# Loved I Not Honor More

Bingblot

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 10/02/2006
Last Updated: 10/02/2006
Status: Completed

"He's my best friend, my first friend. I can't- I won't- break his heart." It was too late for them. One-shot.

## 1. Loved I Not Honor More

Disclaimer: HP and everything related to the HP-verse still belongs to JKR, however little she may deserve it.

Author’s Note: This was inspired from watching “Tristan and Isolde” hence the drama of this. Very angsty one-shot.

Loved I Not Honor More

“I’m leaving, Hermione.”

Harry’s words, spoken quietly but with an odd note of decision behind them, shattered the comfortable silence they had sat in for the past few minutes as they relaxed after their dinner.

Fred and George had taken Ron hostage a few hours ago claiming that they had an essential experience which their ickle brother, Ronnie-kins, just had to go through for himself on one of his last nights as a free man. Hermione had laughed and told Ron to go with barely a twinge of apprehension. Fred and George might be pranksters—but she knew they wouldn’t have Ron do anything too terrible—and she decided that, as far as that was concerned, ignorance was bliss.

Hermione put down her wine glass which she’d just been about to drink from and managed a smile, trying to speak lightly even though there was a cold feeling taking possession of her heart. “Oh but you can’t leave yet, Harry. You haven’t had dessert yet.”

At any other time he might have smiled. But at that moment, he didn’t. He didn’t look at her either; he continued staring down at the table as if the whorls of the wood could provide some answers to all his questions. He couldn’t look at her. He knew if he did he’d break and tell her the truth—and he couldn’t do that.

He’d already told Ron yesterday that he was leaving, that he’d be leaving once the ceremony was over. That had been difficult—but not nearly as difficult, as heart-wrenching as this would be.

“I meant, I’m leaving England—everything—for good.”

Hermione stared at him, her mouth parted in shock and disbelief. “When?” she finally managed to get out, though her throat had closed up.

“Once the wedding is over.”

He still hadn’t looked at her, had been speaking as if by rote, words he’d memorized.

“Why?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly. “Why, Harry? Her voice cracked just a little as she blinked back the tears that had risen to her eyes. “Why?” she asked, her voice a thread, barely more than a whisper.

He flinched at the hurt he heard in her voice, keeping his eyes determinedly on the table. He would not—he could not—look at her. Not as he told her the lie he’d come up with. “I have to. I can’t stand being here when the memories of the last battle, of Voldemort, keep haunting me. It- it all seems so close here; I can’t escape it—not with every bloody person I meet congratulating me or thanking me or treating me like a hero all the time. I can’t do it, Hermione! I- I have to go. I have to leave—here. I can’t stay—I’ve tried and I just can’t. I need to get away, need to go somewhere that no one’s heard my name. You understand, don’t you, Hermione?”

He made the fatal mistake of looking up at her, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting instant before he remembered himself and looked away.

But the damage was done.

She’d seen his eyes—and, as she’d somehow always been able to do, saw the lie in them. “You’re lying, Harry,” she accused him quietly. “I know you are. What’s the real reason? Why, Harry, why do you have to leave?” Her voice broke in spite of herself as she added, “How can you just leave me and Ron?”

And the hurt in her voice—combined with the rebellion at the lie bubbling up inside him—was his undoing. He looked at her—stared at her, for the first time in years not bothering to hide every emotion he felt as he looked at her. And he knew when he did that he was lost—he was going to have to tell her the truth. Just this once, this last time, before he left her forever, all lies between them would be abolished and he’d tell her the truth—the truth that had been his torment and his secret for years now. Just this once, he’d give himself the luxury of telling her the truth—even if he regretted it the next second and even if he ruined their friendship. And for once, the thought didn’t make him pause; he was too far gone to pause at that thought—and he’d be leaving in a matter of days as it was.

“I have to, Hermione,” he rasped out, pushing himself away from the table and standing up. “I have to. I can’t stay, Hermione! I can’t stay; I can’t stay and watch you married to Ron!” His voice rose on the last words only to break at Ron’s name as he turned away from her, his entire frame trembling with the force of the emotion he was keeping inside. “I can’t stay and watch you,” he continued more quietly—in a tone as heartbreaking as a wail would have been. “I- it’s been bad enough watching you date, seeing you snog him occasionally. I-I can’t stay and see you married to him—not when I- not when I’ll spend every minute of every day wishing that—wishing that you were mine instead.” His voice fell with every word until at the end, they were spoken so quietly anyone else might have missed them.

She heard every word, heard every word as if they’d been shouted. Heard and felt every word. And she was suddenly filled with the most intense, poignant regret she’d ever felt. Oh God, oh God, oh God… This couldn’t be happening; this couldn’t be happening—not to her, not right now… Harry could not have just confessed what she’d dreamed of hearing him say for years now—not now, not mere days before her wedding to Ron… This couldn’t be happening… Oh God…

And the question tore itself from her throat with all the pent-up hurt she’d kept in for years. “But why didn’t you tell me you cared?”

He turned, finally, to look at her—defeat in every line of his body and in his face. “Because by the time I knew it, you were going out with Ron.”

She was crying for real now—crying the tears she’d never before allowed herself to cry for herself at thinking he didn’t love her all these years, crying for him, crying for them.

And he gave in and crossed the room to her, hauling her into his arms, holding her against him tightly, tighter and closer than he’d ever held her, his arms clutching her as if he could possibly absorb her into his body, as if he never wanted to let her go.

She cried onto his shoulder as she clutched him back, the confession she’d never admitted to anyone before spilling from her lips between sobs as she clung to him. “Oh, Harry… I- I’ve always loved you—always though I knew it only at the end of 5th year. And I- I thought you’d never care for me that way, never think of me that way—you fancied Ginny and I could tell she still fancied you. So I started going out with Ron because he- he did think of me that way and I do care about him and- and I thought we could be happy—and I could forget you… And- and, oh Harry, when? When did you know?”

His arms tightened around her even more if possible as he closed his eyes, resting his cheek against hers, breathing in the scent of her; she smelled of her shampoo and her lotion, the one that smelled of flowers which he’d made a point of finding out months ago was the scent of lavender, lavender and the faintest smell of books—that she always had, no matter what, as if the spirit of all the books she’d read lingered about her. He loved that about her—that somehow she always smelled vaguely of old books… “Towards the end of 7th year, I think. But then I was too preoccupied, too worried about Voldemort, to think about it—I knew for sure after the battle was over. I knew it then—but it was too late. You and Ron were together—and I knew—I knew he loved you.” He brushed his lips against her hair, even as his brows drew together in a frown at his words. “I thought you were happy, told myself you were happy and better off with Ron anyway. Ron wouldn’t—wouldn’t drag you into dangerous situations like I did. And I- I knew I couldn’t hurt Ron. I wouldn’t. It was too late and I knew it.” His fingers tightened, curved into her skin almost painfully as he continued on, a world of regret and determination in his tone. “I- I couldn’t do that to Ron. I wouldn’t. I- I thought you loved Ron and I was glad of it, even, because it meant you were happy. You both were happy—and that was all I wanted…” he trailed off.

Her sobs had quieted down although she didn’t move from her position in his arms—even as she knew that she should and this was wrong and it was too late. It was too late—it was more than two years too late. If he had only told her years ago… But not now, not when she was engaged to marry Ron in less than five days—and not when she knew that Ron loved her and she did love Ron too, in a way. Not in the same way that she loved Harry and had always loved Harry—but she did love Ron too. And she couldn’t break his heart. It was too late for her and Harry.

But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say it—not now—not yet—not when she’d only just found out that Harry did love her after all…

She didn’t say it—but he did.

His voice was raw with the emotion of it but he said it. “I’ll leave, Hermione. I- it’s too late—for us. I- I can’t—Ron—he’d be—devastated… And I- I can’t—I won’t do that to him. Ron’s my best friend—he was my first friend. I- I can’t—I won’t—break his heart…” He added, very softly, after a moment, “I’ll break my own first.”

Slowly, as if he needed to force every muscle in his body individually to do so, he let go of her, stepping back and letting his hands fall to his sides.

They stared at each other for a minute, reading the same emotions, the same hurt and the same determination, in each other’s eyes—and almost at the same moment, too, they stepped forward, closing the distance between them again.

Hermione lifted her face as his arms closed around her, his lips coming down on hers as he kissed her hard.

And they both knew that this would be it. They would only have just this one kiss—one kiss the memory of which would have to last a lifetime.

Anything more would be an unforgivable betrayal of the man, the friend, they both loved. And even though this one kiss was a betrayal too—they both decided, and knew it, that they would give themselves just this one kiss—and no more… One kiss for their love—and the rest of their lives for friendship.

Just one kiss—but they made it count.

His lips crushed hers, devoured hers. He kissed her as if he were a starving man and she was manna from the gods; he kissed her as if he were drowning, dying, and kissing her would save his life; he kissed her as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life (and, perhaps, he really had been.)

Kissed her in the sort of kiss she couldn’t have ended if the fires of hell had been burning her feet.

And she kissed him back. Her mouth opened to his, her tongue dueled with his. She kissed him as she’d never kissed anyone—never would kiss anyone again, she somehow knew, with a passion that came from her very soul. She kissed him as if this were the last moment of her life—and in some way, she felt it was.

How long this lasted neither of them ever knew, as the kiss gentled gradually, became tender rather than desperate, loving rather than passionate—from their hearts and souls rather than from their bodies…

And then it was over.

Their one kiss—the first kiss, the last kiss, the only kiss they would ever share…

They separated as quickly as they’d come together.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

He said the words he’d never said before and would never say again. “I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you, Harry.”

He closed his eyes briefly, sucking in his breath, on hearing her words—as if committing them to memory.

He opened his eyes again, his eyes meeting hers. He opened his mouth to say, Goodbye, but closed it again, suddenly unable to say that final word.

No, he’d let the last words he said to her be the ones he’d never allowed himself to say before.

“I love you,” he said again.

And then he was gone.

~*~*~

He managed to avoid seeing either her or Ron alone in the next few days of wedding hustle and bustle.

He stood up with Ron as Ron’s best man and smiled whenever necessary. Smiled as if he were heart-whole and nothing had ever made him happier than seeing his two best friends be married. Smiled while he wondered if this was what it felt like to lose your soul.

She was a beautiful bride—and she smiled too. Smiled through the tears she couldn’t quite keep out of her eyes which everyone forgave as bridal nerves; smiled as she silently apologized to Ron and promised she’d try to make him happy and never, ever let him suspect that her heart belonged to someone else.

He left—as he’d said he would—once the ceremony and the beginning of the reception were over. Left quietly and alone—with nothing but a last smile at Ron’s beaming face and what couldn’t quite manage to be a smile for Hermione.

But later—when Hermione was alone—she found a very small piece of parchment which he had somehow managed to tuck into the pair of comfortable shoes she’d brought to change into. There were only two short lines written on it, lines which she read, and then smiled through tears as she carefully put the note away.

Be happy, Hermione.

I love you—always.

~*~

I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not honor more.

-Richard Lovelace

~The End~

A/N 2: *runs and hides*