Secrets

It was perfect, thought Hermione, as she looked at her best friend sitting at the table. Everything about him had improved tenfold. His eating habits were returning to normal, he didn’t always flinch when startled, and his laughter had returned. She could hardly believe that Severus Snape, the snarky potions professor was responsible for this change in the boy who lived. Hermione had never realized it before, but Harry had been stuck before this year. His emotional growth had somehow been stunted, leaving him with many of the same capacities as an eleven year old boy. Of course, in retrospect, this was obviously not healthy, but she’d gotten used to it. It was refreshing to see Harry go through an emotional growth spurt.

As promised, Snape had provided an excellent dinner, much of it obviously muggle cuisine. Apparently, Severus was fascinated with America and its history. In particular, he found southern culture interesting. Appropriately, this meant that dinner had consisted of hush puppies, sweet potato pie, collard greens, and other such foods that Hermione had never seen. She couldn’t say that she particularly minded the different food, though she had entered the apartment on edge, prepared to hate Snape. Instead, she’d found the older gentleman’s company to be quite genial. This frustrated her. She hated to be wrong.

“Harry,” spoke Snape, “perhaps you’d like to play chess with Hermione?” At this suggestion, Harry got a somewhat naughty look on his face. He replaced it quickly when he saw Hermione looking at him.

“I dunno, Sev,” he began, “I was thinking it’d be nice to play some gee-tar,” said Harry, in a mock southern accent. “Maybe you two could play.” Snape had hardly had time to formulate an answer before Hermione had set up the chess board and was sitting in the living room, in Harry’s usual spot, looking expectant. Grudgingly, he sat across from her, while Harry settled himself at his feet, holding his guitar lovingly. Soon, the boy began to play, and the three spent the night in contented companionship. Severus was surprised at how well he tolerated Hermione. He was expecting to hate her, to only tolerate her for Harry’s sake. Instead, he found himself having thoughtful discussions with her concerning potion ingredients and precision in the lab. Sure, he’d had such conversations with Harry, but well…that was Harry.
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Hermione climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower quietly, thoughtfully. Her first instinct was to run to Ron and tell him everything she knew. She wanted him to know how their friend had found happiness, how he acted less like a twelve year old and more like an adolescent. Harry hadn’t exactly forbidden her from telling anyone, although he had initially asked for her confidence. Now, however, it seemed like he and Snape were willing to be somewhat open, albeit discrete, with their friends. Ron needed to know, she decided.

Stealthily, she crept her way up the stairs into the boy’s dormitory. Since Harry had relocated to the dungeons, Ron had been in the happy situation of being without a roommate. She knew that this pleased him, as he’d never had his own room before. The walls were his to decorate. He didn’t have to worry about keeping his roommates up by reading, listening to music, or talking to Hermione. She walked up to his door and knocked softly.

“Ron,” she whispered, “I just had dinner with Harry and Snape.” She waited for a response, hoping that Ron would still be awake. Her waiting appeared to be in vain, and she turned to leave. Just as she was about to leave, though, Ron opened the door and looked at her smugly.

“So, how’d it go,” he questioned, leaning on the doorframe.

“Better than I expected.”

“What did you expect Hermione,” asked Ron. “Did you expect that the two of them would be at each other’s throats all night?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking,” she began. Ron cut her off.

“I mean, it’s not like they’re completely smitten with each other and shagging or anything,” Ron continued. “They’re just having a truce while Snape helps Harry with stuff.”

“Sort of, I guess,” spoke Hermione tentatively. She walked into Ron’s room and flopped down on the boy’s large bed. By now, the room was familiar to her. She’d spent many nights curled up by Ron, sharing thoughts and other things with him. Her mind wandered to the day that they’d told Harry about their relationship. Hermione had worried that Harry would be left out, would feel rejected. Instead, he was thrilled for them. She only hoped that Ron could do the same for Harry.

“You know Harry’s gay, right Ron,” blurted out Hermione.

“What,” asked Ron, as he thought. “I guess I never really thought about it. I just figured he wasn’t like us. I mean, I thought of him as sort of sexless…kind of like a priest.” Ron looked at her curiously. “Why do you mention it?”

“Because Harry is queer.”

“I guess,” Ron said, thinking, “I could see that. He never did like girls in the same way. Always spent time with them, but he was, y’know, giving them fashion advice and such.” The red head was obviously perplexed, and poked Hermione in the side saying, “but why does this matter? It’s not like it changes anything.”

Hermione took Ron’s statement as permission to continue. Turning to face Ron, she asked him sincerely, “Ron, if Harry were to find someone he loved, you’d be happy for him, right?”

“Of course, “Mione, he’s my best mate. I want him to be happy.” If it was possible, Ron looked even more confused.

“No matter who he chose, you’d stand by him,” she pressed on. She wanted to be certain before she told Ron anything. Harry couldn’t take rejection right now. Snape had revealed to her just how complicated his healing process had been.

“I don’t understand how this is even a question,” spoke Ron, sounding irritated. “You make it sound like he’s shacking up with Voldemort or Snape or something.”

“If that were the case, could you handle it?”

“I guess,” muttered Ron, “as long as I didn’t have to like it.” Hermione sighed. That was probably the best response she could hope for from Ron. Leaning back into the pillows, she pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket and began to talk.

“Well, there’s this prophecy that I came across in the library, and it concerns Harry.” She read the passage to Ron, who looked more confused.

“So Harry’s going to fall for a guy with dark hair then,” Ron conjectured. “That’s good. Keeps me out of the mix,” he spoke playfully.

“He’s found his dark man,” interjected Hermione. “It’s Snape.”

Ron sat bolt upright in bed, face looking like it’d been slapped. He stared at Hermione as if she’d just spoken in tongues. He waited for her to say something, say anything. He was personally hoping for a statement similar to “joke’s on you,” but it didn’t come.