A/N: I'm going to be honest with you guys because you all know what's coming. By the end of the chapter, I was crying. I hope you guys connect with the chapter in some way. Not Rowling.

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A gentle tapping came from the window behind Hermione's desk. She turned and saw a familiar owl fluttering, a note clamped in his beak. She stood up from her chair and let the owl in. He fluttered to her desk, dropped the note, and began to preen himself, proud of his having completed his task. Hermione resumed her seat and opened the letter.

Mione,

Would you like to come over to my place for dinner tonight? I'll even try to cook if you'd like.

Love,

Oliver

Hermione smiled to herself. She checked her daily planner and then took a small blank card from her desk and wrote:

Oliver,

I'd love to come over. I'll be done here about five and then I'll be there. And for the love of Merlin, do not cook. Last time was enough of a fiasco. Just order something and we can eat right out of the containers like the brutes we are.

Love,

Hermione

She nodded at her letter in approval and gave it to Oliver's owl, who clamped it in his beak and flew out the still-open window. She shut it behind him and sat back down to finish her work, humming as she checked the clock, counting down the hours until she got to see her boyfriend.

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Hermione stepped through the fireplace and was immediately swept up in Oliver's arms as he planted a huge kiss on her lips. She giggled in surprise but reciprocated. After a minute or so, they broke apart and she eyed him suspiciously, one eyebrow raised.

"What was that for?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "I just wanted to kiss you," Oliver replied.

"Well, it was very nice," she said, smiling back. "So, what are we having for dinner?" Hermione walked through his living room and into his small kitchen. Hermione had constantly teased him when she had first come over to his house and seen how minimalistic his kitchen was and how full his drawer of take-out menus was. Granted, it was all rather healthy take-out food – he was a professional athlete after all - but nonetheless, it was both hilarious and appalling to someone who loved to cook. There on the counter were several white paper boxes, visibly steaming and full to bursting.

"I got your favorite," said Oliver, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist as he did often, something Hermione thought was adorable and comforting.

"You got the Chinese food that absolutely delicious and horribly bad for us?"

She could feel as well as hear Oliver chuckle behind her. "Yes, yes I did."

Hermione smiled brightly and moved forward, opening the packages and happily looking into each one. All of her favorite dishes were here. And he had even gotten her extra fortune cookies, which she loved, despite how often he teased her for them being "hokey." She closed her eyes and breathed in the wonderful smells now mingling together in the kitchen. She opened her eyes and looked over. Oliver was watching her, a small sad smile tugging down the corners of his lips, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, something she knew both he and George did when they were nervous or upset.

"Oliver, is everything okay?" she asked softly.

He seemed to rouse himself. He smiled at her and moved forward, as if everything was more than fine. She saw that the smile didn't completely extend to his eyes, but he moved forward and bumped her with his hip, cutting in front of her for the food. She laughed and shoved him back, all thoughts of his sad eyes forgotten as they laughed and fought over the food.

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It was a few hours later, after they had eaten, snogged, and cuddled for a while, that Oliver started acting a little restless. He started out just a little twitchy, but it finally got to a point that Hermione sat up from where she'd been resting against his chest and turned to face him, crosslegged on one end of the couch. Oliver sat on the other end, looking nervous although he was clearly trying not to.

"Alright, you've been at this for an hour now. What's wrong?" He shrugged, as if to say Nothing but she frowned at him. "Oliver Wood, what is so upsetting that you have taken up several fidgety ticks?"

Oliver sighed and sat up straight, his back against the arm of the chair, almost mirroring Hermione's position. "God, I don't want to do this," he mumbled into his hands as he rubbed his face with his palms.

"Don't want to do what?" she asked, curious and slightly worried now.

Oliver looked up at Hermione and, as one pair of brown eyes met the other, Hermione saw Oliver steel himself. She tilted her head, confused, but stayed silent, understanding that Oliver had a hard time expressing himself when he was upset.

"Okay, I don't want to do this, but I think the most logical way is to just start. In the most logical way I can. Because you're logical, and you work from reason and logic," he said, clearly fighting to get the words out.

"You know you've said 'logic' four times, right?" Hermione said with a grin.

A smile pulled at Oliver's stern, straight mouth and he sighed. "Stop being 'Hermione' for a second; you're making this more difficult," he said, half-joking, half-sadly.

Hermione smiled, knowing what he meant – he would always tease her and say she was being 'Hermione' any time she did something that was like how she acted in her early years at Hogwarts – but she could tell this was a serious topic. She didn't know when she had started trying to lighten moods in serious situations. She had never done that before. She had probably picked it up from George.

"Okay. Um. Well, let me start like this: I never would have thought I would be dating Hermione Granger. If you had told me I would when we were at Hogwarts, I would have probably laughed my arse off."

Hermione grinned. "And I would have scoffed. Me dating that overly-zealous Quidditch player who drove my friend into the ground with training?"

Oliver grinned back. "Yeah. Exactly. And this-, dating you has showed me that the most unlikely people are sometimes perfect for each other." He took a deep breath and his mouth immediately turned down, his brow furrowing as he pushed out the next words, each more halting than the last. "And I think you're pretty close to perfect. But I. I don't think I'm perfect for you."

There was a pause as Oliver's words sunk in. Hermione was positive this was a breakup, but she wasn't really sure where he was going with it. She felt her heart start to beat faster as her nose started to tingle and her eyes started to prickle, warning of oncoming tears. She cleared her throat. He was right; she was logical, and she had to wait to see what he had to say before she let her emotions get the best of her.

"I think I'm pretty damn close," Oliver continued, pursing his lips together. He seemed to be fighting with keeping his emotions in check as well. "But I know for a fact that there's someone a little more perfect for you than me. And I. I don't th-. Shite." He rubbed his face again with his palms. "I care about you so much, Hermione. I do. And I'm absolutely positive that I could fall in love with you."

Hermione's breath hitched as he spoke. It was useless now, the tears were flowing freely and no amount of will could make them stop. She smiled sadly and reached forward, taking his hands in hers. He looked up at her and she could see his eyes were shining. He bit the inside of his cheek, and she knew he was doing everything in his power not to let the tears fall. He hated showing weakness, something she had found stupidly masculine and yet endearing, as he had broken down around her only once before. He squeezed her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I honestly believe that," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "But there's someone that's madly in love with you and wouldn't do a damn thing about it because he would rather you just be happy, even if it's not with him." Hermione frowned in confusion and opened her mouth to ask, but he continued, his eyes squeezed shut as he spoke, as if the words were causing him physical pain. "And…and I know you love him too. I know you do. Even if you two are just too stupid to see it, everyone else has. I have. And. Shite. This is stupid. I."

He opened his eyes and Hermione, whose tears had stopped in the wake of what he had been saying, restarted as she saw the unmistakable and unbearable pain that was evident in every line of his face.

"I don't want to do this. You have to believe me, I don't want to."

"Then don't," Hermione whispered, already knowing the response.

"I have to," he cried, anguished. "Can't you see? I have to do this. For both of us. Merlin, Hermione, I would love to tell every other man to fuck off and keep you all for myself and fall madly in love with you and never care about anyone else's feelings. I would. But I know I can't. I can't do that to any of us. Because I know you'd always love him, just under the surface, the entire time. You'd go on like this, being completely oblivious to what everyone else has seen for months, what I didn't want to see, what I tried to ignore. But I can't be the consolation prize, Hermione. I just can't. I know you wouldn't see it that way, but I'd always feel like that. And it would ruin him and maybe even ruin you. It would absolutely gut me."

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. "WHO?" she cried, not bothering to wipe the tears that were racing down her cheeks and dripping off her jaw. "Who am I supposedly in love with? I don't understand what you're saying! I'm not in love with someone else, Oliver!"

Oliver shook his head. He reached out and took her hands again, holding them tightly in his own. "Hermione, could you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you love me and mean it?"

"Yes," said Hermione immediately.

Oliver grimaced. "But that's not true. I swear to you it's not. You think you can but you can't."

Hermione straightened her back, unwilling to back down. "Oliver," she said resolutely, "I love–"

She faltered. She knew what she was supposed to say. It was a common word, said thousands of times a day. You. Three simple letters. One syllable. It shouldn't be difficult. And yet she couldn't get the words out. As she looked at Oliver, she saw Malcolm, who was horrid to her and made her feel worthless. She saw George pinning Malcolm against the wall, his feet dangling a foot in the air as George gave him a murderous glare. She saw George after her breakup, taking two days off of work just to stay home and make sure she was still eating and visiting the rest of the house. She saw Evangeline on the first day they met, her eyes sparkling and her hand holding George's arm possessively. She saw Oliver kissing her against the door of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She saw George, watching her from across the dinner table at the Burrow. She saw that night, that moment they almost kissed. She saw how broken he looked when she turned her head from hugging Oliver hello.

She blinked. Oliver sat in front of her, watching her, his expression devastated but understanding. Realization hit her, as visceral as a stunning spell. She took a shuddering breath that came out as a loud sob. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, which she realized was shaking slightly.

"Oh god," she whispered, her voice refusing to operate at its normal level. "Oh god, Oliver, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

She moved forward on the couch, into Oliver's lap as she buried her face in his neck. His arms wrapped around her, warm and strong. He leaned his head down, his face buried in her hair. She wasn't sure if the shaking she felt was from her chest or his, but she held him tight as she cried, broken sobs escaping from her, leaving her throat raw and her chest heaving, short on oxygen. Oliver held her tight against him, his breathing uneven and labored as he tried to hold it together. She sat up, looking him in the eyes as she tried to find the right words to say.

"You are no consolation prize, Oliver. You need to know that. You were never anything but first prize." He gave her a watery smile. "And I'm sure I could have fallen in love with you too if–" She faltered but he nodded.

"If you hadn't fallen in love with him first," he finished with a small hollow laugh.

"Yeah," she said with a sad smile. "Oh Oliver, I'm so sorry."

"I know," he said, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. "I am too."

"Can I tell you that you were the best boyfriend I ever had…and probably will ever have?" she said, smiling.

He laughed. "I'll believe that."

She laughed as well. "I'm very jealous of whoever is lucky enough to call you their husband one day," she said quietly.

"Probably about as jealous as I am of him. But we're logical people who do things logically, eh?"

They both laughed again. Hermione wiped her runny nose and coughed slightly. She was getting a headache from all this crying.

"So this is it," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he said, his expression solemn once more.

They just looked at each other in silence. Hermione moved forward and wrapped her arms around Oliver once again, and he held her tightly, although they could both feel that it was different this time. She laid her forehead against the crook of his neck, and he rested his cheek against her curls. She tilted her head and gave him a soft kiss on the neck. She could feel him smile.

"Oliver?" she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"I'd do it all again for you, Hermione Granger," he said softly as he stroked her hair.

"I know. And I think a part of me will always love you for that."

"That's all I could ask for."