A/N: Wow it's been a while hasn't it? I'm sorry for the long wait but now that school is over the chapters should be coming up sooner. I've only got two more to go and if I'm feeeling up to it, maybe an epilogue looking on the couple. Hope you enjoy the chapter and feedback would be awsome.
I couldn’t tell
If it would
Bring my heart
The way I wanted
When I started
Writing this letter to you
But if I could
You know I would
Just hold your hand
And you’d understand
I’m the man who loves you
-Wilco “I’m the Man Who Loves You”
September 27, 2005
“…Your heart isn’t in it and I am sodding tired of pretending not to notice.”
“Notice what, Gwen? Stop beating around the bloody bush and tell me what’s wrong!”
“You don’t love me anymore!”
“That’s bull and you know it.”
“Open your eyes, Harry. For god's sake, just open your bleeding eyes and look at what’s happening!”
The argument runs in circles through his mind again and again and he stares at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. A horn blares out in the streets. A screech. Shouting. He sighs, trying but not succeeding to lose himself in the sounds of the city. A screech of wheels and the ordeal is over; people go back to whatever it was they were doing. They allow the past argument to vanish into wisps of memory. Wish this was as easy as that.
He turns on his side. The sleeping figure of a woman fills his vision. She looks peaceful, content; without a care in the world. Oh how wrong you are. He reaches out a hand to brush away a fallen lock of hair. Unbeknownst to her, she unconsciously pulls away from his touch, turning over. He pauses and his hand falls back to his side. Wonderful. Even in her sleep, she’s cross with me.
He sighs once more and gets out of bed, unable to sleep. Stepping out onto the balcony he takes a deep breath, hands grasping the railing. City lights wink back at him. He wonders if he should voice the feelings that have been boiling inside him ever since the moment he had stepped out of Ron’s room with Hermione and faced Gwen. The hurt look that lit her eyes was past bearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image out of his head.
Is it wrong to long for the company of another; the touch of another; the love of another? Yes. Yes it is, but she is wrong. He doesn't love anyone but her, and yet something inside him is telling him to open his eyes.
This is insane. He loves Gwen, hell he proposed to her. He is offering his heart to her.
“But is she the right one?” his voice sounds in a bare whisper.
They are to be married soon and now is not the time to be holding any second thoughts; especially if this second thought took the shape of- A horn blares, shaking him out of his treacherous thoughts.
“Are you blind?! Red means stop!” an angry voice shouts
amongst more bursts of screeching horns.
He steps back into the room and puts on a shirt. Then with one last glance at the sleeping woman in his bed, he disappears.
He isn’t alone. Ron’s eyes snap open, not knowing why he is suddenly awakened. The window is open. The curtains ruffle in the early morning breeze. With a whispered word, the window closes and Ron’s eyes droop as he drifts back to sleep.
A hand grips his shoulder and in a flash, Ron pulls the intruder towards him by the scruff of his collar. A glint of steel presses up against pale flesh. A sea of green fills Ron’s vision and he curses.
“Language Weasley. These are virgin ears here,” Harry says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He seems unfazed that his best friend who just minutes ago seemed to be drowsy with sleep is now clearly wide awake and holding a dagger to his throat.
“Blimey, Harry! Don’t do that! I could have ripped your bleeding throat!”
“Believe me, Ron. If I was here to kill you, you wouldn’t have had time to grip that sharp stick of yours.”
“For your information, this sharp stick is one of the best in the business. Should be anyway. Cost me a fortune.”
He unhands his best friend, and with a wince he sits up.
“How are you?”
“Well, other than the fact that I was thrown off a building and violently awoken by a friend who decides to pay me a visit at such an ungodly hour, I’m doing alright,” Ron answers.
Harry pulls up a chair.
“So what are you doing here? I mean it’s great to have you here and all, but let’s face it mate, I think visiting hours ended ages ago.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep. So you came all the way here, broke dozens of wards and not to mention a few laws, and scared the bleeding hell out of me to tell me that you couldn’t sleep? Harry, if you couldn’t sleep you didn’t have to come all the way here. You could be at home doing other things. You’re wife for instance.”
“She’s not my wife yet,” he replies, ignoring the amusement glinting in Ron’s eyes.
“Oh, I see. You’ve had a fight with the Mrs. haven’t you? Well, I’m flattered, Harry that you’d think of me being the first to turn to for advice, but we both know that Hermione is more adept in that position.”
Only silence is met with this statement and the air is filled yet again with a slew of curses.
“You said you were over her, mate.”
“I know.”
“You said that it was just an infatuation.”
“Hell, that was a long time ago, Ron.”
“So what are you saying? That after all these years you finally decide that you want her now?”
“You’re making it sound as if I’m a dick.”
“Well you sure as hell are acting like one. You can’t have both of them, mate.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Then just choose, Harry!”
“I can’t. I choose Gwen, and for the rest of my life something will keep eating away at me. I choose Hermione and I lose Gwen, possibly forever.”
“You can’t go on like this.”
“Do you think I want this to happen? Do you think I want to hurt Gwen? God, I don’t even know if Hermione holds the same feelings, Ron! But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this, it just happened. I can’t live without her. I can’t stop thinking about her. Part of me loves Gwen. It wants to be with her, and be there for her.” Harry looks at his hands, fingering the spot where the ring will be.
“And the other half?” Ron asks.
“Honestly?”
“No, I want you to come up with the most fantastic unbelievable lie. Don’t be daft, of course I want the bleeding truth. I think we’ve both waited long enough to hear it.”
Harry looks up at him, his eyes tinged with sadness. He swallows and says, “The other half wants her. It lives and breaths for her. It wakes up in the morning with no thought of the woman at his side, but only of her. It aches for her touch, her laugh, her smile. And in those few moments spent with her, when it finally finds itself lost in her, it feels complete. It feels happy.”
There is a moment of silence which leaves the two young men to their thoughts. Their eyes meet.
“I think you have your answer.”
“What?”
“Oh don’t be thick, Harry. Just think of what you just told me. Then think of you future. Think years and years ahead. Who do you see at your side, mate? Who do you see yourself having loads children with? Growing old with? Whose name lies sweeter on your lips? Gwen or Hermione?”
“That’s very poetic, Ron. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Sod off, I’m trying to help, you ungrateful bastard.”
Harry chuckles, but Ron continues, “Just think of what I said alright? Think about it. Understand it. Know it, and you’ll have your answer.”
Pale moonlight streams through an open window, falling across a sleeping form. She sighs as she turns over in her sleep. The door opens and a tall figure stands in the doorway unbeknownst to the sleeping woman. His eyes devour her small form; the moonlight kissing her features; dark hair spilling across the pillow; her chest slowly rising and falling.
Pictures of friends and family adorn her mirror each smiling and waving merrily. One picture stands out amongst all the rest and he recognizes it to be from their graduation. She is wearing that same dazzling dress, arm in arm with two boys that tower over her; one dark haired, the other freckled. Plaques and certificates and volumes of books adorn her shelves. Her wand lies on her bedside table.
He steps into the room.
She shifts in her sleep as if feeling his presence surrounding her, enveloping her. He kneels by the bed. Dark hair falls over his eyes, but he makes no move to brush it away. He reaches for her but stops short and instead places his hands on the bed, not taking his eyes off her.
He shouldn’t be here.
He makes to get up but she turns toward him as if telling him to
stay.
He doesn’t move.
“I should have known,” he whispers to her. “Forgive me?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he moves towards her and places a soft kiss on her forehead. And before her eyes flutter open; before she sits up in confusion, and before she whispers his name; he is gone.