How to Save a Life, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, all associated characters, terms, fictional places, etc., and the song "How to Save a Life" by the Fray do not belong to me. This is purely me, screwing with the characters…because it's fun.

Warnings: Language

How to Save a Life

I loved Ronald Weasley. There was absolutely no doubt about it. In our sixth year, when Dumbledore died, I took comfort in his arms when he held me.

He made me feel safe, happy, angry and miserable all at the same time, the way that love should make a person feel.

But something happened during the summer after our sixth year that hurt me, that cut me so deeply that I was reeling from the pain of it weeks later.

Ron and Lavender were back together.

Of course, Ron and I weren't dating, so I had no right to be upset; after all, he couldn't cheat on me if we weren't together. But it felt as though it was his fault. How could he not know how I felt about him? Was it not obvious? So, a few weeks before the summer was over, I decided that I'd dealt with pain long enough. After checking to make sure the coast was clear (because Lavender stopped by Ron's house often to snog him senseless), I strode into the Burrow, said a quick "hello" to Mrs. Weasley, and ran up the stairs to Ron's room. And after banging on the door for what felt like hours, he opened it with a curious look on his face.

"Hermione? What are you doing here? If you're looking for Harry, he's just left for Diagon Alley," Ron said, looking glum as he seemed to confirm all for himself that I most definitely wasn't there for him. Even though I spent most of my days and nights at the Burrow talking to him. What a stupid git.

"No, Ron, I'm here to see you. I…need to talk to you about something," I said, suddenly dropping my gaze to stare at a small black stain on Ron's faded blue carpet.

"Oh!" he said, sounding enthused. "Well, in that case…come in, then. Just…don't mind the mess."

As I stepped inside his room, I noticed that not much had changed since the very first time I'd seen it. Chudley Cannons posters still clung to the walls, and his small desk was still cluttered with papers and hand-me-down books and robes.

"So…" he said, sticking one hand in his pocket and using the other to close the door, "what do you need to talk to me about?"

I turned away from scrutinizing his room to face him—and my mind went completely blank.

Step one, you say, "We need to talk."
He walks, you say, "Sit down, it's just a talk."
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came

When my thoughts finally returned to me, Ron had grown rather worried and was saying my name louder and louder. I blinked, staring at him, and blurted, "We need to talk."

His left eyebrow rose to his hairline.

"I think you've established that," Ron said jokingly, looking relieved that I'd spoken. "About what?"

"Lavender," I said nervously, biting my lip. Ron's face drained of color, and he froze. Then, before I could say another word, Ron sadly turned and walked to the door, turned the doorknob, and stepped back; he wanted me to leave.

"No! Ron…sit down. It's just a talk, that's all." He stopped in the doorway, frozen in time again. "Please?" I whispered, biting harder on my lip.

Ron sighed and slowly closed the door. He turned and smiled weakly at me, as though it was the hardest thing in the world for him to do. I only stared at him, wondering what I'd say next and how he'd take it.

Ron swallowed hard and stuck his hands deep into his pockets. He crossed the room and sank into a chair on the far left side. To distract myself from his movement and gather my thoughts, I looked out the window to my right. It was a beautiful, sunny day outside. But inside Ron's room, it felt as though the temperature had dropped ten degrees.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, looking worried again, since I'd stopped talking. He looked expectant, afraid, and…nauseas. I was feeling much the same myself, but the only thing I expected was something terrible, like…fainting.

I looked around the room, hoping to find something that would inspire some deep, logical words to pop into my head that I could use to explain everything to Ron. But as I felt his eyes on me, burning into me, I found myself unable to grasp any words whatsoever. What had I come for? To stand there in silence and make a fool of myself? I was beginning to wonder why I'd even come at all.

What should I do? Take his hand? Tell him of my undying love for him? I thought. I hadn't the faintest idea. I took a deep breath, blinked a few times, and turned to face him.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life…

Let him know that you know best
'Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you

And pray to God he hears you

"Ron…we've been friends for several years now, correct?" I asked quickly, but continued on without waiting for an answer and without taking a breath. "And during those seven years, wouldn't you say that we've grown very close?" His eyebrows slowly began to rise on his forehead, but I couldn't let him interrupt. I knew—surely I knew—what was best for him, and Lavender definitely wasn't it. I only wished I knew how he'd react to it all. "And you know that we're about to throw ourselves into a war that will probably cost us our lives?" Of course he did; this was a rhetorical question, but it would hopefully explain why I was telling him how I felt now. If either one of us didn't make it through this war…I'd feel like a complete idiot for not telling him (assuming I was the one who lived). Even Ron, who was usually quite daft, seemed to understand where this conversation was going.

"Hermione—I…I'm not…I don't…" he trailed off, looking anywhere but at me. He was trying to let me down easy. Trying to do everything he could to soften the blow. My heart was breaking while he was obviously trying very hard not to upset me, but the damage had already been done. I envisioned him with Lavender and couldn't help but wonder what she had that I didn't—and then the tears came.

I had to speak again or those tears would slip down my cheeks and betray me.

And I would not cry in front of Ron.

His defense would probably be that he didn't want to become romantically involved with me because the war was so near. Or that it would make Harry feel like a third-wheel. He would defend himself with lie after lie in an attempt to lessen the pain of rejection. But, while I knew he was trying to save my feelings, in no way would I grant him innocence. Ron would be lying to me; why couldn't he just say that he didn't feel that way about me? What was so hard about it? Sure, it would hurt—more than anything had ever, ever hurt—but it was better than knowing he'd felt sorry for me…sorry enough to lie.

"Ron, stop. You need to hear it all before you make pointless excuses," I said, sounding strong despite my desire to scream and pull my hair out. Ron closed his partially-open mouth, swallowed, straightened up, and stared down at me. He crossed his arms against his chest and took a breath. He looked…amused.

He had the nerve to look amused! What a bastard!

A bastard that I was hopelessly in love with.

"See…the thing is…you…you're a hypocrite!" I blurted out, letting my frustrations go; it prevented me from crying. "Y-you think you can just say whatever you want, act however you want, and annoy whoever you want, as long as it pleases you! What did all those years mean to you, Ron? Nothing? I thought you were just being a typical male earlier this year, when you dated Lavender, but oh no! You're practically in love with her, judging by the way you light up when you see her, the way you laugh when she tells a completely horrid joke, the way you smile when she says your name and when she brushes the hair out of your eyes! What is that, Ron? I thought she was a joke! A…a toy for you to practice on!" I screamed, walking forward until I was so near to him that I could see the tiny little freckles on the bridge of his long nose.

I took a deep breath and kept going, watching Ron's expression change from amusement to excitement to embarrassment…to a number of other unhappy ones that I didn't even bother to think about. I was far too angry and hurt to care.

"And then…then! You go and bring her here? To the Burrow, to meet your family? Bloody hell, Ron! Have you no shame? Bringing the school floozy here to meet your mother and father? Like you're going to—to marry her! You got so mad at me, Ron! When I was with Viktor! And I only kissed him once—on the cheek—and that hardly counts! And you stuck your tongue so far down Lavender's throat on several occasions that I wondered if she would choke to death!" I was getting hysterical. I continued to walk toward Ron, and he slowly began to back up, never breaking eye contact with me. I felt the tears returning, this time more from anger than sadness.

But he wouldn't get to see those tears, either. So I kept screaming at him.

"I mean…the way you look at her, Ron. The way you're always looking off into space when she's around, daydreaming about her. And the way you laugh when she calls you Pookie! You'd never let me call you that, not in a million years!" My throat was getting raw, and my voice sounded scratchy and weak. The back of Ron's legs collided with a chair, and he sank into it, still staring at me. I temporarily stopped screaming to take a few deep breaths. Ron took the opportunity seriously.

"So…what are you really angry about, Hermione? The fact that I've got a girlfriend…or the fact that she's not you?"

His words were like a slap in the face.

A cold, hard slap in the face. All my previous hysteria vanished. Sensible, calm Hermione returned, because I couldn't defend myself if I was insane. I had to swallow, breathe, relax. I had to think. Ron was staring at me intensely, his eyes roaming over my face. I flushed, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

Ron snorted in what sounded like disgust, and he jumped up, brushed against me, and walked quickly to the door. My mind worked furiously to find words to keep him with me.

None came.

Nothing came. Everything was blank. White, blank, and cold. I didn't seem to be taking a part in the scene; it seemed as though I was floating above it all, watching it with horror, sitting on the edge of my seat in suspense. I felt like screaming at the stupid, bushy-haired girl in the room, who was about to watch the love of her life walk out forever. I felt like wringing her neck, punching her, and demanded to know why she was just standing there and not saying something, anything.

But I couldn't say a word, and it was about to cost me everything.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

However, while I couldn't say anything, I could do something. I ran to the door, just as Ron was opening it, and threw the right side of my body against it. It slammed shut, and I rubbed my arm and hip as Ron scowled over to me.

"Let me open the door, Hermione," he growled angrily.

"Not until you tell me why!" I demanded, my voice low and urgent.

"I don't have to tell you a damn thing! Get the hell away from the door!" he screamed, his voice rising over the sounds of Mrs. Weasley singing loudly and off-key downstairs.

I was going to give him a choice in this, the last choice I'd ever give him, and then I'd be done with it.

"You can either listen to me now and tell me why you're so in love with Lavender Brown of all people, or you can leave now and hate me, and ruin our chances of helping Harry find Horcruxes, because we won't be able to get along," I said even more quietly, putting my hand over his on the doorknob. His jaw set as he ground his teeth, and for a moment, everything in the world was horribly quiet and still.

Then, his hand slipped away from the doorknob, along with mine, and he left me, crossing to the right side of his brightly-colored room to sit heavily on his bed, his head in his hands. He'd stayed, for the moment.

I had to fight to keep myself from sighing in relief.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Softly, I walked over to Ron and fell on my knees, sitting just before him. When he didn't move or speak, I reached out and touched him gently on the arm. He didn't respond. I realized then that, in my short-lived madness, I'd gone too far. Farther than I'd ever intended to go. I just wanted to know what he saw in her, and why he didn't see it in me. But it hadn't come out that way…and I deserved all the rejection in the world.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Ron…" I apologized, biting my lip and blinking back tears. "I didn't mean to say that…you…you and Lavender are great together," I mumbled, feeling a pang in my heart even as I said it. "I think…I think you two make a great couple. I wish you all the best!" I said, attempting to sound cheerful, but only squeaking like a dying cat with a sore throat and no voice box.

Realizing he still hadn't even acknowledged my presence, I stood, defeated, to leave. I gazed down at him, knowing that this was the last place that I would ever be "allowed" to love him. Here, in his room, because as soon as I stepped outside his door, I'd have to leave all my love in here. He'd be with Lavender, and I'd be alone. That was all there was to it, and I had to accept it or suffer for the rest of my life.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

How to save a life…

How to save a life

I turned to leave, brushing the first of many tears away. Then, Ron's small, nervous voice whispered my name.

"Hermione…wait. Wait, and I'll tell you…tell you everything."

I sighed, feeling almost annoyed at myself; the door was not far away, but I couldn't bring myself to use it. I spun on my heel and stood, ten feet away from Ron, waiting for him to speak.

He didn't for a moment. He only sat there, looking up at me with misty eyes. I'd only seen Ron cry once, at Dumbledore's funeral. Really cry, anyway. To see him about to do it again hurt me, but I knew better than to throw myself on him and try to soothe him.

"I…I d-don't love…her. I don't. Lavender was just a toy, Hermione. A toy to get to you. And it worked. But I never meant for it to go so far," Ron said earnestly, looking miserable. "I didn't think it made you that bloody upset!" he said louder, seeming angrier with himself than with me. "You…you weren't supposed to see me smiling at her, or laughing when she told stupid jokes, 'Mione. And you definitely weren't supposed to see me daydreaming…" he mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

"Why, Ron? Why wasn't I?" I urged quietly, feeling my heart pumping furiously within me.

"Because…every time…I smiled at her…I was pretending."

"Pretending…?"

"Pretending that…she was you. Because I knew I couldn't have you…and she was just…there." He said 'there' with disgust, as though he wanted to crawl into a hole and die right then. The corners of my mouth curved up into the slightest of smiles; I wasn't able to stop myself.

"Why did you think you couldn't have me, Ron?" I asked, coming a little closer, but still far enough away that I couldn't see the brilliant gold flecks in his blue eyes.

"Because!" he choked, shaking his head and sighing.

"Because why, Ron?" I asked. Every time I said his name, I said it a little more softly, more soothingly. I just wanted him to tell me…if he said it, then it would all be okay somehow. I could deal with the war, the tremendous possibility of death, the definite promise of pain and suffering; it would all be okay if Ron would tell me. I knew it would.

"Because…" he mumbled under his breath. "I knew you didn't want me."

My heart shattered into a million pieces as he dropped his gaze and let his head fall into shaking hands. With another shuddering sigh, Ron ran a hand through his hair and slowly stood. He brought his eyes up to meet me with what seemed like a burdening effort.

"You were wrong," I said quietly, the corners of my mouth turning up in another miniscule smile.

"Yeah, I guess so. But now I've gone and ruined everything!" Ron said, sounding disgusted with himself again.

"No! How could you say that?"

"You hate me! You were so mad! You've never been that mad at me before, Hermione!" Ron said, holding his arm out and gesturing to some unseen object. He swallowed again, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He licked his lips and let his arm fall to his side.

"I didn't think you would be that mad…" Ron said again, just as miserably as before.

"I wasn't mad, Ronald!" I said, coming closer, putting him within arm's length of me. "I just…I didn't understand, you know? I thought you cared! I thought we were getting somewhere with—with us—and then you brought Lavender to meet your parents, and I just didn't understand! And I hate not understanding things, so I had to know! I had to know…why you…WHY you didn't smile at ME like that! Why you didn't laugh at MY stupid jokes and talk about ME constantly. And—bloody hell!—I wanted to know why you didn't daydream about ME! I wanted you to think about me the way you thought about her, and I just wanted to know WHY you didn't! But I was never mad at you, I swear!" I promised, inching even closer and unconsciously reaching out to touch his hand.

He didn't pull away. Good sign.

Cautiously, I slipped my fingers between his. My hand tightened around his, and I felt his warm hand curling around mine soon after. I bit my bottom lip nervously. He'd explained himself. He could've lied and told me that he just wasn't the same, and I would've wondered for the second time why I'd even come. But he hadn't! He'd cared enough to tell me the truth; he wasn't in love with Lavender. Never had been. It had all been a game to get to me.

It was sweet and romantic in a twisted, idiotic kind of way. Ron's kind of way.

"I never smiled for her, Hermione. Always for you. Usually when she wore purple, because it's your favorite color, and it reminded me of you. Or when her hair was frizzy, because I thought of you. Or, most of all, when she yelled at me. That was definitely something that made me think of you. And I only laughed at her jokes to make you jealous, because no offense, but you can't tell jokes. And when I was daydreaming, staring off into space, whatever…it's because I was wondering what it'd be like if Lavender was you. Every time. And then, I'd get mad at you when you'd nudge me and snap me out of it, because that meant I had to come back to the real world, where you weren't mine, and the world where you never could be," he said, while taking my other hand in his. His hands were sweaty and shaky, and it was adorable how nervous he was.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is…I love you, Hermione. I'm sorry about Lavender. But I love you."

He couldn't meet my eyes.

"I love you too, Ron," I whispered, closing the rest of the space between us. His body fit into mine, not perfectly, but awkwardly…and that was how I wanted it. Because Ron was awkward. Ron was different. And the awkward, different boy in front of me loved me.

"It's going to be hard, you know," he whispered after a moment, resting his sweaty forehead against mine, "to be together now, with the war." His voice shook, but he sounded happy. Very happy. The same way I felt right then.

"I know. But it'd be hard even if there wasn't a war, what with you being such a git and all," I whispered back, smiling widely. Ron laughed and brought our entwined hands around behind my back, crushing me against him.

"I don't care, though," I continued, realizing how close my mouth was to his.

"And how are you managing that?" he asked, his voice finally calm and collected.

"As long as you're here, and I'm here, and we're like this…the bloody world could fall apart, and I wouldn't care, Ron." And I meant that, too.

"You do have a very good point, 'Mione," he said, grinning at me, squeezing me against him.

"I always do," I said in a mock-hurt tone. He smiled at me.

"And…just so you know…you can call me Pookie anytime you want." Ron laughed again.

It was silent for a moment, and I could tell Ron didn't know what to say. I didn't either.

So I tilted my head up, rose onto my tiptoes (for Ron was quite a good bit taller than me) and pressed my lips to his.

They say your first kiss isn't always your best, but in my opinion, whoever said that must've never kissed Ronald Weasley.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

How to save a life…

So, yeah, I lost a friend. Somewhere in all our bitterness and fighting, somewhere between all our perverted little jokes and pointless insults, and somewhere along all the awkwardness, assumptions, and misinterpretations, I'd lost a very dear, very much loved friend.

But, as he tightened his grip on me and kissed me back as though that day was our very last, I knew.

I'd lost a friend.

But I'd gained so much more than that.

The End

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