our little game
ron/hermione, pg-13, post-hbp. Rowling owns.
(In a way, this proceeds or takes place in the same universe as the story "Cry Out Love" but it also stands on its own and can be read like that.)
--
She cried against him at the funeral.
She held his hand.
She said, "Thank you, Ron" and he nodded.
None of these things makes a difference. Because this is them. And they know they fit together, they just don't know how.
--
They stay at the Burrow for a few days and she finds him in the kitchen.
"Listen, Ron," she says and he knows she's planned saying this. She's thought it through. Here it comes. "Are we.. I mean, things are fine between us, right?"
As fine as they ever could be. He shrugs. "I don't know, I guess." He knows this annoys her. He just knows. Knows her.
She contains herself, looks at him sternly. "I think we need to work together more from now on, Ron, for.. for Harry. And just, well, forget this whole. Last year."
Like it's only been going on for a year. Like Lavender and Cormac haven't just been the latest chapters in the book. No, he thinks, this is not how it ends.
He could kiss her, on that moment, just pull her close and do it. Not save it until later, until she's dead or he's dead or Harry's dead or they're all old and it's too late.
"Ron?"
"Yeah, I. Work together, yeah." He nods.
She smiles, but it's pretend happiness. She's afraid to risk it because it might hurt, two of them together. Eventually. Arguments and hurt feelings and more arguments. He knows.
He could kiss her and not even care if it ends badly, if it ends suddenly, that it might end at all. He could do it and she'd fight back at first, but then they would've faced it and it'd be there. No dancing around it. None of their old games. Just them, and this whole new big and scary realisation that if they want each other, they'll have to have each other and deal with it.
He's scared. He shouldn't be.
"I'm going to go help Ginny with the gardening," she says and then she's not there.
There. Another missed opportunity, another fucked up chance. Wake up, stupid. Wake the fuck up.
"Hey Hermione, wait up."
"What is it?"
I like you. So much. Okay. No.
"Ginny's upstairs with Harry."
Sod people who can just get together, no problems, no hesitations. Sod them all. Sod their happy little universes of spending entire days together, just enjoying each other's company. Fuck.
"Guess I'll go read, then. Bye."
He raises his hand a bit to wave her goodbye and suddenly he doesn't feel like eating.
So he'll wait. For another moment of potential honesty, and maybe he'll grasp it, or maybe he'll let it slide by or maybe they'll just argue, as they do. Maybe it's better than nothing at all.