Better Man

Hermione smiled at all the well-wishers, one hand nervously twisting the engagement ring on the other. She wasn't used to its weight yet; part of her wondered if she ever would be. It wasn't that she didn't love Ron. She just knew that she didn't love him enough, that she didn't love him the way that he loved her - completely, obsessively, like she was his air, his water, his reason for being. Hermione couldn't understand feeling like that about another person, but her Gryffindor courage had failed her, as it so often did when it came to either of her boys, and now she would be marrying Ron.

She looked up, across the room, and met Harry's eyes. He had been laughing, and his mouth closed into a smile before opening it again, silently mouthing his message. "I'm so happy for both of you." Hermione's smile couldn't help but get a bit bigger. She knew that to be the complete truth. From the very beginning of her and Ron's relationship, Harry had been its biggest supporter. Late one night, slightly buzzed and in a forthcoming mood, he had admitted to Hermione that part of it was that, with her and Ron together, he knew that his best friends were both taken care of, that someone would look out for them, and after all, he couldn't trust just anyone with either of them, so the situation was all he could have asked for.

Now, of course, the war was over, and Harry was alive and happy, if slightly reclusive and secretive. He had been delighted at the news of her and Ron's engagement, and it was he who was responsible for this party. Hermione had to admit that it was quite possibly one of the nicest parties she had ever attended, wizarding or Muggle. She suspected that Harry had had help planning - lots of help, actually - but even that effort spoke volumes, that he who shied away from crowds now, would throw a large and lavish party for them.

Hermione shifted her gaze again, this time her eyes falling on Ron. She let out a small sigh. Years before, she had asked herself what it would be like to date either of her two best friends. She had known long before she turned sixteen that she would never date Harry. Oh, if he had asked, she would have accepted, but it would have been just that, one date, and she had known, deep in her heart, that he would never ask, because it would never have occured to him. Then he had accidentally let slip, the summer before their sixth year, that Ron was going to ask her out. He had been mortified, begged Hermione not to let on that she knew, and then kissed her on the top of her head as he went up to bed. "Of course, I hope you accept," he'd said quietly, and Harry at that time had said so few things quietly that she had immediately taken notice. Two days later, when Ron did ask, there was no other possible answer but yes.

She loved Ron, she knew she did. She loved him as a friend, and as more than a friend. Perhaps even as a life partner. She didn't love him passionately, though, didn't need him in order to live, to breathe. She thought perhaps that there was no one in the world for her like that, and so it was all right that she was with Ron. She would make him a good wife; he would make her a good husband.

She turned as Harry walked up beside her. "Missing your other half?" he teased, the grin still not quite enveloping his eyes. Hermione smiled, of course, and nodded, and she even felt herself blushing, but she felt at that moment that she had more in common with Harry than with her husband-to-be - neither she nor Harry had one person that could consume them. There was no one for her that she would stare at unashamedly, without reserve. So she laughed, and teased Harry in response, and before she could get too lost in her thoughts, she walked over to Ron, pulling him towards the other dancing couples.