The Art of Friendship

2012  © All Rights Reserved. 

This story was written and published on FanFiction in June of 2012 and since I just recently joined WattPad, I thought I might as well publish it here as well. I've edited this profusely for many days and nights, but sometimes I still overlook spelling, punctuation, and grammar errors and I apologize in advance for them! Also, this is my first ever story, so please, be polite. I realize there are many mistakes and sometimes the plot isn't easily recognizeable, but I wrote this over a year ago and I'm a human who misses many mistakes. I should get an editor. Sigh. 

Anyways, the cover image was found on tumblr posted by dqueenisback, however I'm not sure who drew it.  

Also, anytime I write something, I'm always listening to music and if you listen to music while you're reading then, enjoy! 

Song Recs: As it seems - Lily Kershaw; For the First Time - The Script; Your Guardian Angel - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus; Moonlight - Yiruma; I Do Adore - Mindy Gledhill (If you like listening to music while reading, like I do :P, I suggest you go in the order it's listed. I chose it so it coordinated with the plot. I also put a lyric of one of the songs in there. Wondering if anyone will notice. :P)

The Art of Friendship

"It's a bit . . . caliginous, today, don't you think, Hermione?" Ron said as he looked out at the open sky ahead. I mentally scoffed at Ron's attempt for small talk. He was never one for pleasantries. We were currently a top the Astronomy tower waiting for Harry who had owled both of us earlier in the day to meet him here after curfew. Apparently, it was "extremely urgent" and "couldn't wait till the morning."

In my opinion, if you wanted to tell your best mates who, might I add, are not on the best of terms at the moment, something important then you should have been as punctual as possible, especially with classes resuming back tomorrow after two weeks of Christmas holiday. But no, Harry-bloody-Potter doesn't know the meaning of a pocket watch and it's usefulness.

"Yes, Ronald, it looks particularly 'caliginous' today," I said, correcting his pronunciation. "You'd have to be a complete dimwit if you think spewing a couple of intelligent phrases will get you back into my good graces, you git."

Ron's shoulders slumped as he sighed and covered his face with his hands. "Look Hermione . . . I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry about Lavender, I'm sorry about . . . what you saw . . . I'm just . . . sorry. I can't take it back, and I wish you would've found out about us a different way. But to be quite frank, Hermione? I don't want to take it back. Any of it. I . . . I love Lavender. I'm sorry, but I do." At this point, I could feel tears prickling at the back of my eyes, waiting for the chance to fall, but I couldn't. I couldn't let them fall. I couldn't let Ron see me cry. He didn't deserve to see me cry.

"We . . . Mione, we weren't working out. Every single day, every single minute, we were constantly fighting. Doesn't matter who started it or what it was about, we were always fighting." He paused. "We weren't happy, Hermione. Maybe . . . maybe, we would've been, but it's too late for that."

I flinched at his last words, and my resolve broke. Quick, silent tears, flowed down my pale cheeks as I slowly moved my gaze from the horizon ahead of me, to Ron, standing next to me. His clear blue eyes were full of sorrow as he watched tear after tear roll down in big drops.

"Hermi-" He started.

I raised a hand, signaling him to stop and wiped away the evidence of my hurt from my face. In a quiet, yet firm voice, I said, "You're right, Ron. We wouldn't have worked out. But it's not because that we weren't happy. It's because we never tried to take a chance to be happy."