I know, too played out, but I had to write it.
Almost 200 hits already, but no reviews! How will I improve? Also, there's a poll on my profile for what pairing should star in my next oneshot! Please go vote, so that I can put this mind to work!
"Pass me that lovely little gun… My dear, my darting one… The cleaners are coming, one by one… You don't even want to let them start…"
Harry held Hermione close to him; she was freezing, tears still running down her cheeks, though Ron had left long ago. It was… unbearable, he could feel the black hole of her heart, searching, searching for Ron… Harry had seen her face when he left—the conflict—her love, or her mission. He wished that she'd gone. He knew it would be too much to ask of Ron, of Hermione… He wanted to do it alone. But even so, he knew he couldn't manage without her cleverness… Her incredible mind that set her apart from anyone he knew.
To others, Hermione was emotionless; a bookworm, nose-deep into her studies, with no time to hurt and cry and feel. Harry knew different. He had seen the heartbroken Hermione—when Ron dated that cow Lavender, for example—but it was never like this. Ron wasn't coming back. Ron—his first friend, his brother… he had lost hope.
Was he mad at Ron? Honestly, no. Only that he had insisted on accompanying him… Only for making him question his faith in Dumbledore, which had begun to decay by itself, already…
"They are knocking now upon your door… They measure the room, they know the score… They're mopping up the butcher's floor… Of your broken little hearts…"
The wizard radio that Ron had insisted on listening to was on… Harry didn't remember Hermione turning it on, and he certainly hadn't… It didn't sound like a Wizarding song, but Harry had long since been disconnected with the Muggle world.
Harry began to rock back and forth slowly, in an effort to calm Hermione, at least for a while. In rhythm to the song, he gently rocked her, a little awkwardly, since they were on their feet. But it didn't matter. No one was there. Hermione raised her head slightly, her watery eyes blinking back the endless stream of tears. With a shaky smile, she offered him her hand—to dance. Harry paused, only for a moment. He'd only danced once in his life—the Yule Ball—and even then, he was hopeless. But if it cheered her…
"Forgive us now for what we've done… It started out as a bit of fun… Here, take these before we run away… The keys to the gulag…"
Harry took her hand, turning her awkwardly, trying, for the life of him, to remember some simple dance moves. They swayed clumsily for a while, until, Harry supposed, Hermione became fed up with his unskillful waltz, and began to lead. Oh, Hermione. Always the impatient one.
Harry followed Hermione's modest steps, imagining Ron's reaction, were he to return and see them. But that was the point. Ron wasn't there, as he should be. If he were there, there would be no tears, no need for Harry to fill in as surrogate. Harry knew. He knew, as much as the two tried to deny it—for Harry's sake? Out of stubbornness?—that they were in love. Harry had met the realization long ago; he was fine with it, to be blunt. Harry wondered if they, too, had lost their future in this war, as he and Ginny had.
Oh, darling Ginny. Harry pulled Hermione closer subconsciously, wondering how his love was faring at Hogwarts. Damn the war. He never had a chance…
"We have the answer to all your fears… It's short, it's simple, it's crystal dear… It's round about, it's somewhere here… Lost amongst our winnings…"
Harry looked down at Hermione—she was smiling. What a sight. Harry gave a half-hearted smile back, trying to put himself back in the present. Ron had left. Hermione was crushed. Harry was trying to help. Hogwarts, Horcruxes, and Voldemort came after. This he could do, now.
Harry observed his friend's face. There was a happiness, so fragile, but it was there. They couldn't help what Ron did, no matter how much they wanted to. But they could help each other. And the happiness, brittle though it may be, was beautiful. So beautiful…
Harry was tempted to kiss her, not out of lust, but as a promise—he wouldn't fail her, he wouldn't fail Ginny, Luna, Neville… Not even Ron. He would defeat Voldemort for them, so that they could build their families in peace. So that they could love without fear.
He had danced with Hermione to mend her heart. He ended up mending his.