Harry Potter and the Circle of Oblivion

A/N - A couple of things: 1) In the last chapter I said you wouldn't get a kiss until the end… I meant the end of the story (sorry if some of you thought I was trying to trick you!) just to clear that up. 2) You may recognize the few opening lines from this chapter from my story “Whisper a Thousand Things” - I actually wrote those lines for this story first and built “Whisper” around them, so there you go…

Also… I wanted this chapter to feel a bit odd… sort of “disjointed” - if that's the right word - as I assume that Harry and Hermione would have felt after their experience in the woods.

***

February 23

***

To say life changes instantly is sometimes true. But more often it is gradual and without notice.

Of course the realization of that change is abrupt and as heavy as a barrel full of galleons.

At least it was for Harry.

There had been `moments' between him and Hermione the last few months. That he knew. He had ignored them just as he assumed she was doing… until they became a bit more evident than the voice in his head telling him it was no big deal.

Monday night.

It had been over a week since their trip to Hogsmeade and Harry was reeling. He hadn't known what the feeling was until he let himself think about almost kissing Hermione (a battle in itself) and then he'd felt his knees buckle beneath him, failing with the weight of his understanding.

He had no clue what to do.

Hermione.

A week ago her name had brought on thoughts of late night talks and plans, walks around the lake, loyalty, laughter, intelligence, arguments… all the things that go into being best friends with someone.

Today her name invoked the feelings one might have if a bomb went off in their chest.

And that was putting it mildly.

Especially with her sitting right beside him at the common room table.

Ron was across from him, deeply engrossed in Professor Snape's potions assignment. “What the devil is a bincher's tale? And when do I add it to the potion?”

And Harry was (supposedly) working on a Charms essay.

“Harry, pass me that book, please.” Hermione broke the silence briefly and smiled her thanks as Harry handed over whatever `advanced' text she happened to be reading.

You aren't acting strangely, he reminded himself. At least he hadn't for the last few days.

“What's going on? You look weird.” Ron had said no less than 15 times the day they returned from Hogsmeade. Harry had decided at that moment, no matter what this queer feeling was, he wasn't going to project any evidence of upheaval.

Lest he be tormented.

Sometimes he wanted to ask her if she knew. Other times he looked at her and knew without a doubt that she did know and was just going along with him until the charade fell apart. Still others, he decided they were both as clueless as before.

He'd never spent this much time analyzing Voldemort and it annoyed him properly.

***

Harry,

I haven't written in nearly a week. I haven't known what to say and… I don't think you have either. Not that you would say anything to begin with. Not that I would. I can't. But one day, something must provoke me, mustn't it? Or shall we stay like this?

Strange, isn't it? So many things to say, yet no vocabulary will quite accomplish it, I think.

Have you come up with anything?

People have been asking me odd questions about us lately. Mainly Parvati and Lavendar (quite a shock, I know!). They say we seem different.

Do we?

I haven't tried to change anything. I haven't made a conscious decision to feel differently about you.

But I do.

I don't really think I've been given a choice.

I look at you sometimes and I'm sure you know. But then we go on as we always have and I begin to think perhaps I've made it all up.

Yet, we both know I don't dabble in make-believe.

And I've never known you to either. Not with… everything that's happened. You never really had any other choice than reality, did you?

So why, when we're both quite rational people, do I feel like a blubbering idiot inside?

***

“What's with you two?” Ron asked Harry as they made their way toward their prospective individual lessons.

“Who?”

Ron rolled his eyes, “With you and Hermione. You were both acting strange today.”

“I wasn't acting strange.”

“It's odd. Ever since Hogsmeade. It's like nothing's different really, but something's changed.”

“You realize that makes no sense, don't you?” Harry said with a smirk.

“It sounds like it makes no sense, but I know what I'm talking about.”

“You're the only one.”

“Harry.”

He sighed and fought for the right answer. If there was one. “Ron, look, we're all studying, there's lots to do, there's tons of pressure on all of us.”

Ron seemed to accept the explanation, but Harry knew he was giving his friend too little credit, “Are you still, you know… keeping yourself `open' to him?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded his head, suddenly aware that he hadn't thought of Voldemort all day.

“It's weird that nothing's happened, don't you think?”

“I'm not sure what weird is anymore, Ron.” Harry said as if resigning himself to something.

***

Does Ron know? I wonder quite often. I'm beginning to think we've overlooked his perceptiveness through the years.

We all have our place in this. The hero who takes all the risks. The clever one who spends her time buried in a book - doing everything in her power to fight with the hero. And the comedian who really wants nothing more than to battle and prove himself just as good as the hero.

We can't one exist in this war without the other two.

But I'm beginning to wonder if I can exist in any other place, without you.

I sound like a blithering idiot.

I'm an independent person. I always will be. You always will be.

How can I be so self-sufficient and yet, completely in need of one person?

It's not that I have to have you near me every second. It's not that I'm not whole or complete in who I am - but you encourage me to be MORE of that person. And I'm better for it.

How could I ask for a better friend than that?

How could I want anything other than that?

***

Harry returned from prodomagus studies with Dumbledore and found Hermione sitting on the floor by the fire.

She was stuffing something into her bag and he had the fleeting notion she was hiding it from whomever she heard coming.

“It's just me.” He said.

“Hi.” She smiled, slightly relieved.

“How was your lesson?” He sat down beside her, back against the huge fireplace.

“Fine. I'm sort of past the time when she can really teach me anything else, you know. We're just sort of learning control and things like that. I'll be registered next week.”

“So then the mystery is unveiled?” Harry grinned. “We'll finally know Hermione's animagus. Ron'll faint.”

Hermione laughed, “And your lesson?”

“I got a speech from Dumbledore tonight.”

“Really?”

“On the responsibilities of being a prodomagus. Seems he also thinks I've passed the point where he can teach me anything new.”

“I guess I didn't know it had advanced that far.”

“Yeah, I sort of stopped talking about it. With Luna knowing and everything else, I just didn't say anything. And Dumbledore thought it best not to flaunt in case others are watching.”

“He's right.” She wrung her hands, “The whole point of these lessons was to keep them secret, you know.”

“Right. But once we use them to fight Voldemort, well, then everyone will know, won't they?”

“I suppose they will.” She said quietly and they lingered there in silence.

***

So, I guess you wonder when I knew things had changed?

It was so gradual. Six years it's been coming on, so imminent and glaring. I should I have seen it, but that wasn't the case.

I feel silly saying this and I don't like that. It's unsettling.

But the way I knew, the reason I feel silly, is because every time you've touched me in the last three months, I've had to take a deep breath.

It seems like everything with us has taken on a double meaning and you said something tonight that made me think…

Eventually everyone will know.

So you tell me, Harry, what are we to do?

Love,

Hermione

Hermione closed her journal and sighed, looking around the room from her spot in the window seat. Her roommates were resting peacefully and she smiled faintly, drawing her knees to her chin before turning her gaze out the window.

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