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The Ministry’s Christmas ball. It was the kind of event that everybody was invited to, and that everybody went to out of obligation. The kind of event that everybody complained to their significant others about having to attend, but ended up enjoying because, after all, there was always a free three course dinner, an open bar, and a band that actually knew what they were doing. And, as previously mentioned, everybody went.
This year’s ball would be Ron’s and Hermione’s fifth as a married couple. Ron would always start complaining from the moment they received the invitation: about how it was just a way for people like Percy to socialise, and suck up to the Minister for Magic in person; about how his dress robes were too tight and itchy; about how he’d rather spend the evening at home doing something he ‘actually enjoyed’.
Hermione, on the other hand, always got this funny feeling in the pit of her stomach the moment the owl delivering the invitation flew through their sitting room window. The feeling was not all that different from the butterflies she’d gotten every time Ron had smiled at her when they were younger. It was excitement mixed with fear, funnily enough. At Hogwarts, the fear had been because Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, had had no clue whatsoever what to do with her warmer-than-appropriate feelings towards one of her best friends. Now though, the fear was because Hermione knew. Knew exactly what was going to happen at that ball. And she dreaded it, even as she looked forward to it with all her heart.
It’s just a light romance
Nothing cruel
They laid no plans
How it came
Who can explain?
They just said "hello"
And foolishly they gazed
They should have gone
Their separate ways
Despite Hermione’s mixed feelings, and Ron’s whining, they always went. Or perhaps they went because of Ron’s whining, and Hermione’s excitement. They didn’t seem to get many occasions to dress up and go out these days. They weren’t even thirty; they’d only been married for five years, and didn’t have children yet. They weren’t even thinking about starting a family for a while. And still they seemed to be stuck in a rut already. They went to work, they came home. Ron cooked; Hermione did the cleaning and the laundry. They fought, but never over big issues, just about whose turn it was to take out the trash, or about whether or not they should visit any in-laws for dinner on Sunday. They occasionally had dinner with friends, and once in a blue moon they went out on a Saturday night. They made love on a weekly basis, but they had all the positions pinned down, knew exactly what the other wanted, and when. Over all, Hermione thought that her life had no spark. It was predictable. Safe, yes, but bordering on boring.
She did love Ron though. He’d been her best friend for longer than she could remember. They knew each other inside and out, and Hermione couldn’t imagine her life any other way. She was happy, truly she was. But she sometimes wished that Ron would show her a little more appreciation. Take her out for dinner in the middle of the week. Throw her down on the dining room table to make love to her. Bring her flowers for no reason. Compliment her when she dressed up for him. Not take her so much for granted.
So, every year, Hermione would force her reluctant and pouting husband to take her to the Ministry’s Christmas ball. She’d dress up in her best dress robes, put on makeup and high heels, and force Ron to wear his too-tight-and-itchy dress robes. Because Hermione thought she deserved some excitement. And because Hermione knew.
It’s just the same old song
Nothing cruel, nothing wrong
It’s just two fools
Who know the rules
But break them all
And grasp at half a chance
To play their part
In a light romance
They’re standing in a small circle drinking champagne, surrounded by some of Ron’s colleagues from the Auror Department. Dinner’s about to start, but first they all need to listen to Minister Shacklebolt’s customary Christmas speech. Hermione is facing the door. She needs to see him arrive, needs to know that he came this year, too. He has told her he will, repeatedly, but she won’t believe it until she sees it.
Minister Shacklebolt steps onto the podium that’s been set up for the band, and lightly taps his glass to get everybody’s attention. And that’s when Hermione sees them. They’re late, but that’s nothing new. She lets out a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding, and averts her eyes. It won’t do to be caught staring.
A moment later she feels them coming up behind her and Ron. She hugs Ginny before the red-head moves on to hug her brother. They immediately stick their heads together, probably whining about their mother’s latest scheme for grandchildren. This leaves Hermione free to turn to the person she’s been waiting for all evening. For longer than that, really, ever since the invitation arrived. It leaves her free to gaze into emerald green eyes she only lets herself admire once a year. And to caress fingers she only lets herself touch once a year. On this night.
“Hi Harry,” she says, smiling.
“Hello Hermione.” He smiles back, and gently squeezes her hand.
Loving on the never, never
Constant as the changing weather
Never sure
Who’s at the door
Or the price
They’re gonna have to pay
It had started off by accident, during their hunt for Horcruxes all those years ago. Ron had run off in a rage, just when Hermione had thought they were finally getting somewhere with their twisted relationship. And Harry had been pining after Ginny, though he’d tried not to let it show. They’d both been miserable, love-sick in the worst sort of way, and feeling dejected because the hunt wasn’t going anywhere, and because their third unit, a part of themselves really, had left. And they’d been there. So, they’d turned to each other for comfort, both knowing that the other thought of someone else when they kissed, wished for someone else’s touch, hoped for another’s voice to whisper their name in the throes of passion.
Back then it hadn’t been about love. At least not the romantic kind of love. It had firstly been about need, and comfort. Secondly…they’d been teenagers, not knowing whether they’d live to see the next day. It turns out that those two in combination are a powerful aphrodisiac. Thirdly, it had been about sedation, oblivion, about trying to forget that the person they really loved, really wanted to hold, wasn’t there, and maybe never would be again.
They’d stopped whatever they’d been doing (Hermione still isn’t entirely sure exactly what that was) once Ron returned. It had seemed pointless to go on now that things were sort of back to normal. And in some weird way, it had felt much less like a betrayal when they thought their third part had abandoned them forever. So, with Ron again by their sides, they’d returned to some resemblance of normal. But now, they’d had to try very hard not to look at each other more than necessary. Burning looks were sure to give them away. They’d avoided any form of skin-on-skin contact, even though they’d desperately longed for the electric jolts they’d grown used to. And Harry had done a very good job of convincing Ron that he, Harry, and Hermione were nothing but friends, siblings really. Because honestly, that’s all they thought they were. All they wanted to think they were. But even they couldn’t deny that somewhere along the road, during the nights they’d spent in the same bed, trying to forget, they’d forgotten too much.
When the war was finally over, and things calmed down, it should have been easy to leave it at that and move on. Ron needed Hermione, and Ginny needed Harry, to get over their brother’s death. Harry and Hermione had no reason to need each other. But still they did. Sometimes when Ginny was away with the Harpies and Harry felt particularly lonely, Hermione would come over. Or when Ron made Hermione feel especially neglected, she would arrange to meet Harry. It still hadn’t been about love. Only about need. They hadn’t done it to hurt anybody. They’d done it because it was the way in which they’d learned to deal with life. To live life. They both found it hard to remember a time when life had been easy, effortless. So, to get by, to manage, they created their own obstacles. It had nothing to do with love, and all to do with two friends helping each other out.
In the end, they’d agreed to end it. Or to stop doing what they were doing. Harry did love Ginny, and Hermione did love Ron. And even if they, little by little, had started to realise that they loved each other, too, as more than friends, more than siblings, that love wasn’t worth the price they would have to pay. To be with each other, they would have to give up their best friends, their second family. And they knew without a doubt that without Ron, short-sighted and quick-tempered though he may be, they were nothing. If they weren’t three, they weren’t whole. So, for the sake of their friendship, and for Ginny, Harry and Hermione stuffed all of whatever they might have felt for each other into a cupboard in a dark corner of their minds, closed and locked the door, and threw away the key.
Only once a year, at the Ministry’s Christmas ball, did they unlock that door, dust off those memoires, and remember. Because Hermione thought she deserved some excitement. And because once a year, with Harry, she knew.
It’s just a secret glance
Across a room
A touch of hands
That part too soon
That same old tune
That always plays
And lets them dance as friends
Then stand apart
As the music ends
It’s convenient really, Hermione thinks, that Harry is her husband’s, and her, best friend. It makes it all right for them to dance that one dance together, to stand perhaps a little too close, for Harry to caress Hermione’s back, and for Hermione to rest her head on Harry’s shoulder. They don’t talk. Big words, or words at all, have never belonged in this part of their relationship. They just sway gently to the familiar song, holding each other. Remembering. But they don’t make any promises. Neither of them even hopes. They both know that the feelings they locked behind that door, would, if let out into the open, set events into motion that they wouldn’t be able to control. Too many people would get hurt.
That doesn’t keep them from enjoying this one stolen moment though. They hold each other close; they allow fingertips to wander over exposed skin. They inhale the other’s all-too-familiar scent, trying to force it into a memory, and then stuff it into that cupboard in the back of their minds.
All too soon the song is coming to a close. They pull apart slightly.
“Tell me again, why not,” Harry whispers, his emerald eyes (still so startlingly green, Hermione thinks, even after all these years) perhaps a little too bright.
Hermione smiles at him sadly, then turns him around gently, one hand on his shoulder, one still grasping his, and rests her cheek again his upper arm.
“That’s why,” she whispers back, gazing at Ron dancing with Ginny in a rarely shown sign of brotherly affection. “Our best friends. Your wife. My husband.”
Harry’s body shifts underneath her touch as he sighs.
“You’re right,” he finally admits, “It wouldn’t be worth it.” He turns, gazes intently into her eyes for a brief moment, then leans forward, and presses his lips to her forehead, lingering perhaps a little too long. “Until next year then,” he whispers.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
Loving on the never, never
Constant as the changing weather
Never sure
Who’s at the door
Or the price they’ll have to pay