Linger

Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling because I think love and romance consists of more than 'blazing looks' and 'chest monsters.'

A sad Hr/H Hr/R One Shot.

Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.

-Herman Hesse

Hermione gripped her cup of coffee and anxiously glanced out the dark coffee shop window. It was drizzling slightly and Hermione gave an involuntary shudder at the soft rain that was getting whipped against the glass window.

She glanced down into her coffee and felt tears begin to form. She hastily swiped at her eyes and wished that her cup of cold coffee could tell her the answers to her problems.

Hermione smirked despite her situation and thought of Professor Trelawny, who would always say the answers to anything were in the bottom of a cup of tea.

After a few more minutes of staring, she sighed and again looked out the window.

He wasn't coming. Hermione felt tears well up again, but she did nothing to stop them this time. She knew they couldn't continue this forever. Hiding away their love from everyone.

Hermione was just about to get up when Ron came rushing into the coffee shop looking out of breath.

"Sorry…Wood kept me…longer than I'd 'spect." he gasped.

Hermione wanted to wrap her arms around him, kiss him hard and never let go, but their were too many witnesses.

Instead she gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek and gestured toward the door. Ron nodded and together they walked out into the cold weather.

As they walked the cold, dark streets, Hermione took time to admire Ron's features.

Had he always been so tall and handsome, she wondered fondly.

Ron looked down at her and gave her one of his heart stopping smiles. Hermione smiled back and squeezed his hand tighter.

The rain continued to fall around them, but they didn't care. All that mattered was the two of them.

Hermione looked on down the road and wondered why things had to be so complicated. She wished Harry wasn't in love with her, married to her, everything to her.

But he was and she could do nothing. No matter how much it killed her.

Things change, people change, Hermione thought.

They continued to walk in a comfortable silence, not needing to say anything.

Hermione wondered if Harry knew what she and Ron were doing. Part of her wished he did and part of her wished he didn't.

Every night, she felt immense guilt weigh her down as she climbed into bed with him. She silently cried when he would wrap his arms around her and tell her he loved her. It killed her to say it back when she knew it wasn't the truth. Had never been the truth.

These were the times when she hated herself so much she wanted to die. Hated herself for doing this to Harry, to Ron, to herself.

But she couldn't help it. She was in love with Ron Weasley. Had always loved him, even all those years they had bickered and yelled like 10 year olds.

Then there were the times when she never wanted Harry to know, because even though she wasn't in love with him, she still loved him and never wanted to hurt him.

Hermione and Ron made it all the way to his flat in the time it took her to gather her thoughts. She looked up at the building, wondering who lived in each window.

Ron gestured upstairs and for a second Hermione was about to give in.

She threw her arms around his neck, this time not caring who saw and kissed him with everything she had, wanting it to last, and wanting him to know how much she loved him, but how wrong all this was.

After a few breathtaking minutes, she silently pulled away, but still stayed close. Hermione felt her heart break as she saw tears falling down Ron's cheeks.

He's matured so much, Hermione thought sadly.

She wiped the tears from his cheeks and grabbed his face between her hands, giving him another long kiss.

"We can't…" she breathed.

"I know…" he breathed back.

"But I want to…" she said softly, pulling away.

Ron didn't stop her.

With one last look, Hermione walked back down the street she had come. Instead of apparating, she decided to walk all the way to the Potter Mansion in the rain.

She knew she deserved it.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

-Kahlil Gibran