Inevitable

Have you ever wondered if your first love - or boyfriend, or crush - still thinks of you? If you're still a diminutive thought in their mind; they don't even have to think a full thought of you, just your name will suffice. But what if you see your first love almost everyday - what if you talk to them every-single-bloody-day of your life? What if you see them kiss your husband's younger sister because she's his wife? Does it count then? Or does the person in question have to think of you the same way you're thinking of them?

Hermione doesn't know. She has no answers to the ceaseless question formulating in her head. She only has more 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. But - here's one thing, possibly the only thing she's sure about lately, she thinks of him more than she thinks of Ron: her own husband. His touches are warped into Harry's. She imagines Harry's lips on hers; she wants to be able taste his breath. But she can't.

"Hey, love," Ron greets. It's early morning and he looks tired as he dips to connect their lips in a quick kiss. She smiles. "You're up early." It's a statement to make conversation; he knows her too well. She knows she doesn't deserve what he gives her. Not when she only wants more, Selfish, selfish, selfish.

"Yeah - I work best when it's dark and coffee is all I can drink." She grins at him. She admires the crinkle around his eyes as he does the same.

"You really shouldn't drink so much of that stuff." He eyes her turquoise mug cautiously, a small frown eradicating the smile. She likes his smile, only its rare now, and most of the time, when it is aimed at her, it's laced with bitterness. She wants the old smile back; she misses it.

"Would you rather I drank Fire-whiskey by the gallon? Or smoke those ghastly Muggle cigarettes?" she snaps, scraping her chair back, ready to stand up.

"And it makes you snappy. You should go to bed. You look tired." He rests a hand on her shoulder, but she shakes it away and glares at him.

"Is that your way of telling me I look horrible?" It isn't fair, she knows. But she doesn't like it when he tries to tell her what to do. It infuriates her. Harry never does it to Ginny. "And why on earth do you think you can tell me what to do?" She arches an eyebrow, challenging him to say one more thing to trigger her bad mood even more.

"No - Hermione! You know what I mean." He rubs a finger in the middle of his forehead, as if he has a headache.

"How do I Ronald? You never tell me anything straightforwardly anymore. It's all riddles and guessing games with you lately. 'Oh, I might be late tonight.' And then you don't come home. Rose and Hugo miss their bedtimes because they want to say goodnight to you. It's not like before - when I would wait by the fire for you, alone. We have the kids to think about!" She runs a hand through her hair, standing up properly now.

"They're at Hogwarts now, Hermione! And I Owl you when I'm going to be late-"

"No, you bloody well don't! You just leave me waiting for you. Well . . . I'm not waiting anymore. I'm not going to cook your tea if you're not home by six. And you'll just have to make your own breakfast from now on, as well. This first-draft needs to be with the publishers by next month. I'm only half way into it!"

"So you care more about the bloody fictional book then your own husband, then?" His hands are on his hips, looking like a ticked-off house-wife. It's almost funny.

Hermione purses her lips and meets his gaze unflinchingly. "You seem to care more about your job than me," she says, then goes out the backdoor, wanting to cry.

DotDotDot

"Sh..." Ginny draws out, holding Hermione and patting her comfortingly on the back.

"It was never like this . . . when the kids were home. Merlin," Hermione gasps, realising something horribly crushing. "What if the kids are the only thing between Ron and me anymore? What if he doesn't love me?" She's sure she loves him, maybe not as much as she used to. She hates this. She wishes she could still love him the way she still loves Harry. Why is it so bloody hard?

Ginny tightens her grip on Hermione. "Don't say that. You know that you're going to go home in an hour and everything will be fine."

"No," Hermione objects, shaking her head and pulling away from Ginny, "No . . . we'll pretend everything is fine. When all I really want to do is rip his hair out."

Ginny seems at a lost for words and it hurts Hermione that she's not only hurting herself and her husband by these silly walk-out games, she's also tearing apart enough family. She sees the dark, underlining – almost like bruises – under Ginny's eyes and wonders what kept her up so late.

Hermione sniffs, wiping at nose fervently and looks up at her sister-in-law from the position she's had her head in on the wooden kitchen table. "How are you, Ginny?" Her voice is soft and only slightly deflated.

"I'm fine; everything is perfect." Hermione can see that she's lying and it's not hard to. Ginny bites her lower lip and closes her eyes for a second. "I feel like I'm losing him. He's always working late, and when he is home it's always sugar-coated niceness. We're not like you and Ron who just fight it out until you get fed up and forget about the main topic, we just pretend. It's been like that since Lily left two years ago. I miss him." Her voice is ever so soft that it breaks Hermione's heart because she's a little bit glad their marriage is falling a part, too.

Hermione reaches out and holds Ginny's hand, and they stay like that; mainly because neither has anything comforting to say. Hermione is trying to think of something to say when Harry walks in, looking expertly rumpled and tired to the extreme. He smiles at the women, making tea. He doesn't' offer any to either Hermione or Ginny. Hermione pretends not to see the faltering brightness Ginny's put on for Harry.

"Morning. Another row, Hermione?" he asks, looking at her directly and rather questioningly.

"Yeah, something silly, like always." She swallows nervously.

"You're welcome to stay here whenever and for however long you like, you know that." He smiles kindly and sits across the table from Ginny. He still hasn't spoken to her directly, or even look properly at her, Hermione notices.

"Yeah, I do. I, um, should be getting home. Ron will be at work anyway, they've got him in earlier and earlier lately." She lets out a false laugh and gets up and walks cautiously to the door. Harry follows her out, stating how the guest should be 'escorted' out. Ginny simply smiles – it's a thin smile, laced with sadness and it very sharply reminds Hermione of Ron's smile sometimes. It makes her heart ache for her husband.

The door latches shut with a quiet snip behind them. Awkwardness nests in uncomfortably between them, like a snake wrapping its lithe body between both their feet. "What was the argument about this time? They're getting closer together," he states, and Hermione wishes he wouldn't; she just wants to go home.

"It's was . . . just stupid. My fault – I overreact. We all know how I get, especially with Ron. It's my own fault," she repeats, running her hand through the tangled mess of her hair. Her heart is beat ferociously, and she can't help but feel like she's betraying Ron. She hates this feeling. She loves Ron; but she also loves Harry. But it'll always be Ron, right?

It's then that she realises how different herself and Harry are. For the last six months she's been convinced she loves Harry more than she loves Ron, but looking at him, trying to play the hero in her and Ron's marriage, she knows it was just that strong sense of affection. She was clouded for a while, thinking Harry could give her more than Ron ever could. but she was awfully wrong, since no one could give her more love and care than Ron. No one.

"You I'm always here for both of you, I'll always help. I understand that most of the time it's only something you can sort out by yourselves, but just know I'm always here." His eyes are comfortingly sympathetic.

"I know," she whispers, and then, because she doesn't like the way he's looking at her (despite that she's always wanted him to look at her like that), she says, "How are you and Ginny? She seemed a little upset when we were talking."

He laughs a bitter, cutting laugh. "I think it might be over. No – its already over. I . . . I don't think I love her anymore. And it's such an odd concept to wrap my head around right now. I'm stuck between loving the memory of loving her and just cutting myself cold from her. I don't want it, but our marriage is dead. I heard you both talking before I walked in, she's knows it's true. But we also need to talk about it. We dance around it like prancing ballerinas, but we never talk abut it."

Hermione smiles because she knows what she needs to say . . . but also knows what she wants to say. And they're very different things. "You should go in there and sort it out. Stop trying to play the hero with everyone else's marriages. Me and Ron? We'll be fine. We're always fine. We argue; but it's only because we love each other. People do silly things when they love each other, Harry."

"I know you're right." And she knows she is.

She right-out grins at him, despite the confusion swirling inside of her. "Aren't I always? Now go talk with Ginny, you know you both need this." I need this, I need Ron, and I'm not sure I need you in the same way anymore.

When she gets home, Ron's still there, still on the sofa looking a bit broken. She sighs and decides she needs to fix him, just like she should fix herself. He looks up when she enters the room, and his eyes light up, just like they used to.

Normally, she just goes upstairs and then the process sort of repeats itself the next day. But not anymore. She loves him, and, she realises with a jolt of clarity, she hasn't told him that in a while.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, a soft sound that still bounces around the quiet house.

"I know you are, and so am I. I'm very fickle, Ron. I used to know what I want, and then, for a while, I thought it wasn't you. I thought it might've been someone else." She takes a deep breath, and walks over to him, settling down next to her husband and taking his left hand in her right one. "I thought you weren't enough for me. I was very, very selfish to think that, you know, because you are more than enough for me. You are exactly what I want, what I've always wanted. I know we argue, but I hope you know I never really mean it, and that I do love you, even if we never say it anymore."

Ron tightens his grip around her hand. "I love you, too. You're all I've ever ever wanted. You drive me insane and infuriate me, but I'd be dead without you." Their eyes meet and it's a very really connection that they feel. "Our argument mean nothing, well, they do at the time, but that's it."

They share a smile; and Hermione notices again how much she loves it – how much she's always loved it.