'Harry, you prat'

Harry stared at his two best friends with a look of mingled frustration and feeble amusement. They were seated at opposite ends of the table at the Weasley’s kitchen, arms crossed, glaring at each other. Ron’s ears were a shade of the deepest red Harry had ever seen him acquire, and his eyes were narrowed in obvious anger at the girl sitting across from him. Hermione, meanwhile, held his gaze with a cold look, her mouth a thin line on her face.

Harry was used to their bickering. He always had been, and had come to accept is as a normal thing between them. But after the past few days, he seriously thought he couldn’t handle much more of this. It had went from petty arguments from time to time, to daily fights over the silliest things, like the right way to pass the salt, or who got to sit in which chair. At first, he had found it mildly amusing to see them overreact so extravagantly, but after tearing them apart several times, he had begun to get quite annoyed.

And that wasn’t the only thing bothering him; Ginny, for instance, had stopped talking to him as she used to, and had taken to shooting him sad looks just as his gaze wandered to her. When he tried to ask her what was wrong, she would sigh dramatically, shake her head, and mumble a quiet ‘Nothing’ before walking away.

Somehow, this seemed to annoy him further rather than make him feel guilty. For one thing, hadn’t she said she’d expected him to break up with her sooner or later, because of Voldemort? He didn’t expect her to be happy about it, of course—he wasn’t exactly okay with it, either—but he had thought that she would at least understand why he did it, and be a little more cooperative. She was acting rather childish.

Another thing that was bothering him—probably the most of all—was, of course, Dumbledore’s death. He couldn’t believe that the only wizard Lord Voldemort had ever feared, the last person he, Harry, had had left to help him, guide him…was gone. And that he had been there; that he had heard his pleas to Snape, seen him slowly struggling against the effects of that horrible potion…seen as the curse had hit him, elevating him into the air…and that all the while, he hadn’t been able to help him. He would have given anything—anything—to have been able to help him right then, to save him from his death…

This lead to yet another thing—the wedding. He felt selfish for thinking this, but he couldn’t fathom how they could all be happy, planning it and making the arrangements, when Dumbledore had died a few weeks before. He felt as if they were insulting his memory, even though he was sure that if he could talk to the man right now, he would be thrilled that the wedding was going to happen after all. Harry knew that, if he could somehow communicate with him, Dumbledore would tell him that he shouldn’t mourn for him, but concentrate on the future, on what he had to do and how he would do it. That he should move on.

He supposed he would, in time. But right now, this was how he felt.

“Won’t you two ever stop bickering?” the words came out stronger than he meant to, anger in every syllable. He knew he wasn’t angry at them. He knew he shouldn’t try to take it out on them, either. But somehow, he couldn’t control himself.

Hermione’s eyes shot up to meet his, looking mildly surprised. She bit her lip, glancing at Ron once before looking back at Harry, “Harry? How long have you been standing there?”

“Ages. D’you think I couldn’t hear you?” Harry lied fiercely. Truth was, he had just walked in to find them staring angrily at each other. He hadn’t heard anything of what they had been saying. He vaguely registered the surprise this was—usually their voices carried through the whole house as they argued.

For reasons Harry could not fathom, Hermione turned bright red, “I—well…I mean—“

Ron cut her off, turning to Harry with a rather nervous look, “Look, mate, what exactly did you hear?”

Harry hesitated, before shrugging coolly, “Everything,” he said, not quite understanding why he’d lied in the first place, but finding that he only felt slightly guilty for it. He was starting to feel slightly curious as to what they had been talking about. Hermione was now fiddling with her sleeve, keeping her head down as they spoke. Ron looked uncertain, though determined.

“From the start?”

“Yeah.”

“And the last bit?” Ron’s voice was a tiny squeak now.

“Yes,” Harry snapped, against his instincts, which told him to stop being such a prat and say the truth. He could tell he’d said the wrong thing before the words were out of his mouth.

Hermione rose from her chair, locked his gaze for a moment, before saying, “I can understand if you don’t feel the same way, Harry,” she said quietly, “You fancy Ginny, of course. Just…forget about it. I’m so sorry,” she then brushed past him, keeping her head bowed low, but not before Harry caught sight of the tears that had welled up in her eyes.

“Hermione—wait! I didn’t—”

But she was gone, up the stairs and out of sight. He heard a distant squelching sound, and knew that she had charmed her door so that no one came inside.

He felt a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach. What had he done? He’d hurt Hermione’s feelings over something he didn’t even know, just so he could vent some of his frustration on his friends. He turned to Ron, only to find him standing up as well, fixing him with a fierce look of anger.

“Ron, this is all wrong. I didn’t really—”

“Mean to hurt her? Well, that went nicely, didn’t it? What were you playing at, you prat?”

“You don’t understand Ron, See, I didn’t—”

“Know how to act? I took it better than you did and I actually fancied her, you know!”

“Ron! Just let me explain. I didn’t—”

“What’s there to explain? She told me she fancied you, and we argued about whether she should tell you or not. You overheard and made a bloody mess of things!” Ron snapped, giving him a look of angry incredulousness.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words.

Hermione fancied him? As in…fancied him?

He felt a funny feeling in his stomach as he processed this thought. Hermione, the girl that had stood by him all these years, always helping him, never mind how crazy and far-fetched his ideas became; the girl that had cared for him, always…the girl that had become his best friend, that truly knew him for who he was, rather than for his scar or for what he had done…

She fancied him?

“Ron, I…” he said weakly, shaking his head, “I didn’t know that was it…I…”

Ron seemed to have noticed his shock, for when he spoke next, his voice was less aggressive, “What are you on about? You said you’d heard everything.”

“I lied. I thought you two were just having another row, and it just sort of came out…”

Ron let out a breath, shaking his head, “Harry, you’re a complete moron, you know that? Do you know how much you just hurt her? She thinks you knew…”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, feeling thoroughly miserable and stupid, “I didn’t think you’d be talking about something like that. When I saw you, you were glaring at each other like you always do.”

“Well, yeah…” Ron said, suddenly looking slightly uncomfortable, “She’d just told me, and I…you know…got angry with her. Then I’d told her she’d better run off and tell you, and she got really angry with me…said that she had clearly been wrong in thinking I could understand…and then we had a small row, just sort of hissing at each other, until we stopped talking altogether.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He stared at Ron, feeling a lump rise in his throat. A deep, bubbling shame rose inside him as he replayed what had just happened. He’d hurt Hermione…hurt her feelings…

Without really knowing what he was doing, he began walking in the direction of the stairs. His walk was brisk, before he broke into a run. He was at the foot of the stairs when Ginny came out of the room she and Hermione always shared, looking rather confused. Upon seeing him, her gaze became increasingly cold. She began to walk down the stairs, swinging her hips from side to side more than she would have usually, in what Harry supposed was a sort of strut. Halfway down, however, she stopped abruptly, frowning. She sighed and looked down at her shoes, tucking her hair behind her ear. After a few seconds, she resumed her walk downstairs, the strut gone.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, and Harry was taken aback. Her voice contrasted so painfully with her earlier appearance, that he almost thought she hadn’t been the one that had spoken. The way she spoke was so soft…barely above a whisper. And it had a resigned tone to it that told him clearly that she was ready to cut the games and speak things out.

But Merlin, how he wished he could do this later. How he wished he could brush past her and go to Hermione…

Hermione.

The shock hit him again. She actually…she felt…she saw him as more than a friend?

To be honest, he’d never really considered having a more-than-friends relationship with her. He’d sort of blocked those thoughts unconsciously, never considering that she might want that. That he might want that…

Did he? He’d always found her to be beautiful, no matter what she or other might say. It was everything about her…the way she would bite her lower lip when she was thinking, or the way she would become flushed with tears when he was being short with her…the way she gestured with her hands when she wanted to emphasize a point, and the way her eyes blazed with emotion, with passion, when she spoke…

And it was more than her appearance, of course…it was her, as a whole. The way she acted around him, the way she spoke…he seriously thought she was the only person who really knew him.  The only person who didn’t see him as ‘The Boy Who Lived’. The only person that saw him as a normal person…as him. She would tell him off when he did things wrong, console him when he needed it, tell him the truth he needed to hear, even if he didn’t want to…

She wasn’t afraid. She would stand up to him, tell him when he was being reckless, stupid, or simply delusional about things…

She was amazing. She really was. She meant so much to him, it was impossible to explain it all in detail. He would never be able to finish…

Ginny cleared her throat softly. She was peering at him questioningly. He looked back at her, giving her an apologetic look, “Oh—sorry, Ginny. Hi.”

“Can we talk?”

I think you’ve learned that honesty is the best policy, haven’t you, Potter? said a nasty, nagging voice in Harry’s head. He sighed, slightly annoyed, because he knew it was right. He silently prayed that Ginny would somehow understand.

“I…actually, err…can we do that later?” he sputtered, instantly wishing he’d chosen his words better, for he thought it sounded very much like something Ron might say, “I’m kind of…well, in a hurry. I need to sort something out…” His stomach seemed to sink as he watched her expression go from resignation to indignation—it really wasn’t his day, was it? Everything he said just seemed to make things worse. He supposed this was how Ron felt most of the time, and honestly, he didn’t like it.

Ginny gave him a look of mingled hurt and annoyance, “But this is important,” she insisted.

“Please, Ginny…I don’t mean to…to hurt you, but I think…I think this is more important,” Harry said desperately. He couldn’t shake off the image of Hermione’s face when she’d looked at him before leaving the kitchen. That wounded look she’d given him…

“It’s about Hermione, isn’t it?”

Harry blinked, rather taken aback, “Yes,” he answered.

Ginny nodded, her expression now unfathomable, “I thought so. She was really upset…thought you might have something to do with it,” there was a pause, then, “Did you two row?”

“I—no. Listen, Ginny, I really need to talk to her now, okay? We’ll talk later, I promise.”

And, without waiting for a response, he pushed her aside gently and bolted up the stairs. He distinctly heard her huff angrily, but he didn’t care. It didn’t really matter now. She didn’t really matter now.

And as that thought struck him, he wondered whether he still felt something for her.

Did he? He had just shrugged her off so easily, feeling only slightly guilty. A month ago he would have never dreamt of doing such a thing, but right now it didn’t feel at all wrong—It was for a better cause…for Hermione. And though he knew that, in theory, he should care about what Ginny had to say to him, he really…didn’t. He already knew what she was going to say—she’d apologize, then suggest getting back together, then pretend to accept it when Harry told her they couldn’t. It was all very predictable, and Harry felt weary just thinking about it. Ginny had such determination on these matters…it would be nearly impossible to dissuade her of the idea of them being together.

Them together…Ginny and Harry…it didn’t seem right, somehow. Before, it was all he could have asked for, but now it was as though such a fantasy belonged to a past life. There were so many important things right now, and Ginny was just part of that fairy-tale he’d always sort of fancied. A ‘normal’ life beside his beautiful, charming, and funny wife that took him away from all his problems.

But…that was just stupid now. His life would never be normal. He would never be able to live without dwelling on his past, on what had happened. The experiences of hi life would follow him for the rest of his days, and he needed a woman who understood that. Ginny always seemed to want to force him to ignore his problems, and whenever he spoke of Voldemort she got flustered and attempted to help him in all the wrong ways.

On the other hand…

Hermione knew what he was going through. She knew just the right words to say whenever he gave her bad news or when he told her of his plans. Somehow, she always managed to appear truly and completely unafraid of what laid in store for them, even though he knew she was terrified. She always provided him a temporary escape from all this mess, but didn’t show herself to be upset when he went back to his thoughts on the War and the Horcruxes. She had this way of…letting him have his space but still keeping an eye on him so that he didn’t do something stupid or reckless.  

And the thought to keep her away because of Voldemort didn’t even cross his mind, either. Hermione would be there no matter how much he tried to keep her safe, and to be honest, that brought him a sense of security. That she would be there to help him and keep him going, no matter how strong the urge to give up…

It was…odd, how he’d only noticed this now. How only just now, he’d been able to see that he and Ginny didn’t really have more than a good friendship between them. How he and Hermione were just friends, but could be so very much more…and that it would work, he knew it would.

He knocked on her door softly.

“Sod off, Harry,” her voice was muffled, and he could hear the tears in his voice.

The remark shook him, but he stood his ground, knocking again.

“You’ve said enough, I think. Leave me alone, I’ll be fine.”

He knocked thrice this time, looking down at his shoes as if he were expecting some sort of comforting advice from them. But they didn’t say anything and neither did Hermione. She was silent in her room, clearly ignoring his presence outside her door.

Harry sighed, “I reckon you’ll hear me, at least…so I’ll just talk, okay?”

There was no response again, though he thought he heard a slight shuffling of her feet inside. He drew a deep breath, then spoke, “I was, err, stupid today. Very stupid. I, um…well, the truth is, I never really heard what you and Ron were talking about. I walked in on you when you were glaring at each other, so I thought you’d been bickering again,” he paused, “It’s not really an odd conclusion, once you think about it…you two argue a lot, especially these days.”

Harry thought he heard a slight huff from inside. Clearly a sign that he wasn’t really doing any good.

“Err, anyway…I got annoyed at you two, because it’s really frustrating for you to argue so much…in these times when at any moment we could just…well, you understand. So I got mad and pretended I knew what you were arguing about, because I thought I did know, and well…I made a fool of myself.”

He leaned his head on the door, “And I feel like an idiot because I hurt your feelings. I’m—sorry…I really am, Hermione. You know better than anyone that I care for you…a lot…and that I hate seeing you hurt. Especially because of something I did.”

He fell silent and awaited some sort of response from her, but received nothing. She didn’t seem to be taking what he’d said seriously, but he didn’t know what else to say. He felt…lost. Tangled up in his own mistakes without any solution.

“I—you know I wouldn’t lie about this, especially now that I know what you and Ron were talking about. Honestly, Hermione, I would have never meant to hurt you,” he sighed again, feeling frustrated, “I mean…I don’t feel the way you think I do about what you said. It was odd—and a shock—but then I thought about it and…well, it just felt…right. I—argh…I don’t know how to explain it, but I just…sort of like the idea…of you and me…”

He fell silent, embarrassed, as a flush crept up behind his neck and ears. He didn’t know what possessed him to say that aloud to her, but he was feeling incredibly stupid for saying it. Truly, this just wasn’t his day. Maybe he should just…shut up for the rest of the day.

“Oh, Harry…”

Her voice came from inside the room, sounding breathy and still rather muffled. Quick footsteps were heard, and before he realized it, she was wrenching the door open, so that he stumbled forward slightly. There she stood before him, face tear-streaked and flushed from slight embarrassment, eyes red and brimming with tears…but she was smiling—a genuine smile that seemed to lift him up into the air and fix everything. His feeling of uselessness was gone in a heartbeat, replaced with the happy thought that he had actually made her smile at him that way.

She bit her lip, “That has to be the best thing you’ve said all day,” she chuckled, shaking her head, “Honestly, boys can be so tactless sometimes.”

His gaze fell to his shoes again, the feeling of guilt arising again inside him.

“But…” she added softly, as if probing him with her voice to look at her, “I suppose other times they know just the right thing to say. That was very sweet…especially knowing that you fancy Ginny over me. But I can tell you meant it, and that makes me happy anyway.”

Harry’s head shot up, his eyes finding hers. He shook his head, “I don’t— ”

“It’s okay, Harry, you don’t have to say things to make me feel better.”

“But you don’t understand, I don’t—”

“It’s fine, Harry, really, you don’t have to—”

“Hermione—just let me talk, will you?” Harry blurted out, startling her. She bit her lip, nodding silently as a sign for him to go on, “What I’ve been trying to tell you…is that I don’t fancy Ginny anymore.”

“You don’t, do you?” Hermione repeated skeptically.

“No, I don’t. It’s been that way for a few weeks now. She just…” he suddenly felt an urge to say ‘she’s not you’, but held himself back, trying to find another way to describe why Ginny wasn’t exactly made for him. But somehow, nothing really seemed to fit, “She, err…doesn’t…she’s just—she’s just not like…you are with me.”

Hermione was silent, scrutinizing him, eyes narrowed. Harry tried to explain, “She doesn’t understand—what I want in life. She wasn’t there for me when I needed someone. She doesn’t listen to my stupid ideas and believes them. She hasn’t really…been that much of a friend—a real friend, who...who’s with you in the good and the bad. She’s helped me…but not like…”

He gulped, “Like—you.”

“Me,” it wasn’t a question, really. She seemed to repeat it more or less to make sure it was real—that he’d really said that.

“Yes, you. You’ve always been there helping and guiding me. You always know exactly what’s bothering me and how to fix it. You—you’re honest with me and you don’t get scared off when I’m about to do something stupid. I—I don’t know how to explain it more, but—”

His words were drowned out suddenly, by something very peculiar. He was suddenly unable to see Hermione clearly, because she had suddenly come much, much closer. So close, in fact, that her lips were brushing against his gently, lovingly, and lingering there as proof that it hadn’t been a mistake. He was too shocked to do anything, his eyes wide open as she drew back, her face a brilliant shade of red. She gave him a sort of furtive smile; a smile that seemed to tell him that she forgave and believed him, and that this was their secret.

And he just stood there, still completely shocked. He licked his lips, registering vaguely the light scent of lavender that followed in her wake, and that her lips were soft as feathers against his. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. What were you supposed to say after you’d just been kissed?

“I—wow.”

He felt horribly mortified at that moment.

She chuckled, “You’d best go and tell Ron we’re on good terms again,” she said softly, her eyes locking on his, “I’ll go with you.” And she walked forward, taking his hand and twining her fingers with his. She led him out of her room and outside into the staircase, and all the while Harry felt as if he were in another world. This felt…surreal—that he could actually feel this completed, this happy, because of her. He had never known this sort of happiness, not even when he was with Ginny, and this made him understand…everything. He could see why, despite Dumbledore’s death, Bill and Fleur could still go on with their wedding. Why Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could still sit by the fire and laugh with each other. Why Tonks and Lupin could smile so much, even in such horrible circumstances.

Each had a reason. And Harry’s was walking alongside him, holding his hand and looking at him out of the corner of her eye.


FIN