Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Harry potter or the associated
characters.
Author Note: This is a sort of sequel to "Choose Her". It's from Hermione's POV to Ron. Read "Choose Her" first or this won't make sense. I'd like to thank everyone who's going to read. Please R&R. Indigo Ink
******
You're late. Again. You're always late. You really have no sense of time. Not with him though. You're always on time with him. I can still remember a couple of dates that were cut short just so you could get back on time. You're like a totally different person when it comes to him.
It's quarter past seven. You're fifteen minutes late. The record is twenty-two minutes, thirty-three seconds. Yes, I've counted. I've been watching the door all this time and not a tinkle of a bell or knock of wood has been sounded. I bet you're staying to talk with him. He's probably reminding you about the time while you say "Just five more minutes." He used to be my best friend too. We still keep up pretences for your sake but I've grown to nearly hate one of my best friends. Rather sad really, I suppose.
He has no one but you. No family. No friends. It's one of the after effects of his reclusive ness after He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named met his timely end at his wand. All he has, is you. And I don't even want him to have that.
Not after I found that innocent black book he always carried. I didn't mean to read it. I was picking up a book from his bed in Seventh year, we'd been going out a year by then, and it fell open. I meant to put it back on the bed but a sentence caught my eye and I couldn't stop reading. You were out practising Quidditch at the time and when he came back in, I confronted him. I'm actually surprised McGonnagal didn't come in or that you didn't hear us. Me. He was rather quiet really. Another annoying side effect.
I hear the click of the kettle. An advantage only muggle electricity can provide is speed when wanting a cup of tea or coffee. My mind floats to that copper kettle of yours and the wooden panels of the cupboard doors. It reminds me of the Burrow and you told me that you wanted to get away from home. Your whole flat reeks of that place. I'm not sure how you stood it for nearly three years. Still, that will change when you come with your answer.
I think about our date last night. It didn't end well but I do think you spend too much time with him. Now that I look back, I don't see how I was so blind to his feelings. Every look, filled with love. Every touch, accompanied by a well suppresses blush. Every word, chosen carefully so as not to upset you. He's a good actor. No wonder he took drama.
I sit with my tea. You love the stuff. I've seen your cupboards. My love is nowhere near as excessive as yours. I can see the door from my chair.
I've finished my tea and have been sitting for well over half an hour. My flat is completely silent. I jump as I here the doorbell. The doorbell. A device it took you three months to master. But that's why I love you so much. All of your fallibilities and your strengths.
I open the door and you're standing there with an apologetic smile on your face. I try my best to look pissed off and apparently I succeed. Your smile fails and you ask if you can come in. You sound nervous.
I stand aside to let you pass. You stand nervously in my living room. Can you tell me that it's going to be our living room soon?
"Do you want a drink?" I ask casually.
"Yeah, please." Yes. You're definitely nervous. Not a good sign in my books. Are you ever nervous around him?
I return with a cold beer and find you still standing there, hands in your pockets, hair ruffled. You've been running your hands through it. An irritating trait picked up from him no doubt. I notice now that you've taken the time to iron your shirt. Or maybe he did it for you.
"Thanks." You mutter as I hand you the bottle.
"You can sit you know Ron."
You smile and sit down. You sit forward in your chair. I sit back.
"How was your day?"
Great. Small talk. Well if it'll loosen you up...
"It was ok," You still haven't had a drink. "What about you?"
"Kind of bad actually. Were you being serious when you said that I should move in?"
"Yes." I don't see the point in elaborating. This really isn't going as I'd planned. You and I were supposed to be hugging right now and agreeing on a date for you moving in.
"What about Harry?"
I knew you would bring that up. You're so predictable.
"You can still see him," You smile slightly, "Not as much though I guess." You've stopped smiling now. I suppose that wasn't the right thing to say?
Your blue eyes are fixed on the floor. I wonder what you're thinking. You always seem to know what he's thinking. Why can't you and I have that?
"I really need some more time to think about this." You haven't lifted your eyes from my floor. You place your untouched beer on a coaster and move towards the door. My plan is dashed. Why do you need him so badly?
"I'll see you later 'Mione."
I get up from my seat as you open the door. I have one last shot. This is the one thing I can do, that he can't.
"Ron," You turn. "I love you." And it's true. I do love you.
"I love you too."
And you're gone. Pick up the glass bottle you left behind. I need a little something to calm me down anyway.
I make my way to the couch. My book is lying open so I pick it up and start to read the carefully crafted works of Jane Austin. That was how this all started. A little black book.
I still have the page you know? I tore it out in a fit of anger. It's in a little box under my bed with the first love letters you wrote me.
Would you still be his friend if you knew? Could you stand to live in the same flat with him then?
His writing flows on the yellowish paper.
It's crazy. I'm in love with my best friend. Who just happens to be a guy.
I know you've gone back to him. Why can't you stay here for once?
You deserve better than him. Choose me. Choose me because I love you more.
Author Note: This is a sort of sequel to "Choose Her". It's from Hermione's POV to Ron. Read "Choose Her" first or this won't make sense. I'd like to thank everyone who's going to read. Please R&R. Indigo Ink
******
You're late. Again. You're always late. You really have no sense of time. Not with him though. You're always on time with him. I can still remember a couple of dates that were cut short just so you could get back on time. You're like a totally different person when it comes to him.
It's quarter past seven. You're fifteen minutes late. The record is twenty-two minutes, thirty-three seconds. Yes, I've counted. I've been watching the door all this time and not a tinkle of a bell or knock of wood has been sounded. I bet you're staying to talk with him. He's probably reminding you about the time while you say "Just five more minutes." He used to be my best friend too. We still keep up pretences for your sake but I've grown to nearly hate one of my best friends. Rather sad really, I suppose.
He has no one but you. No family. No friends. It's one of the after effects of his reclusive ness after He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named met his timely end at his wand. All he has, is you. And I don't even want him to have that.
Not after I found that innocent black book he always carried. I didn't mean to read it. I was picking up a book from his bed in Seventh year, we'd been going out a year by then, and it fell open. I meant to put it back on the bed but a sentence caught my eye and I couldn't stop reading. You were out practising Quidditch at the time and when he came back in, I confronted him. I'm actually surprised McGonnagal didn't come in or that you didn't hear us. Me. He was rather quiet really. Another annoying side effect.
I hear the click of the kettle. An advantage only muggle electricity can provide is speed when wanting a cup of tea or coffee. My mind floats to that copper kettle of yours and the wooden panels of the cupboard doors. It reminds me of the Burrow and you told me that you wanted to get away from home. Your whole flat reeks of that place. I'm not sure how you stood it for nearly three years. Still, that will change when you come with your answer.
I think about our date last night. It didn't end well but I do think you spend too much time with him. Now that I look back, I don't see how I was so blind to his feelings. Every look, filled with love. Every touch, accompanied by a well suppresses blush. Every word, chosen carefully so as not to upset you. He's a good actor. No wonder he took drama.
I sit with my tea. You love the stuff. I've seen your cupboards. My love is nowhere near as excessive as yours. I can see the door from my chair.
I've finished my tea and have been sitting for well over half an hour. My flat is completely silent. I jump as I here the doorbell. The doorbell. A device it took you three months to master. But that's why I love you so much. All of your fallibilities and your strengths.
I open the door and you're standing there with an apologetic smile on your face. I try my best to look pissed off and apparently I succeed. Your smile fails and you ask if you can come in. You sound nervous.
I stand aside to let you pass. You stand nervously in my living room. Can you tell me that it's going to be our living room soon?
"Do you want a drink?" I ask casually.
"Yeah, please." Yes. You're definitely nervous. Not a good sign in my books. Are you ever nervous around him?
I return with a cold beer and find you still standing there, hands in your pockets, hair ruffled. You've been running your hands through it. An irritating trait picked up from him no doubt. I notice now that you've taken the time to iron your shirt. Or maybe he did it for you.
"Thanks." You mutter as I hand you the bottle.
"You can sit you know Ron."
You smile and sit down. You sit forward in your chair. I sit back.
"How was your day?"
Great. Small talk. Well if it'll loosen you up...
"It was ok," You still haven't had a drink. "What about you?"
"Kind of bad actually. Were you being serious when you said that I should move in?"
"Yes." I don't see the point in elaborating. This really isn't going as I'd planned. You and I were supposed to be hugging right now and agreeing on a date for you moving in.
"What about Harry?"
I knew you would bring that up. You're so predictable.
"You can still see him," You smile slightly, "Not as much though I guess." You've stopped smiling now. I suppose that wasn't the right thing to say?
Your blue eyes are fixed on the floor. I wonder what you're thinking. You always seem to know what he's thinking. Why can't you and I have that?
"I really need some more time to think about this." You haven't lifted your eyes from my floor. You place your untouched beer on a coaster and move towards the door. My plan is dashed. Why do you need him so badly?
"I'll see you later 'Mione."
I get up from my seat as you open the door. I have one last shot. This is the one thing I can do, that he can't.
"Ron," You turn. "I love you." And it's true. I do love you.
"I love you too."
And you're gone. Pick up the glass bottle you left behind. I need a little something to calm me down anyway.
I make my way to the couch. My book is lying open so I pick it up and start to read the carefully crafted works of Jane Austin. That was how this all started. A little black book.
I still have the page you know? I tore it out in a fit of anger. It's in a little box under my bed with the first love letters you wrote me.
Would you still be his friend if you knew? Could you stand to live in the same flat with him then?
His writing flows on the yellowish paper.
It's crazy. I'm in love with my best friend. Who just happens to be a guy.
I know you've gone back to him. Why can't you stay here for once?
You deserve better than him. Choose me. Choose me because I love you more.
