Right and Easy

Right and Easy

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing it.

Summary: All of Harry Potter's most important decisions seem to boil down to one issue: Sometimes what is right is not always what is easy.

AN: This is my first work up on Portkey. Thanks so much for reading, and don't be afraid to tell me what you think!

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The hot August sun was causing beads of sweat to roll down the back of Harry Potter's neck and into his dress robes. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked around. Just about everyone that he knew in the wizarding world was facing him, sitting in white lawn chairs. There were probably a hundred or so wizards and witches that he did not recognize at all. Everyone had beaming faces. Everyone that is, except for Harry. He was fairly certain that he was going to retch up his lunch here in front of everyone.

The front lawn of Hogwarts was decorated beautifully if, Harry supposed, you went for the over the top frilly look for a wedding. In his opinion, it reminded him too much of Madam Puddifut's. In fact, the more Harry thought about it, the more he was sure that the fat cherubs flying over the audience were the same ones from the tea shop. The cherubs were flying in heart formation, tossing down handfuls of pink rose petals. Traditionally, it was the bride's family that was responsible for the wedding, but since Hermione's parents had both been killed during the second war, Mrs. Weasley offered to do all the decorations herself for the wedding. Harry knew that it was a nice gesture, but he privately thought that Mrs. Weasley should stick to making jumpers and sweets. His eyes found the plump witch in the crowd and Harry laughed to himself as he saw her sobbing already, before the wedding even started.

Harry turned his eyes back to the aisle, his mind going back in time.

OooO *****Three Years Ago***** OooO

Harry rushed into Amerigo's Italiana, the new bistro in Diagon Alley, sure that he was late. He looked around the room, and spotted her at a table in the corner, menu obscuring everything but her mass of brown hair. Smiling to himself, Harry walked over and slid into the seat across from her.

“Sorry I'm late.”

She put down the menu and beamed at him. “Oh no, not at all. I just got here myself.”

Soft Italian music was playing in the background, and the restaurant was just full enough that a pleasant humming of voices could be heard. The two made agreeable small talk until the waiter came. Harry ordered a chicken panini, and Hermione choose a small salad. He raised an eyebrow. Defensively, she protested that she was trying to eat healthier, until Harry laughed and ordered an appetizer of gnocchi, with two forks, `just in case.'

When the appetizer got to the table, Hermione greedily grabbed her fork, but Harry batted her hand away.

“No,” he said cheekily, “you just wanted a salad. This is all for me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling. “Oh ha, ha. Now pass the plate over.”

As he did, their eyes met, and Hermione's smile slowly faded. She absently twisted her watch around on her right hand (Hermione always wore her watch on her right hand instead of her left. That way, she would say, she could check the time without looking up from taking her notes).

“Harry, you know I always love seeing you, but are you going to tell me why you asked me to meet you here?”

“What? Can't a guy ask his best friend out to lunch for no reason?”

Her hair bounced as she leaned forward in her seat and smirked at him. “Harry James Potter! I have known you for eight years, two weeks, and three days. I should think by now I'd be able to tell when you had something on your mind.”

Harry shifted in his Auror robes uncomfortably. Hermione always had a knack for knowing when he was hiding something. After the war, when he had secretly been planning on leaving for a private holiday, Hermione somehow knew. He came home one day to find a basket of travel books and empty postcards on his living room table. As soon as he saw them, Harry knew they were from Hermione. He raised his water glass to his lips, said quickly, “Ginnyaskedmetomarryher.”

“Come again?”

“Ginny asked me to marry her.”

Hermione's eyes bulged and her mouth worked for a minute until she shook her head and grinned. “Oh! Oh, that's great news. I'm sure you'll be very happy…”

He grew even more uncomfortable, and busied himself with moving the rest of the gnocchi around on the plate. “I said no.”

Her mouth began opening and closing again. Finally, she spoke. “I'm sorry, for the sake of repetition, come again?”

Sighing, Harry repeated himself.

“Why ever not?”

Just then, the waiter came as if to save him. Harry smiled gratefully at the waiter before shoving his Panini in his mouth to avoid answering Hermione. He chewed as long as humanly possible before looking up at the witch's puzzled face.

Taking a gulp of water, Harry looked at his best friend. “Do you ever get the feeling that you're doing something, not because you want to, but because it's the right thing?” Hermione slowly nodded, so he continued. “Well, all my wizarding life I've done things because they were the right thing. Dumbledore stressed the importance of doing what was right over what was easy. But,” he ran his hand through his hair, frustrated, “I'm just tired of it. I'm tired of being selfless, and I'm exhausted with having to pretend that what everyone expects of me is what I want too. Don't I get a say sometime? ”

“Oh, Harry,” cried Hermione despondently, “You have done so much for so many people. You deserve to be happy too.” She looked down as her hands fiddled with her napkin, and Harry could see her chin quivering. He reached across the table and held her hand in his.

“Tell me what's wrong.”

As she raised her large, very wet eyes back up to meet his green ones, Harry could see a mixture of anguish, envy, and something else. He froze, transfixed. “Sometimes,” he said, “the way you look at me scares me.”

Smiling sadly, Hermione replied, “Sometimes it scares me too.”

OooO*****Present*****OooO

And now here Harry was, standing up in front of hundreds of people and dozens of press members, waiting with everyone for Hermione to come down the aisle.

To give himself something to do, Harry looked around the expectant crowd. He could see Remus and Tonks in the middle. Tonks was bouncing a happy one year old witchling on her knee. Next to them were a few other Aurors he knew from the department. On the left hand side was Minerva McGonagle, leaning up against her white-haired husband. It had been quite a shock to Harry's system after he left Hogwarts to discover that his strict professor had been married all those years. She apparently wanted to keep her personal life separate from her teaching.

Finally, he could see a figure come around the corner and down the aisle. Except instead of bushy brown hair and a white dress, this woman was racing down the aisle, flaming red hair whipping around her yellow gown. She looked like a ball of fire crashing towards him.

Harry stepped forward worriedly to meet a breathless Ginny, ignoring the murmuring in the crowd.

Taking her by the arms, he asked quietly, “Ginny, what's wrong?”

The witch took a moment to breath before panting, “nothing really. I just wanted to warn you that it's going to take a few minutes. Damn, these shoes hurt to run in,“ she said distractedly.

“Is everything going okay in there?” questioned Harry.

Mindful of all the guests, Ginny leaned up and murmured in his ear, “We had some…issues with the pledging spells, but not to worry, they're all fixed now.” Ginny smiled uncertainly at Harry's raised eyebrows. “Really, we'll be ready in a moment.”

Harry knew how important the pledging spells were. In a wedding, they were vital to the happiness of the couple in question. Both parties completed the spells before the wedding could start, and they performed a final, soul binding pledge at the end of the wedding in front of all the onlookers. The three main spells were the pledge of eternity, the pledge of devotion, and the pledge of trust. If Hermione didn't complete them properly, the wedding might as well be a sham.

Harry still looked obviously worried, so Ginny gave him a quick thumbs up before sprinting back towards the bride's room.

Wiping his clammy hands, Harry turned back to the men waiting at the altar. He smiled sheepishly. “Everything's fine, they're just running late.”

Neville looked understanding, Fred and George laughed, and Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, “women” under his breath. Harry smiled slightly and went back to his place.

Glancing sideways at his best friend, Harry started to feel sick again. He was pretty sure that if he had to stand up here much longer he would pass out. It'd give the reporters the news story they were looking for. Looking around the crowd, Harry caught the eye of Luna Loovegood in the second row. She gave him her infamous penetrating gaze, before shrugging sadly and conjuring a bag of popcorn to munch on. Harry swayed on spot.

“Hey mate, you okay?” asked Ron, putting a hand on his shoulder.

OooO*****Two years ago*****OooO

“Hey mate, you okay?” asked Ron, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Harry lay with his head smashed against the table. “Uhh… the room is spinning.”

George laughed and pulled the black haired boy back up in his seat. “That's what you get for drinking that much firewhisky at once, mate.”

Fred joined in, “you should have seen Ron though, when we took him out for his twentieth.”

“But the good news is that you are officially no longer a teenager.”

“You, my friend, are a man.”

Harry groaned. “How come I feel more like roadkill then?”

The twins winked and said, “that's what being a man feels like.”

Harry merely groaned again and his head fell back on to the table.

Empty shot glasses littered the table at the Hogs Head. Quite a few well-wishers had come out to congratulate Harry on his birthday. The four men were the only remaining. The three Weasleys were currently munching on some nuts but Fred and George looked like the party was only starting for them, both setting up another double shot. Harry was clutching a mostly empty firewhisky bottle in his arms like it was the last bottle on earth. Ron grabbed the bottle from Harry and took a long swig. “Cheer up mate,” he demanded. “The war is over, you have no obligations, and you're drunk. That sounds like a pretty good night to me.”

“Here, here!” shouted the twins in unison.

“Here, here…” mumbled Harry from his slumped over position.

Ron stretched his arms out behind his head. “What we need, is a good shag.”

George guffawed. “I didn't know you two were out yet.”

Ron threw a peanut at him. “Ha, ha. I meant with some birds.”

As he shook his head to try and clear out his thoughts, Harry tried to stop the world from spinning around him. His eyes latched on to a patch of red that he assumed was Ron. Smiling drunkenly, he slurred, “I call Hermminone.” Even in his drunken state, he didn't miss Ron's head snap towards him, nor the dark look that took over his features. George and Fred happened to miss it at least, and pulled Ron away to go find some girls for them. Harry, suddenly sober, stayed seated, sure that he wouldn't get that look out of his head for a long time.

OooO*****Present*****OooO

Even now, Harry started as he looked at his friend. “Huh? Yeah, everything's good.”

The music started playing, and everyone turned their heads to look down the aisle. The maids came up first, Ginny flashing Harry an “all better” smile, followed by a very nervous Hermione Granger. Harry didn't notice anything about her dress. His eyes were transfixed on her face. A face that with eyes darting back and forth between her two best friends. Harry glanced sideways at Ron and could tell that he noticed too. The color had drained out of his face. Reaching up a hand to wipe the sweat off of his brow, Harry was pretty sure that there was no color remaining in his own face. Hermione still had a good twenty meters before she got up to the altar.

Harry was sure that the world was spinning around him very fast. There were ten meters to go. He glanced back at the crowd, only to notice Luna had returned her gaze to him, eyes fixed on his face. Five meters left. Harry idly wondered if anyone would notice if he apparated away to Switzerland right about now. One meter left, and all Harry was sure of was that he was damn tired of these moral dilemmas.

OooO~~~~~One Year Ago~~~~~OooO

“Thanks for coming over, guys,” said the teary eyed Irishman.

Ron and Harry gave each other awkward looks, shuffling their feet.

“Er, not a problem, mate,” said Harry, worriedly.

Seamus opened the door wider to allow the two men to enter the flat. They entered the small living room and sat down on the couch, waiting expectantly. Harry looked around the apartment. Empty pizza boxes and beer bottles littered the normally immaculate floor. A pile of clothes was sitting in the middle of the room, as if Seamus couldn't even take the time to make it to the bedroom to change anymore.

The other man handed each a beer and sat in a chair across from them. They thanked him and waited in silence. Harry began to pick the label off of his bottle, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Ron doing the same thing.

Finally, Seamus broke the silence. “I don't know what to do, boys, I really just don't know what to do.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other. “About what?” Ron asked.

“I think,” he gulped, “I think I've fallen for Parvati.”

The room was silent. Parvati had married Dean Thomas over two and a half years ago, right after the war ended. There had been some rumors recently that all was not well in their marriage, Harry tried to not listen to gossip, since he had been on the bad end of it more than once.

And now Seamus had asked Ron and Harry, two of the least emotionally helpful men in their circle, to come over and give him advice.

Ron looked to Harry to say something. “Er, mate,” started Harry, “do you know how she feels?”

Slumping back in his chair, Seamus threw his head in his hands. “Nooo,” he moaned. “I can't ask her either. But I swear to Merlin that sometimes I see these looks she gives me, like she wants me to come save her from something, but then I blink, and think it's all in my head.”

The wizard was in bad shape. He had dark circles under his eyes, and it was obvious he hadn't shaved in days.

Ron looked decidedly uncomfortable, and was being absolutely no help, so Harry decided to try again. “Look Seamus, if you say anything to Parvati, you know it's going to ruin your relationship with Dean. So, I guess you have to decide if it's worth it; if she's worth it.”

At this point, Ron was back in familiar territory. “Yeah mate, and I'll tell you what. No bird is worth coming between Harry and me. Girls come and go, but your friends are what matter in the end.”

Seamus just threw his head back in his hands.

OooO*****Present*****OooO

And now here he was, staring at his two best friends. Harry knew where Ron stood on the issue. He had said as much that day with Seamus. Things were not so clear for Harry. Being selfish had never been easy for him, but never more than today did he want to be selfish. Hermione had reached the altar, and the member of the Wizengamot began to speak, but Harry couldn't pay any attention to him.

Everything came down to doing what was right versus what was easy. But the trouble was trying to figure out what his options were. Was it easy to just continue on as usual, or was that the hard decision? Was it right to be selfish, or was that easy? What did Hermione deserve more? What did he deserve more?

Hermione was staring fixedly at the wizard, her mouth set in a firm, straight line. He noticed with an astonishing clarity that she merely looked resolved. Ron's grin, on the other hand, was so large that Harry thought it might never come off.

It wasn't until the official asked the obligatory question if there were any objections, that Harry knew what he was going to do. His throat had turned into cement, but he managed to take a step forward. Ron and Hermione both snapped their heads towards him. Flashes of light were coming at him like lightning from the press area. He could vaguely hear the wedding guests murmuring, but it was more of a distant roar in the back of his head. As Ron's jaw slowly dropped, and Hermione's mouth formed a small `O,' Harry slowly took the longest three steps of his life towards her.

“Please.” He cleared his throat, and the words seemed to come out of their own accord. “Please Hermione. Don't marry him.”

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Right and Easy

Chapter Two: Consequences

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing it.

AN: I know there isn't much on Harry or Hermione here, but before anything else can be done, don't you think we need to deal with poor Ron? FYI There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in this chapter.

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Ronald Weasley had extraordinary analytical abilities. He prided himself on his ability to strategize many steps ahead of his opposition, whether it was in chess, or on the battlefield. This outstanding ability was moot however, when Ron's emotions got too involved in a situation.

Ron thought about all this idly as he was vaguely aware of chaos all around him.

Distracted, he remembered a time at the Burrow when he was seven years old. His mother home-schooled her children until they were old enough to go to Hogwarts. For five hours a day she diligently taught the kids math, reading, and all of the other subjects that were assumed taught to children before Hogwarts. Ron always sat next to Ginny during these lessons because he was closer in age to her than the twins. Every day however, he would look longingly over at the older boys, wishing he could learn what they were learning. He was sick of always being paired with the girl in the family, and really wanted to be as cool as his older brothers seemed to be, sitting at the other table.

One day, when he and Ginny were supposed to be working on a spelling assignment, he decided that he'd had enough. Ron stood up from the table with his head held high, and walked across the room to Fred and George. The twins looked up at him from their reading, a question on both of their faces.

“I'm going to study with you,” he claimed, proudly. He was so excited. Now he'd finally get what he wanted for years. He'd be able to be on Fred and George's level!

Fred sneered. “You don't belong with us. Go back to the little kids table.”

“Yeah,” chimed in George, “You're still a dumb little kid.”

The seven year old wizard was devastated. He was hurt and angry, and didn't know why things never seemed to go his way. So he did the only thing he could do. He pulled his arm back and punch Fred squarely in the nose. He was just turning to hit George as well when his mother walked in the room.

“What in Merlin's name is going on in here?” she demanded, hands on her hips. The three boys froze on their mother's entrance. She caught sight of Fred's nose streaming blood and Ron's hand, and sent Ron to bed without supper. He wasn't even allowed on a broom for a week.

Ron learned a powerful lesson that day, though he supposed it was not the one his mum was trying to instill in him. Whenever he got close enough to his dreams, they would always end up being unceremoniously snatched away from him. It never seemed to matter that he was the one wronged. As soon as he reacted, Ron was always the one punished.

Ron was broken out of his reverie by strong arms tugging him upward. At his feet lay the unconscious crumpled form of his best mate. He felt oddly detached as he looked down at Harry's face. It was hardly recognizable, beaten beyond belief. Ron had to glance down at his own blood-smeared hands to realize that he was the one responsible. In vain Ron wiped his hands on his dress robes, not caring if he ruined the fabric. He just needed the blood off of his hands.

A dull ringing in his ears caused Ron to realize just how deathly silent the lawn was. It took all the Gryffindor courage he possessed to raise his head and look out at the onlookers. An empty mass of mostly toppled white chairs met his eyes. The cherubs had been banished, the rose petals trampled. There were a few broken cameras left laying in the media section. Ron assumed that his family had thrown the photographers out, in a vain attempt to stifle the story from hitting the press. Throbbing arms reminded him that someone was still holding him back.

“Sighing, Ron croaked, “You can let go of me, Fred.”

His older brother dropped Ron's arms, and Ron fell down in a heap, eyes focused on Harry. He rubbed his face with is hand and watched his mum and dad rush over to the injured wizard and cast a row of spells to stabilize his breathing. Ron couldn't even feel jealous that both his parents had run to Harry instead of himself. He knew he deserved it. He also knew that he would have killed Harry if Fred hadn't pulled him off.

Ron could feel a twin sit heavily on either side of him. The air was so stifling that Ron thought he'd pass out if someone didn't say something anytime soon. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

“Hermione?” he asked.

“Ginny took her home,” answered George. “She's pretty shaken up.”

Ron nodded.

From his other side, he could hear Fred say quietly, “You've really buggered things up this time, brother.” His only response was to drop his head heavily.

With his knees drawn up to his chest, and his forehead on his knees, Ron looked like a man defeated. Ron felt like a man defeated, for that matter. There was nothing else he could do, so he took a great shuddering breath, and let it out, choking out a sob. As his parents apparated Harry away to St. Mungos, Ron could hear distant muttering as Fred and George cleaned up the ruins of his wedding day. The happiest day of his life, wasn't it supposed to be? After a long time, Fred and George apparated away with their distinct crackles. As dusk fell over the Hogwarts grounds, a lone redhead sat unmoving in the middle of the empty field. The only sounds coming out of him were small sobs.

OoooOooOooOoooOoooOooooOoooOooOOoOOooOoOo

The giant squid was floating lazily on the top of the lake, tentacles skimming the surface of the water. On the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a pair of Thestrals nibbled at some mossy grass. Next to them sat the empty hut of Hagrid. No one had really had the heart to tear it down after Hagrid died in the war. No one really came near it anymore either. It stood there year after year, unchanged and unnoticed.

Ron opened his eyes slowly and stretched out his limbs. He had somehow fallen asleep on the lawn the night before. Still wearing his crumpled robes from the night before, Ron stared up at the grey sky above him. The dark clouds looked as miserable as the wizard felt. He got up and slowly began to walk unconsciously in the direction of Hagrid's hut. As his eyes rested on the half giant's lonely hut, he felt a sudden empathy for the empty house. Sure, he felt angry, no - pissed off was more like it, for what Harry did, and he felt guilty for beating the other man up, but more than anything, Ron felt a distinct sense of loneliness. He reached the small building and was surprised to find it unlocked. It was empty inside with a few small exceptions. The wooden table and bench was too heavy and too large to move, and so it remained. Next to it was the equally large wooden bed. Both were covered in dust. Ron wiped off an area of the bench and sat down. He noticed that it was his usual seat, and half expected Harry and Hermione to come sit across from him like usual. Ron snorted. Harry and Hermione on one side, and him on the other, like usual.

An odd thumping sound broke his depressed thoughts and caused Ron to jerk his head towards the door. He was entirely unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. Luna Loovegood was standing in front of Hagrid's hut wearing nothing but a pale blue nightgown and hiking boots. With her right foot, she was rhythmically kicking a large grey stone on the ground. Noticing Ron staring at her, Luna took one last kick for good measure and glanced up at him, and then at her surroundings. Her pale blonde eyebrows shot up in surprise as if she had no idea how she got where she was.

“Where are your clothes?” was the only thing Ron could think of to say.

Luna gazed up at him unblinkingly. “Oh hello, Ronald. How are you doing?”

Ron scratched his head, stumped by the witch in front of him. “How am I doing?” he asked. “Well, let me think. Yesterday, my best friend breaks up my wedding to my other best friend because he's in love with her. I decide it's a good idea to beat him up within an inch of his life. Then, I fall asleep outside all night, and to top the whole bloody deal off, I'm still covered in his sodding dried blood. So, all in all, I'm doing pretty damn horribly.”

Frustrated, Ron turned around from the strange girl and began to go back inside. He paused at the sound of loud laughter. A confused frown adorned his face as he looked back.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, perplexed, and a little offended.

Luna couldn't answer. She was doubled up, laughing, with her arms around her midsection.

Ron cleared his throat. “Well, it wasn't really supposed to be a joke, you see. It's the truth.”

“Let's go inside, Ronald.” Luna had stopped laughing, but kept a vague smile on her face as she steered him inside. Ron sat down again at the large table, waiting for Luna to join him. Instead, he was surprised to see her run back to the porch to give the rock another solid kick.

Seemingly satisfied, Luna joined Ron at the table, and conjured a cup of tea for each of them.

“Er, Luna?” Ron asked.

“Yes, Ronald?” She replied languidly, watching the steam rise from her cup.

“I have to ask. Why were you kicking that rock?”

The blond girl blew a strand of hair out of her face and stared at Ron very seriously. “I was being followed by a Pogrebin.”

Ron could not figure out how he was supposed to respond to that. Half of the time he couldn't tell if Luna was putting him on, or serious. Noting that Luna's silvery eyes were still staring at him unblinkingly, Ron decided she was serious.

He laughed and said, “Alright. I'll bite. What's a Pogrebin?”

Smiling slightly, Luna responded. “It's a demon that follows you around. If you don't stun it or kick it, then it will follow you around until you're overcome by the futility of it all, become lethargic with despair, and it devours you. So you see, I had to beat it before it could beat me.” She paused, reaching to clasp Ron's hand across the table, and Ron had a feeling she wasn't talking about the demon anymore, but he couldn't be sure. “It's up to you to kick it and overcome the Pogrebin before it can overcome you.”

Ron always knew that Luna wasn't as crazy as everyone made her out to be. She just had a very odd way of looking at things. He smiled to himself, thinking about the metaphorical Pogrebin that he had to deal with. Distracted by his thoughts, Ron didn't even notice Luna stand up until she was right behind him.

“Good luck, Ronald. I have to go tie up some loose ends, and I'm sure you do as well.” With a kiss on the top of his head and a small pop, she was gone.

Stunned, Ron sat thinking of what the odd, mysterious girl had said to him. He realized that she was right, and he did need to find closure, with either Harry or Hermione he was not sure, and deal with what had happened. Without a second thought he apparated himself to the front door of the woman he loved for so long.

He grabbed hold of the door handle, and thought better of it. Instead, Ron knocked frantically on the smooth wood until the door opened and a shining mass of red hair met his eyes.

“Ginny, let me in please. I have to talk to her.” Ron's eyes darted over Ginny's head, looking in the room for Hermione.

Looking him up and down, Ginny sighed. “I don't know if this is a good time, Ron,” she replied, frowning.”

“I'm not leaving until you let me in.” Ron was resolved. He would stay there as long as it took to see Hermione. “I have to make things right.”

“Have you taken a good look at yourself lately?” Ron shook his head, and his sister conjured a mirror. She held it out in front of him. “Look, Ron,” Ginny said, firmly.

He looked into the mirror, and took in his appearance. His eyes were small and puffy, and entirely too bloodshot. He had blood, Harry's blood, on his robes, hands, and where he had rubbed his face. The dress robes from the night before were rumpled and wet from sleeping on the ground all night. He looked as if he had come back from fighting Voldemort again. Ron looked back at his sister, pleading with his eyes for her to please understand, he needed to talk to Hermione. Ginny was firm. She would not let him in.

“Think of how she's feeling right now, Ron. She's tired, confused, and really hurt. By both of you. Go home and clean yourself up. She'll see you when she's ready.” Ginny gently took him by the arm and steered him away from the door. “I'm your sister and I'll always love you. Remember that. And remember, she's your best friend, and she'll always love you too.”

Ron, suddenly drained, just nodded blankly at Ginny, and did the only thing he could do anymore. He went home.

It wasn't until he got home that he realized what Ginny said.

“She's your best friend, and she'll always love you too.”

He knew Ginny was one to choose her words carefully. She hadn't said fiancé, she hadn't said girlfriend, she said best friend.

Hermione was his best friend, and she would always love him like Ginny did.

Like a sister.

Horrified, Ron immediately knew he couldn't be alone. He had to sort this out, which meant talking to Harry. So for the third time that day, Ron apparated. He ended up at the entry to St. Mungo's. It took some pleading for the receptionist to allow him up in Harry's room, but after thirty minutes of constant begging, he finally managed to convince her that it would be far less bothersome for everyone if she just let him go.

Upon opening the door, he found a wide awake Harry reading the latest Quibbler. He looked up at hearing the other man, and eyed Ron.

“You look like hell,” Harry said bluntly.

Ron had to laugh. Here was Harry, who just hours ago was mangled up beyond belief, and yet he still looked infinitely times better than Ron, still in his bloody robes.

He shut the door carefully and walked over to the chair by the other wizard's bed. Both were quiet for some time. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

“Why did you do it?”

Harry looked as if he had expected this question. “I don't have a good explanation. I couldn't just let her go like that.” He paused, thinking. “I've loved her for a long time, but I was so caught up in doing the right thing that I didn't even realize that the right thing was passing me by. I didn't want to hurt you.”

Both men knew the last sentence was an empty statement.

“But you did. You had to know that would kill a wizard,” Ron said. “Why didn't you say something earlier, like maybe before the actual wedding?” He was starting to get angry, and knew that would be the worst way to continue the conversation, so Ron stood up and began to pace the room to let off steam. “I mean, would it have been that hard to say, `hey mate, I know you have a crush on Hermione, but I think I like her too,' before we were involved? ” His voice rose angrily. “You don't do that to your BEST FRIEND!” Shaking his head, he repeated quietly, almost to himself, “you don't do that…”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He looked at Ron straight in the eye. “I'm sorry. I can't say anything other than that. I never wanted it to get this far. I hope that you can forgive me.”

Ron walked over to the door and rested his forehead against the cool glass. “I can't. I know that we've been through a lot, but you broke something huge here, Harry. I can't forgive you today, or in a week, or even in a month. I don't know if I'll ever be able to really forgive you for this.”

As he opened up the door to leave, he could hear a quiet, “I understand,” from the other wizard.

Turning back slightly, Ron sighed. “I will try, though Harry. Just don't ask me to right now.” With his shoulders just a little bit lighter, Ron walked down the white hall and out of St. Mungo's.

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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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