Right and Easy
Chapter Three: Catharsis
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing it.
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A loud buzzing filled up the lobby at St. Mungo's, causing a lot of squirming and uncomfortable glances at the one responsible. A portly wizard was sitting impatiently in one of the hard chairs, tapping his foot and buzzing uncontrollably. His face had been transfigured into that of a bumblebee, and though the buzzing was not his fault, it was still virtually impossible for the other people to ignore. In fact, the only person who did not seem to notice the irritating sound was sitting directly to his left.
Hermione Granger was staring blankly at the pages of her old beat up copy of New Theory of Numerology. It was a Christmas present from many years ago, and for some reason, holding the book always comforted Hermione.
Stirring slightly, Hermione mused to herself that of all the times she had needed comfort in her life, this was probably the worst. This sadly was primarily because it was entirely her fault that her life was crumbling around her. The worst part was that Hermione couldn't stop that damn voice in her head. Even here in the hospital, it buzzed louder than the bee-man beside her. This is all your fault, it taunted. You've ruined everything again. You know you'll be shunned from the Weasley's. You just sit there, like you always do, and are too much of a coward to actually really DO anything. That's how you wind up in these messes-
"Argh!!!" Hermione slammed the book shut, and threw her head in her hands. The man next to her buzzed very indignantly in her direction.
`
"Oh, buzz off!" she snapped irritably, before becoming aware of the awful pun and grimacing. She couldn't even throw out a good insult anymore. The man just rolled his eyes and returned to tapping his foot.
Hermione scrunched up her eyes, and tried to ignore the brutal voice in her head. She couldn't avoid the images that crept in, however. Her at twelve, frozen in terror in front of the troll…..being so bloody stupid as to mistake cat hair of all things, for a girl's hair at thirteen….not even good enough to fight properly in the department of mysteries, and nearly getting herself killed at sixteen…her entire sixth year as a whole….every time she just prayed that Harry would come save her from her stupid, bloody, fake relationship with Ron. What kind of Gryffindor was she anyway? She just waited. That's all she ever did, over and over, disappointing Ron and Harry. A wave of nausea swept over Hermione as she thought of Harry. No! She firmly yelled at herself and her vicious thoughts. You are Hermione Granger; get a hold of yourself, woman! Stiff upper lip, one step at a time, and all that. She would deal with her guilt and her feelings later. For now, she would do what Hermione did best, and look after Harry.
At last her name was called, and she shouldered her heavy purse, and followed the jabbering brunette mediwitch down the long halls of the hospital.
Upon reaching the door, the healer left her alone, and Hermione took a deep breath. The witch squared her shoulders and reminded herself in no uncertain terms to keep her emotions in check. Her hand reached up of its own volition to knock on the door, and she quietly entered the room.
A small twin bed was placed against a window, showing a magical image of the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. Large bouquets of flowers lay on conjured tables around the room. Hermione found Harry sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, gazing off into space. Clad in thread-bare white hospital robes and bare feet, Harry self-consciously smoothed down his hair in a desperate attempt to look a little less ridiculous. She noted thankfully that his face looked mostly recovered, with only a small amount of swelling around the left eye.
He turned his head upon hearing the door open and the poor wizard looked like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes widened in shock on seeing her, and then he surreptitiously looked around the room, as if searching out an escape route.
Hermione's smile wavered for an instant, but then she shook her head and marched over to sit in the seat next to Harry.
"Hello, Harry," said Hermione, smiling firmly.
"Hermione.." Harry started.
"You look pretty good. Your healer said you leave tomorrow," Hermione interrupted, now on autopilot. She may have been cowardly avoiding awkward conversations, but at least she was damn good at it.
"Hermione…"
All Hermione could do was keep talking. Her emotions were all over the map right now, and she really didn't want to find out what would happen if she stopped talking. "She said that most of your face was broken, which I'm sure you know, but really it's a fairly simple recovery process. There's nothing a little skele-gro won't fix."
Harry had a pained expression on his face. "Hermione…"
"Oh! I brought you some light reading. You don't have a lot of time in here, but there's never a bad time to learn something new." She pulled out a few shrunken textbooks from her purse and tapped them with her wand. "I brought Arithmancy for Dummies, and Anigamis and You, and oh yes! I almost forgot Transfiguration: Friend or Foe? The last one is a really fascinating read. Would you believe-"
The flow of words stopped abruptly. Hermione glared at Harry, but he merely shrugged in apology.
"You weren't listening to me," he said simply. "I need you to hear me out." He waved his hand, and Hermione could tell her vocal cords were in working order again, but she stayed silent.
Harry paused for a moment, staring at his hands. He looked up at her with such a lost expression on his face, that all Hermione wanted to do was hug him and tell the man, who looked more like a boy right now, that everything would be okay.
"I need you to know how sorry I am for doing what I did. I should have just let you marry him, and I had no business interrupting anything."
Hermione knew that it was time to be honest with Harry, and with herself. She didn't have everything figured out for once, but her gut instincts would have to make do.
Taking one of his hands in hers, she said, almost inaudibly, "I'm not sorry."
His eyes bulged. "Sorry?"
"I'm not sorry. You went about it in a very poor way, I'll give you that, but you were right. Ron and I were never meant for each other. We're not compatible."
Frowning, he asked, "then why were you going to marry him?"
Hermione sighed, and sat back in her chair. "I think partly because I liked him well enough, and it's horrible to say, but I didn't want to pass up what may be my only chance at love. And also," she continued, letting go of Harry's hand to massage her temples, "because I think I was so worried about failing something. I was so intent on ensuring that the relationship worked that I didn't realize it had failed a long time ago. So no, you shouldn't be sorry for not letting me marry him. You should be sorry for hurting him, though. And I apologize to you for making you hurt him, because I didn't have the guts to do so."
A speechless Harry stared back at her. Hermione began to fidget. She had just bared her innermost emotions and was feeling very uncomfortable being stared at like that. Finally, as if realizing that he should give a response of some sort, Harry said, "alright."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. " `Alright' ?"
He nodded. "Alright. You know I'm not very good at expressing emotions. I want you to know I heard everything you said, though. But for now, could we talk about something else, please?"
Laughing, Hermione remembered who she was talking to. Harry could rid the world of the darkest wizards, but he would always revert to a terrified man whenever girls and emotions were brought up.
The sun had long ago set when a mediwizard knocked on the door and poked his head in.
"Er, sorry, but visiting hours have ended. Just thought you should know." As his head disappeared, Hermione nodded and walked to the door, Harry following her out into the hall. After the first initially awkward conversation, the two had fallen back on old habits and chatted for hours. They discussed everything from how odd it was that the Quibbler was now more legitimate than the Daily Prophet, to what the chances were that Harry would ever get Hermione to fly (Hermione knew the answer to that was slim to none).
Standing in the hall, Hermione lifted up to her toes to hug Harry goodbye. Kissing him on the cheek, Hermione, with her voice only wavering slightly, said, "Don't worry, everything is going to be alright." Hermione pulled back and found herself looking into Harry's clear eyes. Breath caught in her throat, she found herself experiencing a familiar sensation of longing. For years now, Hermione would randomly find herself trapped in his gaze, silently willing him to dash it all and, and…do what, exactly? She shook her bushy head, clearing her mind, and smiled up at Harry.
Harry frowned down at her, and he tightened their hug into an embrace, and dropped his head down to the side. She was vaguely aware that this was not the average hug one gave their best friend. This was the sort of hug one gave their best friend after they just broke up the other's wedding. The warm hair from his mouth tickled her neck, and Hermione felt herself leaning forward into him as she automatically closed her eyes with the sensation. Her lips opened partly as a soft sigh escaped.
"I will make things right," Harry breathed in her ear. Hermione's mind officially shut down. Her eyes were still closed, focused entirely on trying to will back the feeling of his lips against her. Somewhere in her mind she registered a hand lifting up her chin, and so softly that she would later doubt whether it had happened at all, she felt his lips brush gently against hers, and then he was gone, clicking the door behind him.
Hermione opened her eyes in wonder, and slowly brought her hand up to her mouth. Her brain had apparently decided that now was a perfect time for a holiday, because it had been replaced entirely with mush. She stood unthinking for a long time, staring at the door in front of her.
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"Please, Ron. Give him another chance."
" Have you forgotten already what he did to me?"
Hermione paused in her frantic pacing, and turned back to Ron. She raised an eyebrow. "To you?" She asked, shrilly. "Were you the only one standing up at the altar, there?"
Slumped by himself in an oversized blue loveseat, Ron furrowed his brow. "You know I didn't mean it like that. Besides, you don't seem to care all that much that the happiest day of our lives was ruined."
"Oh, give it a rest, Ron!" Hermione fell back in a navy armchair across from him. She noticed idly that the thread was beginning to come loose in places, making the armchair look as tired as she felt.
The two had been talking in circles all morning. Hermione was trying to convince Ron to forgive Harry, and Ron was trying to convince Hermione to talk about their relationship.
Hermione took a few breaths to calm down, and noticed Ron tiredly stretching his neck to one side to crack it, a very bad habit that Hermione was well aware of, and tried to make Ron aware of as well. Fiddling with her khaki skirt, Hermione tried to start the conversation again. "Look Ron, I know Harry acted really poorly-"
"He acted like a right git, is what he did!"
"Right, well. The point is, haven't you treated him poorly before? Think about fourth year."
Ron looked flabbergasted. "I was fourteen!"
She grimaced, and said, "Point taken. However, you two have been through a lot, and I don't think you should just give up on your relationship because of this."
The lanky man across from her smiled wryly and said, "kind of like how you're giving up on our relationship."
Hermione gasped. She hadn't said anything to him about that yet. She had been avoiding that whole unpleasant conversation. "How did you…?"
"You haven't looked me in the eye once today, and you avoid any mention of us. It's fairly obvious."
Hermione was floored. She had no idea where the boy who once had the emotional range of a teaspoon went. Smoothing her skirt back down, she realized that the metaphorical elephant in the room needed to be dealt with.
"Oh Ron," she started, "I never wanted it to be this way." Hermione paused, biting her lip and staring at the grave man in front of her. "But, well, Harry's right. It's not fair to either of us to stay together, and doing so would only ruin our friendship in the end. Above all, I don't want to lose you. And I know that Harry doesn't want to lose you either."
Ron laughed sadly. "It always comes back to this, doesn't it?" he asked, shaking his head.
"Back to what?"
"Even when we're in the middle of breaking up, you manage to bring the subject back to Harry and his feelings."
Ron stood up and walked over to take Hermione's hand. She followed him, glancing at Ron quizzically, as he led her to his front door. Opening the door, Ron continued, "I love you, but we both know where your heart lies. I forgive you, for this, because there is nothing to forgive. But please don't ask me to forgive Harry. I can't do that yet."
He left her with a chaste kiss on her cheek, and not for the first time that week, Hermione was left staring in wonder at a blank door.
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Over six hundred cases relating to muggleborn discrimination have arisen in the past twenty four months. Of these six hundred cases, a mere few dozen actually made it to an official trial at the Ministry. This abysmal number should prompt a serious inquiry into the lack of justice towards wizards who are not born of `pure blood.' After attending the June twenty seventh trial of Anderson vs. Rose with one very gorgeous, jewel-eyed, Oh Blast!
A phoenix tipped quill scratched out the writing on her parchment for the fourth time that morning, and Hermione screamed out in frustration. She had spent the night before experiencing a serious of highly embarrassing dreams involving her messy haired best friend. Mortifyingly enough, his hair was not the messiest thing in Hermione's dreams. She was not one usually to dream; Hermione would rather sleep through the night in a practical fashion. The dreams were so vivid that last night however, that she could absolutely not get them out of her mind. Just the thought of his hands brushing up against her…
A soft knock on the door disturbed any more thoughts of dreams. Hermione swiveled around in her office chair and opened the door with a flick of her wand. A very nervous, and very well dressed Harry Potter walked a few steps into the living room before the door shut behind him. His face had completely healed, with no sign of the multiple fractures there just days before. The auror robes that adorned his body left Harry enveloped in a mysterious aura that was accented perfectly by his dragonhide boots and pitch black hair. Any average wizard would have been frightened out of his mind upon seeing this image. Hermione however, could tell by the very slight tapping of his wand against his thigh and the darting of his eyes, that Harry himself was actually terrified.
Hermione stood and opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off. "I waited a long time to ask you not to marry Ron. I waited longer than I should, and I know I really screwed things up because of it. I doubt many people, especially any of the Weasleys will be eager to see me anytime soon."
Hermione began to object, saying that this certainly wasn't the case, but he continued, saying, "I need you to hear me out." Hermione was frozen in place, watching Harry shift from foot to foot as one would watch a television program.
Harry looked at the ground for a moment. "Er, right, then. When you came to the hospital, I was ready to admit that I acted foolish and be the friend that I knew you needed me to be. But then, you gave me that bloody look of yours. That look has haunted me for years. It's like you're willing me to do something." Harry trailed off, raking a hand through his mess of hair. Hermione was sure that her heart was firmly lodged in her throat. She couldn't hardly breathe, let alone think. So, she bit her lip and stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.
Harry brought his eyes back to hers, cleared his throat, and continued. "At any rate, I've come to the conclusion that once I know how I feel about something, or someone, I should act as soon as possible. I don't want to ruin things by waiting anymore." He looked boldly at the witch before continuing. "I love you, I want you, and I need you. I couldn't let another day go by without telling you this, and before I walk out of this apartment, I need to know how you feel about me."
The know it all Hermione was at a loss for the right thing to say. Finally she realized that she needed to shut off her logical mind for once, and pay attention to her heart. "I need you, I want you, and I love you," Hermione said, finally acknowledging her feelings and looking boldly back at Harry.
Harry made a low growling sound from the other side of the modest room. Hermione's pulse raced, and she gulped hugely, hoping they weren't about to completely ruin everything. All thoughts of doubt were erased from her mind when Harry took long, swift steps towards her. She barely had time to squeak before he brought his face down to hers, claiming her mouth savagely with his. Harry's fervor completely took Hermione's breath away. Years of patience and self-denial had taken its toll on the man, not that Hermione was complaining. She was as desperate to connect with Harry as he seemed to be with her. His mouth and tongue possessed her, and his arms wrapped around her body, hands finding their way up her blouse. Hermione was so close to Harry that she could hardly tell where he ended and she began.
Harry broke the kiss to drag his teeth across Hermione's neck in the same spot that only two days ago he had whispered so tenderly against. Hermione's hands were lost in his hair and her head fell back of its own accord, as her only conscious thought was an endless stream of Harry, Harry, Harry...
A low moan escaped her mouth, and Harry broke away to look at her, searching out an answer to some question. His eyes were the darkest jade green, almost black. In answer to whatever question he might have been asking, Hermione grabbed his head and pulled it back down, capturing his mouth for another kiss. Harry took it as his cue, and without breaking the kiss, lifted her up and headed into the bedroom.
Hermione mused absently that in the end, it didn't really matter if it was right or not, and it didn't matter if it was easy or challenging. What the choice was didn't matter so long as a choice was made. At last, the two had made a choice, and taken action. They were able to finally free themselves of their cycles of inaction and self-imposed punishment.
As the pair fell onto the soft bed, they simultaneously smiled against each other as they realized just how very right and easy making this choice really was.
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