Disclaimer: Do not, in any circumstance, confuse me with JK Rowling! She is an incredible, brilliant writer, and I am just a random HP fanatic! Thank you.
Hey ya'll!
This is just a short (SHORT) story I decided to write in Hermione's perspective… I haven't done this before, so bear with me… Hopefully, she'll be in character (or at least in the way I see her)!
Well, that's about it. I don't want to take up any more of your time…
Enjoy!
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It's complicated, comparing two completely different people.
Apples and oranges, my mother used to say firmly. You just can't compare two different kinds of fruit. But when it comes down to the simple, coherent roots, apples and oranges are just that - fruit. They both grow on trees… they both have seeds… In all rationale, you can compare them without being a biased sinner.
But people… people aren't so easy to analyze. They have such a complex system, filled to the brim with answers to all of your deepest, strangest questions, but usually they won't share them with you. They can keep all of their feelings hidden behind masked expressions, or they can lead you away from them by lying; flashing that knowing smile your way; grinning reassuringly…
You can never trust a human, it seems, because they are always cheating you of the real answer. Not one person knows exactly what another is thinking. Not one person has ever opened up on their own accord and blurted out everything they contemplated at one moment in time. It just doesn't work that way. What would happen if we did? Our most embarrassing thoughts exposed? Our secrets discovered? How could anyone live through such a traumatic experience?
Comparisons… true, the same argument goes for people. Apples and oranges are both fruit; just as two humans are both, well, human. But it's so much harder to compare two people. Oh, so much harder…
Why do I compare them then? Good question. I guess it's just in our nature.
And when it comes down to that, I'm afraid to say I'm a biased sinner - initially corrupted by infatuation.
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The day, as I have begun to call it, started the same as any other. I woke up early, slipped into my school robes, gave my teeth a quick brush, and scurried out the door. I was always the first up and the first to sleep, for I knew that a good night's rest did wonders for the mind.
I made my way to the common room as always, my books and parchment tucked carefully under my arm, and my eagle-feather quill snugly behind my ear. I walked to my favorite table in a corner of the room where I was least likely to be disturbed, looking customarily around for Harry.
Maybe you say that's where it began, looking for Harry. Possible, yes. But likely? No. I knew that Ron would never get up before breakfast was immediately about to start, so it was pointless to look for him, and Harry did sometimes came down from his dormitory early. I never knew why, and I never asked. It was a kind of communal understanding between us, and no one questioned it.
But for some reason or another, he wasn't there that morning. I tried to ignore my fleeting regret, or the way reading didn't seem that enthralling anymore. The fact remained, however, that I was utterly disappointed.
I laid out my materials carefully and began rereading over the previous night's homework with less than my usual gusto, somewhat due to half the time, I was staring absently at the wall.
Did it start there? Did it start with me pining and sighing miserably because he was not there to exchange early-morning banter? Oh, definitely not.
It was exactly two hours later when both Ron and Harry showed up, yawning loudly and looking as if they had never brushed their hair in their lives. But for some reason, when I saw Ron's disheveled red hair, I found myself cringing in disgust, but when my eyes locked on Harry's messy hair, I smiled to myself and had to admit it looked quite charming. It was still the same after that, though. No life-altering revelation, or newfound irresistibility. It was just hair, after all.
And then the day continued as it always did. Just an ordinary day. Though even I had the feeling that day was special. Even I could feel that day had some veiled meaning - if I could only grasp it. It was so bothersome; something was there - within reach - that I was unable to recognize. It ate at me all day, slowly gnawing away at my sanity.
At dinner, I watched Harry eat. He was unaware of me, of course, for he was involved in a conversation with Ron. I could not bear to watch Ron eat - for why would I desire to do such a thing? It seemed normal for me to look at Harry. Fitting, you might say. But Ron… he was just someone to enjoy being with - not to scrutinize their every move.
Was I turning into some fanatic stalker? What was with that desperate need to watch Harry do anything and everything? I didn't know, and I didn't really want to know at the time, so I just brushed it away like it was nothing. Like it meant nothing to stare mindlessly at your best friend.
All too soon, we had done our work for the day and it was time for bed.
It could just stop there, my dull, normal tale… But then, what would there be to talk about?
Funny really, as it was, I suddenly become conscious of the fact that stalking Harry's every move was in fact a sign of extreme magnetism. For why else would I be positively spellbound watching him eat? And though I love Ron dearly, he felt more like an annoying brother to me, rather than… what Harry was.
I had to ask myself: what was Harry? A hero? A best friend? A potential boyfriend? A lover?
Did it really matter? We had the best relationship as it was. Two best friends who could understand each other. Two best friends that took comfort in the other. Two best friends that could make each other laugh at times; or argue, if the need presented itself. Nothing, not even the oh-so overrated love, was better than what we have.
So I kept forward, oblivious. Ignorant. All that was right and sensible kept me from just acknowledging what had to be the so-called craze called love.
Love? Why, I love my parents… I love Crookshanks… I love Ron… How was this any different?
I had read so many books; skimmed so many titles; everything that I felt around Harry happened in the books. And what more proof did I need?
It began that night. It - my acknowledgement of sorts - began when I was just about to head to my dormitory. Something made me turn around, and there he was. Harry had taken off his glasses hastily to rub his eyes, and that was it. He looked at me. I looked back. How could anyone's eyes be so … green? They were beautiful. Deep and understanding… thoughtful. Brooding, almost. A labyrinth of emotions so far and wide that I could get lost and never find my way out… It was spectacular. Enthralling. Exciting. Everything and nothing at the same time. How did I miss his eyes so many times, when they were right there, hidden subtly behind his glasses?
Damn him.
I don't know how long I stood there staring at him, but Harry, in an act that didn't even stump me, had put his glasses back on with a bit of urgency - as though embarrassed I had seen him that way - and strode to his dormitory with one last look my way.
Quite a dreary day indeed. But in my eyes, it was all too productive.
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A/N: Thanks for reading! This was just a random train of thought I was having...
See you guys around! ^_^
-Lauren