SPARKS ◦ H. POTTER, H. GRANGER, R. WEASLEY

ii. THEY WERE HER BOYS

Hermione Granger liked to think she was very observant, and in almost all ways, she most certainly was. But Merlin, how hadn't she seen this? Harry was always so readable, but keeping a secret like this, it just didn't make sense. His love was always, always out in the open, but she, Hermione Granger, a very observant young woman, had missed the signs.

It had been a Tuesday, she recalled, because they only all went out to the local pub on Tuesdays. It was a simple affair between the three of them, really, just a way to relax after a hard day at work. 

Ron was a gin sort of person, always ordering a few shots for himself, and some strange concoction from the bar to wash them down with afterward. Harry, meanwhile, stuck to his Firewhiskys and Butterbeer, which he sometimes mixed with a little alcohol. Hermione, on the other hand, was more a fruity-drink girl, preferring not to drink too much, or anything too strong.

It had been well into the night by that point, and Hermione was pleasantly buzzed, lounging in the booth as she watched Harry and Ron across the table. They were currently laughing at an inappropriate joke the redhead had told, which really wasn't that funny at all.

"We should head home." Hermione said softly, standing from the table as she slid her purse over her shoulder, putting a crisp bill on the table for payment.

"Yes, ma'am." Ron said, giving a drunken salute, to which Harry doubled over in peals of laughter. 

Hermione smiled, letting Ron sling an arm over her shoulder, whispering half-coherent thoughts in her ear as they headed towards the door. Harry shuffled behind them, and that should've been the first sign, really. She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was still there, thinking nothing of the sullen look on his face.

(She'd thought that was always how he looked after getting drunk, but no, it was different, and she couldn't believe she hadn't realized it.)

The walk home to their flat was silent, and as soon as she walked through the door, Hermione found herself being kissed up by a familiar set of lips. She gave a breathy sigh as she tilted her head up and back, allowing Ron further access. 

"I'm heading into bed." Harry said from behind them.

And that had been the second sign right there, hadn't it? But she'd been too hazy to see, to notice. Harry longed for what they had, she knew, the pure chemistry of it all. But the way he'd been staring that night, positively pleading, and she hadn't noticed . . .

A long while later, the middle of the night, she finally put it all together. Her eyes snapped open with a gasp, and she rolled onto her side in Ron's bed, buried among the pillows and quilts. Ron grunted as Hermione desperately shook him, blearily blinking open deep blue eyes to peer at her.

"Wha' time issit?" he asked, voice slurred from a deep sleep.

"It doesn't matter. We need to talk." Hermione said, forcing her to look at him. "Hey! Don't fall back asleep on me, this is important. It's about Harry."

"Can't we chat about Harry in the morning?" Ron asked, and she could tell he was making a face, even though the lighting was dim.

"No, no, because I just came to a realization. Have you ever . . . have you ever noticed the way Harry looks at us? It's absolute adoration, Ronald, he's completely smitten."

"Well, yeah, we're his best friends. Isn't that the way friends should-"

"You aren't getting it!" Hermione sounded frustrated, dragging her hands over her face. "He looks at you and I like . . . like I look at you."

"Oh. Oh." Ron sounded like he finally got it, though she wasn't completely sure. "Are you saying that he's . . ."

"We fit, Ron. That's always the way it's been. Don't tell me that you haven't ever . . . thought about him."

Hermione certainly had, back in her school days. What it'd be like to kiss Harry, to feel his lips on hers, to take him in her arms and just . . . be. He was so loving, and caring, and to earn his love and trust was something else. Ron gave her a fire in her bones, but Harry . . . he was like the soothing sounds of the beach on a breezy day, comforting her, always so sturdy.

Even now, she thought it sometimes, though not out loud. She loved Ron, she always told herself. But Harry, she loved Harry too, she realized. They were both her boys, and she loved them equally. She couldn't live if she lost one of them, they came as a matching set.

"Hermione . . . Merlin, it's too early to be thinking about this." Ron sounded bone-tired, but at the same time, there was a thoughtfulness to his sleep-fogged voice. "Maybe. Maybe I have. I don't know."

She could tell he was lying. The way he embraced Harry sometimes, the way he put an arm around the smaller man's shoulders when Harry rested his head on his shoulders, the teasing touches when Harry tried to nick something from the kitchen whilst he was cooking, it was all there.

Hermione'd never put all the facts together, but it was all underlying, really. Them, the three of them, it always felt so right. Why hadn't she realized it before?

"I'll be right back." she said, rising from the cozy bed despite Ron's protests. 

She slipped a Chudley Cannons shirt over her head that she picked up off the floor, shuffling down the hallway. She paused outside Harry's door, her fingers curling around the doorknob before she quietly pushed it open.

Harry was laid on his side, his back to her, but his body was shaking, knees protectively curled up to his chest. Hermione immediately went to his side, running a hand over his back and coaxing him to roll over. Harry peered up at her with his green eyes, a bit puffy from crying. 

"C'mere, Harry, up we get." she said softly, and like a child, he followed her instructions, clinging close to her side. 

"Hermione, wha-"

"Shh."

Ron's room was still dark as they got to it, and Hermione did a quick spell so the bed expanded. Ron was half-asleep by that point, startled awake by the sudden movement from underneath him. He opened his mouth to protest, but the moment Hermione moved forward into the moonlight, she could see him absolutely break.

"Oh, come on, then." he said, moving over to the left side of the bed and holding his arms open.

Hermione gave Harry a small nudge toward the bed, but Harry seemed frozen in place. He turned to squint at Hermione, confusion written all over his face.

"Are you sure about this? I mean . . . I haven't even-" he began to say, but she merely put a hand over his mouth.

"Get into the bed, Harry." was all she said, silently pleading that he'd do as she said.

Finally, finally, Harry crawled into the bed. He gave a startled squeak as Ron pulled him flush against his chest, and as Hermione laid on his other side a moment later. She gave Harry a kind smile, ghosting a kiss across his cheek.

"Ron, you're hogging him." she said teasingly.

Ron chuckled, and she thought she heard a muffled laugh from Harry as well. But Ron was fading fast, and as she gazed over at the clock on the bedside table (of course it was two in the bloody morning), she knew they could continue this tomorrow.

Hermione could hear Ron murmur something in Harry's ear, and Harry relaxed between them. One by one, they fell asleep. Ron was first, with his soft snoring. Then there was Harry, with his snuffling sighs. Hermione smoothed a hand over Harry's hair, then reached across him to put a hand on Ron's side, tangling her legs in the sheets.

They were her boys. And they'd talk in the morning, yes, over a fresh pot of coffee and pancakes, if Ron could be convinced. But for now, everything was alright, and Hermione felt complete. 

Her sweet, lovely boys.