Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the assiciated characters.
Rating: PG
Ships: RW/HG but mainly concerned with HP/RW
Warnings: Implied slash. nothing major.
Author Note: Thank you to all the people who have read and reviewed the preceeding fics to this: Choose Her and Why Him?. If you haven't read those, please read them now or this won't make sense. Love to you all. R&R
Indigo Ink.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. My life was great. I had a great best friend. A great girlfriend. My family was proud of me and university was going fine. But all of a sudden, it was flipped and things started to go wrong.

Hermione asked me to move in with her. You already knew that. She doesn't want me to hang out with you as much either. I just don't know if I can do that. I love her. We've been going out for four years. But, you're my best friend. I've known you longer than her, though not by much.

I'm alone in the flat just now. One of the rare times you're out. You hardly ever go out anymore. Only really to go to class or to get a pint of milk or something. I do most of the shopping. I go out at night. I always feel bad leaving you alone and even worse when I come home to a steaming cup of tea. You can't stand the stuff but you feel as though you need to hide it from me so that my feelings aren't hurt or something.

You're a great actor though. At first I didn't know why you even took drama. You were so quiet. You still are. Somehow, you always make me feel better without saying anything. It's a wonder really.

The flat feels empty without you. I would usually be out with Hermione just now but she said she wanted to come here. I was slightly surprised really. She rarely comes over. I don't know why you two grew apart but it just complicates matters at the moment. If you were still as close as we were, in say sixth year, maybe I wouldn't have to think about moving. Maybe, just maybe we'd all live together.

I've been waiting for half an hour. Is she doing this to spite me for all the times I've been late? Or is it a genuine mistake?

I really need a cup of tea but I can't even boil water without something going wrong. Your tea is the best I've ever had. Everyone's tried to imitate it but it never comes out quite right. You must just have a special touch or something. I've met people who love tea almost as much as I do and they can't even make a decent cup. Hermione for example.

Hermione. It's been a week since she asked. I'm so confused. I'm so lucky to have both of you and I should have known that it wouldn't last. Hermione keeps pressuring me for an answer but you stay quiet. I'm grateful for that but does it mean you don't want me here?

I hear keys turning in the lock and the door swings open to reveal you. Your ebony hair is tousled and there are dark rings under your eyes. Have you been sleeping? I can see ink spreading up the middle finger of your right hand and know automatically that you've been writing. It's strange that as soon as you step inside, I can feel a sort of calm wash over me and I almost forget about the coming meeting with Hermione.

Your t-shirt is crumpled dirty and your baggy jeans are covered in drying mud.

you jump, having not really noticed me sitting there. I stand and move to your side, What happened to you?

You turn to face me and I see a painful looking, purple bruise spreading up the side of your pale face and a cut across your left eyebrow that's oozing blood.

Sorry Ron. Didn't see you there. Didn't really expect you to be home.

You're avoiding my question. I'm slightly put out. How many times has this happened? Why didn't you tell me? We're supposed to be best friends...

It's never happened before Ron. Your voice is so quiet I can barely hear it. It's freaky when you answer questions I didn't even ask out loud.

I sigh in relief, Sorry I just.. I was worried is all. I'm home because Hermione wanted to meet me here.

You nod, closing your eyes in pain. Oh. Look, uh, Ron, I'm going to go and get cleaned up. Do we still have aspirin?

Yeah, we do. Do you need anything?

You half open your eyes and smile gratefully at me but shake your head. Your feet make a shuffling noise on the floor. I wish I could help you.

I make my way to the kitchen but the door goes before I get there. I pause. I know it's her behind the wood, so why am I reluctant to let her in?

I hear the shower going on from your bathroom and I know it's safe to let her in just now. She knocks again. She's always been impatient.

I open the door, full of dread. I really don't know if I can handle this when you're in the next room, beaten up. Hermione is standing there with a shoe box under her arm.

She doesn't look happy. She walks into the living room and drops the box onto our coffee table. I suddenly wish you hadn't come home early.

He's here. It's not a question.



She sighs deeply, I was kind of hoping we would be alone.

He's beat up pretty badly. You won't see him. Please don't come in. PLEASE don't come in!

Do you know what's in the box?

Hermione has never been one for asking stupid questions, so I start to wonder what she's up to. I shake my head silently.

She motions for me to sit so I flop into my chair. It's just habit and it suddenly feels weird when I look over and it's her that's sitting in your chair. I feel slightly nervous so I sit forward. Why do I get nervous around her now? I used to feel relaxed and comfortable. Like when I'm with you.

Hermione starts to take out some of the contents of the box. Several pieces of parchment are laid out on the wooden table. I groan as I recognize the untidy scrawl, Why did you bring my love letters?

I wrote them when I first started going out with her. With some help from you. You just seemed to know exactly what to say to her to make her feel good. You can still so that. My heart stops beating so wildly. Is this all? Does she just want to remember old times?

My hopes are dashed when she doesn't answer and just continues to remove things from the box. Jewellery, photographs, newspaper clippings are all laid out. I'm beginning to think there's a spell on the box, like there was on our Ford Anglia, (you know, the one to make it bigger on the inside?) when Hermione lifts out single piece of yellowing parchment, about the size of your diaries. She just looks at it for a moment. The silence echoes through the flat and I realise now that you've finished your shower.

Hermione looks up at me now. Her brown eyes filled with a kind of sorrow and sympathy.

What i-

It's a page from Harry's Seventh year diary. What?

How did you get that? A diary's supposed to be private. I spring to your defense. You're my best friend after all.

It's the reason Harry and I don't really talk anymore. I tore it out when we had an arguement, She passes the paper to me and I see your neat, loopy handwriting covering the page, I thought you should see it, before you make your decision. I don't want to. That's private. I couldn't ever read anything that someone didn't want me to see.

She presses the page into my hands and I chance a look at her. She's looking down at the floor. There are no sounds of movement from your room. I glance at the parchment, but then I can't stop reading it.

March 18th 1998

I caught myself again just in time today. He almost found out. He can never find out. He's going out with Hermione for God's sake!

But I can't help the way I feel.

It's crazy. I'm in love with my best friend. Who just happens to be a guy.

I can never let him find out. I love him so much. I don't want to hurt him. He's happy with Mione and I know he only likes me as a friend.

I'm a freak.

WHY DO I HAVE TO FEEL THIS WAY?!? Ron would hate me if he found out. Why are the fates so cruel? Why does everything happen to me? Why do I have to love him?

I'm stunned. Shocked. This can't be true. Tell me it isn't true. Please....

I just thought you should know. Her voice sounds as though she was far away.

I have to say Harry, I'm hurt. Not because of the way you feel. Not because you like guys. Not because you love me.

No. I'm hurt, because you didn't tell me. You were supposed to be my best friend. I can tell you that it wouldn't have changed anything. Why didn't you tell me? Why?

Is this the reason you came home as though you'd been run over by a hoard of angry Hippogriffs today? How did they find out?

I'm still holding the paper when the door to your room creaks open. You stand there with still wet hair, a bruised face and a slightly damp t-shirt on.

Your voice is quiet and your entrancing eyes full of question and concern.

What's going on?

Why Harry? Please tell me. Because I just realised, I love you too.