Triangulate

Hermione was sick of it. Better rip the band aid off.

She finally turned towards Ginny.

“Tell me, Ginny,” Hermione said with tears in her eyes. “What’s a girl supposed to do when her best friend is dating the love of her life?”

Ginny sat frozen for what felt like the longest time. A cold breeze blew through her clothes and hair, and she felt revived. The cold shock gave way to fiery anger. Her pale face turned a blotchy scarlet color.

“What the hell are you saying?” she snapped.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply several times, but no noise came out. Her eyes widened with apprehension; Ginny surmised the brunette had not anticipated this reaction. She had thought, presumably, that Ginny would understand.

Ginny understood all too well.

The thrall that the Boy Who Lived could have on others, with his humility and heroism. With his midnight hair and his emerald eyes. With his intelligent, sarcastic quips and his hearty laugh.

“How long have you been keeping this from me?”

“Ginny…”

“Tell me. Tell me now.”

Hermione’s eyes softened further, with desperation and pity; her shoulders slumped in helplessness.

“I loved him before he ever met you.”

Ginny swallowed hard. She felt her throat close up, her eyes prickle with tears. She looked away to quell her anger which rose each time she looked at Hermione’s tear-stricken freckled face. The image of innocence, yet so guilty.

This confession, Ginny knew, would break more hearts than just one if it was spread around. Ron would be affected, wondering whether Hermione had been secretly pining after Harry during their very, very brief flirt. Harry… God knows how Harry would react.

She had seen the way he looked at Hermione that night.

He had chosen her, but had he only done so because he was unaware of Hermione’s affections?

Did that choice really mean anything?

Come to think of it, Harry was too daft to notice things like that.

“I guess I cannot fault you for that,” she said curtly before turning back towards Hermione, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed into one thin, disapproving line. She forced a bark-like laugh. “It would be hypocritical.”

Hermione forced a weak little laugh that didn’t reach her eyes; she fell silent when Ginny’s glare bore into her soft brown eyes.

“Well, I will say this came unexpected,” Ginny said, still laughing humorlessly as her hands fisted; she was barely able to talk with her clenched jaw. Through gritted teeth, on she went, “I always supposed you were pining after my brother. But now, come to think of it… I did have doubts. Just once. When you got all dressed-up for the Slug Club.”

Slut, she thought, irrationally, because it was the first insult that came to mind, but also the most overused and most meaningless. Hermione was the farthest thing from a scarlet woman.

“I… Ginny… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I find that hard to believe. Hermione Granger always knows what she’s thinking; in fact, thoughts are the only things she knows and she wouldn’t recognize her own feelings if she found them floating in her tea.”

“So you understand,” Hermione said, reaching forward and grabbing Ginny’s hand who felt too taken aback to react; she stared on, a spectator to her own life, as Hermione finally began to elaborate, “I don’t know how to deal with my feelings. I… books, cleverness. What’s all that without love?”

“So, being the best at everything is not enough, you want my boyfriend too?” Ginny snapped, knowing she was acting irrationally but enjoying the guilt that flitted across Hermione’s face.

Hermione heaved a silent sigh, with more tears forming in her eyes and rolling down her face. “You said you weren’t sure if you wanted to break up with him or not.”

Well, Ginny thought, looking sternly at her friend, I know now.

“We’re going through a hard phase,” Ginny said. “But as you said, you wouldn’t understand. The closest thing you’ve gotten to a relationship is this one with Cormac.”

It was meant to be a dig, but the way Hermione lit up at the mention of her dalliance at first made Ginny see red, but when she thought it over, she felt her shoulders relax. This is good, she thought. This is very, very good.  

“It’s amazing,” Hermione gushed. “I’ve never been romanced this way.”

“So… you’re getting over Harry, then?”

Hermione shrugged. “Slowly but surely.”

Ginny observed her closely, watching for any signs of deception. She couldn’t tell whether or not her best friend was telling the truth.

“I suppose that’s good then.”

Hermione wiped her tears, “I didn’t want to ruin the group dynamic by confessing to this.”

“So you held onto it for all these years?” Ginny felt her heart soften despite her anger.

Hermione nodded; she seemed to struggle internally for a few seconds before breaking into miserable, gut-wrenching sobs. Despite her own misgivings, after some deliberation, Ginny scooted closer to Hermione on the cold ground to put her arms around her.

“I don’t deserve this…” Hermione whined.

“Sssh… you’re my best friend,” Ginny said.

“I don’t deserve this,” Hermione was weeping into Ginny’s shoulder now.

Ginny patted Hermione awkwardly; she had always known how to deal with anger better than with grief.

“Just promise never to approach him,” Ginny said, only half-joking. “And we can put this all behind us.”

Hermione broke apart for a minute, eyes alight with hope. “Really?” she asked, like a child in front of a Christmas window.

Ginny smiled indulgently. “Really.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Hermione gushed, blushing.

Ginny felt Hermione was too apologetic; it’s not like she could help her emotions. She had suffered in silence to preserve the group dynamic and had actively taken steps to remedy an otherwise seemingly impossible situation. If anyone was to be thankful, it was Ginny, the latter thought. Hermione had taken on this burden so as not to hurt others.

Perfect. So, fucking perfect.

Selfless and loyal like Harry.

Someone worthy of the great Boy-Who-Lived.

Whose adventures the man himself had never wanted to share with Ginny.

‘To keep her safe’, he had said.

But what if he simply did not want her around because he thought her incapable?

She certainly did not live up to Hermione fucking Granger, the brightest witch of her goddamn age.

Perhaps they’d be a better match.

Perhaps she was a fluke, an obstacle to their destiny.

She despised the thought. She loved Harry more than she had ever loved anyone else, probably more than she ever would love anyone else, because strong and selfless men were few and far between.

“You’re an amazing friend, Hermione,” Ginny said, struggling to get it out through gritted teeth. She was seething inside and had to remind herself that Hermione was not the cause of her feeling of inadequacy, but she herself was. “I just… McLaggen, really?”

Hermione shrugged. “No one else showed any interest in me.”

“No one else was brave enough to,” Ginny said, “It takes a level of delusion only man like McLaggen possess.”

“Hey, what do you mean?”

“You’re the brightest witch of your age. Beautiful, to boot.”

“Oh, come on. You were always the pretty one.”

Ginny pursed her lips again. Who cared, even if she was the most beautiful girl in all of the United Kingdom? If she didn’t have his heart, it mattered nothing at all.

At least her greatest contender was with Cormac McLaggen, and strangely enough, seemed to like him. Good, she thought, as long as it stays that way.

Her skin prickled with anxiety.

Somehow, something told her it would most certainly not stay that way.

Such was not the will of Fate.

Harry was in his Head Boy dorm, watching Ginny comb her hair in front of the dresser she had had delivered there. They had spent most of the night in silence, reading while the other watched TV; Ginny even began to clean up the place the Muggle way to calm her nerves, presumably.

Harry looked up from his book, asking for the umpteenth time that night, “Ginny, would you finally tell me what’s bothering you? I cannot help this way.”

Ginny’s expression was one of thinly veiled fury. “Hermione,” she said. “She gave you that book, didn’t she? History of Magic. She gave you that book, didn’t she?” she snapped when he didn’t immediately reply.

“Yes, she did,” Harry said, “Do you really think I’d be reading this if it weren’t for her?” he laughed weakly at the end in an attempt to lift the otherwise abysmal mood.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, judging by Ginny’s disapproving harrumphing. “You don’t wear the clothes I buy you.”

“I wear some of them. I told you I don’t like the style of cltohes you buy me.”

“But you don’t like reading that much and you’re still reading that boring book because Hermione gave it to you.”

“I’m reading it because you refuse to talk to me all night!”

“No, you read it in your spare time, too. I noticed you reading it in between classes.”

“I also wear the sweater your mom made me for Christmas but not the clothes you buy me. Are you going to be jealous of her too?”

“Hermione is in love with you!” Ginny screamed at him, finally losing all control, throwing the towel she was cleaning with to the ground.

Harry felt his entire world tremble. Could Hermione be… truly? Hermione Granger, his friend? Hermione Granger, who had dated his best friend? Hermione Granger, who was now dating Cormac McLaggen?

“Yeah,” she said, before he could process the earth-shattering information, “Don’t bother. I can see it on your face. Goodbye, Harry.”