From Bad to Worse

Sorry for the wait. :)

***

"I can’t stay," Hermione whispered, sighing against his chest. "Ron’s supposed to come over tonight."
"He can wait."
She laughed softly. "He won’t wait. He’ll come over here, looking for me."
"You know, I’ve been thinking about taking my floo off the network. That, or restrict it."
"And exactly how are you going to explain to Ron why he isn’t on the ‘welcome’ list? Especially since I’m quite certain I will be."
He shrugged, shifting his arm and pulling her closer. "No idea. I’m sure you’ll think of something."
She scoffed. "Oh, no. It was your idea, so you’re going to have to come up with the excuse. I’m not getting stuck in the middle of that one. What time is it?"
Harry glanced at the clock, yawning. "Almost eight. What time is Ron supposed to be over?"
"Half past, which means I have to go. Are you getting Sam this weekend?"
"Dunno. Lauren won’t return my calls. Of course, that won’t stop me. It’s supposed to be my weekend. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?"
She grinned, sitting up. "Like I could say no? What should I tell Ron this time? More research?"
Harry laughed, scratching his head. "It works the best. You know he avoids reading at all costs. Just mentions books, and hours and hours of hard work and you won’t have to say any more than that."
"Too true," she said softly, stretching and looking around for her discarded clothes. "What is your assignment at work now, anyway?"
"Pettigrew. But you’re not supposed to know that."
She gasped. "What, they’ve found him?"
"Possibly. Of course, I’m not allowed to be there for the takedown. They’re afraid I’ll find a reason to kill him."
Hermione shuddered at the deadened tone in Harry’s voice when he spoke of Wormtail. "You wouldn’t though, right?"
He just smiled wryly at her, climbing out of bed and pulling on his shorts. "You’re going to be late."
*****************************************************************************

Ron was sitting on her couch when she Apparated into her apartment. "Where’ve you been? I thought you’d have dinner ready when I got here."
Hermione ground her teeth, bristling at this greeting. "How long have you been here?"
"A little while. Were you working late again? You know, you really should tell them that you’ve got more important things to do than stay locked up in a library from dawn until dusk. They’re taking advantage of you."
Hermione almost laughed aloud at that statement. She wanted, desperately, to ask Ron if he’d ever heard about the pot and the kettle, but he probably hadn’t. As it was, she simply dropped her things into the armchair by the door and went to the kitchen to dig through her takeout menus. "Chinese or Indian?"
"What?" Ron asked, stopping in the doorway. "You aren’t going to cook? I could have ordered takeout at home. I was hoping for something home-cooked."
She glared at him, wondering if he realised just how ungrateful he was being. "Then maybe you should have gone to the Burrow. I’m sure your mother would be glad to cook something for you. I’m getting takeout."
He frowned at her. "What’s with the mood?"
"The mood?" she snapped. "The mood? I’ve been working all day, Ron, and I’m tired. I come home and the first thing I hear isn’t ‘Welcome home, Hermione! How was your day?’ No, I get ‘Where’ve you been? I’m starving. Cook something for me.’ I’m not your maid, Ronald, and I’m not your mother! Don’t come over here asking me to take care of you because I’ve got my hands full taking care of me!"
He gaped at her, his eyes wide. "I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—I’m not asking you to take care of me. I just—I thought--." He broke off, shaking his head. "I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it that way."
She sighed, dropping her head. "Look, Ron, I don’t mean to just blow up on you, because I know you don’t realise what you’re doing, but—I can’t keep pretending I’m fine with all of this. We’re dating, we aren’t married. I’m not ready for that kind of life, and that’s what you’re expecting of me."
He was quiet for a long moment, then shrugged. "All right. That’s fine. I’m sorry I pushed you. Chinese is fine."
She laughed, shaking her head. "All right. Do you mind phoning it in? I really want to go get a shower."
He nodded. "Yeah, all right. Garlic Chicken?"
"Please. And Egg Drop Soup. I’m starving."
She hurried into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, stepping quickly beneath the warm spray. She wasn’t entirely sure that she didn’t still smell like Harry, that she didn’t smell like sex. Not that Ron would notice. He never had before. Still, she felt better to shower and take away any chance that he might. She was careful as she washed her legs and abdomen, trying not to scrub too hard at the spots that were still a little sore. Guilt welled up in her stomach as she thought about what she was doing. She’d just gotten out of bed with Harry and was now going to spend the evening with Ron, playing the part of the loving girlfriend, lying to him without ever saying a word. She should have been used to it by now, she supposed. She’d been doing it for a while. It had never stopped bothering her, though.
Despite all her arguments against it, she was Ron’s girlfriend. She knew he thought she was, knew his family thought so as well. Harry even thought so, which made her angry with him. The whole situation was confusing, and frustrating.
Hermione wasn’t herself anymore, not where Harry was concerned. Had it been anyone else, anyone else, she would have told them, in no uncertain terms, that she was not the kind of girl who would be an insignificant other. She wouldn’t go to bed with someone knowing that, just the night before, they had been with someone else. She wouldn’t allow herself to be just someone to kill time with until something better came along. She wouldn’t. Not for anyone but Harry. And only for Harry would she lie and cheat and risk losing someone like Ron.
She didn’t love Ron. At least, she wasn’t in love with Ron. She had been, at one time. It had long ago burned out, though, and what was left was friendship, nothing more or less. She still cared about him, still wanted the best for him, and couldn’t bring herself to break his heart.
No, that wasn’t necessarily true. She could have done, no matter how bad she might have felt about it, if she knew for certain that she had a future with Harry. She loved Harry. And she thought that Harry loved her too, although she knew he would never admit to it. Or maybe he didn’t. She just didn’t know for sure, and she wasn’t willing to burn her bridges on something so uncertain.
Harry was—well, he wasn’t himself anymore either. He hadn’t been for a long time. Not since—not since he’d been taken.
He still wouldn’t talk about it. Even after all of this time, he wouldn’t say a single word about it, other than the dismissive "I’m fine. It’s over. Drop it."
The differences in him had been immediately apparent. He was quiet, closed-off, but he always had been to some extent. What he hadn’t always been, however, was rude. He’d lost all of his tact somehow, so that whatever thought happened to cross his mind now came out his mouth at almost the same instant. He said things, hateful things, without apology, without caring. He wasn’t cruel, necessarily, but he could be very close to it at times.
She dipped her head under the spray, letting the hot water run down her face, catching some of it in her mouth. The sticky, coated feeling slowly began to dissolve.
What the hell had she become? How could she have let this happen? It was infuriating. A cold chill passed over her, even under the hot water, as she tried to suppress the thought she’d had to ignore so many times before: I’m Harry’s slut.
It had to end. She had to tell him that she couldn’t do it anymore. The guilt of it all weighed on her so heavily sometimes that she actually became nauseated. She’d let herself become something so disgusting that she couldn’t even stand the thought of it, let herself be pulled into something that could end up hurting a lot of people that she loved.
Harry needed me, though. I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t let him suffer through—whatever he was going through—alone. I couldn’t have done that to him.
She wasn’t so sure he really needed her anymore, though. He still held tight to her when he slept, or when he woke from one his more severe nightmares. He would bury his face in her shoulder and shake for what seemed like hours and she would hold him and try to soothe him. What if she weren’t there for that? What if he had no one to hold him when the nightmares got to be too much? What if it was one of those other girls there instead, and they couldn’t help him?
And there was still that passionate, desperate need in every one of his kisses. He clung to her when he kissed her and she knew that had to mean something. It had to. Maybe he did still need her.
She sighed, leaning against the shower wall and wrapping her arms tightly around her waist, hugging herself. She felt the tears well up and choked out a sob.
I need him. I need him because he doesn’t expect anything from me, and because he thinks I’m beautiful and because, let’s face it, I’ve never had such incredible sex in my life, and because—he’s Harry.
She sobbed again, for the futility of it all, for getting herself into something like this, for not being able to make up her mind. She didn’t want to need anyone. She didn’t want to feel obligated to Ron. She didn’t want to be a housewife with loads of kids, but she also didn’t want to be nothing more than a convenient lay, someone who would grow old waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.
She sniffed, wiping her eyes. Nothing had been resolved, and it made her head pound.
"Oy, Hermione!" Ron called, pounding on the door. "Your—phone-thingys ringing!"
"Answer it, then," she called back. "Honestly, Ron, you’ve seen me do it enough times."
"All right, all right," he said back, sounding irritated.
She finished washing and rinsing off, then tied a towel tightly around her. She stepped out of the bathroom to hear Ron’s voice. "…probably won’t mind. You’d have to ask her."
She stepped out into the hall. "Who is it?"
"It’s Harry," Ron answered. "He’s--."
She had come down the hall and stopped dead in the doorway of the sitting room. Harry was standing there, leaning against her front door, smirking at her. "Hey," he said, obviously biting back a laugh.
She gasped, clutching at the towel. "OH! I thought—you were just—on the phone. I didn’t know you were—here."
He laughed. "I called to see if I could stop by for a minute. I wanted to ask you a favour, but I figured I’d have a better chance of getting a yes if you had to look me in the eye."
She glanced at Ron, who was staring at her with an odd look on his face. "Oh, well—let me just—get dressed."
She hurried back to her bedroom and shut her door, leaning against it and rolling her eyes. "Just had to come over," she muttered, shaking her head.
She dried off quickly and threw on a pair of shorts and, almost ironically, one of Harry’s old T-shirts. She had worn it enough around Ron that he wouldn’t think anything about it, but she cursed herself for feeling the need to tease Harry like that.
"What’s the favour?" she asked as she joined them in the living room. He turned to look at her and, for just the smallest second, a look of surprise crossed his face. Then, he covered it again.
"I need to go get Sam Friday, and I wondered if you would go with me. I could use a buffer while I’m around her."
Hermione laughed softly. "Yeah, I think I can do that. Maybe we can take him to the movies or something. What time are you going?"
"About five. I appreciate this." He grinned. "I know how much you hate her."
"I do, but that’s okay. I’m willing to put up with it if it means you’ll get to see Sammy." She caught herself giving him a too-warm smile and turned away, heading for the kitchen. "Food here yet, Ron?"
"Not yet," he called. "Should be soon."
"Well, I should go," she heard Harry say, and her heart dropped. "You two have fun tonight."
"Harry!" she called, coming back to the kitchen doorway. "Why don’t you stay for dinner?"
He laughed. "No, thank you. I’ve got some work to do at home."
She sighed. "I wish you would."
Ron cleared his throat. "You heard him, Hermione. He’s busy. Don’t badger him."
She glared at Ron for a minute, then turned back to Harry. "Are you sure you can’t stay for a few minutes?"
His eyes moved quickly to Ron, as well, and he nodded. "I’m sure. Some other night. I promise."
"OH! I almost forgot," she said, remembering his dinner invitation from earlier. "I have some things that I need to go over with you."
He frowned slightly. "Like what?"
"Some—things about the—thing you’re working on," she stammered. The nerve of him, putting her on the spot like that. He was the one who had suggested the dinner, but he was making her work for it. "That—case."
He quirked an eyebrow at her, barely hiding a smirk. "Oh, that. Yeah, all right. Uh, when?"
"Tomorrow?" she asked, almost too quickly. "Maybe we could—get some dinner or something."
She was painfully aware of Ron’s eyes on her and she tried not to blush. "Yeah, sounds good," Harry said, his smirk growing slightly. "I’ll call you tomorrow. Night, Ron. Have fun," he said, then turned on the spot and disappeared.
Ron turned to look at her again, his eyes narrowed. "What stuff do you have for him to look at?"
"Just some—information about the—case he’s on."
"You’re not supposed to know what case he’s on."
"Yes, well, that’s a mere technicality, really. He just asks me to help with some research sometimes, or—you know, that sort of thing. It’s not like I go around spouting off to everyone what the Aurors are up to, is it?"
Ron continued to stare at her. "What’s he working on?"
"I can’t tell you that."
"But he can tell you."
"He told me with the understanding that I wouldn’t go telling everyone else. Where’s that food, anyway? I’m famished."
She went into the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator, trying not to think. She was lying again. Yes, she knew what case Harry was working on and no, she wasn’t supposed to tell Ron. That part was true. But there was never any research going on when she was with Harry. She was going to his apartment for dinner and then she was going to fuck him. It was as simple as that. It was possible that they wouldn’t even make it to dinner.
She shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She hated lying, and she hated being treacherous. She hated herself for being so taken up with Harry that she would stoop to—this. She hated Harry for pulling her into it, and she hated Ron for expecting something from her that she wasn’t ready for.
"Anything good?"
She jumped, turning to face him. "Huh?"
"Anything good? In there?" he added, motioning to the refrigerator.
She shook her head, chewing her lip. "No. I expect the food will be here soon, though. Should we see what’s on the telly?"
He came toward her, stopping when his body brushed hers. "We could. Or we could do this."
His hand curled into her hair and he pulled her chin up, bending to brush his lips against hers. She froze, feeling the nausea build in her stomach again. She’d, only an hour before, been kissing Harry. Truth be told, she would rather have been kissing Harry now. But Harry was gone, and Ron was here.
His lips moved against hers and she forced herself to kiss him back, fighting back the guilt that was threatening to suffocate her. He could kiss her well enough, knew how to use his tongue quite well actually. But he wasn’t Harry. Her fingers brushed over his chest and she noted, as always, the nice, firm muscles under his shirt. They were nice, but they weren’t Harry’s. He groaned, pushing his hips against her, his hardening cock pressing into her stomach. He was large, really, both thicker and longer than Harry. But he wasn’t Harry.
There was something so primal about Harry when they were making love. He wasn’t just screwing her. He needed to screw her. She felt that even when he was inside of her, buried as deep as he could go, it wasn’t enough for him. It was as though he was always searching for some way to get—more. She’d never fully understood it, which made her even more surprised that she was so certain of it. Harry still needed her, and she couldn’t leave him.
Ron’s hand slid down to rest on her chest and she sighed. If she was going to keep this up, and she had to admit to herself that she was, then she had to stop comparing them. She had to let go of Harry when she was with Ron. She had to, or she would eventually go mad.