A/N After seeing Deathly Hallows Part 2 again for the fifth time (I don't have a problem or anything, haha xD) I found myself extremely moved by the scene right before Harry goes into the Forbidden Forest, and we see Ron and Hermione holding each other on the steps of the staircase. Immediately, the gears started turning in my head and I came up with an idea for my first piece of fanfiction. Please review, I would love to know what you think. Also, I would recommend listening to Bloodstream by The Stateless as you read, I took a line or two from the song. It also matches the tone of the piece quite well.
Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns everything. I own nothing.
Hermione Granger had never though of herself as selfish. She had been called many things in her lifetime. From a young age, she had been branded with "Bossy", "Stuck up" "Know it All", and a myriad of other mocking taunts and teases, harsh words and even harsher nicknames cutting to her very core. She had brushed of their teasing as immaturity, convincing herself that her peers were simply jealous of her high marks and her record breaking O.W.L scores. But in her heart of hearts, she knew it was unnecessary to berate Ron quite so harshly every time he uttered a curse word. She knew that she did not have to roll her eyes quite so prominently whenever Seamus caused an explosion in Potion's class. She knew that when it came down it, Susan Bones was just as clever as she was, and that she should have let the timid Hufflepuff answer one of McGonagall's questions every once in a while, instead of shooting her hand up and blurting out the answer as soon as a question was raised. Yes, deep down, Hermione knew that she could easily pass as "Bossy, "Stuck Up" and "Know it All". These were, she considered her faults. Her strengths and yet when used improperly, her weaknesses. But looking at Ron now, his face streaked with dirt and grime from the dust that seemed to saturate the air, she realized that her greatest fault was not that she was "Bossy", "Stuck up" or a "Know it All", but that she was selfish. Not the kind of self absorbed foolishness that Lavender Brown seemed to live by, or the cruel egocentric bigotry that Draco Malfoy seemed to thrive on. No, her kind of selfishness was the kind that burrowed itself deep into the confined corners of her heart, which was born out of love, but came out in dark times as shockwaves and sharp pangs of guilt. And Hermione feared that this type of selfishness was perhaps the worst of all.
For at this very moment, Harry Potter, one of her best friends, the boy she had grown up with, shared both tears and laughter with, experienced both trails and triumphs with, was meeting his cruel fate in the Forbidden Forest. And all she could think about was how relived she was that Ron, the boy, no, the man whose strong hands were clasped tightly in her own, was on the stairs with her. That they were waiting the night out together. That he had not left. She was relieved, she realized with guilt, that if one of the boys had to go, that it was Harry and not Ron. One out of every three, Kingsley had said. The odds had been one out of three. One out of every three had died during the last Wizarding War, and the odds were likely to be the same this time around. Hermione was consoled; horrified at feeling consoled, but consoled nonetheless, that Harry was the one, and not Ron. Not because she didn't love Harry, or that she was happy to seem him go. Quite the opposite. She loved Harry deeply, with every fiber of her being. He had always been the brother she had never had. The possibility of his death was ripping her apart. She knew that if he died tonight, she would never feel whole again. She felt a horrible pang in her chest when she though of a life without him. But she knew that if Harry were to die, as grief-stricken as she would be, she would keep breathing. And she knew that if Ron were to go, that this would not be the case. Had Ron died, her body would have banished its ability to breathe, oxygen flooding out of her lungs with a wispy final exhale. Her blood coming to a sharp halt, not longer able to pump through her veins. Her heart, which had once beat so fast for him, beating no more. For she had inhaled him, he had become a part of her. She could feel him, floating, behind her eyes and in her bloodstream. And if he were to die, so would she. Not literally perhaps, but in every other sense of the word. So for her own selfish reasons, she found solace in the fact that he had not died, that it would be Harry instead of him. 1 out of three, she thought again, and began to weep. She wept for Harry, and the cruel fate he was facing, and at her own selfishness. That she should feel relief, instead of remorse. What a horrible person she had become, to choose one friend over the other. But Ron was more than just a friend, he was everything.
No sooner had the tears begun to fall down her cheeks than did she feel a pair of strong, warm arms engulf her and cradle her softly, rough but gentle hands stroking her cheeks and wiping away the tears. She was no longer surprised by his bold displays of affection. He had always been there for her. Her Knight. Her savior. Her protector. They held each other close on the dusty steps of the staircase, her deep sobs echoing down the steps. His soft auburn hair brushed against her face, and she held him even tighter, wanting to feel more of him, reveling in the fact that he was alive.
"I wish it was me," he suddenly whispered hoarsely.
"What?" she asked genuinely confused. She tilted her head up to look into the depths of his dark blue eyes, which she now noticed were filled with tears as well.
"I wish it was me," he repeated again. "Harry doesn't deserve this. He's already sacrificed so much. People have sacrificed so much for him. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin. So many people are going to be devastated!" As he spoke, his eyes were fierce with determination, his brown furrowed in what appeared to be anger.
"Why couldn't it be me?" he chocked out. "Why does Harry have to die? So many people care about him. So many people believe in him. But me? I'm nobody. Nobody cares about me. I should be the one dying tonight!" He was now sobbing openly, tears spilling down his face and stinging the open cuts and wounds that marred his cheeks. He wiped his tears away furiously, embarrassed to be crying in front of her once again. He turned his face away in shame.
"Ron," she whispered tentatively. She tilted his face back to hers, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Ron don't say things like that! You mean the world to so many people!" Ron shook his head, hesitant to accept her words.
"You can't honestly think that no one cares about you. Your Mum, your Dad, your brothers and Ginny. Harry, Seamus, Neville. Ron so many people care about you. So many people love you," she blushed slightly at her word choice, and looked down at her lap. But she knew it had to be said. He had to know. With a new found confidence, she looked up at him again and held his gaze. He was studying her face curiously, his eyes swimming with anticipation, yet patience.
"Ron, don't you understand? This whole time I haven't been able to think about anything except for how thankful I am that you're not the one out there. That you're not going to die. That you're the one here with me." She chocked on her words again, feeling guilty once more for feeling such things. Realization began to dawn on his face, and he gently moved his hand from his lap to her face. He brushed away a stray curl that had fallen out of her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. He began to stroke her cheek softly with the pads of his thumbs, willing her to continue. She shivered at his gesture, and found it hard to concentrate.
"It's terribly selfish, and I know that," she added shakily "But it's you Ron. It's always been you. I'll choose you over him any day."
For the first time in months, he smiled. A genuine, pure smile. It pierced the very being of her soul and she felt a coil of warmth flow through her. But as it was, she was a "know it all" and couldn't resist the urge to prove someone wrong. So she added sharply,
"So don't you dare say that no one cares about you! Because I care about you. I care about you so much. I-"she softened when she saw his eyes glaze over with an emotion she couldn't describe. He dropped his hand from her face to her lap and grabbed her hand, weaving their fingers together in a dance they had become all too familiar with. And she knew. The look in his eyes was love. He felt it, she felt it, and they felt it together. And now, it was time to admit it.
"Ron I-"she started nervously, her heart pounding furiously. "I love you."
He gazed at her lovingly, drinking her in. All too happy to be in this moment given the circumstances. Then he attacked her lips, kissing her roughly and passionately, a fierce battle of teeth and tongues. It was different from their first kiss, which was sweet and pure, but accompanied by the awkwardness of two unfamiliar lips meeting for the first time. Now they knew each other well, and it was fierce and bruising, both of them trying to pour every emotion they felt into each brush of their lips. She melted into his arms, as one hand wrapped around her waist and the other cradled the back of her head, bringing her that much closer to him. She moaned softly as his lips continued their delicious assault on her senses. She soon broke away, needing time to catch her breath. She kept her face close to his, their foreheads just touching. They gazed into each other's eyes, guessing the other's thoughts, mesmerized by the emotions swimming in them.
"I love you, "he whispered softly. And as he leaned in for a gentle kiss, Hermione no longer felt like a "Know It All". She no longer felt "Bossy", or "Stuck up". She no longer felt selfish. As he kissed her, she felt every insecurity she had ever carried with her wash away. She felt as if she had no faults. For he made her feel loved. He made her feel perfect. And despite the dire situation they had been thrown into, for the first time in years, Hermione Granger felt faultless.