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Sunshine and Roses

"So… you're gonna suffer, but you're gonna be happy about it." - Ronald Weasley

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Tuesday

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Dearest Hermione

This is the way I see it. I could sit here and tell you all the ways you set my heart ablaze, or I could explain just why the idea of going to the Burrow and seeing you with him makes me physically ill.

I'm sure you'd prefer the former, but I'm feeling a little too charged for sunshine and roses right now. I get that you probably deserve one of those romantic, earth-moving declarations, but I can't. It wouldn't be right, given the fact that, well, our lives are as they are. So here it is.

I love you.

I don't know when it started, if there was an actual moment, or if it was always there but, one day, I woke up and said 'oh, there you are' and my life has been screwed up ever since.

I know you've noticed that something's been bothering me, and I've just now decided to admit it to you in this letter because I'm terrified of the day you figure it out. Because I think you will. You're a little too in tune with my broody moods than I'm comfortable with. I've never been able to hide anything from you, and this specific secret is tearing my insides to shreds.

Also, I think it will do me some good to get it off my chest. Maybe if I write it all down, I won't have the burning urge to blurt it out every time I see you. It's one of the reasons I've been avoiding you. It's too dangerous to be alone with you, but it fucking hurts when I'm not alone with you. Hence all the avoiding. I'm many things, but a masochist is not one of them.

Believe me, the last thing I want is to mess things up for you. I don't want that. You're happy and I respect that. I do. Well, I try to. Most of the time.

The thing is that it breaks my heart whenever he doesn't treat you right. I mean, I shouldn't be allowed to judge. Ginny and I ended badly, and I suppose I wasn't all that great to her in the end, but there was no point in holding onto something that wouldn't ever work in the long run.

I knew that. And, if Ginny ever read this letter, she'd probably blame you for the end of our relationship. If I'm being completely honest, and I'm trying to be; I'll have to admit that I blame you too. You've done something to me; something irreversible, and you don't even know it.

Lucky you.

So it breaks my heart when you feel that you have to apologise for everything. By Merlin, have your likes and dislikes, bloody well disagree if you want to. Stop leading in with all that 'this is dumb but' and 'it's probably stupid but' rubbish. What you think matters. It's always mattered.

Goodness knows your brain is one of the only reasons I'm alive right now.

It breaks my heart when you think of something and turn to look at him to tell him, but he isn't even looking at you. It breaks my heart that you think you have to dumb yourself down for him. It breaks my heart that he can't seem to hear you when you speak; and even when you don't speak.

I want to tell you that I hear you, Hermione. Even when you're not talking; I hear every word you say, whether they're directed at me or not.

And that's really the crux of it all, isn't it? I see you, and you see me. It's always been that way. Every time I think I can go unnoticed, you see me. I can't hide from you - not that I've ever wanted to. You know who I am behind everything the world thinks about me, and you still deem me worthy. I can't even explain how it feels to have you looking at me, giving me your full attention. It's amazing and overwhelming, and, Hermione Granger, I am so irrevocably in love with you.

I have this theory about how I could have missed it. It sounds plausible in my head, but only you can truly be the judge. See, I've determined that the reason I caught on so late is because you were always there, right beside me, fighting with me. In my mind, you were always alongside me, fighting the good fight.

It wasn't the same with Ginny. She wasn't fighting with me. She was an escape from it all, which is why I think I found her so appealing back then. But then the War ended. There was no more fighting. There was no longer a need for an escape, and I was seeing clearly for the first time since I entered the Wizarding World.

It felt like I was seeing you for the first time.

And I love what I saw.

I do.

I love that you have no idea how utterly magnificent you are. I love that you fold the corners of pages only in books that aren't your own. I love that, as twisted and out of control the world seems to me; one touch from you rights everything. I love that, even though you don't care much for the sport, you still attended all my Quidditch games. I love that your hair smells like almonds. I love that your idea of fun is spending the day holed up in the library, reading endless books. I love that you can't hold your liquor. I love that you love to sing, though I suspect you're a little tone deaf.

I love that you miss your parents, even though you'll never admit it. I love that you care so much about other beings. I love that you've never judged me for my failures and shortcomings. I love that you're unafraid to give me a good talking to. I love that your eyes sparkle when you're talking about your family. I love that your favourite colour is green. I love that you're afraid of flying.

I love that you stood between Sirius and me before we knew he wasn't a crazed murderer. I love that you have such a kind, forgiving heart. I love that you sacrificed so much for me. I love that you still get so worked up when people try to give you nicknames. I love that you always notice when something is wrong with me. I love that you force me to talk about things, instead of internalising everything. I love that you have no patience for my tactics of procrastination. I love that you tell me that you're proud of me.

I love that you're exactly who you are, nothing more, nothing less. I love all that you are, Hermione, and I hope that it's enough.

It would be enough for me.

Talk about sunshine and roses. Clearly, I decided on the former. This is more than I could have ever said in spoken words, talking to you as if I could handle making such a confession in person.

So here it is again: I love you, Hermione.

I want it to be big and monumental, possibly rob you of breath and silence you. I want the earth to shake from my confession, lightning to strike the ground and the wind to whip wildly. But I know none of that will happen.

Because I'm stating a fact; a cold, hard fact; something the great big world already knows. Time won't stop. It won't even hesitate. It already knows what I feel.

And now so do you.

I'm not telling you all of this because I expect something from you. I don't. I'm telling you because I can't keep living like this. You have to know. I had to tell you, so that I can try to move on. It will be difficult, I know, but all I want is for you to be happy. And if he's the one to make you happy, what right do I have to stand in the way?

I'm just your best friend. If I'm even that after this letter.

I'd like to tell you not to worry about responding. If there's even a chance you could feel anything for me, then, by all means, tell me. If not, well, let's never mention this letter ever, all right? We'll just pretend that it never existed. Just don't hold it against me, will you? It's not my fault you're so bloody irresistible.

Just know that, whatever happens, I spend my days imagining my future with you, living each day as if it's a brand new adventure, learning new things about each other and discovering new ways to love each other.

I can't say that I know how long it will take for me to get over all of this - or if I even want to - but please be patient with me. It took me years to fall in love with you; I suspect it'll take just about the same time for the reverse to happen. If it even can.

So there it is. I'll admit that I feel a little better, but I don't think it'll last. In a few hours, I have to put on a brave face and face you and everyone else at the Burrow. You'll ask me if I'm all right, and I'll lie. I'll tell you that I'm fine, when all I really want to say is 'I love you. I want to be with you. Leave him, and let's run away together. I can make you happy.'

Sunshine and roses, Hermione.

Love,

Harry

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The wizard read over the letter a further two times before he let out a long, painful groan. What on earth was he thinking? There was absolutely no way in hell he could send this letter. He may as well just write up a contract and have them all sign it; signifying the end of their friendship, effective immediately.

Harry Potter growled. This was stupid. He was being stupid.

Despite his growing desire to hide himself away for the rest of his life, Harry folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, sealed it and addressed it. He stared at it for a long moment, almost willing it to burst into flames.

It didn't.

With a huff, Harry swiped his hand over the desk and dropped the letter into the bin. He glared at it as if it had insulted him in some way, and then he stood up, and started to leave the study. He stopped once more to look at the bin one last time, still contemplating whether he should send it.

No. It would only cause more trouble than its worth.

As the wizard turned and left the room, he failed to notice the creature with large, suddenly-not-so-innocent eyes plucking the letter out of the bin, its destination already in mind.

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"Humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them." - Albus Dumbledore

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One Year, Three Months and Six Days Later

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Hermione,

I get that you're refusing to see me, and I get that you're mad at me right now. You have every right to be. I've been selfish, and I definitely wasn't thinking about you when I was with her, and I'm sorry. You deserved better from me. You deserve better than me.

Which is why I've enclosed a letter with my own. It's from Harry. It was delivered to your flat more than a year ago. You were out at the time, and I just couldn't resist. I'm not proud of what I did but I won't apologise for it. I deserved my chance with you. I know now that I should have known that I could never be what you needed.

Harry doesn't know that you never read the letter. He also doesn't know that I did. It's one of the reasons why I've been so okay with his pulling away from us. I wanted to be selfish with you, and I was angry with him for daring to tell you that he could feel anything for you.

Hate me for what I did now, but don't hate me for what I did then. I made a choice that I thought was right at the time, and I'm making another one now.

Read the letter, Hermione. I suspect that he's still waiting for your reply.

Ron

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The wizard read over the letter once more before sealing it and beckoning the family owl over. Ron Weasley couldn't help the sinking feeling threatening to descend over him. The moment he sent this letter; any chance of reconciling with Hermione would be over.

It was what he deserved, surely. After the way he'd treated her; after the way they'd ended; she deserved to find happiness. Merlin knew it wasn't with him. And, somehow, he would have to suck it up and accept it if that happiness happened to be with Harry Potter.

Again, somehow, Ron would have to accept the role he may or may not have played in helping or preventing them getting to that happiness.

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"Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain." - Arthur Weasley

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One Hour and Fourteen Minutes Later

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Dear Harry

I'm coming to Grimmauld Place tonight. Please be there. We need to talk.

Hermione

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The witch didn't bother to read over the letter before sending it off, her mind reeling. Just what had she read? Besides the letter from Ron, which she'd been tempted to throw out without reading it, there was a letter from Harry. She held the envelope over the bin, ready to drop it in, but something about it made her stop and open it. It screamed important.

And boy was it.

It explained a lot, that was for sure. She'd known something happened with Harry; something that made him pull away, but she wasn't able to figure out just what that was. And now she knew.

Hermione Granger couldn't say how she would have responded had she been given Harry's letter back then. The truth was that she had been happy with Ron. To a degree, at least. He wasn't the most attentive significant other, but she learned to deal with it.

It was the fact that Harry all but disappeared from their lives that made the cracks in their romantic relationship shine through. He'd been their buffer, and he'd been the reason many fights were thwarted. He'd been the reason she could accept Ron and his shortcomings.

Ron.

It'd been one thing to learn that he was a cheating bastard, and another thing to learn that all of that could have been avoided if he'd had better sense. Or if the idiot hadn't opened her mail. Surely that was illegal, even in the magical world.

Hermione checked her clock on the wall. She had some time before she had to be at Grimmauld Place. It was almost convenient that it was her day off. Maybe Ron had remembered.

Ron.

Hermione made the decision and quickly gathered her things to leave. She had a certain redhead to talk to.

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"Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery." - Albus Dumbledore

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Four Hours and Nine Minutes Later

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Dear Andromeda

I won't be able to stop by tonight as planned. Something important seems to have come up and it can't be avoided. Please tell Teddy I'm sorry, and I'll definitely make it up to the both of you as soon as I can.

Harry

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The wizard quickly searched for spelling errors, and then sent the letter off with his owl, Thaddeus. It'd taken him quite some time to work up the emotional strength it took to purchase and so become familiar with another owl after the death of Hedwig.

Once the letter was safely on its way, Harry Potter turned to another letter, written in scrawl so familiar; it actually made his heart stutter. The small piece of parchment was pinned up in his study. The moment that it arrived; Harry Potter descended into a mild panic. Experience taught him that 'We need to talk' was always bound to be dangerous and he had better be wary.

It was worse because the letter came from Hermione.

Hermione who he hadn't seen in six weeks; Hermione who he barely talked to these days; Hermione who he refused to be left alone with; Hermione who he was still, painfully, in love with.

Harry didn't know what Hermione could possibly want to talk about, which, he supposed, was what was so troubling. Maybe she was going to scold him for not seeing her for six weeks. She'd probably storm in here and demand to know why he's been avoiding her. Harry knew his immediate response would be to tell her that he has to, in fear of grabbing her by the waist and kissing the air right out of her lungs.

But he couldn't do that. So then he would lie; make up some bogus excuse about work or just losing track of time. They'd worked before.

Only, the moment Harry spied the look on Hermione's face; he just knew that no excuse would work this time around. In all honesty, he was a little afraid of her heavy frown, somewhat cold glare and bloodshot eyes. Was she crying?

Harry's immediate response to the sight of her was to draw her into a tight hug, but he stopped himself by digging his fingernails into his palms. Every terrible scenario flashed through his mind, but it wasn't until she started to speak that the wizard really started to panic.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

Harry was confused, that was a given, but he had the wherewithal not to speak. She didn't sound angry, just determined and, he supposed, hurt. But why?

Hermione stepped further into Harry's study, her eyes never one drifting away from where he was seated behind his desk. "I mean, wasn't it a little irresponsible to send something that important in a letter?"

That made Harry frown. "Hello to you too, Hermione," he said, standing up and moving around his desk. He perched himself on the edge and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for her greeting.

"Hi," she said impatiently.

"Now, tell me what on earth you're talking about?"

Hermione moved towards him while she fished the all-important letter out of her pocket. "Explain this to me," she said tiredly.

Harry, thinking nothing of it, took the parchment from her and proceeded to read. Slowly, somewhat dangerously, his face lost all colour. Desperately trying not to react, Harry raised his gaze to look at her. "Where did you get this?" he asked seriously.

It was Hermione's turn to frown. "It was sent to me more than a year ago."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Harry?"

"I never sent this letter," he said automatically.

Hermione took a step back. "You didn't? That isn't your letter?"

Harry dropped the letter onto the desk, not wanting to touch it anymore. He knew that he could lie, but that wouldn't get him any answers. And, really, maybe they did need to talk about this. Nothing about his love for her had diminished, and it was threatening to ruin his life. "I wrote the letter," he confessed; "but I didn't send it. You were never supposed to know." As he finished speaking, he thought of what might have happened, and his anger spiked. "Kreacher!"

It took a moment for the ageing elf to show himself.

"Kreacher, tell me the truth: did you deliver this letter to Hermione?"

Kreacher blinked innocently. "Which letter is that, Master Harry?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You bloody well know which letter I'm talking about," he hissed. "The one that I distinctly remember throwing away."

The little elf visibly cringed.

"Did you or did you not deliver this letter?"

It looked like it hurt him physically to admit to his discretion. "I did."

For a moment, Harry didn't react. It was one thing to guess at what happened, and entirely different thing to have it confirmed. If Kreacher delivered this letter more than a year ago, then why was Hermione bringing it up only now. Was she trying to hurt him?

"Leave us now," Harry said curtly, and the elf quickly popped away. The wizard turned his attention to Hermione, who looked equally perplexed.

"You never meant to send it?"

Harry nodded. "It doesn't matter now," he said, just managing to keep the emotion out of his voice. "If you've had it all this time, then I can only assume that you didn't say anything for a reason, so I'm just trying to figure out why you're bringing this all up now."

Hermione blinked, trying to get a handle on her thoughts. "I didn't know," she finally said.

"You didn't know what?"

"How you felt."

"But, if you have the letter - "

"I received the letter today, Harry," she said, cutting him off. "Ron had it this entire time."

Harry's eyes bulged at the sound of that. Ron knew? Well, that would explain the way he always made it clear to Harry that Hermione was his and nobody else's. "But...? I don't understand."

"And you would if you'd bothered to talk to me in the last six weeks," she said stiffly.

Harry dropped his gaze, suddenly embarrassed.

"But I finally understand why you avoid me so much," she said, understanding in her tone. "Not that I condone it or anything like that."

"What's happened?" he asked quietly, somewhat nervously.

"I broke up with Ron," she said quickly. "It was complicated and messy, but it's over now. Officially. Which is why I think he sent me your letter. Some kind of penance for cheating on me, maybe."

Harry's eyes snapped towards her. "He cheated on you?" he croaked. Then, after clearing his throat, he practically growled. "How stupid can a bloke get?"

Hermione shrugged slightly. "We weren't a good fit," she said; "you could see that better than anyone, couldn't you?"

"That doesn't detract from the fact that he's a filthy scoundrel," Harry said hotly. "Relationships are sacred; important things. I mean, who in their right mind would give you up?"

"You did."

"That's different," he said, automatically getting on the defensive.

Hermione took a small step towards him. "I didn't know, Harry," she said gently. "I can't say that I know what I would have said had I read the letter back then, because I haven't been that person for quite some time. I do think that Ron and I needed to run our course."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

Her features softened, and she looked almost playful. "But I do know what I'm going to say now."

Harry waited, not trusting himself to speak.

"I do prefer the former," she said, smiling slightly, which went a long way towards confusing him.

"Huh?" he began, but was silenced when Hermione pressed her lips to his, effectively silencing him. His brain shut down, and his eyes closed, as he lost himself in the feel and taste of her.

When Hermione pulled away, she couldn't help the slight giggle that escaped her at the dazed look on his face.

"I still don't understand," he managed to say. "You prefer the former?"

Hermione tilted her head to kiss his lips again - once, twice - and then she smiled contently. "Sunshine and roses, Harry," she said softly, happily. "Definitely sunshine and roses."

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Fin