A/N: I’d been having trouble writing lately, and this really was a challenge, but I’m pretty pleased with it. I hope you are, too! A huge thank you goes to emmilyne, who gave great advice on just flow and characterization, and to doraemon, who betas even when she doesn’t have to. Thanks, girls!

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Prompt:  "It is impossible to repent of love. The sin of love does not exist." -- Muriel Spark

 

No Apologies

Hermione was awake. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all. The room was dark but not silent. She could hear quiet sobs coming from the other bed – Ginny.

Hermione stared at the wall in front of her, wondering if she should go to her. Would she push her away? Would Ginny be embarrassed to be discovered crying in her bed? Hermione’s brow furrowed when she heard Ginny turn into her pillow with a heart-wrenching moan. She was just about to push back her covers when the door creaked slowly open.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t know who was in their room, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want anyone to know she was awake at three in the morning, any more than Ginny probably wanted them knowing she was crying. Ginny’s sobs ceased suddenly and the room filled with silence except for the creaking floorboards as the person came farther into the room, and Hermione’s heart thudding in her chest.

Mrs. Weasley, come to check on her baby girl? Mr. Weasley, making rounds? Or Ron? What if it was Ron? Hermione held her breath, not sure what she would do if it did turn out to be Ron. She strained her ears to determine the identity of the person.

She heard the squeak of springs as the person sat down on Ginny’s bed, and Ginny shifting under her blanket. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that it wasn’t someone for her – that it wasn’t Ron.

“I’m sorry,” the someone whispered. Harry.

Hermione was immediately uncomfortable. What was he going to say at three in the morning? Didn’t he know she was right there, unable to sleep, but completely able to hear everything they said? She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to block out whatever was about to happen. It was personal, and she didn’t want to be here.

Ginny sniffed. “For what?” she whispered back.

“For making you cry.”

“Go away, Harry.”

Silence, as Hermione mentally begged him to obey Ginny. Her discomfort was fast being replaced by concern for Ginny. Their breakup was tough enough on Ginny without Harry sneaking into her room at night and apologizing, keeping it alive. Ginny was brave and good, but it still hurt. Hermione knew the only time Ginny allowed herself to grieve was like this, in the middle of the night, when no one would discover her weakness. Hermione knew because she never slept anymore. That was her way of dealing with the stress. She lay awake every night, listening to Ginny cry, and the girls never mentioned it to each other or to anyone else.

“I can’t,” Harry whispered finally.

Ginny shifted in her bed, and Hermione imagined she had turned to look at Harry.

“Stop this and go to bed,” Ginny said.

Harry must have shaken his head, because Ginny asked, “Why not?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered again.

“For what?” Ginny asked wearily.

Hermione wanted to push Harry out of the room. She loved him, she really did, but boys were insufferable. It was as though he wanted Ginny to be unhappy.

The springs squeaked again and suddenly Ginny said, “Don’t.”  He must have tried to touch her. “You don’t get to do that anymore,” she said.

“I need … “Hermione heard him whisper brokenly and her heart went out to him. This was killing him.

“Harry - “

“I’m sorry,” he broke in again, his voice a little louder.

“Stop!” Ginny whispered harshly, and Hermione heard her sit up. “Stop apologizing. What do you want?”

Silence. Harry was never good at telling people how he felt.

Hermione heard shifting again and then Ginny’s muffled whimper.

“Shh,” Harry whispered. “Shh. Don’t cry anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Ginny gasped.

“What do you have to be sorry about?” Harry whispered.

Ginny didn’t answer, but Hermione knew. Ginny was sorry for being weak. She was sorry for still needing Harry. And she was sorry that now Harry knew.

“Forgive me, Gin,” Harry rasped, and the covers rustled as he pulled Ginny toward him. She protested weakly, but then Hermione heard the soft sound of lips pressed together. Tears sprang to her eyes and she tried to think of something else, but she could only think of Ron kissing Lavender. The pain in her heart increased and she squeezed her eyes tighter. 

Did Harry love Ginny? Hermione didn’t know. She was pretty sure that Ginny loved Harry. She’d watched it for years. But here they were now, holding each other in the dark, past Ginny’s tears, whispering apologies between kisses.

Apologizing for what? For wanting to be happy? For loving each other, even if they didn’t say exactly those words? Was it wrong for them to want to be together? Harry thought so. But Harry was an idiot when it came to matters of the heart. He didn’t understand anything and, frankly, he didn’t really try to. He let his head rule his heart. Love wasn’t something to apologize for, though, no matter how much it hurt.

Hermione shifted without thinking, and the sounds from the other side of the room ceased. She cringed inwardly, but then Harry whispered, “I’d better go.”

It was quiet again for a moment before the springs creaked once more and Harry made his way back to the door. It opened and Harry paused in the doorway before closing it softly behind him. Hermione heard him treading up the stairs and Ginny sniffed before settling herself back into her blankets.

Hermione turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes were suddenly heavy and she blinked slowly. Her thoughts slowed on Harry’s and Ginny’s broken apologies.

***

Hermione rested her forehead against the window pane and watched Crookshanks creeping around the garden. Her head ached dully, but it hurt all the time now. She knew it was from lack of sleep, and she could cure it with a potion, but Hermione had never been one for taking medicine unless absolutely necessary; she preferred her body to heal itself.

She should just take an aspirin. Or a potion, she corrected herself mentally. Whatever it was the Weasleys used to cure headaches. Hermione frowned.

At Dumbledore’s funeral, she and Ron had told Harry they would not leave him, and they hadn’t. They spent two miserable weeks on Privet Drive before coming to the Burrow.

Hermione knew how important it was to be with Harry. She knew what they would pursue after Bill’s wedding. But she missed her home. She missed her parents and her room and the smell of her towels. She missed the way their juice glasses fit in her hand. She wanted to go home.

She rubbed her temple with two fingers and sighed heavily.

“Headache?” she heard from behind her. She moved her hands and folded them in her lap, her eyes again on the garden.

“Only a little,” she said vaguely.

“D’you want a potion?” Ron asked, sitting down beside Hermione on the window seat.

Hermione shook her head without looking over at him. Ron didn’t respond but he settled himself more comfortably on the seat, leaning his back against the window. They sat in companionable silence for a while, each staring in different directions.

Hermione felt the familiar ache in her chest at Ron’s proximity, but it had changed this past year. Now it was tainted by a horrible bitterness and despair. The image of Ron’s arms wrapped around Lavender swam in her mind and she closed her eyes before tears could form. She wanted her mother. Why had she agreed to this? She needed to go home.

“Hey,” Ron said softly.

Hermione opened her eyes and turned to find Ron watching her concernedly. She smiled involuntarily. He smiled back and shifted slightly to face her a bit more. He glanced down and Hermione’s heart caught in her throat when his hand wandered over and began to fidget with the hem of her sleeve.

“Sad?” Ron asked simply, his eyes on her sleeve as it rolled between his fingers.

Hermione’s throat tightened, so she just nodded, her eyes also focused on his hand so close to hers.

“’Bout Dumbledore?” Ron asked just as quietly.

And Harry. And Ginny. Voldemort. Mum and Dad. You. Hermione shrugged in answer.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Ron’s lips in understanding. He still would not meet her eyes, but his fingers had moved and now brushed lightly against the back of Hermione’s wrist, incessantly twisting the shirt’s hem.

Hermione closed her eyes again and her throat burned. She knew she should move, should get away from Ron. He only hurt her these days with his kindness, with his warm touches. It was too much. If he didn’t want her he shouldn’t treat her this way. He shouldn’t be so close.

Since their reconciliation at his birthday, Ron had become much more physical toward her. He was more confident with his body now, since Lavender, Hermione thought bitterly, and he touched her now without blushing.

But she couldn’t. She hated herself for it, but even through the poison of her bitterness she could feel hope bubble in her heart. She tried to steel herself against it, but it floated up through the mire and made her sick. A silent sob shook her suddenly and she choked it back, but then Ron’s hand closed gently over her wrist and his tenderness broke her resolve. 

A quiet moan slipped past her lips and she leaned down abruptly, resting her forehead to the back of Ron’s hand on her wrist, hot tears squeezing through her tightly clenched eyes.

A moment later Hermione felt Ron’s other hand on her head. He rested it there lightly, not moving it. It was the best and the worst feeling in her life. She whimpered, and turned her face against his hand, feeling his skin wet with her tears.

Ron tugged gently on Hermione’s wrist and she looked up at him with blood-shot eyes. He stared back down at her soberly, his brow furrowed in confusion and worry. 

“Ron,” Hermione croaked, unsure what she wanted to say, but certain that she had to communicate with him somehow.

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile at her but he couldn’t quite form it correctly. His blue eyes gazed at her steadily, though, and Hermione felt her heart lurch again. She couldn’t stop the sob that broke from her then, and she threw herself onto him, burying her face in his neck.

She felt him stiffen beneath her for a moment before relaxing, his long arms wrapping around her tightly.

“I’m so tired, Ron,” she choked out, rubbing her closed eyes on the warm skin of his neck.

Ron didn’t say anything; he just pulled her closer. She took a shuddering breath and Ron’s scent filled her. She started crying again.

He held her for a long time before she could speak. He didn’t say anything, he just held her. Occasionally he would run his hand down her back. Once he moved her hair away from her face and his fingers brushed her cheek. Hermione could feel his heartbeat against her face. It was too much. She was breaking into a thousand pieces.

Hermione sighed heavily and her body finally went still. She didn’t think she had any tears left. Her hand slipped from around his neck and came to rest on his chest. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hand, watching it rise and fall with each of his breaths. She blinked and her lashes brushed his skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered faintly.

“What?” he asked, not moving. Hermione felt his voice vibrate through his chest and she flexed her fingers involuntarily over his tee-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice gravelly.

Ron shook his head slightly, rubbing his stubbly chin against her forehead. He reached up and covered her hand on his chest.

“What for?” he asked. “For crying?”

Hermione shrugged pitifully, tears welling in her eyes again.

“I want to go home,” she said finally, her voice breaking.

Ron’s fingers curled around hers. He didn’t say anything for a moment.

“For good?” he finally managed cautiously.

Hermione sat up then, but Ron didn’t relinquish his hold on her hand and his other arm was still around her waist. She rubbed wearily at her eyes.

“No,” she answered. “I just … I miss it. I want my Mum. I miss Daddy. I … I just want to go home,” she finished miserably.

Ron’s face looked pained but he pushed her hair over her shoulder and pulled a few wet strands from her face.

“I don’t want to leave you and Harry,” she continued in a shaky voice, “and I want to help find the horcruxes, but I’m just so tired and sad, and I want to drink out of my juice glasses. Do you see?”

Ron blew out a breath and shrugged. “I reckon I do,” he said quietly, still holding Hermione’s hand to his chest.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, gripping his tee-shirt tightly, “I’m not. But I need to go home. I … I’m so lonely.”

She turned her face away, feeling her throat tighten again.

“S’okay,” Ron murmured, and gently squeezed her hand.

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to gain some control over herself. It was hard, when Ron had held her and let her cry all over him, and even now held her hand over his heart.

“I’m sorry you’re lonely,” he said slowly.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not.” She shook her head again. “I mean, I am, but it’s not your fault.” She looked toward him but couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not your fault. I just - I don’t know what I mean.”

“We could go, you know,” he said quietly, “to your house.”

Hermione met his eyes then, and saw her friend; the little boy who had made her laugh and been brave. The boy who had hurt her feelings and defended her without a second thought. The boy who had almost died, more than once. The boy who had broken her heart and then mended it with quiet words and brushes of his fingers.

His forehead cleared and he grinned hesitantly. “We could go now if you want. You could Apparate and I could Floo. Damn,” he said immediately, “your house isn’t connected to the network. We could do a side-along, though, right? And we could spend the whole day if you wanted. If I talk with Dad we might be able to stay the night. We could do that,” he said quickly, his smile innocent and excited.

Hermione felt tears threatening again, and she sniffed before smiling back. He grinned widely then and impulsively pulled her to him, surprising them both. Ron froze, and Hermione knew he was waiting for her to pull away. Instead, she let herself settle into his embrace. His stance softened but she could hear his heart hammering under her ear.

 Hermione felt like a child again, but she didn’t really mind. Ron’s hands on her were lulling her to sleep, his even breathing, hypnotic. She felt safer here than all of her nights at Privet Drive and any night since, at the Burrow. Her swollen eyes drooped and she was almost asleep when she felt his breath in her hair and a soft pressure. He had kissed her.

She sat very still, her exhausted mind struggling to put a thought together. She finally tilted her head enough to look at Ron’s face. He was gazing down at her, his blue eyes wide and somber.

Hermione frowned and Ron smiled a little. He only had to move his head a fraction to touch his lips to Hermione’s furrowed brow. His lips were cool against her over-heated skin and she stared up at him, her eyes wide. She took a shuddering breath when Ron ran a thumb under her eye and wiped away a stray tear. She didn’t know how it had come to this, or why she didn’t feel more strange. She had never been this close to Ron, and he had never been so intimate. But it didn’t feel out of sorts. It felt as if they’d always held each other, that he had always kissed her frowns away.

“Harry came to our room last night,” she said abruptly.

Ron looked down at her in surprise. He loosened his grip around her, but Hermione clung to him tighter, pulling his face back close to hers. Ron inhaled sharply but he shifted a little, settling Hermione more comfortably against his chest.

“And?” he said, still looking a little confused at the sudden turn of conversation.

“He kept apologizing to Ginny, asking her to forgive him,” Hermione said, putting her arm around his neck again, for the first time letting her fingers just touch the hair at the back of his neck.

Ron raised his eyebrows briefly. “What did she say?” he asked as he tilted his head to brush his cheek against her arm.

“She apologized to him. She cries over him every night and she apologized for being weak when he’s strong,” Hermione replied, flattening her palm against his neck.

Ron ran his fingers lightly up Hermione’s arm, his eyes never leaving her face. He pulled her hand to his face and held it over his cheek, mumbling into her palm, “Are they back together?”

Hermione made an indecisive noise, her attention wholly focused on Ron’s lips against her skin. Her face felt flaming hot and she was very aware of every place their bodies touched. She could barely breathe.

“Ron,” she whispered, and he looked at her again, a smile playing on his lips.

“You don’t have to be lonely,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Hermione swallowed hard but forced herself to continue speaking. “I was in there last night,” she said, trying to ignore Ron’s breath on her hand and the implications of what he’d just said, “and I thought it was horrible that they were apologizing for loving each other. They didn’t say that,” she explained when Ron stilled, “but even if they just fancy each other, isn’t it love? And they were both apologizing and crying and it was horrible. No one should ever apologize for love. It’s what makes us human, what makes us good.”

She looked up at him again and their eyes met. “Don’t you think?” she asked seriously.

Ron nodded and pulled her still closer, so that their noses nearly touched. “Yes, I do,” he murmured.

“It’s impossible to repent of love,” Hermione whispered. “The sin of love does not exist."

Ron nodded, though his brow furrowed slightly at the vulnerable look on Hermione’s face. She whispered it again, as if to convince herself.

“The sin of love does not exist.”

“Yes, Hermione,” he affirmed quietly, brushing back her hair again.

Hermione eyes focused on Ron again, and she brushed her fingers over his cheek. Part of her knew she should be shocked at her behavior. She’d never been so forward with a boy. In all their years of friendship, she’d never been this intimate. But she couldn’t stop herself and the flush on Ron’s cheeks was too inviting.

That smile quirked on his lips again as he watched her. He blinked slowly and his gaze shifted to her mouth. Hermione knew what was about to happen. Her heart beat frantically in her chest and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth to take a quiet gasp of air and Ron’s grin twitched again.

He tilted his head a little to the right and bent slowly, as if again giving her time to pull away. But as before, Hermione couldn’t make herself. She didn’t want to. She wanted her mum and dad. She wanted to feel the security of her home, even if only for an afternoon. But mostly, she wanted Ron. She wouldn’t be lonely anymore. Maybe she could sleep at night.

Her eyes slipped shut just as his lips touched hers. His lips were warm and dry. He pressed them against hers softly and Hermione’s hand flexed on his cheek. Ron shifted his mouth and their lips moved over each other’s slowly, each of them savoring the feeling. Hermione didn’t know what she was doing, but it didn’t bother her. All there was was his breath on her face and the softness of his lips and his hair brushing her forehead. Was this their first kiss? Hadn’t they always been this way?

Ron pulled away and blew out a slow breath. Hermione opened her eyes and looked up at Ron, so close she could see herself reflected in his eyes. He grinned lopsidedly and playfully bumped his nose against hers.

Hermione giggled breathlessly. Her smile faded a little and Ron frowned.

“What? Oh damn, did I – “ he blundered, turning red, then white very quickly.

“Did you mean it when you said you’d take me home?” Hermione interrupted, and Ron laughed in relief.

He nodded. “Sure I did. We can go now.”

He stood suddenly, pulling Hermione with him.

“Where’s your wand?” he asked, looking around.

Hermione smiled. No matter what had just happened, this was still Ron. And she was still Hermione.

“We should talk to your mum,” she said calmly. “She’d be really upset if we just disappeared from the house, don’t you think?”

Ron nodded, and grabbed Hermione’s hand, pulling her after him as he yelled for his mother.

Hermione wiped her face with her free hand and sighed happily. She wasn’t lonely anymore.

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