The Best Medicine

I am awoken by the sound of my front door opening. I hear the lock open and the hinges creak, just as they always do. I hear Ron's familiar footsteps falling on the ground. He tends to shuffle a bit, and I can hear the soles of his shoes squeaking on the tiles.

I am vaguely aware of a warmness all over me, and the sun shines through the window brighter than I've ever seen it, glaring into my eyes with a new intensity.

Groggily, I sit up. And then, my heart jumps in my chest and I panic. Ron is coming!

From outside the hall, he calls to me, "Hermione, wake up! My freezer is empty again and I was wondering if you have any eggs--?" And then he steps in through the bedroom door.

He makes a sharp gasp, his eyes wide. In the bed next to me, Harry sits up, having also been woken up by Ron's loudness. Harry reaches across my stomach for his glasses on the nightstand and has to fumble through his discarded shirt to find them.

"--Preferably unfertilized?" Ron adds.

I can feel the color swarm into my cheeks. "Ron! We - we didn't--" Nervous and totally embarrassed at being caught in bed with a half-naked Harry, I pull the covers up over my mouth.

Suddenly, the shock falls away from his face and he grins like a Cheshire cat. His look is so utterly amused that I can't help but to smile, too. "There's only three left, but you can have them all if you like," I say.

"Thanks, Hermione. Would you like me to pop in some toast for you and Harry, once he gets dressed?" He eyes Harry, who has found his glasses but is still blinking through them sleepily and with self-consciousness.

"Alright.Thank you," I yield. Ron winks at me and turns out of the room.

I look at Harry. Now that he's fully realized what just happened, his cheeks are flushed pink. But he cracks an embarrassed smile and reaches for his shirt. I can't help but to grin while I crawl out of bed, dragging the sheets on my legs.

Harry tugs the shirt over his shoulders, adjusting it and pulling the cloth over his stomach. "He didn't seem upset," Harry says, making an amused glance at me.

"No, he didn't. But - well, I think we still have something to worry about," I say, pulling my shirt straight, since it had slipped a bit off one shoulder.

"What's that?" Harry asks, looking curious.

"His jokes," I remark, and Harry chuckles.

We go into the kitchen, and Ron is at the table, sitting, with the pan sitting in the sink. I know that Harry would have at least washed the pan. Ron's got his mouth full of eggs and his eyes follow us as we enter the room. He seems to be almost - giving us maternal looks, to be sure we haven't hurt each other. I see his eyes flit across us, perhaps looking for signs of - well, I don't even want to know.

"I put the toast on the counter for you two," he says finally, and then he puts his fork in his mouth again. "Eat up, before it gets cold."

I take the plate over to the table, and Harry and I sit across from Ron. Ron looks perfectly unaffected, chewing while flipping through the comics in the Daily Prophet. The little comic characters move across the boxes, throwing pans at each other and making shrieking noises. The toast sits untouched still between us. Ron takes notice of our silence and looks up.

"Seems that we're going to have a talk now," Ron says obviously, nudging his eggs.

"We were going to tell you, Ron, about -- this." Harry glances towards my bedroom. Harry looks a bit nervous, irregardless of his former calmness, and a flushed look is still on his face. He rakes a hand through his hair, and the strands go every which way, piled loose on his head. "Truth be told, this is a very recent development." He leans forward, trying to show some logic and solidity.

"How recent?" Ron asks, with a look of skepticism on his face.

"Last night," Harry replies coolly.

Ron smirks. "Obviously so!"

"No," Harry says, shaking his head and trying to hide a charmed smile. "No, really, it was just last night when Hermione and I - well, we talked, and decided that this was the right thing to do."

Ron sets down his fork and looks very serious. "Awful quick to be sleeping with each other," he comments.

Frustrated and totally embarrassed, I put my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands. "Ron, we - we didn't. Please, can you try and understand?" I say, my tone revealing how vexed I am.

I look up at Ron, and Ron's grinning at me from ear to ear, his freckles sticking out against the expanse of his cheeks. "I know you didn't. But did you think I would ever pass up on an opportunity to tease you?" he shoots back. Taking a breath for seriousness, he puts his elbows on the table and leans across, as if he were making a business deal. "Tell me though, Hermione - what exactly is going on between you two? What is this - resolution that you two have come to?"

I stare back at him, a knot forming in the back of my throat. I don't know, I tell myself. I don't know still what you could call it. But now, it doesn't matter what you call it, because, no matter how I have Harry, I still have Harry. Nothing has changed, except for that now, I hide nothing, especially not the truth. I hide not my heart, nor my speech, nor my passion. I am a free woman, freed by three words.

"A resolution - well, I don't know about a resolution. But - I'm in love with him." I lean back, the cunning negotiator. "Does that explain anything?"

Ron cocks an eyebrow. "It explains some, though not all." Ron turns to Harry. "Have some toast, mate. You must be starved. Though, it's probably gone all cold, and the butter's probably made the bread all soggy. But, still, it's your fault for not eating it sooner." Ron nudges the plate towards Harry with his fingertip.

Harry gives a smile to Ron and takes a piece. "It's warm enough," he says, and bites into it.

Ron turns back to me. "And so you confessed your passionate love to Harry last night," he says dramatically. "But I wasn't even aware that you even felt anything for him," Ron remarks calmly. "You should have told me."

I hang my head. "Ron - do you remember, once, I asked you why guys date silly girls when they've got perfectly good female friends? And you said it was a factor of prettiness. What kind of encouragement was that?"

Ron squints at me, mockingly. "Well, you made it sound so hypothetical. I was saying that the average male is just easily attracted to pretty, silly girls. Of course, had you told me the truth, and that you meant Harry, I would have told you something completely different."

I sigh and make a face. "But, I couldn't tell the whole truth to anyone, not even you, because I was so confused. I didn't know what to think - I didn't even know if I wanted anything to come of it, because I was afraid everything would get different, and that - and that you would end up interviewing me in the very uncomfortable manner that you're doing now." Ron shrugs, not sincerely apologetically for giving me hell.

I sigh. "I thought everything would just sort of go away on its own. I didn't want to think about it, or confront it, or anything. I was so busy sorting out my feelings for Harry and you--"

"Me?" Ron gasps with a very flabbergasted expression. "Were you in love with me, too?"

"Well, no. I'm sorry, Ron - don't be offended or anything," I mutter apologetically, folding my hands together and twisting the bones painfully. "I would tell you why I'm in love with Harry and not with you, but I haven't figured that out. I hope it doesn't hurt your feelings or anything."

Ron gives me an affectionate, brotherly smile. "I'm not offended, not in the least. You're like a sister to me, Hermione. There's nothing wrong with that. It's not that you love me less than you love Harry, is it? It's just that you love us - differently."

"Yes," I say with an awed sort of look to my face. "Yes, Ron, that's exactly it. It's not a matter of degree, but a matter of - of how." I give a grin, hugely relieved. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I had thought - that maybe I was doing you some sort of injustice, or something." My face falls a little. "That still doesn't explain why I love you one way and Harry another." I look at Harry, who is finishing up the crust of his toast, and looks very calm. I'm jealous that he gets to sit in silence and eat toast, undisturbed by Ron's pestering, and curious as to why.

"Well - hell if I know, Hermione. If you can't even figure it out, neither can I. But, honestly, do we need to get all logical with it? Let's stick with the facts: you're in love with Harry and I'm your best friend, you slept in his bed last night but kept your knickers on, and you haven't eaten any toast yet. That's all that matters."

I laugh, a real hearty laugh. "I think those are all the facts, Ron." I reach for some toast, noticing how hungry I am after his remark. "Is it Harry's turn now to get interviewed?"

Ron shakes his head. "No. I knew Harry had feelings for you a while back. I really quizzed him then; I figured I ought to go easy on him now."

I give Harry a look. "How long ago was this?" I ask, surprised.

Harry bites his lip. "Very, very long ago," he confesses. "Do you remember when you moved in here and I was dating all those girls, on and off, and then I stopped very suddenly? It was because I realized that the girl in the apartment next to me was - better than all of them, by far."

I blush, flattered. "That was a really long time ago. Several months ago. That was when you stopped dating for good."

"And to think that I waited so long before actually saying something," Harry sighs, shrugging at his own indecisiveness. "You really should credit Ron with some of it, though. He was telling me all along to say something."

Ron gives me a huge grin.

Harry snorts. "Oh, don't act like you're such a star. Then you got drunk and nearly told her, for Peeves' sake! It's a good thing she got you off to bed when she did."

Ron makes an unassuming face at Harry. "I am responsible for nothing when I'm drunk, Harry. We've discussed this. By that point, the alcohol has taken over my system so much that I'm not even Ron anymore. I'm either Fred or George, or maybe both. I'm the devil that I've locked inside of me for so long; it just springs loose."

"Same thing," Harry yields. We all laugh, and it's just perfect. Harry and I are in love, and Ron is still our best friend, and it's a beautiful day in London, and I know - I'm at home. I'm at home with the two people I love the most and everything is comfortable like old shoes, so comfortable that I could fall asleep in this moment, with the laughter echoing along my walls and the old picture frames and the rest of my life.

Ron takes one of our pieces of toast. "You still haven't explained why I wasn't immediately formed of your - of your coming-to-terms-with-your-feelings."

I scratch my head, noting that there's only one piece of toast left, and I kind of want it, but I know Harry is eyeing it, too. "Last night, we would have come over and told you about everything that happened, but you were busy."

"And-?"Ron prompts.

I sigh. "Okay, well, perhaps we were a little preoccupied, too," I admit.

Satisfied, he munches on the toast, giving us a cocky look. I make a glance at Harry, and blush, trying not to think back to last night, but knowing it's too late. "Do you want the last piece of toast?" I ask him.

"We'll split it," he says. So we do, breaking the bread and making eyes at each other over the crust, looking at each other like we did when we were falling asleep in each others' arms, the sheets pulled up to our chins, the midnight being filled with a soft patter of nighttime rain and--

"Can we lay out a rule, real fast?" Ron says, looking at us desperately. "If you're going to go kissing each other, put a towel on the bedroom doorknob or something, so that I know?"

"Alright, Ron," Harry says, "although, I don't think it's a thing you'll have to worry about right this second."

"Judging from the way you two are looking at each other, I beg to differ," Ron says, rising. "I think I'm going to go, anyways."

"You don't have to, Ron," I say.

"Oh, I know I don't. But what's to say that I don't have a pretty young bird asleep in my bed, where I left her last night? I ought to get back to her," Ron says cheerily, putting his dishes in the sink.

"Ron! Do you really?" I gasp.

"Maybe.Wouldn't you love to know?" he teases. "If you two get to keep your secrets from me for one night, then I can keep a secret from you for one morning."

His face is so radiant that I know he's kidding. Harry tells him, "At 12 o'clock, I'm coming over to check, Ron."

"Well, good. That gives me enough time to feed my girlfriend some breakfast and have her on her way, so that you never have to know the truth," Ron says. He pauses at the door. "By the way - what are you two, anyway? Are you girlfriend and boyfriend, or simply dating, or illicit lovers, or - what?"

I look at Harry, and he looks at me. And we know, even if we can't put a name to it. "Frankly, Ron, we have no idea," Harry says.

"I didn't think you would. Figures!" And with a huff like that, he's gone.

I smile as the door closes, and turn back to Harry. "I think everything's going to be okay," I tell him.

"I told you it would be, didn't I?" Harry says, giving me a lopsided grin. "Ron holds no grudge, we both feel relieved, and - now we're alone." He takes my hand in his own and gives it a squeeze. "I'll help you wash the dishes, if you want."

"Sure," I say. "How about - I wash, and you dry?"

"Sounds good," he says.

I go over, flick on my radio, and a song bursts into the sunshiny air. "Music helps chores go faster, I think," I say, smirking at him.

Harry smiles at me, having followed me into the kitchen area, and puts an arm around my waist. "Yes, I think so, too - but what if we want to take our time?" he asks, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

I blush, amused.

All you got is this moment.
Twenty-first century's yesterday.
You can care all you want.
Everybody does, yeah, that's okay.

I start washing the pan, scrubbing against the remnants of Ron's eggs, soap up to my elbows and the warm water sliding like oil between my fingers. Harry stands behind me, his hands twined around my waist, moving in small motions to the rhythm of the music. His warmth all over my back is somehow hotter than the scalding water in the sink.

So slide over here
And give me a moment
Your moves are so raw
I've got to let you know
I've got to let you know
You're one of my kind

Harry has a towel in his hands for drying the dishes. He holds it taut between his hands, like a rope, and pulls it back towards him against my stomach, pulling me closer into him. His lips trail along my neck, kissing softly; the palms of his hands brush against the skin of my side.

It's very difficult to wash dishes when someone's doing that. "Harry," I murmur, and my wet, soaped-up hands wander to his on my waist, and the bubble run to his fingertips.

I need you tonight
'Cause I'm not sleeping
There's something about you girl
That makes me sweat

I turn around in his grasp to face him, and push myself in to kiss him. His mouth tastes like the heat of the night, like warm arms. He just tastes like Harry. His lips press wet against mine, deep like a trench that I could spend my entire life in. I feel my hair in the sink, but I don't care, and I'm getting wet spots all over Harry where I touch him, but I don't care. We're so close that I can almost feel the blood thundering through Harry's veins as his skin pulses against mine.

How do you feel?
I'm lonely.
What do you think?
Can't take it all.

To think - to think I was afraid of this.

Whatcha gonna do?
Gonna live my life.

He and I meet eyes, breaking apart. And I know what I should have known all along - that nothing would stop this. I couldn't even stop this from happening. Now I lay myself back in the arms of my lover and grab the reins with both hands, not scared of anything, because there is nothing to fear.

Now I will truly live.

I suppose that there's a moral to end this story. So much has happened in so little time that my head is still sort of in a daze from it all. All along, I considered Harry to be so lovesick, when the sickest person of all was me, so blinded by my disease to trust in our friendship and our love. I do know one thing now, in the midst of everything: the best medicine for lovesickness is - to simply let that love come to you, and not fight it. Merlin knows,there's no use fighting love.

You're my kind.