A/N: Two things, actually. Um, I did write the poem here… It fits with the basic plot of the fic, but the stanzas don't connect to the individual story segments.
So maybe the end
Is a whole new beginning,
Or maybe we can't really
Change our own pasts.
Some say that even if we could,
It all ends up the same anyway,
Which, for me,
Means a broken habit,
A dirty lie,
And the frayed edges
Of a lost dream.
***
It was supposed to end.
The last time it had happened was a mistake, a drunk fling after a hard day at work; a visit to a bedroom full of the bodies of six-year-old girls, all mangled beyond the point of recognition, was enough to shake them up.
Ron had broken down. He'd squeezed his eyes closed until spots popped behind his eyelids, and remained silent until Harry took him home. Ginny was out-of-town with a girlfriend, and Harry didn't expect her back until two days later, so the house was empty when they arrived.
Harry sat Ron down on the sofa and they drank Harry's cheapest firewhiskey. Of course, Ron was a cheaper date than Hermione was, and wound up completely wasted after a few good swigs.
"Mione won't lemme drink anymore," Ron mumbled, smiling. "She says I'm becoming a al—alco—" He paused, thinking. "Alc—" He gave up and took another drink. "A boozer."
Harry grinned too, significantly less drunk than his friend. "Well, while you're here, Hermione's rules don't apply."
"Even if I puke on you?"
"Even if you puke on me."
They were silent for a while after that, each remembering the details of the little girls' faces, so very much like their own daughters, if a little younger. Ron reached out and ran a thumb over Harry's knee.
"Ron—" Harry began, but Ron shushed him.
"I want to think about something else now."
Harry couldn't remember anything after that point except for bits of fragmented moments in the back of his memory. Ron's hands, cold against his over-heated skin and moist from the condensation on the bottle. Red hair falling over wonderful, soulful eyes that looked into him with such desire, such passion, such need. Freckles pressing firmly into his skin, sliding up against him, slick from sweat. And then Ron's moans in his ear, sending vibrations tickling down his spine.
He woke up the next morning with long legs entwined in his own and a boney arm around his middle. He had already realized what had happened (though as to how, he wasn't entirely sure), and he was suddenly grateful for the fact that Ginny wouldn't be home until the next day.
Shame bubbled up inside of him. What had he done? Would this forever change his marriage? Ron's marriage? But all these thoughts dropped from his head as he turned and saw Ron's peaceful face, eyes closed in a deep sleep. He realized then that this was the first time – and the last time, he reminded himself – he had woken up to a face that wasn't Ginny's.
And suddenly, he didn't want to leave.
But he gently disentangled himself from Ron, trying hard not to wake him. Ron was still a heavy sleeper, a trait that hadn't changed since their years at Hogwarts. He rolled out of bed quietly and, still fully naked, wandered into the kitchen.
He had made coffee for Ron before, and even so early in the day, but never for this reason. The coffeepot turned on with the flick of his wand as commanded, and the small kitchen heated slightly as his warming charm filled the room. It was a foreign experience, doing things for his straight male best friend what he would normally do for a lover. He even remembered that Ron didn't like sugar in his coffee, a trivial bit of information that would only come in handy today.
"Why are you naked?"
Harry jumped slightly and turned around, a mug in either hand, to see Ginny standing in the living room, still clutching her keys. He was speechless for a moment, unsure of what to say, and thought he must look incredibly like a deer in the headlights. The thought was comical enough, and he would've laughed, except that what was happening was anything but funny.
"Ginny," he said, his voice trembling to match his hands. "You're home early."
His wife looked at him suspiciously. "Yes," she said. "Julia got the call that her dad had a stroke. Who's the other cuppa for?"
Harry was shaking and he knew it. He tried to relax, but her stare never wavered, and he gripped the mugs even tighter, bleaching his knuckles white.
"Ginny…" he said again, but didn't have to say anything else, because apparently, Ron had woken up.
"Harry, what's going--?" He stopped mid-sentence as soon as he saw Ginny, who looked at him in shock. Ron had at least manage to pull on a pair of boxers before wandering into the kitchen to investigate the noise, but looked as though he'd been clubbed over the head.
A look of dawning realization came over Ginny's face as she stared from her husband to her brother.
"Tell me you didn't," she pleaded. "Please, God, tell me you two didn't…"
Ron bit his bottom lip and looked to Harry for help, but Harry just dropped one of the cups and sent coffee and shards all over the floor.
"In our bed?" she asked. "You fucked my brother in our bed?"
Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth – what he could remember of it – but he couldn't lie to her, either. Not like this, not with all the evidence pointing against him.
She hid her face in her hands and sobbed.
"Oh, God, what will Hermione say?"
***
Or maybe I could be the first
To really change something,
The first to really
Set things right.
Some tell me to follow my dreams,
And others to follow my heart,
But my instinct always takes over,
Telling me to walk away.
I don't want to walk anymore,
For my feet are tired,
And all I can remember of you now
Are your eyes,
Are your lips,
Are the frayed edges of your
Worn-out, faded sneakers.
***
"How could you do this to me?" Hermione asked, her head in her hands. She was sitting on the couch, her hair falling carelessly over her face.
"So now it's all about you, then?" Ron was standing beside the door, his coat still in his hands. He hadn't expected to come home to this, and her crying didn't help to ease his throbbing headache. He hadn't expected to come home to this. He hadn't wanted to come home at all.
Hermione lifted her head a little to look at him from beneath her tangles. Her pretty brown eyes, he ones he used to love so much, now glittered with tears.
"I thought this was about me. About us," she whispered. "I thought you'd be honest with me."
He couldn't reply. His tongue seemed to be made of clay, heavy and thick with guilt. A million thoughts raced through his mind, but the one that echoed loudest was the thought that he'd like to relive those few moments; pale skin on his, Harry's soft mouth brushing his jaw, that dark mop of hair tickling his neck.
Hermione said, "Do you know what this is?", which broke his train of thought, and he looked up to see her holding out her left hand. "Do you?"
He swallowed dryly. "It's your ring," he replied.
"You gave me this ring," she said, her voice quavering. "You gave me this ring as a promise that you would always be there for me, in sickness and in health, a promise that you would stick by me no matter what, a promise that you wouldn't go sleeping around with the fucking Boy Who Lived!"
He closed his eyes to block the shameful tears that threatened to fall. His heart ached with the guilt and shame, because he knew that he'd hurt her. He was genuinely sorry for his actions, and yet refused to say that he wished it hadn't happened.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, trying hard to mean it.
"You promised me," sobbed Hermione. "You gave me a promise, and you broke it."
"I'm sorry."
"Do you even care, Ron?" Tears were pouring down her cheeks now. "Do you even care that in the span of a night, you managed to destroy over a decade of commitment?"
"I'm so sorry."
Silence hung between them then, heavier than he'd ever head before, echoing soundlessly off the walls of the house. Part of him wanted to scream, wanted to shout, wanted to rip apart the heavy blanket of quietness that had suddenly settled over him and his wife. Part of him wanted to be back in Harry's bed, the taste of salt on his tongue, the sweet slide of skin on skin. More guilt flooded him to think about it, but he couldn't help wanting, couldn't help needing, not after waiting twenty-seven years.
"Is this what you want?" Hermione said softly, sadness hanging on every word. "Do you want to be married to me?"
He couldn't look at her. The answer he wanted to say was on the tip of his tongue, but the truth boiled somewhere deep inside him, itching to be spoken aloud for the first time.
"Is this what you want?" she repeated, louder, more certain. "Are you happy this way?"
He picked at a stray bit of string on his sleeve. Harry had been so warm, the blankets so inviting, and the moment was so cold in comparison. He swallowed again, contemplating, wondering.
"Are you happy?"
He looked up at her and sighed.
"No."
Her face fell and fresh tears flooded her eyes. She nodded slowly to show she understood.
"I'm so sorry."
***
Maybe I don't have to run anymore;
Maybe this time
I can remain here with you,
In your warm bed,
And we can tell stories of
Knights and Dragons,
Of fantasies we long to hear,
But no fantasy as powerful
As the one played out
Right here beneath the covers.
You always said that
We could've changed,
That we could've been happy,
You and me.
But we never really could.
We could never change
Who we are.
***
"I'm not sure I understand."
Ginny's voice was unsettling, soft and hurt, as she twirled a strand of long red hair around her index finger. She always did that when she was thinking, but Harry himself couldn't see what there was to think about.
"What don't you understand?" he asked. He didn't want this, didn't want this terrible mixed feeling of guilt and pain, didn't want to wish that he were still holding Ron's exhausted naked body in his arms. "I told you all that happened. We were just…"
He couldn't bring himself to finish. The look he was receiving was one of a quiet pain, and Harry knew deep down that he was torturing her.
"I don't understand why, out of all people, you chose my older brother. I don't understand why you'd want to hurt me like that."
"I didn't want to hurt you," he said quickly. "It's not like I was planning on—"
"Having an affair?" she finished for him, her anger clear in the way she set her jaw.
"Affair?" repeated Harry, and couldn't help but laugh a little. "Ginny, it was hardly an affair."
"Do you love him?"
The question came to quickly for him to handle, and he wobbled a little on the spot from the shock of it. "What?"
"Do you love him?" she said again, and her voice got suddenly quieter as she did so. "I mean, more than you love me. If you love me."
He blinked at her, unsure of the question. Then a wave of realization crashed down upon him and set his heart to quicken its pace, but still he just stared at her like she had suddenly struck him dumb.
"Do you?" she asked, eyes lowered to the floor. "Do you love Ron?"
He swallowed. "Yes, Ginny, and I love Hermione and Neville and Luna—"
"No!" Ginny shouted. "Don't play games with me! Do you love him? Are you in love with Ron?"
Harry looked at her, brain whirring for the correct response. Did he? Was he in love with his best friend? Did he want to hold him again, kiss him again, feel that flat chest slide against his own? The answer was too obvious, and he nearly grew hard again just to think about it, but still he held his tongue.
"No," he said finally, even though it broke his heart to say it. "I'm in love with you, Ginny. You should know that."
Ginny sniffed and looked at him with hurt brown eyes, and then came forward to hug him, her small feminine arms embracing him.
And still, he wished they were Ron's.
***
Love can be an odd thing;
A brush of knuckles,
A warm embrace,
Even a knock on my front door
Tapping out a rhythm
I almost recognize.
I remember so much of you
When I see your picture,
Resting like a wound on
My living room wall:
Your phrases, your quirks,
The way you shuffle your feet
When you get nervous.
I miss them almost as much
As I miss the smell of your hair
Or the way the edges of the blanket
Fray when we relive
A memory we once believed lost.
***
The tension was nearly too much to bear anymore. Ron couldn't look at Harry without visualizing his face as he came, without wishing that it had never happened, without wishing it would happen over again.
He knew deep down that Hermione would never forgive him. How could she? If he had found out that she had an affair with Ginny, he could never really forgive her. He tried hard to tell himself that this was different, that him sleeping with Harry didn't count, but he knew he was wrong.
What did he expect would happen when he placed his hand on Harry's knee? Did he expect that just because they were both drunk (or maybe it was just him; he wasn't too sure), it didn't matter? That he could just chalk it up to too much whiskey and then everything would be fine?
Of course he was worried about his marriage. He was worried that if Hermione ever divorced him, it would be impossible to go back to being Just Friends again.
But it was close to impossible to deny the fact that he was in love with Harry, had been since the moment he'd seen him at King's Cross station, just a thin boy in glasses with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Now Harry was more fit, bigger and more healthy-looking, his glasses still resting on the bridge of his nose, and he was free of any Prophecy.
Then what was left for Ron? He had spent his whole life waiting for that moment, waiting for the day when he could be by Harry's side when he defeated Voldemort, waiting for the time when he could be a real sidekick. Now that Voldemort was gone, now that the Death Eaters had been brought to justice, he had nothing left but a normal suburban life.
Hadn't this been what he'd always wanted, though? To grow up and fight the Dark with Harry, to stand at the altar, reciting vows to Hermione? To have children with Hermione's eyes and hair as red as his own, shuffle them off to school for the very first time and see the light in their eyes as they step onto the train?
Yes, he answered himself silently.
Then why was he so unhappy?
Maybe the real answer was that he'd wanted that for Harry. He wanted Harry to grow up and have a normal life with a wife and kids and a little house in the suburbs. He wanted Harry to be Harry, without the Chosen One lingering behind him, pushing him onward. He wanted Harry to be able to move ahead at his own speed, not the speed that others set for him.
But if Ron spent all his time worrying over Harry's happiness, how could he himself ever be happy?
The truth was in front of his eyes even at the moment, wearing those same round glasses behind which blinked bright green eyes, with unruly black hair falling over them. Harry had made him happy, always. Harry's laugh, Harry's smile, Harry's sarcasm and temper had always made him truly happy.
There were no more chances for that happiness, not even as he watched Hermione's trembling hands try to make tea for the two of them. There were no more chances to have that moment of truth again.
And a part of him still wondered:
Is Harry as happy as I thought he was?
***
It was a promise made
And a promise broken,
A lie that fell all too easily
From soft lips.
"Never again," we said,
But did we really mean it?
Did we really want to let go of
The one thing that made us complete?
We fell together,
We rose together,
So why not take the step
And roll together too?
***
Harry flipped the page of the novel resting in his hands. He wasn't too sure what the story was; it was some high fantasy story that went on too long, about kings and castles and witches and lost prophecies. The muggles had no idea what they were doing, and he'd lived his fill of all that as a child anyway.
To his right, Ginny was reading over his shoulder, apparently lost in thought by the way she kept worrying her hair between her fingers. She let out an occasional humming noise, but otherwise kept silent.
Finally she spoke, sitting up as she did so.
"You're seeing Ron this weekend, right?"
He knew this would come up. He knew that she couldn't just let it go. He set down his book without bothering to place a bookmark between the pages and looked at her.
"Yeah. So?"
Ginny looked at a point somewhere just over Harry's shoulder. "Well, it's just… You guys are going off to do some work stuff, right? Top secret and all that."
"Yes," said Harry, his heart pounding. "We'll be going on an investigation, I already told you that."
"Oh." She was getting a bit frantic now, judging by how their eyes never met. "I… You'll be gone overnight."
It wasn't a question.
Harry didn't know what to say. He knew easily what was on her mind and didn't blame her for thinking that way. It bothered him a little that she thought it would happen again, that he would be unfaithful to her for a second time.
If he was honest, Ron wasn't the first. The first time he cheated didn't really count. It was the day after the wedding with a blonde muggle girl he hardly knew. It was so hard with her, hard to refrain from talking about his school years or about Quidditch. They just silently fucked, something he regretted later.
She had made him feel empty, hollow, inadequate. Ron was different, though; Ron had made him feel loved. Ron he could talk to about everything and nothing at all, Ron could make him laugh, Ron could make him feel wonderful about the littlest things. Ron made him feel whole.
Ginny had never done that for him.
"Nothing's going to happen," he told her, unsure of why he was feeling so terrible all of a sudden. "There'll be other guys there, okay?" The lie came without warning, but he didn't regret it when he saw her relax.
"Okay," she said, lying back down. "I'm not sure why I'm so nervous. I know it won't happen again. You said it yourself: you don't really love him. That's what this means, right?" She showed him her wedding ring.
"Right," he replied, his throat dry.
"So why do I worry so much? I know you love me." She leaned up to kiss his lips and then she lay back down again, rolling over. "Good night, honey."
"Good night," he said, and then he lay in thought for a while before turning off the light.
***
"Never again," we said.
But how could we deny
The fleeting pleasure of it all,
The feeling of completion,
The way we fit so easily together
Like pieces of the jigsaw
We used to do as kids?
How could we deny
The one thing
That makes up the very
Foundation
Of who we really are?
***
Ron tried not to look at him.
He knew it would come to looks eventually, but for now he wanted his safe and silent bubble of thought without having to face the truth. Harry wasn't easy to ignore, especially with those unsettling green eyes boring into him, seeing past his shell and into his heart. Ron tried, though, tried to maintain that wall around him, but it was broken by Harry's question.
"Are you angry with me?"
Ron sighed and turned around in the mud, looking into Harry's eyes.
"No," he said, and meant it. He wasn't angry, he was just confused. Confused about how he really felt, confused about Harry's happiness with his sister, confused about the reason he thought Harry was looking so wonderful with his face smeared with dirt.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, reminding Ron of their school years, but that familiarity was shattered by Harry's voice. "You haven't been looking at me."
Ron blinked, his eyes stinging from the dust. The forest was nearly empty except for the two of them and their tent, and the look of the forest reminded Ron of the same one in which he had stormed away when he was seventeen. He tried not to think about that, tried not to bring about unwanted memories. Instead he focused on how very green Harry's eyes were, on the line of his jaw, on the collarbone just above the cut of his shirt.
"You haven't been looking at me," Harry repeated softer, toeing a spot on the ground.
Ron swallowed. "I wasn't ready."
"You weren't ready to look at me?" Ron could almost feel the change in temperature as Harry's temper rose.
"I wasn't ready to face what happened," Ron said. "Now could we not talk about this at work?"
"We're not going to find the troll and you know it."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"About the troll?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
"About what happened!" Ron took a step forward. "I know you're probably fine with it, probably forgotten it by now, but I just told Hermione the truth—"
"Forgotten?" Harry laughed. "Ron, I've been laying awake at night with worry and guilt. How could I ever forget that? I cheated on my wife with her own brother! I… Wait. What do you mean, the truth?"
There was a moment's silence before Ron stepped back again, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.
"Nothing," he said, moving to dart inside the tent for shelter, but Harry gripped his arm. Ron felt a drop of water hit his nose and knew it was starting to rain.
"No. Tell me what you were going to say." The rain came, pattering on the ground around them and clinging to Harry's glasses.
"I don't want to," Ron pleaded, and Harry stepped forward to narrow the space between them, his grip on Ron's arm tightening.
The air was cold, and Harry's breath came in ghosts in front of his lips. "I need to know. What truth?"
Harry's breath was warm against his cheek, and the sensation of it made the hair on his arm stand up. He tensed and tried to take yet another step back from Harry, but his back hit a tree. He was trapped.
"It's nothing," Ron said, his heart beating faster against his ribcage.
"Tell me." Harry stepped forward again and the space between their bodies was little. "What did you tell Hermione?"
Ron swallowed again, feeling the tears prickling at his eyes.
"That I loved you."
The silence that followed echoed off the trees, and Harry took another step to close the gap and kissed him. Harry was so warm and the air was so cold; Ron kissed back, one hand reaching around to grip the back of Harry's jacket and the other to hold the tree for support as he became weak at the knees.
Harry's hand was in his hair, pulling him forward, forcing the kiss deeper and their tongues collided messily. It was a glorious feeling, and they just seemed to fit, their mouths slanting to avoid bumping noses. Harry's lips were softer than he remembered, but the kiss was more forceful than Ron expected.
Just as Ron was getting dizzy from the pressure of the kiss, Harry's hand was fiddling with his zipper. When it became undone, Ron felt Harry's fingers wrapping around his erection, stroking him, and he groaned appreciatively.
Harry was leading him back into the tent while they continued kissing. They ducked into it and lay down, Harry pushing Ron's denims down to his ankles and then off, along with his boxers. Ron helped Harry undo his own button and before he knew it, they were both naked again, sweat sliding between them as they rocked.
Ron kissed him again, desperation clear in the pressure he applied, but then Harry pulled away and whispered in his ear, "Turn over."
"Are you sure?" Ron asked, already complying.
"Yes."
And then there was a burning sensation as a finger pushed into him. He bit his knuckle hard, trying not to cry out, even though they had protection charms all around the tent that didn't allow people to see them or hear them. The finger wriggled inside of him and then suddenly there was pleasure and Ron pushed back, needing more.
Harry slid another finger into him, rubbing that same spot and Ron squirmed, whimpering. He could feel the rocks beneath the floor of the tent but he didn't care, all he cared about was the wonderful feeling of those fingers stretching him.
The fingers slipped out of him and were replaced by Harry's cock. Ron gasped and pushed back for more, trying to concentrate on the feeling of being fucked and not the fact that he was cheating on Hermione, that he was making Ginny unhappy, that the world was certainly going to crumble all around them because they'd lied.
And then his thoughts scattered like confetti and he could see spots when he squeezed his eyes closed, his orgasm hitting him hard. When the last tremors of it dissipated, he collapsed, watching as Harry came and did the same thing.
Harry slipped out of him before falling to the floor, face slick with sweat and glasses sliding down his nose.
Ron closed his eyes and felt the guilt setting in again. But for now, he allowed the sleep to wash over him.
He dreamt of rain and wedding rings and bright green eyes looking into his own.
***
In retrospect,
I suppose it was really
A test of character,
A test of judgement,
And we failed.
It was a struggle
To choose between
What's right and what's easy,
Us choosing the easy road
Because it wasn't as rocky
As sticking to the correct path.
Maybe we should've
Kept our promise
And resisted the urge,
The tingle up the spine,
The bittersweet taste
After a long kiss.
Maybe we should've.
***
It was sickening to come home to Ginny.
She was smiling at him when he entered the door, and she opened up her arms for an embrace. Like an idiot, he took it, and wondered if she could sense the guilt on his skin, could see into his heart and know that he wasn't really in love with her.
He gave mechanical responses for all her questions. "Fine, thanks" and "Yes, love" were the most common, but she just continued smiling whenever he spoke them. He could still feel Ron's skin on his own, could still taste the traces of their last kiss. He didn't want to get rid of it, but didn't want to keep it either.
He wished he could just forget. He wished that night after the murders had never happened, because then he could live a normal life and Ron could still have a healthy marriage. But the images were burned into his mind: Ron's face as he came, the rain water that clung to Ron's hair, the sweat shimmering in the faint light.
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, her voice soft and concerned.
"Fine," he replied, his insides burning. God, he needed Ron. He needed Ron like he needed air.
"D'you want something to eat?"
Harry looked up at her and smiled. "No, thanks. I'm just really tired from last night, that's all."
She looked at him skeptically. "Something happened, didn't it?"
He swallowed. The air was silent, the only noise the ticking of the clock on the wall.
"No," he lied.
Ginny looked sad again, and said, "Okay" very softly. She kissed his cheek. "I'm going to go make some dinner, okay?"
He didn't answer and listened to her footsteps as she walked away. He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to hurt her like this. He just wanted to be happy, and at the same time make her happy. He was almost positive that she knew, that she could tell by his behavior that he'd fucked Ron through the floor, but she gave no sign.
Maybe the time had come for him to give up on Ron. Ron seemed okay to take care of himself; maybe it was time to end the friendship that had lasted twenty-seven years.
But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't, not after all the lies and heartbreak he'd been through to keep it going. Did it even count as a friendship anymore? It had started out that way, certainly, with pats on the back and victory hugs after Quidditch games. Now there was tension and silence and sex, and he wasn't sure what was friendship and what was love.
He picked at a torn spot on his denims, and for the moment, everything was quiet.
***
We tear down the walls
Of other relationships
To make way
For new ones;
But this thing we have
Can't be reduced to
Such a simple word
As "relationship."
What we have is far more
Complex, far more tense
Than that of a normal "relationship".
We try too hard to
Preserve the walls
Of other friendships,
Other loves,
But the bricks come tumbling
One-by-one,
Clattering to the earth
In a mess of desperation.
***
Ron watched as Hermione stuffed clothes in a suitcase. Tears were shining on her face and she sobbed, sleeves hanging carelessly over the edge.
"Why do you do this?" she asked, another sob escaping her lips. "Why did you even bother marrying me?"
Ron looked to the floor to hide his own tears. "Because it seemed like the right thing to do."
"Sleeping around seemed like the right thing to do?" she demanded. "All I asked for is a little faithfulness, for Christ's sake. All I wanted was to be your wife, to greet you when you came home in the afternoons, to raise a family with you. Was that so much?"
"It seemed like the right thing to do," he repeated, realizing it for the first time. "I did it because I was scared."
"Then you should've talked to me." Her tone was lower now, less hysterical. "That's what couples do. When they have problems, they talk. They don't run off and have sex with their best friend."
Ron closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."
She sighed. "I know." He felt her hand on his shoulder, and felt her shaking. "But I can't ever forgive you. I can't live like this."
"Where will you go?" he asked, beginning to panic.
"I'm going to my aunt's. I just got that memory charm on my parents removed, so I won't give them the shock of coming to visit." She picked up the suitcase.
"But you can't go!" he said, hysteria in his voice. "You can't! I need you!"
She blinked at him. "You obviously don't, Ron. Have fun being miserable."
He wondered vaguely if they would divorce as he watched her cab speed off down the street. All the evidence so far gave him the answer, but part of him begged for it to be wrong. He wanted to keep Hermione as a friend, but Harry was too much temptation to resist.
So he stood there in the bright sunlight for several minutes, as if waiting for her to come home.
***
I know the end
Is nowhere in sight,
And I never want it to be.
It doesn't matter to me
That we're breaking the rules
In this sick game we play;
It just matters that
I have you in my arms,
That the wall has finally crumbled,
That we can begin to build
A new wall where
The old has fallen.
Or maybe we can just leave the ruins
And build around,
Or maybe not build at all
But instead watch the sunrise,
Watch each other,
And then wait for the end of the day
When it's really just begun.
***
Ron looked hollow when he showed up at Harry's door, wearing a look of emptiness and looking as though a light breeze would blow him away. Harry didn't need to ask what happened, and let him inside without comment, already starting to make some tea.
"She just… left," Ron said after his third cup. "It was almost like she understood or something. I wish she'd yelled at me instead."
Harry didn't quite know what to say. He should've been grateful for the fact that he'd decided to keep his marriage, but Ron's anguish became his own. It was his fault, really, and as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, it really did come down to him.
Ginny was once again gone. She had muttered something about the store and had left, leaving her coat behind in the rush.
This left the men alone.
"Are you happy with her?" Ron asked, his voice pleading.
Harry thought about it. "Why?"
Ron looked distressed. "If you're not, we can leave together. We can just… go, and we can be together for real. I'm just so lonely, Harry…"
Harry swallowed. "Ron…"
"We can. We can go. Come on, get you're things, we can leave right now…"
"Ron, don't be ridiculous!" Harry hissed. "You're so upset about Hermione that you're talking nonsense."
Ron slumped in his seat. "I'm so unhappy."
Harry sighed. "But I'm not."
Ron looked up at him.
"I'm happy with Ginny," lied Harry. "Really, I am. I love her so much, and she loves me, and what we did was wrong."
"You don't love me?" Ron asked, his voice lined with pain.
Harry blinked at him. "No… No, I don't. I'm married, Ron. I can't love you…"
But the rest of his sentence was cut off as Ron stood and kicked the table.
"I thought you loved me! What was that then, that night after the little girls?"
"We were drunk—"
"Well, I love you! Okay?" Ron was shaking now, trembling. "I love you. I always have loved you. You're blind even with your glasses."
Silence followed. The quiet was slightly bothersome, and Harry just looked down at the carpet.
"I love you," Ron repeated, his voice breaking. "I thought you knew that."
A million thoughts raced through Harry's head. The truth was that he loved Ron too, more than anyone could ever imagine, but it was simply too much. He was married, and that was that.
"I love you too," he whispered. "I do. But I'm happy this way. You were happy this way."
Ron closed his eyes.
"Say it," Harry begged. "Say it."
"I'm happy," Ron muttered.
"You love Hermione. You don't need me, you don't need to do this."
Ron closed his eyes, willing away the tears. "I know. I know, I love Hermione… I'm happy. I'm happy."
Harry moved forward and whispered softly, "I'm not so sure I am," and kissed Ron on the mouth.
***
Maybe the end will never come,
And maybe all we've said
Are lies,
But I've learned from this
Not to trust my instincts.
I want to go back and
Change what happened,
Knowing full well
That it all ends up the same.
An unbroken habit,
A dirty lie,
A ruined friendship,
And the frayed edges
Of a lost dream.