| +++ Mid-Quarrel Musings +++ Harry always liked to sit there and smile. Such was the job required of him when Hermione and Ron squabbled with one another. He could invariably count on both flushing burgundy, and dangerously taboo words flooding out of their mouths. Harry would observe speechlessly as both sets of lips spat out a lexicon that every parent dreaded, and Harry would observe how both pairs of eyes had a magnificent set of flames boiling in their depths. Today, Hermione and Ron were standing up in the middle of the very crowded Gryffindor common room, about two feet away from one another. Hermione’s hands were stretched over her head, as if she was emphasizing some very important aspect of her case. Her black work robes were twisted at an odd angle around her waist, and her long brown tresses flopped forward, covering half her face. Ron’s hands were on his hips, leaning forward like a tiger that was waiting for the perfect time to strike. His clothes were also in utter disarray. They looked like two actors on stage, shouting out a set of dialogue that involved the most severe amount of HATE that any playwright could muster up. It never ceased to amaze Harry how arguments like Ron and Hermione’s were so poetic. And during the tussle today, Harry still sat there on the common room’s padded ground, and smiled. What they were fighting about, Harry never listened about anymore. It wasn’t really the most interesting part of the fall outs; that grand title belonged to the finale, when either Hermione or Ron would stomp out of the room, revealing a rather colorful vocabulary that was reserved especially for these certain occasions. However, this particular “conversation” had a topic that Harry was well-aware of, since Hermione and Ron had been shouting about it at the top of their lungs for well over forty-five minutes. Ron, whom had been injured in a recent fistfight with Draco Malfoy, had been “unable” (“lazy,” in Hermione’s words) to take notes on a particularly confusing Transfigurations lecture. Later that class, Professor McGonagall had announced that they would all be writing an essay about what they had leaned that day. Ron, groaning, had told Harry about his lack of notes, and then asked if he could use his. Harry had been sympathetic, but due to his own amount of good notes, had insisted that Ron go to Hermione for assistance. Ron, hating to ask Hermione for so much (he had no problem when it was only a small and simple assignment, though) was less than thrilled by the suggestion. Despite this feeling of guilt, Ron had walked over to Hermione, and asked to borrow her entire set of notes and aid him in writing his Transfigurations essay. This had turned out to be one of the worse mistakes Ron had ever made. Hermione had started bellowing to him about how he should work by himself, and how Ron should take more responsibility for his actions. She had also come up with one heck of a speech regarding how irresponsible it was of Ron to come to her first, instead of at least attempting to get the notes from someone else. Ron had insisted that he had gone to Harry before he even thought about coming to her (which Harry could vouch for), but Hermione refused to believe any such story. Their fight had begun the moment that Ron asked Hermione for the notes, and eventually traveled all the way to the common room, both walking without even taking a glance at their surroundings. It was enough to make Harry smile. It always reminded Harry of when they were younger, more immature and less compassionate for the world around them. In those magnificent days, Hermione and Ron would both be flustered and utterly upset with one another during such situations. Harry recalled some of their more petty feuds as being the ones when Hermione and Ron were arguing about who had such and such quill first, or who was supposed to go into the door first. Other very pathetic excuses for debates included what time of day it was in Paris, France. As they grew into more mature form, Hermione and Ron’s feuds became characterized mostly by something one of them did. For instance, during their fourth year, Ron and Hermione had constantly been quibbling about Hermione’s decision to date a certain Quidditch player from Bulgaria. Personally, Harry would have loved to join in the blood fest to prove Hermione wrong, but knew that anyone who got in the way of Hermione and Ron during an argument was doomed to come out with either a broken nose or a bruised ego. Sometimes it made Harry jealous. Not the kind that showed on the surface, as in refusal to speak to either without explanation; it was the kind of envy that cut into the soul and slit your heart in the most painful of ways. Of course, he never expected life not to be painful; he was practically baptized by awful experiences. Nevertheless, it still hurt. It hurt because he, Harry Potter, only bickered with somebody out of rage or hate, never because he was or the opposing person was infatuated. However, this all did have its humorous points. It was so bloody apparent that Ron and Hermione fancied one another; so obvious, in fact, that neither one of them knew about the other one’s liking to them. Harry couldn’t help but let out a whisper of a laugh when both would send the other one a tender, and on Ron’s side, sideways, glance that said ‘love’ and nothing else. It was also hard to contain himself when Ron had asked Hermione to the dance last year, not only as a last resort, but also as a final showing that he had some sort of feelings that were not necessarily platonic. Harry was smiling again as Ron stepped closer to Hermione, turning even closer to the shade of his flaming hair. "Look… I’m sorry ‘Mione," said Ron, blushing even harder than he had during the fight. "I… was wrong, like you just said. I shouldn’t have asked you to help me on my essay. I… I should have known to take notes before I came to you for help. Please forgive me; I’ll never do it again." If Harry didn’t know any better, than he could have sworn that Hermione had a tear dripping out of her eye. "Oh Ron… it’s okay… you know I’d do anything for you and Harry, and I just… well, I just over reacted. I should have been more understanding. I KNEW that you had hurt your hand, and couldn’t really take notes the appropriate way that you should. And… well… I was wrong. I should have helped you out on the essay, no questions asked. I… I should be the one who’s sorry." These words came out very fast, and very painfully. Harry had to prop his hands up behind his back to keep from keeling over. Hermione was actually admitting to being WRONG about something? Harry didn’t know that apologizing was part of Hermione’s very long list of speech structures; he had only seen her do this a couple of times, and those were a far cry from what most people expected in an apology. However, Hermione was looking very apologetic at that moment. Suddenly, without any more words flooding out of his mouth, Ron leaned forward and kissed Hermione very quickly on the lips. Harry heard an abrupt chorus of gasps around him, his own not included. To him, this moment had been building for a very long time. Ever since Hermione and Ron had spent to night of the Yule ball throwing looks of loathing and confusion at one another Harry had counted on both of their lips connecting in some romantic climax of magnificence. Ron had collapsed back, looking both pleased and horrified with himself. Hermione’s expression read an eleven out of five on the surprise meter. Ron, apparently trying his hand out as being a gentleman, took Hermione’s hand with his non-bandaged one, and began to walk her towards the portrait, linking his other injured one to hers around their backs. Hermione was letting out a staggered giggle, and both Hermione and Ron were turning furiously red as people around them began to stare. Harry could see the eyes of Parvati and Lavender flashing hateful stares at Hermione, and he could also see that both Seamus and Dean grumbling something not so appropriate under their breaths. Harry just sat there, a slight shiver treading up his heart, and smiled wistfully. A set of twin, silver tears gently dripped from his emerald eyes, hitting the book in lap. Yes, it did hurt to know that he could never possess the affection that Ron had from Hermione, and yes, it did create a throbbing ache to know that the one girl he had ever had felt anything remotely close to ‘love’ was snatched from underneath him by his very best friend. But Harry had a feeling that he could trust nobody more than he could trust Ron, and that piece of knowledge in itself was enough to aid some of the burning pangs his heart felt. And deep inside, Harry knew it was right that Ron got Hermione. Ron, who longed for something more than he could have because of his impoverished family, and Ron who longed to stand alone in a family with nine members. Ron who had befriended him not for the scar on his forehead, but for the heart that still beat in his chest after so many years of languishing encounters. Ron who had loved Hermione from the very first moment she had brushed her untamed mane past his face and told him that his spells were all wrong, though Ron wouldn’t quite admit to it. And who was Harry to take away one of the few happy things that Ron had? Harry had spent his Magical Life being the center attention at galas when his name was called, spent time making a cash book overseeing all the fortune his parents had left him, and been surrounded with female attention whenever his scar was visible. Harry couldn’t very well feel good about any relationship he could be in if Ron wanted it too. But Harry didn’t think that there were going to be any relationships after Hermione for Ron. If she were his, Harry would never let her go, and Harry had a strong feeling that Ron would feel the exact same way. And more than his friendship with Ron, his reason for dealing with the pain was for Hermione. Hermione deserved something more than Harry, more than a simple love struck boy who could only love her with everything inside himself, and never promise her happiness or safety. She needed to be loved fully and completely, and Harry was so sure that Ron was the only one who could ever do that for her. And this fact too mended a few of the scars that Harry wore like battle wounds on his heart. Harry kept watching as Ron and Hermione as they slipped out the portrait’s hole. They looked as content as two doves in a nest on a warm spring’s day; Hermione’s head was resting on Ron’s shoulder, and Ron’s (non-bandaged) fingers were in Hermione’s hair. Blissful smiles were playing over and over again in their eyes. Harry could easily feel the love in the air. Those two really were made for one another, mused Harry as he watched the portrait door swing shut behind Hermione and Ron. And he was right; sure, they’d go through hardships and tough moments through their relationship, but if any boat could survive the stormy seas of love, Harry was certain it was the boat that belonged to those two. The voices of the common room began again, and Harry looked around at his fellow Gryffindors. He counted them off silently; Lavender, Seamus, Dean, Parvati, and Ginny… all his friends in one way or another. And though Harry couldn’t quite place why, knowing these people were with him in the very same room healed some of the hurt that Ron and Hermione had unknowingly caused. And Harry sat there in the common room, a book propped in his lap, and smiled. |