Real

Ron snakes his arm around her waist and kisses her full on the mouth, just as I had done with his sister. This time, however, there is no audience, no applause from excited Gryffindors. I really shouldn't even be watching them. But I can't take my eyes off of them--off of her. Hermione runs her fingers through his hair, returning the kiss, and all I can wonder is if she'd do the same, were it me. I shouldn't be having these thoughts, but every time Ron makes her cry, whether it be purposeful or not, I realise how much he doesn't deserve her.

And when they pull away, she giggles that adorable little laugh of hers, and I let them be. She's happy. That's what I want most for her. I want her to be happy and safe.

I lay on the makeshift cot we've set up in what's left of my parents' house. We're only staying for a little while, until Hermione can figure out where we should look for the Horcruxes. I hate leaving her to do all the work, but that's the way she likes it, and I like to watch her as she diligently works, trying to find an answer. She's in her own little world when she's working, like nothing can disturb her. Of course, she doesn't know that I watch her; I pretend to be reading and helping her, but all I can focus on is the way she bites her lip when she's confused.

I can hear yelling downstairs. Ron's probably said something to upset her, and they'll either be at it for the rest of the day, or Hermione will come up here and lay down on the cot with me. Today it's the latter. Hermione speaks in what sounds like forced calmness and then there's footsteps coming up the stairs. It's her. I can tell. Ron stomps up the stairs when he's angry, while Hermione's steps just come in quicker succession like she's hurrying to get away from him. Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. And then she stops just outside the door, where she wipes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and comes inside. Her face is still red from crying, but to me she looks beautiful.

I make room on the cot next to me so she doesn't have to say a word. She sits down, facing away from me. She places her face in her hands, but she isn't crying. She's erasing his face from her memory. I place a hand on her back and rub it up and down. I can feel her bra through her Chudley Cannons t-shirt, but I try to ignore it and just comfort her. At last, she turns to me and I drop my arm. She lies down next to me and closes her eyes. She looks so peaceful. I tuck a stray hair behind her ear, and she smiles but doesn't open her eyes. And here's where I face my dilemma. How I long to lean down and place a kiss on those smiling lips, but still I know that she is "Ron's Girl," whether I like it or not.

By supper, Ron and Hermione are speaking civilly. Whatever Ron said earlier is long since forgotten. I'm happy for them, really I am; I'm just sad for myself. Ron has made dinner to make up for whatever he's done to upset her earlier, and she has obviously forgiven him.

'Peas, Harry?' Hermione says, offering me the bowl. I silently nod and take the bowl. Our hands touch, and I feel a jolt of electricity run through my veins, but she doesn't seem to notice.

Ron levitates a cauldron of soup to the table and lowers it next to Hermione. He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. Her cheeks grow scarlet and she giggles. Our eyes meet briefly, but I look away before any sort of body language can be made. I don't know why she always forgives him but I love seeing her happy, so I let her make the same mistake over and over again.

Ron snuffs out all of the candles but one, which will stay lit all night in case one of us needs to use the toilet. He leans over and kisses Hermione on the lips. She responds and kisses him sweetly. There are neither clashing of tongues nor fumbling of hands; it's a simple kiss goodnight. He pulls away and lies back down on the cot. I know that, were I not here, Ron would probably try something with Hermione. He and Lavender never slept together, but they couldn't have been any closer to it either. I like to believe that Hermione would say, 'No,' but I could never say for sure. Perhaps that's just my hopes and dreams rather than my conscious thoughts.

Hermione closes her eyes, and I see Ron do the same. Within five minutes, Ron is asleep. Hermione isn't, and only I would be able to tell. She doesn't snore like Ron, but her mouth is always open when she sleeps. I roll over on my side because I know it's the only way I'll stop staring at her. I close my eyes so that I may at least get a few hours of sleep, but all I can see is her face.

'Harry?' she whispers. And I realise that I'm not imagining her voice; she's actually saying my name. 'Are you awake?'

I roll over to face her again. She's sitting up, her expression unreadable. I sit up as well. 'You okay?' I ask.

She bites her lip and leans in to hug me. The warmth of her body is killing me because I know it won't last. I return the hug, silently reminding myself that she's not mine to have and hold forever.

She pulls back slightly, and I see something in her eyes that I've never seen before--a sort of confused desire. It's the look that I always imagine that I wear when I'm looking at her. Then, she kisses me, full on the mouth just as Ron had done to her. And then I lose control of myself completely. I kiss her hard, slipping my tongue inside her mouth, feeling her hands on the back of my neck. My hands clench her hips, feeling the seam of her underwear beneath her nightdress. She moans and I realise that she wants this as much as I do. It's so wrong; Ron is lying right next to us, sleeping. And that's when I realise that his snoring has stopped, and I pull away abruptly. He's sitting up straight, staring at the pair of us who only a second earlier were groping like some couple out of a romance novel.

His face is a bright tomato red, and he's shaking with anger, but I can't move and neither can Hermione. We pull away completely and that's when the yelling begins. It's Ron yelling, as usual, but most of it isn't actually coherent speech. At last, I make out the words: 'Get the fuck out.' Despite the fact that it's my parents' home and really, Ron can't kick me out, I don't need telling twice; I may be brave, but I'm not stupid. I leave the room, closing the door behind me, and Ron starts yelling again, this time at Hermione. My blood boils; she doesn't deserve that. I should go back in and tell Ron that it was my fault, but I know Hermione wouldn't stand for it. She'd rather ruin her relationship than our friendship.

Feeling as though Ron meant out of the house rather than the room, I decide to get some air. I walk down the crooked stairs and walk out the front door. The November night air blows through my hair and I realise how cold I feel when I'm not with her. I'm ruining everything that there ever was, or could be, between Ron and Hermione, but still all I can think about is how she makes me feel. I sit on the porch steps and imagine that this was how my parents spent their nights--not kicked out of their own house, but sitting on the porch, looking up at the stars.

The front door creaks open behind me, and I stand up, thinking it is Ron, who has come to hit me for kissing his girlfriend. But as I turn around, I see that it is not Ron; it's Hermione. She looks neither sad nor happy. He expression is blank, and for a moment, I think that perhaps Ron has erased her memory, but then she smiles slightly. She steps down off of the porch so that she's at the same level as me. She wraps her arms around me and puts her head on my chest. I look back at the house for a trace of Ron, and when I see none, I put my arms around her waist. She pulls back, looks up at me, and stands on tiptoes to kiss me lightly on the lips. It's wonderful, even in comparison to the kiss we had shared only moments ago. And even before she says it, I know what she means to say.

'I choose you,' she whispers, and my heart melts. I fight the urge to pinch myself to discover if I'm dreaming or if this is truly real. Even if this is a dream, I don't want to wake up. But when she kissed me again--an earthshaking, life-changing kiss that sends shivers down my spine and fire through my veins--I know it's real, that she's real. We're real.