could have been a free man. And he always liked you a great deal and would have wanted to help you. And he bloody well would have loved seeing his mother’s reaction when she was told that the accumulated Black family fortune- money so tainted with Dark Magic that it barely shone in the daylight- was being given over to a bunch of were-wolf coddlers and centaur lovers.”

Hermione was stunned into silence, not only by his undeniable logic but because it was the longest speech she’d heard from him since he’d defeated Voldemort.

You’ve gotta go after the things you want

While you’re still in your prime.

“But still…” she managed to utter, “All this? Just for me? Why Harry?”

“Because I want you to achieve anything you want. And if I can help just a little bit, then that’s enough for me.”

She was trying to tear her eyes ways from his, to look at those unbelievable words and sum again, but she found that she couldn’t. There was something there- a playfulness, a liveliness, and another emotion. An emotion she recognized, an emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on-

Kate Monster:

There’s a fine, fine line

Between love...

Or could she?

Thank you Princeton.

“Thank you Harry. You can’t possibly know how much this means to me.” His eyes hadn’t released hers, and now they seemed to almost search for something. There was a long ponderous moment then, Hermione’s grip tightening on the stem of her wine glass, her fingers slipping over its cool bend as sweat inexplicably appeared between them. She felt a desperate need to provide what he was searching for, to pass this unspoken test.

Of course, she’s always needed to pass tests.

This wry thought was passing through her mind, a smile inadvertently growing on her lips and at that moment Harry seemed to find what he had been searching for, and pressed a kiss to her smiling lips.

She did not hesitate a moment, her hands, now suddenly, wonderfully dry, to clasp behind his neck, the fringe of his silky black hair tickling them, causing her smile to remain, even as Harry’s tongue slipped between their parted bows.

He tasted of wine over honey and she was reveling in it.

Princeton:

So will you take me back, Kate?

Eventually they broke apart, and as she frantically tried to catch her stolen breath, Harry took inspecting her with his lips, kissing her forehead, her chin, her earlobe (which provoked a slight moan), her cheeks, her eyelids, her shoulder, bared by the spaghetti strapped gown she wore.

Between kisses, she realized after a time, when she returned to herself sufficiently, he was apologizing.

“Sorry I was so distant, that last year… sorry I didn’t help you mourn him… sorry I didn’t let you help me mourn him… sorry I wasn’t there when you left Ron… sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… couldn’t tell you sooner… sorry, so sorry.”

She broke away.

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

“Because you deserve the apologies. I’ve been a shit friend these past ten years. Such a shit friend that I hardly deserve to call myself that, much less call myself… call myself… well, what am I?”

Kate Monster:

I’ll be so busy now, with all of the contractors

And inspections and hiring teachers and choosing textbooks...

Hermione pondered this. “Boyfriend” was at the tip of her tongue. But she considered the word “boyfriend.” How strongly “boyfriend” was connected to Ron and the dysfunction they had called a relationship. How “boyfriend” had been a perpetual, unchanging state.

She didn’t particularly want Harry to be her “boyfriend.”

Besides, “boyfriends” took time, a commodity that crusaders such as herself rarely had in excess. Boyfriends were demanding, and expected to be put before work, no matter how important that work may be. She couldn’t have that now, when she could finally begin achieving something, when she had an ever growing list burgeoning in the back of her mind:

Must hire a secretary…rent a building…find some legislative aids…get up a new ad and owl campaign for a group that’s actually existent…hire a PR flak… put an announcement in the Prophet… and the Quibbler…

She didn’t have time for a “boyfriend.”

Princeton:

Well, I could help you.

“I’m going to be dreadfully busy,” she whispered regretfully.

He seemed unfazed that her delayed response was not in anyway a response to his actual question. “I can help. I want to help. Remus was my friend too. And Hagrid. You won’t be alone.”

She knew he was right. She didn’t want Harry to be her “boyfriend.” She wanted-

What did she want?

She wanted to make the uphill climb and have it be worth it. To have only hellos and no goodbyes. To be wonderful and beautiful and to never think of a line. Because with Harry there wasn’t a line. Harry could not be a waste of time.

She wanted to answer his earlier question.

Kate Monster:

Can we take it one day at a time?

“You’re my Harry. And that’s more than enough for today.”