Part Seventeen
When I entered your office, I found you sitting at your desk. Your head was in your hands, with your brown curls winning their fight against the bun you tried valiantly to contain them with. Loose strands fell over your already covered face, and they shook as your body shook.
I didn't allow myself much time to look at you. Instinct had me closing the door and across the room almost immediately. You were in my arms, suddenly, and you stiffened, tried to push me away and wipe your eyes at the same time. I would have none of it. I held you fast. When would you realize you couldn't hide from me? When would you realize I wanted to see you like this because it only allowed me to be closer and to know you better?
Your quiet sob pressed into my chest. It was sharp. It pierced me. And I closed my eyes, pressed my lips against your hair, let you cry.
I was on my knees before you, in so many ways. I held you tightly, even after you calmed, after you stilled. Holding you was the only thing that felt right and I refused to stop. And you didn't ask me to. Your arms wrapped around me in return, and your face buried itself in my neck. A tear or two of my own found its way into your hair.
And the thing is, I suddenly knew I was crying because it wasn't hopeless. This situation was anything but hopeless. There were options. There were paths. It was our hesitation, it was our speechlessness and indecision and avoidance that made me so upset. All because we feared, individually and simultaneously, we suffered now. Hopelessness did not scare me. It never had. We had choices to make, and it was time to make them. It was time to speak.
It was painful to pull away from you, even those few inches that I did. Your brow was creased as you looked up at me, confused and wary and so trusting. Those brown eyes filled with a mosaic of feelings stared into mine which tried to convey all of that and more. My hand caressed your face, wet and flushed. We trembled together, foreheads softly meeting as your hands reached for my free one. You held it there in your lap, tightly despite your shaking.
I watched as your eyes closed, barely an inch from mine. You took a deep breath and as you exhaled, my lips gently touched yours. You breathed a small whimper, returning the simple gesture so sweetly.
After only a couple of moments, I ended the kiss, but remained so close to you, watching the tears in your lashes. My hand moved from your face to your hair, losing itself within and completely disrupting the effort you made that morning. You sighed and blinked slowly, and I knew how you loved the feel of me, touching you even that simply. Your hands tightened around mine.
When your eyes opened to meet mine again, I spoke. My voice was low and thick with emotion as I tried to convey just how much I wanted to say.
"I love you, too."
With a quickness, your lips found mine again. A sob escaped you as you kissed me with such mingled and relieved sadness and joy. I felt exactly the same, I felt it all. And you pulled me closer, one of your hands moving to my hair as the other held mine so tightly.
It was then that I felt the small sliver of cold metal, the hard edge of rock. I pulled away from you abruptly. I stared down at our clasped hands lying in your lap, at the small bit of light reflecting from your third finger. I looked back up at you, shock and despair and love and sheer agony contorting my features in what I imagined a most ridiculous way.
"You…" I tried to speak, but what could I say? Anger hit my bloodstream so that I felt every inch of myself throbbing along with every fucking thing else I was feeling, for which words couldn't possibly do justice.
"Harry," you tried to speak, but I removed my hand with a harsh swiftness. Your own pain stilled your tongue, and your eyes registered a hurt more profound than I had ever seen.
"You're going to marry him?" I asked, trying and failing to keep the bitter edge from my words. I moved further from you, ignoring the pain the action caused. "After everything? You're really going to do this?"
"Harry, let me talk," you pleaded, and your brow was creased again.
"Now you want to talk?" was my juvenile retort as I stood and backed away from you. There was a small part of me that told me to shut up, told me I would regret this, but I couldn't stop. "After all this time, all these wordless years, you want to talk? What defense could you possibly have, Hermione? What excuse do you have for this?"
You stood with me, suddenly so that the back of your chair hit the wall loudly. "Excuse? You want to talk about excuses, Harry? What excuse do you have for marrying her? What could you possibly say in your own defense for these wordless years?"
"That is completely different and you know it," I nearly shouted, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
You scoffed angrily. "Do enlighten me, Harry. How is this in any way different?"
"I married the woman who loved me, Hermione," I spat. "As far as I was aware, there was only one."
You glowered at me and when you spoke, your tone matched mine. "And I'm engaged to the man who loves me. As far as I was aware, Harry, he was the only one."
The harshness, the words, the look in your eyes stung. The truth stung. I glared at you, trying not to waver. But I knew I could not argue that. It was my fault you didn't know. It was your fault I hadn't known. We were both entirely to blame and there we were, blaming. I was shaking, my knees felt weak and I felt powerless. What could be done?
You glared at me, and your arms were crossed over your chest, waiting for my next scathing remark with your chin held a notch higher than normal. But no scathing remark was to come. I could not say anything for what seemed like hours. Our glares gradually softened so that we simply stared, dwelling in our mutual despair and not knowing how to move in it.
As your arms lowered from their defiant position across your chest, my own hands relaxed. A moment later, I was taking a step closer to you. A moment after that, you were in my arms again. I sighed at the feeling, closed my eyes and buried my face in your hair. Your arms wrapped around me, too, and your sigh mirrored mine.
My lips brushed your ear and you whispered, softly. "We're aware now, aren't we?"
Heart hammering, I kissed you hungrily, vaguely hoping that answered your question. Your arms tightened around me as my hands tangled in your hair, which was soon entirely free from its vain restraint.
The collar of your shirt was open and my mouth was upon the flesh beneath before we realized the door had opened and Ron was standing at the threshold, mouth slack and his hand clenched tightly around his wand, which emitted red sparks at a furious rate.
I looked at you and saw the horror there, the very horror I was feeling until I was knocked backward, into the wall behind your desk, bleeding from a sudden cut on my cheek.