There was something in the simplicity of the words he spoke, in the expression of mingled relief and terror on his face, that was inarguable.
Another silence followed, broken by the sound of an object striking the stone floor. It was the package that Harry had been holding; it had fallen out of his hand.
“That's insane,” Harry said. His voice was also firm, but blank and colorless, lacking any music at all. A robot's voice. “It doesn't make any sense.”
Ron's lips parted; he looked as if he were about to speak. Then the portrait hole swung open, and they both froze, and turned to stare. It was, as if inevitably, Hermione. She was smiling, flushed from the cold outside, her arms full of books and the fur collar of her blue cloak pulled up around her neck. “Hey, you two,” she said cheerfully. “What's all the yelling?”
“Hermione,” interrupted Ron, his voice fierce and wretched, “he knows.”
Hermione paused and blinked at him. “What?”
Ron got to his feet. He was standing next to Harry now. Harry had remained very still, not moving. His eyes went from Hermione to Ron, and back again. “Harry knows,” Ron said. “I'm sorry. I know we were going to wait until New Year's.”
The smile had begun very slowly to fade from Hermione's face. She looked from Harry's white face to Ron's set one. “Is this some kind of joke?” she said uncertainly. “I don't understand.”
“Welcome to the club,” said Harry, speaking for the first time since she had come into the room. “I don't understand either.”
“Hermione!” Ron said fiercely. “Don't you get it — there's no point pretending! Harry knows! I told him!”
Hermione looked at him wonderingly. “Told him what, Ron?”
“I told him,” said Ron, speaking very slowly, “about us.”
Hermione's mouth opened slightly, and she stared at Ron. Then she stared at Harry. Her gaze went back and forth between them and she resembled nothing so much as a small creature trapped between two much larger predators. “I don't…” she said softly, and then her voice trailed off. “Are you two…” Her gaze finally came to rest on Harry. “Harry…” she began.
“Ron says he's in love with you,” said Harry in a flat voice, and Ron flinched. “And he says you're in love with him.”
Hermione looked stunned. “He said what?” she whispered, still staring at Harry. “No, he wouldn't say that — it isn't true. That can't be what he meant.” Her eyes, enormous in her pale face, went to Ron. “That's not what you meant, is it? Harry just misunderstood.”
Ron looked as if Hermione had hit him in the face. The blood seemed to drain out of his skin. He made a strange sound, low in his throat, and stood up, staring at Hermione. “You can't do this,” he said. “I know you're afraid but you can't do this.”
“Afraid?” Hermione echoed. “Afraid of what?”
Ron spun around, and stared at Harry. His eyes were huge, almost black with intensity. “I love her,” he said. His voice was thin, but defiant. “I love her, and she loves me. We love each other. And we haven't held back, either. We're together almost every night. Together in every way.”
“Ron!” said Hermione, her voice exploding out on a half-shriek. “What are you doing?”
Harry looked as if he were going to throw up. “This has gone beyond a joke,” he said. “Beyond any kind of game — one of you better tell the truth, and pretty fucking quickly.”
Ron turned his head, and looked at Hermione. “For God's sake, it's time, Hermione,” he said. “Tell him you love me.”
Hermione's hands slowly clenched at her sides. Her voice when she spoke was as fierce and cold as an ice storm. “I do not love you,” she said, and her voice rose and rose, brushing the edge of hysteria. “I do not love you and moreover I have no idea what you are talking about. I have never been with you. I have never —”
“You're lying,” Ron said, his voice as astonished as it was angry. “How can you —”
“How can you?” Hermione shouted back. “How can you stand there and tell such terrible lies?”
“It's the truth!”
“I would never do that! Never!”
Ron spoke again, his eyes never leaving Hermione's, although his words were for Harry. “Where do you think she goes, Harry, when you can't find her? What do you think she's been hiding? Why does she always look so tired? You've had that feeling she doesn't love you any more? Now you know why.”
“Why are you doing this?” Hermione's voice sounded shattered, a fragile glass bell buckling under strain. “Why? Why are you doing this, Ron?”
“Because I'm tired of lying,” he shot back.
“You're lying right now!”
“I'm telling the truth!” Ron's voice was thunderous. He turned back to Harry, who was standing very still, unmoving, his face entirely blank.
“You believe me, don't you?” he said in a harsh half-whisper. “You know it's true.”
Harry said nothing. He glanced down and then back up at Ron, expressionless, as if he were gazing at a stranger.
Then he looked at Hermione, who started towards him involuntarily. He held out a hand, arresting her progress. “No,” he said.
She stopped where she was. “Harry—“ There was a pleading note in her voice. “You know I would never — you know I love you.” She turned and looked at Ron. “Tell him you're lying,” she whispered. “It's not too late — tell him —”
