Title: Scar [1/?]
Characters: Ron Weasley; mentions of Hermione and Harry
Timeframe: Post Book-7, written pre-TDH
Rating: PG
Summary: Hermione once told Harry he had a saving-people thing. But Hermione, you had shot at her during one of your countless rows, had a saving-Harry thing.
Author Notes: Heavy angst and Trio-torture ahead. Again, no matter how I try to write H/Hr, Ron refuses to be left out. Guess that's the part of me that, no matter how fangirly I ship something, fangirls the Trio's friendship above all. I'd originally planned a second part of this fic from Hermione's POV, but it's not cooperating right now.
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I.
You're not sure you've ever found her more beautiful. Face flushed, breathing heavily, chocolate tresses flying about in disarray, dark eyes glittering like living jewels. A beauty you knew didn't come out for anyone in the world but you. This was what you'd wanted, part of you reminds yourself.
But not this way, another part protests.
"It doesn't have to always be like this!" she explodes. "Harry and I didn't always fight like this!"
You know she doesn't mean to use the name as a weapon, but its sting - like always - is sharp nonetheless, and you respond to it as such. "Well, why don't you just go find Harry, then? If he's so much more bloody understanding?"
She doesn't step back, her mouth doesn't fall open. Her face just becomes even more slack, except for the eyes, which can't seem to decide whether they're horrified or simply about to hurl a Sectumsempra at you. She stares at you a moment, and your words catch up with you, and you open your mouth to say you didn't mean it - but the loud crrackk of her Apparating means this time she doesn't wait for you to say it.
You two would never have been together at all if it weren't for Harry, whether you like to admit it or not. You'd probably never have become friends without him - and you'd certainly never have been able to stay friends. Losing him had - well, you aren't sure 'torn you apart' is accurate. You and Hermione were always good at tearing down one another, Harry or not. (Usually not, since he tended to skedaddle whenever he could when it happened.)
He had ignored it as best he could, going away on his own if he couldn't. You're still amazed he didn't snap at you two about "having a go at one another" more than he had. No, he was no mediator - not consciously, anyway. Because even though he was invisible most of the time you two were going at one another, he was also the invisible thing you were able to put things aside for if it really mattered. When the latest trouble of You-Know-Who's reared its head, its bloody horns were usually pointed to gore Harry, and it always managed to - for a little while - remind you two there were far more serious things at stake than your disagreements about homework or Viktor Krum or house-elves. You knew Harry needed both of you at your best, which obviously your arguing did not bring out in one another. He was the one thing you and Hermione could always agree on, at least on the matter that the world - that you two - needed him.
Why don't you go find Harry, then?
You know you can't, shouldn't, blame her for missing him, especially today of all days. Yet part of you does anyway.
You slide down the wall, banging your head against it several times as your words replay against your brain like Hermione's parents' broken Muggle record player, and the resulting throbbing ends up proving more of an inflammation of your distress than the distraction you'd hoped.
Harry.
"I'm not coming back even if it does reopen," he'd told you and Hermione before the beginning of the end.
He'd been both right and wrong.
It had been Hermione who'd suggested his final resting place, his ashes scattered on the grounds of the place that had been his only true home.
There was nothing left of him for her to find. Not even a grave. And you knew that perfectly well when you'd said it.
She'd devoted countless hours of her growing up to trying to protect Harry - oh, you and she both had, but she would be the one still up with a toppling pile of open books before her still-peeled eyeballs when you finally gave up for a few hours' sleep or tried to ease Harry's mind with a one-on-one Quidditch match. Yes, she helped research how to destroy Horcruxes, spells to use against You-Know-Who - oh hell, your friend died killing the bastard, Voldemort - but destroying Voldemort was secondary to her.
Your main concern was keeping Harry sane. Hers was keeping Harry alive.
Hermione had once told Harry he had a saving-people thing. But Hermione, you had shot at her during one of your countless rows, had a saving-Harry thing.
If there's been a thing Hermione's absolutely never been able to stand, it's failing. The fact that this failure involved someone she loved made it more brutal than any other, even though you knew perfectly well it wasn't her fault. It wasn't hers, or yours, or hell, even Harry's. There was no way either of you could have known what price destroying the last Horcrux would cost you all.
You think you yourself could have moved on, if you weren't so bloody in love with her, if it didn't utterly destroy you to see her when she was reminded of Harry. Which wasn't all the time, but... enough to know this wasn't going away.
You know why she hasn't completely moved on. And you don't need Hermione as the voice of reason to tell you you're jealous of a ghost.
The last time you felt this helpless was when you and Hermione realized just what the last Horcrux was. And you're not sure whether it's because you're not enough, never really were - or that she'd rather have the dead bloke.
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