When Ron died Hermione’s world was turned up-side-down. Within minutes all her plans and hope for the future lay scattered on the ground next to his bleeding body, and during the weeks that passed she died as well. A bit more every day. For with him, Ron had taken her heart. And you cannot live without your heart.
Still “ no one seemed to know. No one seemed to understand. When people paid their condolences to the Weasleys they included her only as his friend, equal to Harry. No one knew how much greater her loss was. No one knew that with Ron’s death, her dreams and hopes died too. Her dreams and hopes for love, for marriage, for a family “ everything they talked and wished and hoped for during those few moments they had alone together. During those rare occasions when Harry’s safety wasn’t their main priority.
Harry had known of course. So had Ginny. But in their own grief they seemed to forget. Harry buried himself in Ginny’s arms, the two of them finding comfort in each other, forgetting her grief as they did. And she was left alone. Alone with the darkness and scattered dreams and pain, crying on Mr and Mrs Weasley’s sofa while the others found comfort in each others company at his funeral.
Until she realised that someone had known.
Until she found two pairs of strong arms embracing her, holding her tight as she cried. Two sets of voices whispering in her ear that they knew, that they known all along and that they wouldn’t leave her, that they wouldn’t let her grieve alone.
She had clung to them then, holding on as if her life dependent on them, and in a way she guessed it had, because when everyone else looked the other way, forgot, tried not to remember, their voices were the ones to tell her that it was real, that it was more than her imagination, that she had a right to grieve when everyone told her to move on.
And when life returned to normal, or to as normal a life could be when the love of your life wasn’t in it any longer, they were the ones to keep her sane. They were the ones to always offer a sofa when her apartment felt too empty and her small bed too large. They were the ones to turn up in her flat, making her eat when food didn’t taste like food any more. They were the ones to rock her gently to sleep when the loneliness became too much to bear. And when no one understood how it came to be that the two biggest rule-breakers in Hogwarts’s history were now considered as her closest friends, she didn’t care. She knew. That was more than enough.
Harry had of course tried to mend what had been broken. He had told her how sorry he was and Hermione had forgiven him “ undoubtedly she had. But he still reminded her of Ron, of the times they spent together, and somehow not everything could be fixed by an apology. As much as she wanted to, she could not forget. Forgive “ naturally, forget “ never. And so the breach was final. They still spent time together. They still loved each other dearly, and she still knew exactly what was going on in his life. But when life became too rough, or when she needed someone to talk to “ Harry was not the one she turned to. And somewhere down the line she realised that he never had been.
She couldn’t say when the pain had died down. All she knew was that one morning she didn’t spend the few precious moments before she really woke pretending that Ron was still alive, clinging to the hope that it was all a bad dream. And as the days moved on, those mornings came more often. Then came the days when she didn’t think of him much. When not everything she saw reminded her of him. And with time, the intervals between nights spent sleeping on George’s and Fred’s sofa grew longer, and the times they needed to remind her to eat grew fewer. And so they began making her enjoy life instead “ forcing jokes far too juvenile and childish on her, making her laugh until her stomach hurt. And then gradually the times they spent together was less about Ron and more about them.
If anyone had asked her when she had gotten over Ron, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. And if anyone would have asked her when she fallen in love with his brothers, she would have told them they were crazy, that such a thing wasn’t even a possibility, not to mention highly immoral. You could not be in love with two men at once. It was plain wrong! And she was not in love with either of them, and certainly not in the both of them!
But then of course she was. Some part of her knew it as well as she knew she needed air to breathe. She could feel it every time they looked at her, in the way they could make her mouth and throat dry out, or in the way she shivered every time they brushed against a patch of her skin.
But no, she wasn’t in love with them! She wasn’t allowed to be. She just could not be in love with Ron’s brothers, with any two men in fact. And so she pushed it far back in her mind and told herself that it was nonsense, that it was all in her mind; that it was just because she missed Ron so much.
And when she thought about it they did have the same warm eyes that Ron had. And they did have the same large hands, so often cut and burned because of their experiments, just as Ron’s had been cut and burned do to all the dangers the three of them got into. And they did have the same childish humour, and George and Fred did seem just as intent as Ron had been to making her loosen up and enjoy herself. And of course she missed Ron, and of course that was all it was about, and of course she wasn’t in love with them. And with that she contented herself. With that explanation she tried to convince herself, and she tried to forget it and she tried to move on with her life.
And that was the reason she was so shocked at her own jealous reaction when they showed up to Harry and Ginny’s wedding with Katie and Angelina on their arms. It shouldn’t have been a shock. She knew they spent a lot of time with them. She knew they went out together. But no matter how she tried to fight it she felt a pang of pain every time she looked at the four of them laughing and enjoying themselves. And suddenly she didn’t like Angelina or Katie any more. Or weddings. And suddenly she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
It didn’t matter that George and Fred greeted her before they greeted anyone else, including their sister. Neither did it matter that Fred choked on his food and George nearly spat his drink all over the table when Mrs Weasley gaily talked about being happy that her boys finally found nice girls, and how they might be next in line for marriage. All that mattered was that somehow her heart had broken again, and this time she wasn’t sure how it was going to be fixed.
And so she did what she always did. She fled. She fled from the people happily chatting to each other. Fled from the table filled with food and from the dancing that would soon follow, and she didn’t even think twice when her hand reached out for the floo-powder “ all she knew was that she had to get away before she broke down.
“Hermione, wait!”
It was the wrong voice. It wasn’t George’s or Fred’s. It was Harry’s. For once in his life he noticed. And she couldn’t turn around, because if she did she would start to cry, and right now she needed a good excuse, so why on earth couldn’t she think of one?
“I know you still miss Ron,” Harry said when she didn’t turn around, and Hermione nearly laughed out loud. “Hermione, I know this should have been the two of you as well, I know this must be horrible for you,” he continued and somehow Hermione wondered how much of “this” he understood and how much Ginny had told him to understand.
“It was almost two years ago, Hermione. You have to let him go,” he then said, and now she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore but it didn’t matter because thank heavens he wouldn’t understand anyway.
“You know, Ginny tells me Victor Krum still thinks of you,” Harry then said tentatively, and she could swear she could hear him shift uncomfortably behind her back. Hermione laughed through the tears. She should have known. This was not Harry trying to understand or be there for her. This was Harry doing what others told him to do. Fix Hermione up and everyone will be happy. Then we won’t need to worry.
But then maybe that was the solution. Maybe she just needed to get away from Fred and George’s company. Maybe she did need to start dating again. And who better than Victor? He was nice, charming and he cared for her. There would really never be a better man. So bracing herself, Hermione dried her tears and turned around to face Harry.
“Sure,” she said. “Maybe a date is what I need. You can tell Ginny that I’ll do it,” she said before excusing herself and leaving. She wondered if it was just her imagination that made Harry look relieved when she said she was leaving. Either way he didn’t try to persuade her to stay. Not past the lame attempts that was probably seen as mandatory. Hugging her he told her to take care, and that he was sure she’d feel better once she got out and about. He never had been a good comforter, Hermione tried to remind herself as she felt disappointment fill her chest. You cannot change him. He’ll never be empathic, it doesn’t mean he loves you less, she tried to convince herself. But as she returned to her flat it wasn’t Harry’s arms around her she wanted.