Chapter 2 – Ron's unsuccessful evening
Hermione stared angrily at Ron, who for a moment didn't know what to say.
"Please, explain it to me, Ron," she said, lightning shooting from her eyes. "What exactly did you do together with this Bella Crumble at the party?"
"We just – danced, Hermione," Ron muttered, even though he knew it was a lame excuse for behaving like he had done. He couldn't look Hermione in the eyes. He knew how angry and wounded she had been that he once again had avoided her and instead had invited another girl – a girl he hardly knew – to the dance.
"I heard from Harry that you had all the waltzes and smooch dances together – the whole evening! How could you, Ron? I thought –" She stopped herself, quickly pressing her lips together with a regretful look, wringing her hands.
Ron, looking more flustered than ever, hardly knew how to overcome the sudden, excruciating silence between them. It filled out the otherwise rather large room, and suddenly he had trouble breathing. Swallowing hard, he fingered the tight collar at his neck, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his dry throat, but it didn't help a bit. Then he realized Hermione's sharp eyes were on him, following his moves nervously. He gave a strained smile, trying to relax, still not knowing how to save himself from this. Sometimes, he wondered, it was easier fighting Deatheaters than dealing with Hermione. For a second there, he even considered which situation he would rather be in right now. Ironically, the great majority was rooting for the Deatheaters.
However, she was the one to break the long silence, sighing heavily.
"Ron. I know we've have been through this ordeal more than a few times, and it always ends up with one of us walking away and the other one left crying in some corridor." She eyed him, then looked away, murmuring softly, "I hope we can somehow change that this time." Ron kicked himself mentally. He knew she really meant that he was the one always hurrying away from the scenery, while she was the one left crying alone. He was such a coward.
She looked at him with thoughtful eyes before she continued.
"I know it's much to ask, because we can hardly have a normal conversation without making a scene or getting emotional, but I am your friend. Friends confide and criticize. They make up and forgive." Her voice had been unusually soft while she spoke, now her flashing eyes gave her away. "Yet it's hard maintaining that status when you all of a sudden – and without telling me – pull a total stranger into your drunken arms at a dance where it's all about Hogwarts – our past. You, me and Harry! Of course, I knew Lavender would be here. Why, I even considered the possibility of Krum or MacLaggen turning up …!" At this, Ron shot her an indignant look, but she continued unaffected. "And I am well aware that we've been very close and secluded since we've set out to find the Horcruxes, it's given that we want to seek others company for a change. I just never thought you would find such an – intimate one – and so quickly!" By this point, Hermione's hair had sprung from its pins and fallen to her shoulders, her cheeks were hot and her eyes looked more aggrieved than before. Ron could hardly remember a time where she had looked more beautiful than right now – which made it all the more harder to say what he really wanted to say. Then, as he heard another sharp intake of air from her, he knew he had to say something – anything.
"Listen, Hermione," Ron cut in, hoping to fix the situation. "About tonight … Don't you get jealous because of me. I'm not worth it. I'm just such a blooming idiot not to think of you tonight – which isn't true really," he rushed to say, feeling it coming out all wrong, as usual. "I think of you – a lot. In fact, it's all I ever do now when Hogwarts is finished and Voldemort is out there with his bloody followers everywhere. I only think of how we can be safe and hope that it could all be over soon, so we can be together again as we were before." He sought out her eyes. "Well, not exactly as we were before …" Involuntarily, he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks and quickly fixed his stare on his feet. He felt like a little boy saying things he shouldn't say.
He finally looked up, not knowing what would be next, but was surprised to see that her gaze had gone remote. Suddenly the room went cold, he shivered slightly, and even though he felt like he was suffocating, he'd never felt more distant from her than right now. It scared him.
She sighed. "Ron, I don't think – I simply don't think this will work anymore," she said, her voice broken.
"What – what do you mean?" he asked alarmed, forgetting his own remorseful state for a second.
"This. Our friendship. Our – relationship. It is not because I don't –" She bit her lip, her mind frantically searching for the right words, yet nothing that came up seemed to be good enough to make Ron understand. Nothing she could say would be good enough for Ron. He just stood there; eyes saying so much and yet so little, and she felt unable to maintain just one pure emotion for more than a couple of seconds before another one took over. It was rather frustrating to say the least. Anger didn't help the result – it never had – yet it had been their strongest ally in their previous arguments, making everything much easier to cope with … for a minute or two. It was the feelings afterwards that were the hardest. No matter how many times they were reconciled after a fight, there was always something left unresolved between them that she couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps she knew deep down … yes, perhaps she did, and it irritated her immensely, because even though she had been an excellent and articulate student her entire life, this of course wasn't as easily conveyed as she would like it to be, and the older she got the more she started feeling a bit of a cliché. Now they were grown-ups, yet they still behaved and fought like children in each other's company. It shouldn't be more difficult now than then, still, something had changed during the evening. This time, she was afraid of the result, no matter how it would change things, and her rational mind hadn't been able to think of any other solution than to somehow explain the matters to Ron and end it (whatever 'it' was) before it all got too messy or bloody, so to speak. It was a little ridiculous really and she wanted to laugh at herself; at her little planning and logic reasoning of a somewhat absurd and hopeless situation, but she couldn't. Not now. Perhaps in thirty years or so, when she could look back, wondering how fast her youth had passed her, but not now.
Well, this was going well, Ron thought, feeling powerless as always when he argued with Hermione. Edgy, he scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out Hermione's current expression. Her dark eyes seemed watery, clearly there were sadness and hurt to find in them, but she also looked incredibly exhausted. As was he, he realized, then mentally kicked himself for being such a damn quitter. This was Hermione, for crying out loud! He couldn't possibly quit on her or let her down – especially not now.
Her current silence would have killed him if it wasn't for the constant and nerve-racking battle between his mind and heart and body. Clear to say, he was one big mess! He wanted nothing more than to touch her and run away from her at the same time. He wasn't sure how she would react if he did something, so he decided – for the better of it – not to. If only she would say something – do something. Once was a time where it wasn't so hard to find a way or an excuse to yell and bash and find fault with one another, even the smallest of things. Now, there was just silence. And beneath that fine skin, old feelings hidden away for many years were once again brewing – and exhausting her as well as him. If only he knew a way to relieve the pressure on both of them without complicating things more.
"Hermione, I –"
"No, Ron, don't."
"But I want to know what is wrong –"
"This, Ron! This is what's wrong! We just can't go on doing this!"
"What?"
"Fighting. Hurting each other."
"But we always make up eventually. You know we do."
"I know, Ron, but I'm afraid that it won't be like that this time. Something has changed tonight. We've become … adults. And anyway, I'm too tired to keep on this constant battle."
"It's not like we fight like we're enemies. It's not that kind of disagreement –"
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know!"
"Ron, it's not like that I don't like you. You're my best friend, you know that. Harry is too, but this just doesn't work any longer. It's not – healthy."
"What do you mean?"
"Can't you see? Harry will be left with nothing, if there is anything going on between us … he'll become vulnerable – and we will too."
"That's owlshit, Hermione! You know he's not dependent on us like that. He's not a child; he can manage on his own!"
"How can you be so sure, huh? We've always been there. We needed each other more than we care to admit, I think, and we still do. Friends need each other in those situations, but if you're more than friends, you – you compromise one another – and you'll not be able forgive yourself. I won't do that."
"When the heck have you come up with all this? Have you completely lost your senses? You know that some of our closest friends have gotten together on the basis of friendship at first, they fought side by side, risking both their lives, and they're practically off getting engaged and having kids now, so I really don't have any idea of what you're rambling on about!"
"Ron, it's not like that. They are not like us. We're special, you, me and Harry. We've been through worse things than any children ever have and we've survived so far. Because we are friends. Nothing more. But in order to stay alive – and focused – we must not compromise ourselves. We cannot risk having more reasons for getting killed or losing people we love. That's why Harry broke up with Ginny. He didn't want to risk her life, nor have it on his conscience –"
"Screw the conscience! All we ever face are dilemmas and making fatal choices we don't like. That doesn't mean we have to go completely without love the rest of our lives! Those we love know this! They know the risks and they accept them. However, I don't believe for a second that Harry wouldn't throw it all in the ocean and take back Ginny if he wasn't so damn self-righteous at times. But I do believe he would – without blinking. He loves her more than anything, you know that, and I know that now – even though it hasn't been an entirely pleasant acceptance. Actually, I envy him."
"Stop it, Ron."
"But I do."
"Stop it."
"I don't want to stop –"
"If you don't stop right now, I'm gonna bring up all the girls you've been smooching with behind our backs at Hogwarts! When we hardly ever saw you, because you were screwing some random wench somewhere, not even thinking about Harry and me, if we were all right or anything … I don't think I could ever forgive you for that. Not even now. Especially not now, when you of all people bring friggin' Bella Crumble to the reunion ball! I'd rather you had gone with that stupid, little hussy Lavender Brown!"
Ron was staring at her. Through the shallow heaving of Hermione's chest, only silence and utter shock conveyed between them. She hardly knew how those words had come out of her mouth, but frankly, she didn't want to know – she didn't want to care. She just wanted the anger to once again consume her; to get back on Ron, however unjust it might be, and let him feel the same pain she had felt for so many years now. She knew the minute the anger subsided; the pain would once again flow back into her and make the situation – the very one she had hoped to prevent from happening – even worse.
After several minutes of unbearable silence she dared to look into Ron's eyes, finding only what she had been hoping to provoke: Hurt and anger. Yet, she didn't find any satisfaction in it. Instead she felt a wave of shame and guilt wash over her, nearly choking her, and she stumbled slightly backwards, surprised at her own reaction to seeing his face.
"I – I better go – now. It's late – and – uh", she stammered, clasping her throat, feeling sick.
Hermione stumbled towards the door, hardly noticing the hot tears streaming down her blushing cheeks, and tried not to think about anything. Yet the image of Ron's face; the piercing eyes sick with pain and anger and shock kept emerging in front of her, blocking her vision and making her head go dizzy. She bumped into the door, too tired to straighten her back and lift her head up high and walk away with dignity. She had none left. She had hurt the one person she loved more than anything else. And now she had failed.
It was then she felt hands upon her arms, turning her around, finding their way up to the sides of her face, soft fingers pulling her upwards and into a kiss. It had all seemed like one swift, desperate motion, passionate and tender at the same time, yet in her mind she played it over and over again in slow motion, as Ron moved his lips over her burning skin. She had never felt so real. She shivered, now sensing his entire body being pressed forcefully up against hers, leaning on the door for support. His lips didn't leave hers and she realized that she had started reacting long ago; kissing him back just as passionately and longingly. How natural it was! How utterly, painfully wonderful it was! She felt like crying and screaming. At that moment, she didn't think she would ever want to do anything else for the rest of her life than just be kissing Ron; to be in his arms and to be loved by him. How safe it was. Tears kept flowing down her cheeks; however the cause had much changed now. He kissed her cheeks, tasting her tears, while whispering words fueled with love and passion in her ears, but also regret and sorrow for his own conduct and their mutual hurt. As his tears mixed with hers, she clung to him, afraid that he would disappear from her, even afraid to speak and tell him how sorry she was herself. She wanted to – oh, how she wanted to, now more than ever, but she knew a thousand apologies wouldn't be nearly enough to mend the wound she had caused. Now as much a wound on her as on him, even though he might have forgiven her already. She had not forgiven herself, however. She realized her conduct couldn't be excused, nor the words be retracted. Ron loved her and she loved him, but if she couldn't forgive herself for hurting him, she couldn't love herself, and in the end not feeling worthy of his love. No, she couldn't let this happen! She couldn't take it in. With her last will of strength she managed to tear herself away from Ron, who reluctantly let go of her and looked at her confused.
"No – I – I-I can't, Ron," she sobbed, hands clasping her mouth. Her eyes and heart filled with terror, feeling she had just committed a crime, that she had torn herself away from his actions of love, but also actually allowed her unworthy, filthy self to be loved.
"Hermione – what –"
At the sight of his worried, loving eyes and the sound of her name on his lips, recalling how soft the latter had just felt on her skin, she felt like knives were running through her heart, and in a strike of panic she turned around, flung the door open and ran out of the room, and away. Away from Ron.