Early Morning

Early Morning

companion piece to the 3 a.m./4 a.m./5 a.m. trilogy

It was the dawn of a new day, the sun creeping out cautiously; bringing with it the promise of a rare, glorious morning that lit the gray London landscape with shades of pale gray light. Slowly the shadows of the night were vanquished, and as the sun rose higher, the darkness vanished, chased away by invading rays of light. The sky was a warring canvas of tumultuous colors, dark violets and grayish blues that had painted the night and the warm rose and gold of the dawn. It suggested a lovely, sunny day was on its way, uncommon for a usually dreary town used to overcast skies, be it rain clouds or smoggy byproducts of its many factories.

From the east-facing window of a flat on an eight-floor condominium complex, a young man leaned against the pane, his forehead resting lightly on the glass as he stared out into the early throes of morning. Idly, his fingers traced nonsensical patterns on the window pane as a small, bitter smile twisted his lips.

Ron could hear Harry and Hermione in Harry's bedroom. They weren't doing anything but talking, and he couldn't make out what they were saying, but their low voices drifted out from behind the closed door as if to torture him with their mere presence.

He didn't know if he wanted to be here.

It was most ironic, he reflected humorlessly, that Hermione could date him for close to a decade and still be in love with Harry.

Three days that I dread to see arrive

Three days that I hate to be alive

Three days filled with tears and sorrow

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow

He pulled back from the window and caught a glimpse of his reflection: tousled red hair that had never been as untamable as his best friend's unruly black hair but put up a decent struggle, nonetheless, the blue eyes that, at the moment, had a hollow look of a man who knows that the woman he loves loved someone else, the freckled skin, the tall frame... He wasn't extraordinary by any means and had never stood out for much other than being the best friend of the Boy Who Lived, and now the Boy Who Had Conquered Voldemort, and his own hot temper. He had resented Harry's fame when they were younger, desperate for the attention that was sometimes difficult to obtain in a family with six siblings to compete with, but had outgrown it eventually. After all, he'd realized how lucky he was that he didn't have to be burdened with the responsibility of being a hero, of having to make a choice that would affect millions of people, of sacrificing nearly everything, of bearing the guilt whenever another death occurred... Ron had been awed by Harry's strength and courage, and knew, despite his friend's own inner torment and doubt of self-worth, Harry was a hero.

Ron was the sidekick, the one who tagged along and tried to help out when he could but not the one whose destiny was to look evil in the eye and exterminate it. But, inside, he'd been grateful for that. He wasn't really sure he would've been able to do it. So he'd supported Harry with all his might and was satisfied with being playing minor roles in the play of life, sometimes even fading in the background. After all, he had Quidditch, he had his family, and he had Hermione.

Even back in fifth year, Ron had always been a little suspicious of Hermione's feelings toward Harry, alerted at the end of fourth year by a simple kiss, and worried despite her flippant attitude toward Harry's budding relationship with Cho Chang during fifth year. He'd always pushed the niggling doubts aside, though, and they had willingly disappeared under his giant infatuation with the clever Gryffindor witch. When he'd finally mustered up enough courage to ask her out mid-sixth year, he'd been crushed when she'd berated him about his timing--exams were coming up!--then had experienced a rush of relief when her mouth had relaxed into a teasing smile and she'd accepted.

They'd developed a close relationship, a happy one, laid on the foundations of their unshakable friendship. They shared everything from laughs, to blueberry muffins, to secrets and dreams of the future. They had tried not to exclude Harry, though it was often hard for Ron, because the joy he found in spending time alone with Hermione often caused him to wrangle out of the time he usually shared with Harry. He had reacted by drawing even more into himself, which worried Hermione, and Ron, as well, though he probably would've been more concerned if he hadn't been so preoccupied. His girlfriend had insisted they try to patch things up with their mutual best friend and Harry, laden down with more than he should've ever had to carry, lashed back at them by deliberately making friends with the abhorred Draco Malfoy. Even angry, however, he knew his choices had consequences and subsequently only befriended a Slytherin who had been privately confirmed earlier that year by Dumbledore as a spy for the Light side, to the trio's astonishment. Malfoy had taken glee in Harry's abandonment of his friends, for spy or not, he was still malicious. Ron and Hermione had been at a loss as to how to proceed.

Eventually, Harry had drifted into the arms of Parvati Patil, much to everyone's surprise. Things had gradually returned to normal, though Harry's sort-of friendship with Malfoy had continued, and it even seemed to somewhat mellow out the bitter Slytherin. He and Ron still weren't on the best of terms though, and Ron preferred it that way.

Still, it had been a turbulent seven years for them and none had made it through unscathed. Harry had lost Sirius fifth year, the Weasley family had lost Bill in the final battle and were still estranged from Percy who, though now acknowledging the Ministry's mistakes, was too ashamed to accept the peace offering his parents had offered, and Hermione's mother had been a casualty in the numerous Muggle massacres Voldemort had ordered in the late of their sixth-year. They had also lost a number of professors and members of the Order, much to everyone's grief, but Harry and Dumbledore had persevered and at last, they had won.

But it was so easy to put that behind them now, to try and forget the horrors of war, the anguish of losing someone dear to you... They had grieved and they had moved on, reluctantly, painfully, but they had turned their faces toward the future that had been brightened by the blood and sacrifice of their loved ones.

Ron knew how lucky he, Harry, and Hermione had been to still be alive, and together. He loved them both and would've been devastated to see either go... In a desperate attempt to hold on to her, he'd proposed to Hermione, hoping that once she was his wife, he would finally be secure that she would've leave...disappear... But she'd said no. And he'd cried that night, afraid that he had lost her.

The murmurs from Harry's room had quieted now and Ron could only imagine what his friends were up to. He doubted they were engaged in amorous activity; after all, Harry had only discovered today that Hermione loved him, and he loved her, and they could only be discussing when these feelings had sprung up and how they should act on them, hesitant at taking the first steps down that rocky road of love. Ron ran a hand through his hair and turned to stare at the closed door in silence, hands in his pockets, a contemplative expression on his face.

He knew they loved each other. He had probably known since he'd started dating Hermione. But he'd ignored it and they'd ignored it and then it had all piled up in a myriad of emotions that had been held back and pushed in and had finally burst out into the open early this morning.

There are three days I know I will be blue

Three days I'll dream of you

And it does no good to wish these days to end

'Cause the same three days start over again

Was he happy for them? Ron didn't know. He decided now was too soon to know, to even begin to wonder. Because all he knew right now was that he still loved Hermione, and she loved Harry. At least Harry loved her back. Ron didn't know what he would've done if the light of his world had been pining after someone ignorant of her feelings... It wasn't worth thinking about now, in any case.

The sun's rays streamed through the window behind him, silhouetting him for an instance before he moved and sank into the couch. It was here, mere hours ago, that Hermione had lain; eyes closed in deep slumber, her heart and voice both calling out for Harry. And it was then Ron had recognized the fact that he could no longer avoid this confrontation. And when she'd woken up, he'd asked her if she loved Harry, knowing the answer but wanting her to say it, just the same. And she'd made a last-ditch effort to play it off but he'd known, and she'd known, the truth. And so she'd admitted it.

And now she and Harry were talking.

And he was out here, staring blankly at his hands, loosely clasped as he leaned his elbows on his knees. The carpet, he noted vaguely, was beige. Plain. Harry had never been one for decorating, though neither had he, but he'd grown used to the colorful rugs his mother had splayed out around the house. She always knitted when she was worried or wanted to think something through.

The next few days were going to be hell, Ron knew, because his best friends were going to, well, still be his best friends...but something more, to each other. And he'd be the odd one out.

Was this how it felt, Harry? he wondered. Because he hated it. He wondered if Harry had hated it as well.

Three days that I dread to see arrive

Three days that I hate to be alive

Three days filled with tears and sorrow

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow

It was too damn early in the morning to be awake.

--

Three Days by L7 covering Willie Nelson. (Don't particularly like the song, but the lyrics were good.)