A/N. Quicker than usual update. Thank you for the encouraging reviews and the not so encouraging ones :).
More of this Hermione-Harry conversation - this time, Harry's POV. They talk about 'love' and relationships in the theory and as they apply to Ron and Ginny - squirm…squirm.
Consider this fair warning to those who don't care for the philosophical stuff. You can skip this one. Next chapter will be less gooey and will move the story forward, I promise.
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Chapter 24 - The Measure of Ifs
Harry knew that he was out of his element the moment he decided to follow Hermione home. As he embraced her and let her get 'it' out of her system, he could not help but recall the one and only time he had actually seen Hermione this way, thinking how he could have handled that one so much better than he did. It was during the time they were hunting for the Horcruxes, the toil of the task had taken its toll on them and Ron left them after concluding wrongly that she was siding with him.
She had gone after Ron to persuade him to stay, calling out his name in the damp and cold night, while Harry stayed in the tent, angry at himself for not knowing more about the Horcruxes than they expected. It was strange that his memory of that one night was much more vivid now than that night itself. For the first time he saw the bigger picture, how the instinctive choice of shielding him and herself from Ron jarred Hermione, the shock on her face matching Ron's the instant she cast the protective charm as if she was as surprised of her decision. It killed her when Ron accused her of choosing him because she wasn't taking sides but merely trying to keep the peace.
Even her voice as she called out after Ron then rang more desperate and agonizing now than he remembered. When she came back into their tent drenched from the rain and from her tears, she cried herself to exhaustion. She cried for many nights after that, not openly as the first but in muffled sobs when she thought he was asleep. He did nothing. He heard them and he did nothing. He was young, angry and stressed but what the hell was he thinking letting her be?
They never talked about that night. Come to think of it, they didn't talk about those days when he and Hermione were out of touch from the rest of the world and on their own.
Harry was just relieved that his instincts had not failed him this time around. They had moved into her cozy living room and got a warm fire going, deciding to sit on the carpeted floor across each other. He leaned on the sofa and she used the cushions for comfort. She had just reassured him that her 'pushing him away' was not because he was a bad friend but because she was too embarrassed to admit why she felt so low that night. Her indulgence in self-pity was so shameful, she said, that she really didn't want any of her friends to see her this way.
Harry understood of course. Public shows of emotion were a no-no for him too but he tossed her back the idea that she was allowed to be human once in a while and that they, her friends, wouldn't begrudge her that. She laughed; he was glad. With not much convincing he got her to talk about what she was crying about and her early exit from the Burrow. A fresh steaming cup of tea in his hand, he listened to her with disbelief.
"How can you be insecure? I have nothing against Jill but it's quite obvious Ron traded down."
"Thanks, Harry," she thought he was just saying it to make her feel better.
"Seriously," he reiterated.
He was angry that Ron, though indirectly, was making her feel this way. It was difficult to convince his oft times stubborn friend she was wrong.
Hermione was trying to make him see her side too, "He's happy with her; happier than he ever was and could ever be with me."
"Because she makes him feel like he's the smartest and most important guy in the room," he stated the glaringly obvious, keeping to himself a suspicion that most of it was purposeful, that Jill wasn't as simple-minded as she looked.
"Precisely. I could never do that with conviction," Hermione replied.
"So what? You can't compare yourself to her. You're two different people. And just because Ron needs constant reassurance to feel secure it doesn't mean someone should reassure him," Harry pointed out, thinking that his best friend should grow up.
"I know what you mean," she sighed, "But it's not just about that. It's about me being selfish."
First she was insecure and now she was selfish. Her twisted thinking was making his head spin. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders to make her realize that Ron's timidity wasn't her responsibility to fix.
"You're not selfish. You're the most giving person I know. And refusing to stroke someone's ego just to make him happy doesn't qualifiy as selfishness."
It didn't take her long to disagree, "I care about what I want too much that I can't compromise to make a relationship work. If I couldn't do it for Ron after so many conscious tries then I probably wouldn't be able to do with anyone it ever."
The perplexed look and frustration on his face would have said it all. He felt her conclusion was premature and bit back what he was about to say reminding himself that he may not agree with her but he had to be calm about it.
"I'm not making myself clear," she realized, thought for a moment, then asked, "Can we talk hypothetical?"
"Okay," he replied, eager for something that would make him understand.
"Say you're in a relationship and you know in your heart you love this person you're with but she's not perfect," she laid out the scenario for him, "Say she's jealous all the time, even for no reason. You've done everything to reassure her there's nothing to be worried about and you're absolutely sure she won't ever change, not even if you marry her. Would you stay with her if she couldn't change?"
This was easy.
"I would. If I truly loved her, it shouldn't matter."
"So if I truly loved Ron then it shouldn't have mattered that he was insecure all the time," she concluded, "I should have accepted him however unreasonable I thought he was."
He frowned, blindsided by her logic, and subconsciously added, "And if I truly loved Ginny then I'd give in to what she wants.". He had gone further down to a more unsettling thought. Like Hermione he was 'selfish'. He wouldn't give in to what Ginny wanted because he cared about himself more.
"You're thinking this applies to you and Ginny, aren't you?"
Hermione read his mind and sensed his distress. He didn't have to answer.
"Great," she groaned, "Now I've made you as miserable as I am."
"No, this is actually good," he didn't want her to feel bad.
"How can this be good?" she was really concerned.
"Epiphany is always good, in the long run," he was trying to convince himself too. He aired out what they were both thinking, "So maybe we don't really love them as we thought we did."
"Hold off on the 'we', will you?" she said with caution, "That's not what I was trying to get at. Just because we failed to make things work doesn't mean we don't love them."
"You just lost me."
"Think about it, Harry. The measure of ifs is flawed."
"The what?"
"The measure of ifs, you know, quantifying love or lack thereof by what we do or don't do for each other," she tried to explain, "Like if I loved Ron I should have learned to accept him and if he loved me he should have tried to change."
"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me," he said candidly.
"I disagree. I think we're going about it the wrong way."
So they were back to 'we'.
Hermione continued, "Just because I couldn't accept Ron as he was doesn't mean I didn't love him and I can't say that because he couldn't grow up for me he didn't love me. And Ginny can't say that because you can't change for her you don't love her enough just like you can't know that she doesn't care about you because she broke up with you over it. It may seem logical to look at choices and actions to gauge how much we care about each other but that doesn't work, at least, not all the time."
"I'll give you that," he got her point, she meant one shouldn't assume, "But still, true love should make you do what you can to stay together."
"Harry, you're doing it without even knowing it," she quickly pointed out, "You're quantifying love based on how much you're willing to give up to make the relationship work. Love has very little to do with staying together."
"How can you think that?" he couldn't wrap his head around this concept.
She drew a deep breath and gave an example, "Take Dean and Luna's case."
"Okay."
"If Dean refused to move to Australia and insisted on Luna moving to London would that mean he loves her less? Does Luna not love him enough because she's not insisting to live in London with him instead?" she shot him questions.
"No and no, at least I don't think so."
"And they're not breaking up because they're working it out and coming to a mutual decision. What I'm trying to say is that while love makes couples decide to be together it takes a willingness to understand and selflessness to give in to stay together."
"But that's part of loving someone," he rebutted, "The more you love someone, the more willing and selfless you'll be.".
"Okay, but what's more and what's less? If neither is willing to compromise like what's happened with you and Ginny who gets to decide when selfless becomes selfish? And when that's decided, does that mean there's less love compared to before?"
"I don't know," Harry wavered, "Maybe.".
"Loving is the easy part and we keep on putting this enormous burden on it by equating it with how much we're able to give up for the relationship. And when we don't, we lose sight of how we feel about each other. We taint love with conditions, with ifs, and end up diluting what should be pure and unconditional. We need to set love free; to let it be."
Her voice hung heavily in the air, filled with passion and conviction. She was flushed, her eyes sparkling as light from the fireplace glowed on her face. He didn't want to interrupt, not that he could if he tried. After, when she realized he was speechless, she turned beet red and groaned.
"Freakish?"
She was a 'ranter' since forever and was getting better with age.
"A bit," he thought he'd tease her, "Where is the donation can for setting love free and letting it be?"
They laughed, the embarrassment and tension on her face washed away as she called him a prat.
He said to her when that died down, "Can I ask a question?"
"Uh-huh."
"How do you know you love someone if not for the measure of ifs?" he was curious what she thought.
"I'm not sure," she confessed, "There's always the test of one's physical need."
That was weird coming from her and he had to disagree, "Physical attraction is key but sex means differently from one person to the next. That's even worse than the measure of ifs."
She snorted and rolled her eyes, "You're such a typical bloke. I meant the more essential physical needs, breathing, eating, sleeping and the inability to do those well without that person you love."
He chuckled, "I should have known. I keep forgetting in some ways you're a typical woman."
"What's that supposed to mean?" her brows were raised and she was waiting for an answer, a lighthearted warning that it better be the right one.
"It's just like a woman to think about deprivation and suffering as ways to profess true love," he laughed inwardly when her eyes narrowed as he expected and he quickly moved to redeem himself, "I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm just saying what is."
"We don't deprive ourselves on purpose," she set him straight, "It just happens when we can't be with the person we love."
"Sounds like torture if you have to not be with that someone before deciding how much or if you love him at all," he said, wondering if despite Hermione's denial this was the test Ginny was putting him through, "As imperfect as it is I think I'll still go with the measure of ifs."
"Who says we have to measure anyway?" she asked philosophically, "Maybe we shouldn't have to look for proof or find out how much. Why put a number on something that's supposed to be infinite."
He was shaking his head even before she finished, "You can't go against human nature. We'd always want validation and a way to quantify something as intangible as that."
"Then that's the pitfall. It is intangible; it can't be measured with any degree of accuracy. And we shouldn't doubt what we feel just because we can't measure it," she argued, the last bit he was sure was in response to what he had said earlier about Ginny.
It was a stalemate.
"Well, immeasurable or not, that still leaves us with your hypothetical conflict of whether to leave or not to leave my jealous girlfriend, which I did in reality by the way," he said, hoping she would catch the allusion to Ginny, "If you think that not accepting her and leaving her doesn't necessarily mean that I don't love her then that's not the kind of love I want to feel."
Did he really just say that? The voice was his and the words were his but it felt like he was hearing someone else talk. He was speaking from the heart, his words unprocessed by the complex filters in his mind. What exactly was his heart saying?
She eyed him cautiously, "Are we still talking hypothetical or are we talking about Ginny?"
"Both," he thought it best to be totally honest.
"So what is the kind of love you want to feel?" Hermione asked, going for casual but it was a most personal question as any.
Harry had no ready answer, never really had the time or need to think about this before. With Ginny he just felt it, recognized it and just was. It wasn't what he wanted, he just accepted. He had no wants then. It was the free kind, as Hermione had just spoken so avidly about, until the pressure came. What changed? Did something change? Did he start expecting it to be different? To be more? Did he measure it against an if and made it less pure? With Hermione seemingly in no hurry for an answer, he searched himself and told her what came to mind.
"I want the kind that would never make me leave her, unless she insists that I do. It would be unmindful of distance and wouldn't care less about absence of reciprocity. It would be free in your sense, that it's unconditional, but also not free because I would have no choice but to do what I can to make her happy even if I spend my dying breath making sure she is."
Hermione looked surprised. It was her turn to be speechless.
"It's okay, you can laugh. Too girly for a bloke right?"
She didn't but he could tell she was amused, "That doesn't sound like you'll be happy in the end."
"I can hope. I figure if she's happy then I'll be happy," he blurted out wondering to himself just how feasible that would be.
"Your hope for happiness died the moment you included 'dying breath' in it," she responded with certainty.
"Speaking from experience?"
"I don't need experience," she said with a smug expression, "I'm a woman, remember? I can tell potential for suffering from a mile away."
He laughed at her quip then took the slim opening to put her on the spotlight, "Okay your turn. I'm sure you have an ideal about what you'd like this thing to be."
Hermione made a face, "I'd rather not say."
He feigned a protest.
"That's not fair. Quid pro quo. You just emasculated me with your question," she laughed at that, "You owe me an answer."
"Okay, fine," she caved easily, "I have the same delusional, unrealistic notion about love as you do. Unconditional as you said, something mutual is most preferable; I don't want to suffer, after all. And while we're dreaming I might as well throw forever in there somewhere."
"Delusional and unrealistic? You should sound more inspired," he admonished.
She shrugged, "I'm depressed. I have a good excuse."
He tried to convince her, "It not unrealistic. I've seen it. You've seen it."
"Flukes of nature. I'm bitter I won't ever find it. I'm jealous of those who have it," she pouted, just being silly.
"You're such a pessimist," he accused.
"Realist," she corrected.
"Same difference."
He found their banter amusing. It was like being in her head and talking with her without her usual layers of checks and balances to ensure appropriateness. Then she said something that he never imagined she would.
"Sometimes I wish I didn't know that kind of love existed. It's so much easier going through life believing there's nothing more to love than hormones and sex and that it was okay if it didn't last because it just doesn't."
"Okay," he cautioned, "I think you're going over the deep end."
"I'm never gonna find someone who I'll willingly give up my ideals for."
"You're only twenty-three Hermione. You have time. You'll find someone closer to your ideals you won't have to give them up."
She wasn't hearing him, "And even if I find that person chances are he won't stay when he realizes I'm not his ideal."
He saw that she was on her path of self doubt again, a sight he was certain he wasn't meant to be audience for. This one was filled with overtones of anxiety and insecurity that it was still hard to believe it was coming from his usually unflappable friend. He debated between continuing to talk sense into her versus letting her go to town and decided he couldn't stand hearing her this way.
"Hermione, if that person truly loves you then just like you he won't mind. He'll be as giving as you are. He'll take you as-is."
She heard that one and cracked a joke, "I'll have some of that stuff you're smoking."
"And if he doesn't then he doesn't deserve you," he said what he truly believed.
"That thought would be such a comfort while I'm growing old alone and dying alone," she was bordering on melodramatic but he could see she was really worried about remaining single. With some bitterness she took another jab at herself, "I can see it now. I'll be that spinster aunt, like your Aunt Marge, crashing my friends' families' parties lambasting everyone about how poorly they're raising their children and telling them how it should be done."
He laughed involuntarily at that graphic. It was hilarious imagining Hermione as his Uncle's older sister and very bad timing to lose control.
"It's not funny," she began to object but seemed too relaxed he couldn't think she was offended.
"Yes it is," he continued laughing hoping to infect her, "I can actually see you doing that married. But I promise I'll still invite you over even if my kids complain."
"Gee, thanks," she replied dryly, at least she could joke about it. She added thoughtfully, "I never thought falling in love and having a relationship would be this complicated. Did you?"
He concurred, "I never imagined it would be this hard either."
"My parents make it look so easy. I kind of resent them for setting such a high standard," she was half joking.
They laughed quietly and got distracted by crackling nearby. Both gazing over to the fireplace and seeing the flames almost extinguished, they watched the dying embers for some time, content with each other's company. He sat silently and thought about the night, the dinner at the Burrow, how it was a relief to talk with Ginny civilly again. They talked about being friends, about him maybe watching a Harpies match once she got playing time, about them seeing other people. It surprisingly stung when she admitted she was finally ready for that, unsure at first if it was because he felt bad that she was letting go or because it took her a long time, then deciding it was more the former.
To be honest with himself about it he didn't want Ginny to let go. He wanted her to take him back without condition and seeing the look in her eyes he left with a feeling of hopefulness bordering on arrogance that she eventually would. He was selfish, his happiness was worth more to him than hers, and the epiphany about how his heart really felt about Ginny was troubling.
Harry turned towards Hermione when he felt her eyes on him.
She said, "Harry, I don't mean to be an ungracious host and I really appreciate you coming over and staying but I think I'm either going to doze off right in front of you or say something I'll regret; I probably have already. And the fact that I'm telling you this without hesitation is disturbing enough."
He grinned, amused by her frank and careless admission, "You're kicking me out of your flat."
"Yes I am. I swear I'm fine."
She wasn't, that much he knew, but she was better than before he came. Now she needed space.
He banished their empty cups, got on his feet and replied, "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Thanks again."
He helped her up. She walked with him to the foyer and held the door open for him as he put his coat on. She was tired, he could see that plainly, but underneath the exterior he sensed she was still raw from the emotions she just went through. She needed a good hug and would die first before asking.
"Come here," he prompted with his arms open.
Hermione let go of the door and accepted his offer. Tonight she felt so small and fragile in his arms, so unlike how she was normally. She was a shade of the positive force that had shone on friends and family for so long as if she was running low on that energy. They embraced snug and tight, their one shadow falling on the front porch in silence. He felt compelled to tell her how he felt, hoping his opinion would make her feel better.
"You know I love Ron like a brother," his voice was barely audible, "But you're better off without him. It was a good decision to let go. And you will find someone who will make you happier."
Harry planted a kiss on her hair, that now familiar flowery scent he associated with her seeped deep within him and stirred an instinctive protectiveness and hopefulness that she would be okay. That was something new. She pulled away nodding, her expression a cross between a smile and a frown before the former won out.
"Get out of here before you make me cry again," she dismissed him playfully.
He heard the door close behind him as he walked away, feeling both relieved and uneasy about what just happened that night. He knew coming in there was a part of her that he didn't know about but he didn't imagine it would be this. Recalling the many times she sheltered him from physical and emotional dangers, he felt it his turn and duty to look after her and protect her, mostly from herself.
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Hermione lay in bed, eyes closed, mind wide awake. She couldn't believe she said half the things she said. Most of them weren't for public consumption. Harry must really think she was a basket case and would surely never look at her the same way again.
She kept coming back to what he said about Ginny. That was so not what she wanted him to conclude. She didn't want him to conclude anything. She shouldn't have gone on with the hypothetical and the philosophical discussion on a topic she wasn't an expert on. And she should really keep her venomous thoughts about relationships to herself.
First Dean and now Harry. Argh! It was like she had this evil side of her subconsciously causing everyone else to feel miserable so she'd have company.
One more toss and one more turn, she gave in to her need for mental wellness, focused on Harry's parting reassurance and his warm, comforting embrace, then dozed off into deep sleep.
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A/N. Was that too much? Would you agree with Hermione's theory about the measure of ifs or are you with Harry?