Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: As promised, Chapter 5, in which Ron and Hermione (finally) break up.
What Happened Before the Wedding
Chapter 5: Between Best Friends
It was over.
Hermione almost collapsed onto the couch in the flat, exhausted, feeling drained of everything in her, too drained even to feel much joy and relief, although they were definitely present.
Evelyn Acheson was going to be okay.
Hermione repeated the thought to herself, smiling tiredly, as she remembered that moment when she'd been able to tell the happy news to Mr. and Mrs. Acheson, who'd been waiting for so long to hear just that. She still wasn't sure exactly where the idea had come from but while she'd been looking through one of her reference books for another patient, she'd come across the mention of a root and its uses and-on something like a desperate impulse-she'd decided to add it to another potion, hoping the combination would have some effect on little Evelyn. She'd used it sparingly, unsure as she was of its effects, but it had worked; it had taken a few long, endless minutes but then the girl's breathing had eased and, for the first time in days, she'd stirred a little. She hadn't woken up fully, not then, but Hermione had known that the crisis was past.
And now she was home, a little early, and very conscious of the fact that she wanted to be with Harry. Harry was the first person she had thought of that afternoon, the first person after the Achesons whom she'd wanted to tell and celebrate with-Harry, who had comforted her when she'd been discouraged and who would understand just what this meant to her.
But she could not go to him now. She wouldn't.
All she could do- all she would do- was send him a quick owl telling him the good news.
Hastily, she scrawled a few jubilant sentences on a piece of parchment and sent it.
She's better! She's going to be okay!
Cryptic but she also knew that Harry would understand. Which brought her thoughts-now that her worry and preoccupation over little Evelyn had been eased--back to the other, disquieting realization which she'd been trying to avoid for weeks now but which had finally refused to be ignored.
It was over.
Her relationship with Ron- the more-than-friendship part of it at least- was over. Or to be strictly accurate, it wasn't working.
Hermione sighed.
She cared about Ron. Truly, she did. She always had. But caring wasn't enough. She'd thought-hoped-wished, really-that she loved him or, at least, that she could love him since she knew she cared about him. But it hadn't happened and she had to admit that being with Ron wasn't making her happy. And she suspected it wasn't making Ron happy either.
They'd been happy at first. She couldn't deny that. Ron was her best friend and he knew how to make her laugh and even though they still bickered and fought (as they always had), the making-up from their fights had been much more pleasant.
But lately-and she could see now that it had been happening gradually in these past months-the arguments had become both more frequent and more hurtful and the times in between the arguments (after they'd kissed and made-up) had been more tense. The disagreements were never really settled even when they did make up; she and Ron were too different for that.
She was too independent, too much of a know-it-all, and Ron didn't appreciate it now much more than he had when they'd been 11 and he'd been irritated at it. She was too serious for him; he was too careless about certain things for her.
He expected, wanted, her to make him the absolute center of her existence, the way Mrs. Weasley always had for Mr. Weasley and the family. Oh, he'd never said (and she didn't think he'd even thought) anything about wanting her to stop working at St. Mungo's; he knew her better than that. But he did not understand why she chose to work as hard or as long as she did and he did sometimes get irritated when she was too busy over work to come watch one of his Quidditch matches. (Her continuing disinterest in Quidditch itself did not help matters.)
Their disagreements over Harry after his break-up with Ginny had only made the problem worse because with Harry, who'd always served as a sort of buffer to prevent at least some arguments, out of the flat, it had only increased the frequency of their fights.
Hermione was guiltily conscious that she had taken to staying at St. Mungo's later than she needed to, going in on weekends even when it wasn't necessary, bringing home more work than she should, as an attempt to avoid spending much time alone with Ron because it seemed like every time they were alone, they would bicker over something. And she was, quite frankly, tired of it. She was tired of the disagreements and even more tired of the constant tension that stemmed from worrying about the disagreements and dreading the next one. It was simply no longer comfortable to spend time with Ron and she suspected Ron felt the same. She'd moved back into her own bedroom, had stopped spending most nights in his-and he had not commented, had not even seemed to notice it although she knew he had, or care all that much.
And now… sitting there, Hermione acknowledged to herself with a sigh, that pretending she and Ron were still happy together would do no good. The problems weren't going to go away and denial wasn't going to work anymore either.
It wasn't working. They needed to admit that, accept it, and move on.
She was terribly afraid that if they tried to keep up this pretense of being more than friends, of being lovers, when it really, irrevocably ended, their friendship would end with it. And she cared about him too much for that. He was her best friend; he could still make her laugh and they had been through too much together for her to be able to imagine life without him now.
Hermione curled up on the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees, as she tried to fight tears. She hated crying and she hated this sort of uncertainty and, most of all, she hated this feeling of failure. Oh she knew, in some rational part of her mind, that she couldn't really blame herself for this, any more than she could really blame Ron; they had tried and it simply hadn't worked. But it did feel like failure.
She heard Ron outside the door and had barely a moment to sit up straight, hastily swiping at the annoying tears that would well up in her eyes, before the door opened and he came in.
Ron stopped short, a flicker of some expression Hermione couldn't identify crossing his face, before he quickly controlled his expression. "Hey," he said with rather obvious casualness, managing a smile. "You're home early today." He busied himself by making rather a production of hanging up his cloak and then turned towards the kitchen. "Did you have a good day today? What do you think we should have for dinner since we can actually eat together? Maybe we can light some candles and make a nice evening of it. It's been a while." While he was speaking, he got himself a bottle of butterbeer and steadfastly avoided looking in her direction even as he spoke with such apparent good humor.
Hermione inwardly flinched. She hated this too. She hated how they had to try so hard around each other, try to pretend nothing was wrong, try to pretend they were still happy together, try to keep the conversation as neutral as possible so they wouldn't fight again.
"Ron, we need to talk." And then Hermione almost winced at how that had sounded, even if she'd made her tone as soft and kind as possible. The words, 'we need to talk', never preceded anything good and Hermione thought peripherally that it might just be the most terrible sentence in the English language. Why was it that no one ever said, 'we need to talk' before saying anything good?
She could see Ron stiffen and it seemed like an endless moment before he turned, his expression now carefully, uncharacteristically, blank.
She tried to smile, patting her hand on the spot next to her. "Sit down here. I promise I won't bite," she added with a lame attempt at humor that fell flat.
He sat, keeping his eyes focused on his bottle of butterbeer, one finger picking at the corner of the label and then smoothing it out again, with as much concentration as if the fate of the world depended on it. "What do you want to talk about?"
Hermione sighed, studying him, and suddenly felt a wave of poignant affection for him, this best friend of hers, the boy she'd known for years. She knew the shape of his ears, his profile, his red hair. She'd kissed him and touched him and laughed with him and she knew, in spite of everything, she would give her life for him, as he would for her. "Oh, Ron…" she reached over and put her hand on his arm, waiting until he finally looked up at her before she finished, softly, "You know it's not working between us."
His fingers tensed and in one tiny movement, that was more of an involuntary jerk than anything else, he ripped off the corner of the bottle label he'd been fiddling with. He put the bottle down on the coffee table. Hermione bit her tongue to keep from reminding him to use a coaster. He paused, staring at the bottle for one odd moment, and then he picked up the bottle, reaching for a coaster, and used it. Leaving Hermione fighting a hysterical urge to either laugh or cry at this tiny gesture; only now, when it was too late, was he finally making this compromise, of his own accord. (In the middle of some of their fights, there had been many times when he'd deliberately not used a coaster, as if daring her to scold, and those moments had seemed to build up until it had precipitated yet another explosion.)
He sighed in his own turn and then said, in a more sober tone than Hermione could remember hearing from him in years, if ever, "I know."
And even though she'd expected them, knew they were true, the two words still sounded like a kind of death knell to her.
"We- we're too different, Ron," she finally said. "It's okay when we're best friends but- but we just don't work as anything more than friends."
"I know." He turned his hand up to grasp her hand, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I- I do care about you, you know."
She returned his grip of her hand with pressure of her own, staring down at their joined hands, her mind suddenly flooded with memories of their first few months together, the fun they'd had, the times he'd teased her and kissed her, the first few months when even the bickering had seemed pleasant. The tragedy was that it hadn't lasted, as honeymoon periods never truly do. "I care about you too, Ron, so much. But it just isn't enough."
He was silent for a painfully long moment before he sighed and said, very softly, "I guess I haven't really made you happy, have I?"
"I didn't make you happy either."
"I'm sorry," Ron blurted out. "Sorry for all the times we fought, sorry for all the times I tried to annoy you. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too. I should have tried harder, been more understanding, should have shut up about things."
He looked up at her, a serious sort of smile on his face. "We were happy together at first, though, weren't we?"
She smiled a little. "Yeah, we were."
He leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek, lingering for just a moment, in almost the first spontaneous gesture of affection he'd given her in what felt like weeks. "Still best friends, right?"
It was a question although she guessed that he hadn't meant for it to be one.
"Of course. We'll always be best friends."
He gave her a slight smile with a hint of his old teasing in it. "Promise?"
Her heart leaped at the sight. He hadn't really dared to tease her for weeks now, the atmosphere between them had been too tense for that. And she hadn't realized just how much she'd missed it, Ron's humor, until now. It really did feel better-sadly, right-now that she and Ron were agreed to simply be friends and no more than that.
She pretended to ponder that for a moment. "Mm, I don't know, you can be awfully annoying at times," she teased gently.
He actually laughed, softly. "Thanks a lot," he huffed with mock offense. "With friends like you…"
She returned his smile with one of her own, reaching up to pat his cheek teasingly. "Just trying to keep your ego in line before it gets too big for you to stand."
"Nice of you, thanks," he deadpanned, his lips twitching.
She laughed, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder companionably, before she looked back at him.
Their eyes met and held and slowly his smile faded, his expression sobering, before he blurted out, "Why couldn't we be like this before, when we were together?"
She sobered as well, her heart clenching with regret. "I don't know," she finally admitted softly. "I don't know but I think… I think it's because when we're together, we have to try too hard."
That may have been it, she thought, surprised at the almost accidental insight. That simple sentence may have just summarized just why she and Ron could never last: they had to try too hard. It wasn't that she believed relationships should be easy-very few things that were easy were worth it-but for her and Ron, it was a constant struggle, a constant fight against their own characters, their own wishes, it seemed. And no matter how they tried, it was like trying to fit a circle into a square puzzle.
"We have to try too hard," he repeated slowly. "Yeah, I think you're right."
She gave him a smile and replied lightly, wanting to banish the regret clouding his eyes. They just weren't right together; it wasn't his fault any more than it was hers. "Of course I'm right. Aren't I always?"
He laughed a little but it sounded rather hollow. "Well, that's a dangerous question."
He paused, sobering as he looked at her. "I really am sorry, Hermione. I know I've been a right prick."
"Don't, Ron. It doesn't do any good to blame yourself. It just wasn't meant to be." She managed a rather wobbly smile before changing the subject. "How about dinner? Do you want to just owl out for something?"
He blinked. "Yeah, sure, that sounds good. What do you feel like eating?"
"How does pizza sound?"
He smiled. "Fine; I'll cover it this time too."
The pizza arrived soon enough and they sat down to eat and it was… comfortable, normal. But not completely so. It wasn't glaring and it was certainly nowhere near the level of tension that had tended to invest the atmosphere between them of late but it was there and it was undeniable. It was just a touch of awkwardness, of constraint, between them, only noticeable in the occasional silences, in the barely perceptible note of strain in their laughter at times. And Hermione couldn't have told whether it was from any lingering emotions between them or from regret or from guilt or even from relief that their relationship was back to simply friendship but whatever it was, it was there. (And maybe, after all, although Hermione hardly allowed herself to think this, it was from the one forbidden topic that still loomed up between them, the one topic that neither she nor Ron brought up anymore and still wouldn't, still couldn't: Harry.)
But whatever the cause, she was almost glad-regretfully, reluctantly glad-to retreat to her room when dinner was over, as she usually did, to get some work done.
She and Ron were over and she knew it had been the right thing to do, the only thing to do. And she was sure that last lingering constraint would dissipate and vanish soon enough.
As for the subject of Harry-and Ginny-well, she could only hope that their self-imposed embargo on the subject would end soon enough too. She knew Ron and she knew his quick temper but she also knew that he wasn't the sort to remain angry for too long, wasn't overly given to long, festering bitterness. He'd managed it for this long, helped by his natural loyalty and his affection for Ginny, the closest to him in age and his only baby sister, but she couldn't believe that Ron was still as angry at Harry as he had been, couldn't believe that Ron would stay so unforgiving for much longer.
~
Harry opened the front door of Grimmauld Place, expecting to see Hermione. (No one else visited him.) And then he stared, feeling his heart suddenly leap up into his throat.
He opened his lips, swallowed, and only managed to croak one word. "Ron?"
Ron tried to smile. "Hey, Harry." But the attempt at casualness fell flat and he was left looking distinctly awkward as they just looked at each other.
Harry's mind was spinning with the suddenness of this and the surprise of it. Ron hadn't sought him out for months now since that last fight they'd had just after he'd broken up with Ginny.
He'd barely seen Ron except on those times when Hermione had deliberately planned for the three of them to have dinner and then had to persuade, cajole, nag or even threaten Ron into coming. And at those dinners, Ron had generally made a very good imitation of pretending that Harry wasn't present, except on those occasions when Ron had made some remark, ostensibly addressed to the table at large, but which had always contained a veiled (and sometimes not-so-veiled) jab at Harry-a remark on how some people thought they were so important they could just go around breaking girls' hearts and expect to get away with it, for example. And Hermione would either glare and cut Ron off with some sharp retort or she would immediately start talking very fast and in a tone that was a shade too loud and forceful to be natural on some completely neutral topic. Several times it had even been something as bland as the weather but usually she tried to talk about something like Quidditch or something else designed to bring Ron in. Oh, those commentaries on Quidditch! She tried so hard but this was the girl who'd once called the Wronski Feint the Wonky Faint and, although she'd at least corrected that, she didn't know much more. And Harry always felt something melt inside him listening to her, even as he had to fight back a laugh at some of what she said. She was trying so hard and this was probably the one subject in the world on which she really couldn't speak with any authority at all and yet, she tried and she was doing it for them, for him… At times like that, he'd had to fight to keep from spontaneously hugging her and he could only think how very dear she was, this best friend of his. And he would always step in and answer her, making a concerted effort to keep the conversation going.
He'd certainly never been alone with Ron since their fight over Ginny.
But now, here Ron was, looking quite as awkward and ill at ease as Harry felt-but he was here.
"What- what are you doing here?" he blurted out bluntly and then inwardly winced. Well, that was a way to make Ron feel welcome.
"Are you going to let me in or leave me to stay out here in the cold?"
Harry stared. He heard the thread of amusement in Ron's voice, saw the slight quirk of his lips, the glimmer of humor in his eyes-he hadn't seen it in months, certainly not when talking to him, but it was there now.
He wasn't sure exactly what had brought this on or why Ron was here but he didn't care, only fell in with the familiar teasing. He pretended to ponder the question. "Hmm, I don't know… It's not safe to let in all kinds of riff-raff…"
Ron snorted.
Harry stepped back, out of the doorway. "Yeah, I guess you can come in."
Once Ron was inside, though, they were both ill at ease.
Harry sat down, got up again, moved the dirty plate from the table and into the sink in a transparent attempt to keep busy, and then finally glanced over at Ron, trying to sound casual. "Want some butterbeer or- or something?"
"A firewhiskey, if you've got one," Ron said with a vague air of relief.
"Right." Harry passed Ron a bottle of Firewhiskey and then forced himself to sit down as he opened his own bottle. "So- er- how have you been?" he asked with rather forced heartiness.
Ron visibly winced and then looked up at Harry. "Hermione and I broke up," he stated flatly.
Harry stared-and if he'd been thinking of it at all, he might have realized that in his surprise at Ron's news, he completely forgot all of the awkwardness in the room. "What?" He blinked, swallowed. "When?"
Ron sighed, taking a long swig of firewhiskey before he answered. "Just today but, honestly, it's been building for a while. It- it hasn't been good for a while."
"I- I'm sorry," Harry faltered. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to think. Didn't know what to feel. He was torn between sympathy and some relief, concern over Hermione-where was she, how must she be feeling now-and guilt at feeling relieved-what kind of friend was he to feel relieved that his best friends were hurting?
"What happened?"
Ron took another drink of the firewhiskey before staring at the bottle as if it would somehow provide the answer. "I don't know- nothing- everything. It just… stopped being right. We started arguing more. I mean, we always fought, you know that."
"Yeah," Harry agreed carefully.
"But the arguments, sort of, changed somehow. They got worse, lasted longer. It got to be that sometimes just looking at her made me angry again-I don't even know why! It made no sense and I was a real arse about it too…"
He sighed. "I made her cry," he mumbled, more to himself than to Harry.
Harry flinched, stifling as much as he could the surge of emotion he felt in response to that short confession. The image of Hermione crying… He wanted Hermione to be happy, had thought she was happy with Ron-now, hearing that she hadn't been, he had to fight the upwelling of anger-at Ron for hurting her. How could anyone hurt her? When he sometimes thought he would happily spend the rest of his life trying to make her smile…
Ron looked up at Harry. "I think Hermione said it best when she said we just had to try too hard to make things work between us. It just wasn't… right…" Ron took another drink of firewhiskey. "I knew it was coming. It's just… it was still a surprise, you know? And we talked about it and we both agreed it was the right thing but… but it still bothers me, somehow."
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
There was a silence as they both sat and drank their firewhiskeys, before Harry finally broke it by asking, "How's Hermione?"
"She seemed a little sad but okay," Ron answered slowly and then added with a wan attempt at a smile, "You know Hermione; she's stronger than both of us."
Harry frowned a little. Hermione was strong but he knew she wasn't quite as invulnerable as Ron made it sound; she just refused to show her weaknesses to people. But he forced himself to respond, "That she is," in as casual a tone as he could muster.
Another silence and another pause and then Ron was the one to break it this time, abruptly. "I'm sorry about, you know--" he waved one hand in a small, rather awkward gesture meant to be inclusive of all the past months of estrangement, before finishing, "being such a git."
Harry felt himself relax a little, feeling the last remnants of awkwardness dissipate and leave the room at Ron's apology, less than eloquent as it might have been. "As long as you know you were a git," he retorted half-teasingly. He sobered and added, "I'm sorry too. I never wanted to hurt Ginny like that, you know."
"I know."
Ron finished his firewhiskey in one long drink before he looked at Harry. "Move back in to the flat," Ron said abruptly.
Harry stared. "Really?"
Ron had the grace to look sheepish for a moment, in tacit admission that it was his own pig-headedness that had made Harry move out in the first place. "Yeah, really. It's… it's your flat too, you know."
Harry grinned, suddenly feeling almost giddy. Grimmauld Place had been fine as a temporary refuge, of sorts, but he couldn't say that he enjoyed having to live there. The house was gloomy and haunted by too many memories, memories of Sirius and of his 5th year, for him to ever feel completely comfortable in it. To say nothing of the fact that it was lonely too. "Have another drink while I go pack."
Ron grinned, his eyes meeting Harry's, and that was when Harry knew-for good-that everything was back to normal again between them.
Hermione stared at the treatise on the uses of powdered asphodora root, trying to keep her mind on it, as dull as it was, but without much success.
Ron had left the flat soon after Hermione had retreated to her room, and now, suddenly, Hermione was finding the empty flat very… lonely. It was, no doubt, a temporary thing, Hermione told herself bracingly, a natural consequence of some lingering melancholy over having to end things with Ron, but knowing it didn't make the emptiness of the flat much more comforting.
She was just fine. Really, she was. She would be just fine. She had her work and her family and her friends; Ron was still her best friend, without any of the tension that there had been lately over their arguments, and there was always Harry. Harry-she suddenly wondered what he was doing then. She wished she could go over to Grimmauld Place but didn't dare, not after what had (almost) happened the last time she'd sought Harry out for comfort. That odd physical awareness of him that she felt and couldn't deny any more. She'd wanted to kiss him, wanted him to kiss her, just… wanted him-but nothing could happen now. She wouldn't risk their friendship for physical pleasure and she wouldn't treat Harry like some sort of rebound thing after ending things with Ron. If anything ever happened with her and Harry-and in some small corner of her mind, mostly unconscious as yet, Hermione acknowledged that she wanted it to happen-it couldn't happen yet.
Hermione heard the door of the flat open and knew Ron must be home. He was earlier than she'd thought he would be; she'd assumed he'd probably gone over to the Burrow or something but if he was back so quickly, he couldn't have gone to the Burrow.
Harry glanced at Ron and then went over to knock on Hermione's door.
"What is it, Ron?" Her tone was a little wary and a little tired, as well, and Harry felt a pang of concern, his expression softening unconsciously.
"It's not Ron."
He heard her small gasp and then she flung her door open. "Harry! What--"
Her gaze flew from Harry's face to the bags he'd left on the floor in the front room of the flat to Ron standing a little behind Harry, a tentative half-smile on his face.
"Oh Ron!" And the smile she gave him could have lit up the entire flat at night before she threw her arms around Harry.
"Oh, Ron, I'm so glad!" she addressed Ron even as she hugged Harry and Harry let out his breath in a half-sigh, returning her hug. Harry threw a laughing glance at Ron before he said, teasingly, "Actually, my name's Harry, remember? We've met."
Hermione laughed, although her laugh held an almost tearful note, even as she poked him in the side. "Oh, Harry, honestly!"
She gave him one last squeeze and then released him, backing up as she glanced between Ron and Harry. "Is everything okay between you two now?"
"Well, you know, when Ron went down on his knees and tore his hair and begged for forgiveness, it seemed like it would be awfully mean to stay angry," Harry deadpanned.
"Haha, Potter, very funny," Ron shot back with mock offense, trying to glare but failing and after a minute, he gave in and joined Harry's and Hermione's laughter.
Hermione looked from Ron's grinning face to Harry's, feeling that odd sensation of something being off-kilter in the world in these past months of estrangement between her two best friends vanish. They were together again- the Trio- and for the first time in a long while, she suddenly felt that all was right with her world.
~To be continued…~