tollers: miscellaneous (bottled magic)
note: Well, it started off following this prompt. And then it sort of got sidetracked and went somewhere else, and then this ended up happening. So idek if this is appropriate anymore. *shifty* I may try this one again later.

Prompted from this image.

This is a sort of scribbly thingummy.




i.

Hermione knows everyone expected her and Ron to marry. They've only been playing back-and-forth for years now, and Ron has only fancied her forever.

'Maybe longer,' Harry joked once.

(And then, soon after, never again.)

Ron turned a deep red to match his horrid Christmas jumper (a little too small, no longer fitting the limbs of a once seventeen-year-old, frayed at the hems, with a hole under the right arm), and when she met eyes with Harry, heart leaping into her throat, she couldn't help but think, 'It's really not that simple.'

Her fingers brush away Ron's hair while he sleeps, his eyelids twitching lightly at her touch. Harry suddenly shifts, the mattress groaning in protest, before his arm winds itself around her waist, resting there, a comforting, heavy (safe) weight over her stomach.

She settles back into the pillows and closes her eyes, the flush in her cheeks appearing when she thinks, 'The best things never really are.'





ii.

Somewhere, deep down, Harry always knew he and Ginny wouldn't really work out. It'd just taken years for him to find that Gryffindor courage to tell her.

(To admit it to himself.)

'I'm a bit busy at the moment,' was Harry's go-to excuse.

'You always have time for Ron,' Ginny pointed out, none-too-gently. 'And Hermione.'

His scar doesn't prickle, not anymore, but he rubbed it then; out of habit, maybe - in times of stress. 'They're my best friends.'

It was the way he said it, he thinks, that told her everything, left her heart numb and her eyes wet even when she nodded and said, 'I understand.'

She hadn't been there, and she couldn't. He didn't blame her. There were just things -

And it was them. Always them.

(McGonagall had said so, herself: 'Why is it always you three?' while they turned to each other, shameful and shameless glances exchanged amongst teenagers.)

He presses a kiss into Hermione's bare shoulder (and she leans into his touch), while he reaches for one of Ron's hands and squeezes.

It was always going to be them three.





iii.

Ron thinks he might have fallen in love with them both, that first day on the Hogwarts Express when he stumbled upon Harry Potter's car and was bossed about by Hermione Granger.

Which, he thinks, is silly - absolutely mental, really - because how is an eleven year old supposed to know what love (true love) is?

When he told them his theory, years after the war, he expected them to laugh, maybe chide or tease him.

But Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance, then - brown eyes to bright green - and turning back to him (as he sat there, utterly perplexed and a little offended), they shrugged.

'It was never really a surprise,' said Harry.

'You are the heart of us,' Hermione added practically, like this was simply a question on an exam paper.

He thought he couldn't love them any more.

(And the sex that night was fucking fantastic.

Quite, well, literally.)