Unofficial Portkey Archive

Discarding the Easy - granger_danger

Author's Note: This piece has taken me quite a long time to finish. I had originally written and submitted it completely differently under another name, but it just didn't seem right. It's taken me a while to work this out, and I'm hoping that I've adequately captured what these two have gone through emotionally in my mind, anyway. Hope you like it. Please Read and Review!!!

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I suppose if I had to say that my life was perfect, I wouldn't be able to do it.

Don't get me wrong, my life isn't horrible. Not in the common sense of the word, that is.

I'm alive. There's a big plus considering.

My friends are happy and paired off into cheerful, expected pairs and living their lives. We see each other with regularity. I have a thrilling and satisfying job and I am recently engaged to be married to a good man that was one of my best friends during my childhood.

I understand the logic of that. I see it with perfect clarity.

Yet, as I sit in my small and modest flat in upper London, I can't help but think of what I have sacrificed to be here and what I continue to sacrifice to keep the charade up.

Please don't think me ungrateful or longing for a life that I can't have.

I was complacent with my lot in life.

Honestly.

It wasn't perfect, but then again, what is?

Besides, it wasn't just my happiness at stake here, but lots of other people: friends of mine who fought just as hard to have a semblance of normality. After all we've been through, who was I to demand more? Who was I to wish more than I have?

And yet, that is exactly what I'm doing, isn't it? I suppose at least I have the modesty to feel guilty about it.

I realize that I have been given too many chances at life to complain about that which I have been given. What kind of ungrateful person can't see the good man that is beside them and be thankful that one of their greatest friends is the one they'd get to spend the rest of their life with?

He understands me as well as he can; he listens to me. He stands beside me.

Most people wish for that all of their lives and never begin to find it. I know that.

But, I also realize that I can't continue to live a lie. So, here I am staring at this crumbled picture in my hand and wondering what would have been. How easy it all would be now if we'd just done what wasn't easy so long ago.

Please don't get me wrong.

I can't express how much I adore Ron.

He is a passionate man with a sense of humor that honestly does take some getting used to. Yet, he smiles at me like I'm his life's ambition; as if I'm the only thing in his life that he's entirely proud of.

The one thing that he's gotten right. The one thing with which he's come out on top.

I can't describe the pressure that comes with that.

And he has grown into such a good man.

So, please tell me why no matter how much I try, I can't escape from the thought that I will never place him above second best?

I know how horrible that sounds. Don't think I don't.

I can't help it.

And don't think I don't know how horrible that makes me sound, either.

Honestly, before, I would never have told him. I would have never let on like his was a love that I wanted below another's, and yet I can't help but yearn for his arms around me at night. I can't help but wonder how it would be to be carrying his child, cooking dinners with him or doing something as simple as merely reading together again. I can't help wondering how I would feel to wake before he does in the morning and watch him sleeping peacefully now, as I hope he does.

It stabs my soul to remember waking before him in the early light of so many of our past occasions. In that blasted tent on so many nights, I remember not sleeping at all. I remember those nights sitting outside on guard, listening for any sign of approaching danger as hard as I was listening for the sounds of his fitful sleep. He was wracked with nightmares then, and it was I alone that was there to comfort him. Even now I remember waking him, but more often I remember merely holding his hand or brushing the hair from his eyes as I whispered some words of comfort to his sleeping form. For the most part, he never realized how he had turned and thrashed, crying out in his slumber to my silent tears.

Part of me wonders, through all that I have, if he sleeps peacefully now? Are his nightmares a thing of the past?

I don't know fully.

I never got to hold him through his sleep.

I never got to wake to his peaceful face in the early light of day.

I never got those pieces of him that I wanted.

Outwardly, I haven't held his confidence in a long time. I suppose that is the natural order of things. One can only be teased with deepest longing for so long.

It's silly to think that we had all of this in shadows. Brief encounters in the night or midday, where we never really said what's on our minds.

I could see it in the way he looked at me sometimes, though.

It was as though he wanted nothing more than to talk to me the way we used to, out in open in broad daylight for all to see.

Perhaps I'm merely kidding myself with that thought.

It isn't as if we haven't talked. We still spoke, of course.

How would it look if Hermione Granger and Harry Potter suddenly dismissed each other's companies?

I would imagine the questions alone would be damaging enough to everyone, and I for one do not wish to relive the past in that way.

So, of course we spoke.

Appearances dictated those formal niceties.

You will never know how hard it is for me to express the necessity that we talked. But, I can't begin to express to you how hard it was to talk to him. To see him and stand near him, watch as she holds his hand and have a genuine smile on my face.

What's wrong with me?

I know that it wasn't the same. He was no longer supposed to be the most important outward thing in my life.

And I tried, let me tell you. I tried with everything in me to make sure that was the way it went. I have never failed at anything.

I'm not sure whether to be sad or happy that I finally have.

Because inside where no one could see, he was still my entire world.

Even through the pain of what we did to each other.

Even through the pain of being chosen as second best.

Even through the anger that I sometimes couldn't see past.

If he hadn't been so bloody noble and just stopped for one brief moment to consider me then we wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't be sitting here, shaky and uncertain of how to proceed.

So, how'd we get here, you may ask?

Settle in, because it's a long and complicated story.

Fitting.

After all, for my entire childhood I stood by him. I lived his pain for 7 years. I was his only constant. Everyone else discarded him, called him names and chided his immaturity. I stood unvarying and yet no matter what he said, part of me couldn't help but realize that he was never willing to admit that. It was almost as if I wasn't good enough to be his only strength.

It hurts me more than anything I have ever experienced to say that his dismissal of my affection was the last breaking point of my resolve.

And I have experienced a lot.

I guess I always assumed that when he saw that I was the only one who never doubted, the only one who never questioned him, that'd he'd understand how much I loved him and realization of his long unrecognized love for me would surface unquestioningly.

I always wanted to believe he did see it.

Once.

And I guess I just felt like I was kidding myself after all these years, and yet the thought that I was dismissing his feelings for even a moment made me feel as if I was dismissing his honest care for me entirely, which made me feel like a bigger prat because I know he loves me now.

Now when it feels as though we can't do a bloody thing about it.

And what was I supposed to do, just keep this up forever?

Go on and get married and then perhaps cheat on my husband behind his back with his best friend? Or at least entertain the idea, which would be just as bad.

It's a very difficult place to land oneself, but a place that I have survived in for years.

I couldn't let myself think it.

I couldn't let myself feel the desperate plea of what if anymore.

We had our time together.

He had the opportunity to stand by me like I had always done for him. I never left him. Even when Ron had deserted us and my heart was broken, I stood by him.

Perhaps my unrequited loyalty and love was a thing of naïveté, but anything else was utterly absurd.

How could I leave him?

And it was there one night in that tent fighting for our lives, that he acknowledged it. The one and only time.

My sacrifice.

My devotion.

My love.

I had seen him in every situation possible. I had seen his vulnerable side that no one else acknowledged. I alone had pulled him from despair, discarding my own life and feelings time and again to make sure he was cared for.

For whom else would?

He wasn't the Chosen One with me. He was merely a frightened boy whose life wasn't his own. I would have given anything to him.

And I did.

He was my best friend.

My life.

When he came to me in the tent one night with tears in his eyes, speaking of his fear of dying and talking late into the night about what it meant to hold everything inside himself that no one had ever known, there wasn't anything else to be done.

I know that now.

It doesn't seem anything but justifiable. I guess it's easier, more logical to place it in that regard.

He was afraid that he was going to die.

He needed love.

And there I was, like always.

I remember the look on his face as he told me he was terrified to go on. I remember wrapping my arms around him, telling him I would never leave him. I remember with such clarity how his tears felt upon my face when I told him that I loved him.

I remember the declarations of loyalty and I remember how it felt to look into his eyes as we gave ourselves to each other for the first and for all we knew, only time.

Ron returned two days later.

I remember the blank expression in his eyes as he took me aside the morning following his return.

There is part of me that even after all this time, after he told me what had transpired between them beside that pool when I stared at him with such a breaking in my soul that I can't adequately describe it, that wanted to believe he did it for the good of his friendship with Ron.

There is a larger part of me that tapped my surrender there because the logical person inside me who pounds on my brain and demands to thrust the truth in front of me asked, "Why wasn't I good enough to tell Ron that he was right? Why was I never enough to be all he needed?"

I suppose something shut off in me as I realized in the cold misty morning along the banks of a hiding place that I had wracked my mind to find for us that things weren't ever going to change. He wasn't going to give me anything that I wanted because he didn't have it to give. I wasn't his future because in his mind, he didn't have one.

Even that felt like an enabling thought.

It was as if his desperation in the moment explained his actions; as if I, the one person who had always understood his actions in the past would surely understand this one.

I couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

I remember that uttering with the entire fiber of my being. I have never felt more helpless at an expression in my life.

I remember turning towards him once, twice, unable to utter a single syllable… and I remember walking away.

I was done with it.

I had to end this self deprecating attack on my heart. For after everything that I had sacrificed, I would never fully scale that wall he protected himself with.

That was the first time.

We carried on without acknowledgment of our night of clumsy and ill conceived passion. I turned to Ron more and more. He, at least was expressing some reaction, some loyalty towards me.

I realize how that makes me sound: as though I was merely looking for someone to pay me mind. I wasn't. I love Ron in my own way. He has always had a wonderful heart, and I knew he cared for me.

I take no pride in admitting that even after all of that pain and inner turmoil, even after laying awake at night and wracking my brain for some sort of intelligent understanding of what I was going through, it took seeing Harry's sullen thoughts of Ginny for me to tilt in the end. In the Room of Requirement, as he searched the crowds for her and Ron spoke out of character in regard for those defenseless elves, I thought I realized who truly saw me.

He would be enough for me and even though he didn't quite understand everything I stood for, he was at least trying. He was exerting some effort towards my behalf.

It seems possibly foolish now given everything that Harry was dealing with, but in that split moment before going into battle, before I thought about what path it would push me towards, I made up my mind.

I kissed him.

And he kissed me back.

It wasn't with the same intensity that I had experienced with Harry in the tent previously, and somehow I felt an emptiness with the action, but the gratifying feeling of his arms around me, his need for me, made it ok.

When it was Harry that stopped it, the look on his face was unreadable to me. It was a first and yet only the first of many times now that I have seen that unrecognizable look. In my own way, I didn't look back.

In another way, I knew I'd never see anything else.

The war raged on, lives were lost and yet somehow, we survived. Voldemort was subsequently destroyed and life could begin to return to a semblance of normality again. We grieved for the fallen: our friends and family. I longed to lie in my mother's arms and hear my father's calming voice, but I knew that journey was yet to come.

Through it all we somehow managed to pull together and yet the dynamic of our friendships had changed. I am not sure to this day if it was the battle, the loss of a part of himself with Voldemort, a form of PTSD or merely our actions, but Harry was never quite the same.

Our friendship changed.

It wasn't all his doing; I assure you that I played my part.

I was happy for him certainly and my heart wanted nothing more than to hold him when I realized he was merely alive at odd and insignificant occasions after the war, but my place was different now and he seemed complacent with that. He began to distance himself and that more than anything angered me most.

Now that his suffering was finally over, it was as if his need for the brainy sidekick with the hopeless devotion was not significant enough to warrant a tenth of the relationship we once had. So, I thought free to be normal in all respects, how could I have I expected him to do anything else? He returned to Ginny and the life of expected ease and normality.

But not before I had faced him again.

It was Grimmauld Place.

He had gone back to begin a sorting of things, Ginny had said. She and Ron were to be with the family, to grieve and remember.

I went to see him. I don't know why.

Merlin.

Yes, I do.

Of course, I do.

I don't know why I thought things would be normal between us; as normal as things could ever be for us after what we had both done to each other.

The air was thick with regret, thick with anger. I remember the tenseness between us, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

You kissed him.

You told him I was like a sister… pushed me away…

…after we had made love…

We stood staring eye to eye in the drawing room, next to the fireplace. I remember my breathing being shallow. I remember the anger and hurt flashing in his eyes; the fire dancing across his glasses.

Yet, we never said a word.

We just stared at each other.

Funny how that not needing to speak thing we've always had could so easily break my heart.

I remember him turning back to the fireplace and tossing the book in his hand into a box angrily. As it thudded loudly against the floor, it registered in me that this was perhaps his version of a metaphorical slap.

He knew it worked.

I felt my eyes narrow at the action but it was the intention behind it that stung at my senses. His eyes were boiling when he turned, forest green flashing angrily as he stared at me in defiance.

Say something about it, then. Say something so I can tell you how utterly ridiculous you are.

So you can lie and say that we never meant anything, you coward?

His nostrils flared as he stared at me and I saw one fist clench at his side.

What makes you think we did?

It hit me like a punch in the gut, knocking my breath angrily from me and I registered the stinging slap across his face before I even knew that I had moved.

His eyes tore back to mine so quickly that I didn't have time to hold back the tiny flicker of concern for him. I recovered quickly and felt my hands clench once again. I could see the red welt beginning to form on his cheek, but he never made a move to touch it. Instead, his eyes flashed once again and bore into mine with an intensity that would have made anyone else back down.

Yet backing down from Harry Potter has never once crossed my mind.

I closed the distance in one heartbeat and crashed my lips to his. His hands tangled immediately in my hair and I was slammed into the couch with such force that I lost all thought except his hands and lips and breath on me.

We ended up tearing at each other, me crying out in angered passion as he pushed into me on the hardwood floor of that dank house. We never said a word throughout, but not once did our eyes leave each other's.

We didn't need to talk as he handed me a glass of water afterwards. His shirt hung open and the fire danced across his chest, sparkling off of the sweat glistening there.

The sigh racked my frame as I stared into those green pools.

I love you, you know.

He lowered himself to the couch beside me, tucked some hair behind my ear and sighed.

I know.

I walked away that night with such a deep feeling of guilt.

It wasn't because of our passionate interlude, though.

No. I felt guilty because I didn't feel guilty at all.

And that was bad. Very bad for those people that we were both with.

We both knew it.

With a deep sigh as I closed the door to his front stoop, I knew what would have to happen. We had made our choices and neither of us would suggest that we wanted the other to make the first step and call off with their respective other.

There was only one thing I could do…

…and that was the second time I pulled away.

The third time came quite suddenly.

It had been weeks since our angered shag on the floor of Grimmauld Place, and I couldn't get him out of my head. I couldn't look at him properly, couldn't stand to see his furtive glances when he thought I wasn't looking for them.

Mostly, I couldn't stand to see his attention on Ginny when I was.

So, I stopped watching.

I told myself that I wasn't going to wait.

I wasn't going to settle for stolen glances with a man who couldn't bring himself to leave his girlfriend for me. I wasn't going to throw away something good with Ron to chase after Harry faithfully again.

I had made my decision and I stuck to it. I did not acknowledge the glances he sometimes threw my way after that.

Don't get me wrong, I craved them, but I couldn't let him know that. Soon enough, I noticed he stopped looking.

It seemed sadly fitting to go unnoticed once again.

And so it was for a while. We were tight lipped, courteous to each other, but we were no longer best friends. If Ron and Ginny noticed, I think they were probably more than happy to never mention it. So, we found our carefree and easy complacency in our respective Weasleys.

Don't get me wrong, and I want to make it very clear that I do love Ron. I even thought that for a while everything was going to be fine. I didn't need Harry like I thought I did; like I always had.

I was going to be just fine.

That all changed last night.

It was just supposed to be the traditional Sunday dinner for the family at the Burrow. We'd done it too many times to count.

No problems were about.

No questions were in the air.

Everything was normal.

Until we were seated at the table, that is.

Silly, really.

Everyone was laughing, multiple conversations going at once. Jobs, promotions, grandchildren…

I remember smiling easily.

Comfortable.

It could have been the wine I suppose that had made me so content, but it didn't matter.

There seemed to come a lull in the conversation as always happens at some point. The air was light still, the comfort that only family brings.

That's when it happened: the other thing that comes from the comfort of family.

Ginny Weasley haphazardly blurted out that Harry had proposed to her and she had accepted.

It was such a flippant remark, on the fringe of conversation as she reached for the potatoes.

It was almost as if it wasn't the most devastatingly important announcement anyone had ever uttered.

No one noticed my breathing halt or my weak smile only after my shocked, mouth agape initial reaction. I remember the table erupting into cheers and well wishes, and I remember my heart breaking as I glanced at him.

Only to find that he was staring straight at me.

A familiar feeling melded in my chest at the look in his eyes. My breathing quickened and I could feel the beginning of tears prickling at the back of my eyes.

So, there it was.

Still.

After all I'd done to keep it at bay.

What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just let this go?

It wasn't until Ron's deep laughter rumbled beside me and he lightheartedly stated a lack of originality in a house of so many siblings, that I began to get a sense of control. It was Mrs. Weasley's gasp of delight that made me turn to him and notice the ring he held in his palm facing me. A collective gasp rose from the room as my eyes sought his.

I felt trapped with all eyes on me and at that moment, I hated everyone around that table. How could I possibly express to him that this was something he should never have done to me in public? With all those people who expected me to say yes, I felt so dirty after my sudden realization from the moment just before.

I expect everyone assumed my tears were of happiness when I clumsily nodded yes to him. I don't even know what made me do it, really.

Or maybe I do.

Either way, the evening turned into one of massive celebration.

Everyone was ecstatic, except me and the one who should have been the most:

Harry.

But I wasn't going to be there for him this time. I couldn't; certainly he had Ginny to look after him.

She who was to soothe his nightmares at night.

She who was to be his wife.

She who would carry his child.

I found myself stumbling into an upstairs room later in the evening hoping for a moment alone.

Only to find him sitting quietly by the window.

Desperate and uncertain I began to excuse myself, but I paused halfway to the door.

Something in the way he looked at me as he turned stopped me in my tracks.

There was a moment of silence between us then in which I was sure that he wanted to speak. I was positive that I could see something in those eyes I knew so well that was long left unspoken. It unnerved me and sent a rush of remembered passion through me so quickly that I leaned one hand against the doorframe for support.

How the hell did he constantly do that to me?

I actually opened my mouth and almost foolishly and dangerously asked if he was happy.

Just like that, out of nowhere! I don't know why.

Yet, I found I was unable to resolve myself to a desire to know the answer. Instead, we stared at each other in the shards of moonlight that were filtering through the window and said nothing.

Again.

This was becoming a pattern.

The only noise was the soft pulsing of music coming from the back yard: a celebration that was supposed to be including the both of us, and yet here we were.

The silence in that room was physically palpable.

And then, when I felt as though I was about to burst; felt as though if he merely said the tiniest thing or gave the smallest inclination that he felt something that I would chuck it and wrap my arms around him… he did.

He stood slowly and moved towards me with a look of saddened determination, placed one hand on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze that was characteristically him, mumbled a quiet, "Congratulations" and quickly walked out the door.

I have been called the brightest witch of my age.

I remember things that no other human being cares admit. Yet, the thing that I have remembered with the most devastating clarity of my life was the look on his face as he walked past me last night.

I wish I could say that I stood my ground; that I took all of that Gryffindor courage and shoved it into a little ball in the pit of my stomach and made him walk the line.

Remained steadfast in my plan.

I wish I could, but I can't.

For you see, before I even knew what I had done, I did open my mouth.

It just seemed too final, too pathetic to let it end this way after all we had been through. We were already completely different to each other… I couldn't bear to lose him again.

"Are you certain?"

I remember so intensely staring at that window that I'm surprised it didn't shatter. I heard him slow, heard the door push back open slightly and I heard the small intake of breath as his eyes landed upon my back.

My arms were knotted across my chest as if I was clutching to whatever semblance of togetherness I still possessed.

"Are you?"

The breath left my lips before I'd even realized I was holding it in and once again, I could feel the wave of intense sadness threatening to overwhelm me. Why did he always do this to me? Was it the same for him? Did I make his knees go weak with guilt and longing?

Or was I merely the damsel in distress for once in my life?

I felt more than heard him behind him. I could feel the warmth of his body so close to mine and angrily swatted at the single tear that betrayed me and fell. Here was the palpable silence again. The beating of the music outside was punctuated with George's fireworks every now and again.

"Tell me…"

Another traitor fell from my eye as I turned shakily towards him.

His eyes were the first thing I saw.

How I love those eyes.

"Just tell me you're sure."

His chest was rising and falling deeply and briefly it occurred to me that the one thing I wanted most in the world was happening before me. It seemed an odd thing to focus on at that particular moment, and yet when I did, the realization suddenly trampled me.

It was the same for him.

Suddenly these walls that we had placed between us, once so tall and unwavering, slid out of place.

I sought those green orbs once more and certainty took over.

"I can't."

The air thickened with that hoarse whisper. I could feel it, almost taste it on my tongue as we stared. Even the music from outside seemed to fade away and I became very conscious that our breath was the only sound.

I could feel it, but for the life of me I couldn't place it.

Until I did.

His lips touched mine with such tenderness that I stumbled back two steps before tangling my hands in his shirt. I could feel my nails digging into his skin as if he would disappear.

Desire.Longing.Sadness.Joy.Regret.

Love.

His hands slid to the base of my neck as our lips danced. One of us whimpered, but for the life of me, I have no idea which. All I know is the slamming of the back door below us suddenly registered in my brain.

I pulled back, breath ragged and staring into those eyes that I had long ago lost myself in.

"I love you."

My world crashed about my feet in that one moment. Tangled in the stuffy upper room of my now fiancé's childhood home with the man I had long given my soul to, and finally realizing with perfect clarity the mess we had put ourselves in.

"Harry? Hermione? Where are you?"

Harry's eyes flashed at the sound of Ron's voice below us. My eyes shot to the door in panic, but his arms tightened around me and drug them back to his own.

"Tell me you don't love me."

His voice was low, pleading. If I told him now, we could move on… end this. Stop doing this to each other.

I took a deep breath.

"I've always loved you. Don't you know that by now?"

How utterly pathetic that it took this for us to finally say that out loud.

I could hear Ron at the bottom of the stairs, and yet I couldn't take my eyes off of Harry. The intense love that roamed freely in his stare broke my heart. His fingers trailed across my cheek, following the path his eyes set.

In the next moment, I felt the most delicate kiss I've ever experienced and I melted into it. My hands were pressing against his chest as I reciprocated; trying desperately to pour everything I could into that one moment.

I felt a hot wetness on my cheek, and when he pushed away from me slowly I realized it had fallen from those beautiful eyes.

"I'm leaving her. I can't keep pretending that it shouldn't be you."

He allowed the statement to hang in the air for the tiniest of moments; allowed the weight that those words carried to register in my mind before he took a deep breath and dropped my hand.

"We're here, Ron."

I was allowed to drown in green once more before the door pushed open and Ron poked his head through.

"Hey, here you are. We've been wondering…"

The words died on his lips as he looked between us.

Somewhere within me, I felt a small twinge of panic but I couldn't summon the strength to acknowledge it.

Suddenly, I was just too utterly certain that it was supposed to be Harry.

"Have you been crying?"

Harry took a final glance at me, turned his head back towards Ron and nodded once.

"I know. Don't fuss."

Ron's smile split his face in two and he pushed farther into the room.

"I think it's brilliant, you old softy."

His arms circled Harry with a hugging slap on his back. I stood, arms folded once again, shakily watching. Harry clapped him back, but his eyes sought mine over Ron's shoulder.

It was over in a brief moment, Ron extending a hand towards me with a smile. "Well, come on. There's cake."

The shaky laugh escaped my lips and I took his outstretched hand and allowed him to pull me from the room. Harry stared after us, sighed and followed us into the night.

And there you have it. All caught up to the moment.

Now as I sit here in my flat waiting for my fiancé, I'm not exactly sure what is going to come of this. I know I have to do it; I can't just sit here and wait any longer. It's not fair, and I'm merely lying to everyone as it is.

I can no longer live a lie, I know that.

There is only one small problem that must be dealt with before he appears: I, brightest witch of my age, have no idea how I'm going to tell my fiancé that I can't be his wife.

All I know is that I will.

And when I do, I will probably be saying goodbye to one of the best friends I've ever had. Possibly loads more people that I have come to think of as family, actually.

I can feel the smile start on my face when I look to that crumpled picture in my hand.

Why you ask?

Because I know in my heart that however hard this will be, whatever agony I go through because of my past choices, I won't be doing it alone.

Even though the road ahead will be lonely and cold, it doesn't compare to the warmth that I have in knowing that I will never again say goodbye to Harry Potter.

We've finally discarded the easy.