It Was Always Roses
By Misha

Disclaimer- Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and is not mine, however much I might wish differently. However, I am not making any money off of this, so please do not sue me!

Author's Notes- This is a reflective, slightly angsty Harry/Hermione fanfic. This popped into my head suddenly and unfolded before I really knew what I was going to do with it. Most of my H/Hr fics are romances, this was is and isn't. It's more about friendship and about the road not taken. This piece turned out better than I thought it would and I'd like to know what people think about it. Well, that's all, enjoy!

Pairing- Minor Harry/Hermione, a hint of Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione.

Summery- Whatever else might have been, at least they always had roses.

Rating- PG

Spoilers- Minor ones for all four books, I guess.

There were tons of flowers at the funeral. They were symbol of well-loved he was, how many friends and admirers he had. It was a fitting send off for the hero of the wizarding world.

But despite the sheer number, one basket of flowers stood out. Dozens of roses in the deepest red, with a plain card that read simply: "It was always roses."

Those closest to the departed were puzzled by the card, the gesture, and the identity of the sender.

All except one woman who just sat there with a knowing look in her sad eyes. As the funeral went on around her, she focused on those roses and all that they represented.

For she was the only living person who knew what they represented and what those words on the card meant...

It had all started many years earlier when two children, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, were in their sixth year of Hogwarts. There had been a Christmas dance that year and they had gone together, as friends. That was the night he gave her the first rose.

"Sirius said it was polite to bring your date flowers." He said with a blush. "And well... I was thinking and I decided to get you a rose because I think they're the prettiest of flowers and they suit you."

She had questioned him on the color.

He smiled. "It stands out. So deep, so everlasting. It doesn't fade into the crowd. Just like you. Besides, red is for Gryffindor."

She had laughed then, touched by the gesture. She had saved that rose, just like she had all the others that came after.

He had given her roses for graduation and again for each birthday after that first Christmas.

It had become a secret ritual with them.

He never signed his name to the cards, simply the message, "What else could it be but roses?"

She always smiled at the gesture and saved every rose. She fell a little bit more in love with him with every rose that he sent her, but she never said anything out of fear of losing their friendship.

One day, it was too late for her to say anything. He was getting married. There was nothing she could do.

So she smiled and wished him well, while in private she sat in bed surrounded by magically preserved roses and cried herself to sleep.

She kept the roses in a drawer, a memory of a love that never bloomed, even as she served as his maid of honor.

He gave her another rose that night.

"Ginny insisted on white and yellow roses." He said with a smile. "But I knew I couldn't let an important event in our lives go unmarked. So, I got this for you."

She accepted the rose with a smile.

She put it with the others and resolved to get on with her life. She and Harry just weren't meant to be.

She soon became involved with Ron, who had always been the last link of their trio and within a year she became a bride.

The morning of her wedding, she received a dozen roses in the deepest red with the familiar note.

There were tears in her eyes as she placed these roses with the others. Even as life changed, something remained the same. There would always be friendship between her and Harry and there would always be roses.

And there were. There were many, many roses in the years that passed between them.

Ron would notice and he would comment, but she would never tell him the identity of the sender or the meaning of the card and in time, he let it go.

The roses came on all important occasions: the birth of her children, her anniversary, her birthday... They came and she saved them all. For it was all she would ever have, these roses.

Until one night and one conversation.

Years had passed and their youth was now behind them. Harry's health was failing and they all knew it.

One night, the two of them walked in his garden and looked at all the flowers.

"There are no roses." She commented. "At least none of our kind-I've always wondered why."

He looked at her and smiled. "Because this garden is mine and Ginny's and I couldn't share our roses with her. They belong to you and I."

"Always." Hermione whispered.

They looked at each other and suddenly they knew what they never had before, the feeling that they had felt for each other lingered in the air between them.

But it was much too late now. Their moment had come and gone. They stood for a long time, just looking at each and then they turned away.

Her birthday was the next week and this time the roses carried a different message. "We always had roses."

She looked at it and smiled sadly, thinking of what might have been, and then she placed the roses with the rest.

It was no use wondering what could have been and despite it all, at least they'd always had roses.

Harry died soon after and she honored him the way he honored her-with roses.

She had seen no need to put her name on the card, because the card was for Harry and no one else. And he would have understood.

So, as she sat there, listening to the tribute to the greatest man she had ever known, she thought about those roses and about a message that only she had understood.

It really had always been roses. They might not have each other in the end, but they always had roses.

The End