Hermione approached the portrait hole that lead to the Gryffindor common room. It had been an exhausting day. Double potions in the morning, followed by care or magical creatures (Where they were learning the proper way to clean a masticat, a type of slippery, scaly dog that was extremely energetic and all too hard to catch), then came an exam in Transfiguration, and last but not least, head girl duties. The Head Girl and Head Boy alternated days on which they patrolled the halls until curfew, and Harry had the day off today.
Thoroughly exhausted, Hermione crawled through the portrait hole with lead feet. She had every intention of climbing upstairs into the Head Girl bathroom, relaxing in a nice bubble bath, and then dropping off into a peaceful slumber…that is, until a pair of jade eyes caught her attention at the couch. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks and looked around the common room. Harry appeared to be the only one up.
She would have headed up to her dorm if it was anyone else, but it wasn't just anyone else. It was Harry Potter, her best friend. Harry Potter, the man of her dreams. Harry Potter, the love of her life…Harry Potter, the boy who had been going through an extremely rough time.
Apparently, he hadn't heard her enter, for his eyes remained fixed upon the orange flames that danced within the fireplace. He had a stony, unreadable expression on his face, and his chin rested upon his hand. He was as still as a statue and his eyes showed no emotion, but Hermione knew well enough that a storm of thoughts was brewing throughout his mind. Hermione got the feeling he wasn't in the best of moods. Then again, since Sirius, when was he? She softly approached.
"Hey," she whispered softly. Harry didn't jump or start at the sound of her voice; his eyes merely briefly strayed from the flickering flames to identify the source of his disturbance. His heart started to beat faster when he realized who it was.
"Hey," he whispered back, his voice surprisingly soft, almost desperate, despite his facial expression. He didn't want to come off to harsh. At least not towards Hermione, she was all too special to him. Hermione sat down next to Harry and faced him, crossing her legs Indian style. God he's gorgeous, she thought. But no time for that now, this had to be a heartfelt talk, not a bumbling schoolgirl trying to converse with the great Harry Potter. She had to get to the bottom of what he was truly feeling.
"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked, absentmindedly playing with a piece of fuzz on the couch. Harry shrugged nonchalantly.
"Alright I suppose. Yourself?" Harry questioned back. His eyes never strayed from the flames. Harry was lying, he knew it and Hermione knew it. But he didn't want to trouble her with his feelings.
"Exhausted, but alright," Hermione replied quietly. This was the most conversation she could usually ever get out of Harry. They stayed in comfortable silence for a few moments. Harry's eyes would occasionally stray from the fire and take a glance at Hermione's face, (Corrections, he thought, gorgeous face) but they would immediately shoot back to the flame. Hermione wasn't much different. She continued to play with a piece of fuzz on the couch, occasionally peering up to take a look at Harry's eyes. Partly out of concern, partly because she loved his eyes. They hadn't wavered from the flame much, and it unnerved her.
After about five minutes, Harry sighed what seemed a dejected sigh and prepared to get up. No one was coming, and he didn't know if he could control himself with Hermione so close for such a long time.
"I'd better hit the sack," he said softly as he got up. The words hurt him even as he said them. Hermione stopped examining the ever so interesting ball of fuzz she had busied herself with to take a look at Harry. He appeared disappointed, exhausted…lonely. Something stirred inside her and she had to talk to him. She knew he was still mourning Sirius, but he had grown to distant to she and Ron, and had to be brought back.
"Stop," she commanded. She was sick of this Harry froze in mid stance and looked into Hermione's eyes. She was staring back into his with a stony expression. Shit, he thought.
"Sit," she commanded once more. Harry closed his eyes in defeat and did as he was ordered. There was no use. If this conversation was going to happen, it might as well happen with her. Hermione straightened up and spoke with confidence.
"Let's try this again: How are you Harry?" she asked with more annoyance this time. She pushed her feelings aside for a moment and was determined to deal with his feelings. He had been wallowing in the past for all too long. Harry's eyes rested on the flames and his expression seemed determined, though his mind was saying otherwise. When Hermione had her mind set to something, she had her mind set to something.
"I could ask you the same thing," he replied defiantly. Hermione decided she'd play along.
"Oh, I've been alright," she replied with mock heartiness, "despite the fact that one of my best friends hardly ever talks to me and the most I see him smile a real smile since we returned to school a month ago," she added a bit more harshly.
"I smile," he mumbled. Harry knew that wasn't true as well. Hermione let out an impatient sigh.
"I said a real smile, Harry." Harry didn't respond to this, hoping she'd leave, but Hermione's resolve didn't falter. She pressed on.
"Now Harry, how are you?" she asked accusingly. Harry's eyes still remained on the flames of the Gryffindor fire, hoping….
After several seconds of silence he didn't respond. Harry knew he was hurting her, but it was better this way. She clearly wanted to help him, but he didn't want help, he wanted Sirius. Hermione's heart stung at this painful silence. It hurt more than a million of Malfoy's insults. Her eyes softened and her intent changed.
"Honestly Harry, I'm worried. The most I see you move is when we change classes. You delve more and more into your studies than I do and you haven't played a game of chess with Ron three weeks. You never speak on your own free will and the most I ever see your eyes light up is when you stare into this bloody fire night after night! It's like you…" comprehension suddenly dawned on Hermione.
Though Harry's expression hadn't softened any, Hermione could see the tears pooling up in his eyes. Shit, he thought once more.
"That's why you stare at this fire all the time, isn't it?" she breathed in astonishment. It shouldn't have surprised her so much.
"Isn't it?" she pressed on, not waiting for the answer, knowing Harry wouldn't respond.
"You come here every night and stare into these flames, hoping, praying Sirius' head will pop back in these flames like it used to. And then you can apologize for what you did to him. The guilt's eating away at you, and you just want to apologize."
A lone tear had fallen down Harry's cheek and his lip was slightly quivering. It was all too true. Leave it to her to stumble on to him. It wasn't really what Harry was doing up on all these late nights. Consciously, it was just a place he could think. Subconsciously, he knew it was true.
"Harry, you can't dwell on the past or you won't live for your future," she whispered urgently. Her face became softer as she spoke next.
"He's gone Harry, and he would have wanted you to live," she murmured softly. Harry shook his head violently.
"I don't have anything to live for," he croaked out, several more tears streaming down his face. He hated being weak like this, letting himself open up so easily, too easily….
Hermione scooted closer to him, trying to ignore how being so close to him nearly overwhelmed her, and covered one of his hands with her own. The feeling was absolutely electric, and she was sure he could feel it too.
"You have love to live for. Ron loves you, the Wealsey's love you," Hermione gulped at the next statement she was going to make, "I love you," she whispered delicately.
Harry's eyes still hadn't strayed from the flame as the tears fell. He breathed in a shaky breath. At least one good thing will come out of tonight, he thought. The words she had just revealed to him spread warmth all over his body.
"That's what Sirius said and then he…then I…I," he didn't appear to have the ability to finish his sentence as the tears came faster. Hermione scooted even closer to him and tightened her grip on his hand.
"Harry listen to me," she whispered urgently, "It's not your fault," she said gently.
"Stop…" he whispered, hardly audible. This was killing him.
"It's not your fault," she repeated, more firmly and loudly this time.
"Please…"
"Harry, it's not your fault."
"Stop, no…"
"It's not your fault."
"Stop, stop, stop…." Harry's please continued through Hermione's revelation to him.
"It's not your fault," her voice was steadily rising.
"STOP!" Harry shouted as he stood up. He couldn't take it anymore. He wanted someone to blame, he wanted a scapegoat even if it was himself, and he wanted Sirius.
"IT'S NOT YOUR BLOODY FAULT!" she shouted, standing with him. The tears were now flowing with relentlessly down his face and Hermione couldn't help but cry for him herself. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, slowly whispering words of comfort into his ears. The feeling of him in her arms (Or maybe it was her in his arms, it didn't matter at this point) was absolutely amazing. It was right, it was perfect, it was euphoria.
It was love.
"It's not your fault, it's not…" she whispered through her own tears. The two of them stayed in each other's arms like that for a good amount of time, until their tears would come no more. Harry slowly backed away and peered into Hermione's eyes that were laced with sympathy, desperation, hope, and…love. The one thing Harry had been looking for all his life, sitting right here in front of him for the past six years.
Without another word, Harry sealed the couple's eternal love with a tender kiss upon Hermione's lips. It was filled with passion, soul, hope, trust. It was every good feeling brewed into one. It was amazing, it was ecstasy, it was heaven.
It was love.
And the for the rest of the year, Harry always had a smile on his face.