Abundant Skies
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just the plot.
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Chapter Thirteen: Angry Confession
Hermione sat down on the floor, her legs spread out in front of her. She held a slightly tattered faded red book in her hands, as she bit her lip, trying to understand what the author was trying to say. After a few minutes of contemplating, she sighed, as she marked her page and put the book down beside her. She was in the library again, her legs pressed against the chilly floor. She sat down in the very last of the bookshelves, where there were no portraits, just books that were mostly old and worn out; the ones that no body bothered to pay any attention to. It was quiet, not a single sound in the room besides her soft, and shallow breathing. She closed her eyes, as she felt the pressure slowly subside in them. She rubbed them; she knew she should've stopped reading hours ago, but she didn't, insisting she keep on until she finally understood what the author was trying to tell her through the book. But so far, even with her aching eyes, and weary mind, it was still fuzzy. The book skipped from topic to topic, leaving her confused and irritated. She sighed, as she covered her face with her hands, trying to soothe her tired eyes.
It was about half an hour until dinner, and she had been here since lunch had ended. She was drained, and her back ached from the firm, but not so comfortable bookcase she leaned against. She lowered her hands, as she stared on the bookshelf she faced, the multicolored but faded sides of the books staring at her.
It had been a week since Ron had asked her about why she hadn't met up with them last weekend. She felt bad, she really did, but she couldn't do anything about it. She was talking to Ron, sitting with him sometimes, but sitting with Lavender usually. She only talked to Harry when it was necessary, and looked away every time he looked up at her. Maybe other people thought she was being cruel, or hostile, but it was for the best. Even if it hurt terribly.
Harry had tried talking to her, all through the week. It was about common stuff, usually, their assignments, and books she recommended for him, which was odd. She usually just had a stiff, and short reply, and hurrying off before he could ask her any more questions. She knew that wasn't what he truly wanted to ask her, and that he couldn't be any less interested in what books she would recommend to him. She knew he would bring up the painful subject, when they were alone, although she tried to make sure that would never happen. She didn't want to talk about it. It was as simple as that. He should've figured it out by now. But he was still trying to get through to her, as if there was still some hope that he was holding onto.
And that left her even more confused each second she thought about it.
She remembered when he had asked her if she loved him, and the way her throat had closed up but her heart screaming out `I do! I do!' so loudly and defiantly. She remembered feeling as if everything had stopped; the world, time.. Her heart pumping blood into her veins. Everything had been completely frozen, his emerald eyes so determined, and hopeful, slightly sad. She hadn't known what to make of it. Now she just didn't want to make it what her heart told her it was. She was being stubborn, but she didn't care. Because somehow, she could feel it being beaten little by little…
Until that barricade she had for so long would finally crumble down. And she would have nothing to hold on to when she would tell herself that it was all just a mistake.
She was scared. Terrified out of her wits. She didn't know loving someone so much could drive her to be like this, to be feeling such intense emotions that she couldn't control even if she tried. She knew the truth.. She was afraid of loving him so much, she was afraid of that look in his eyes.. She was afraid of the way his eyes looked so hopeful, and eager when he asked her if she loved him..
She was afraid of the possible fact that he could love her.
Because it just didn't match up. No, not to her. He was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy many girls had their hearts set on getting in the Wizarding world. He was handsome, kind hearted, brave, legendary. He was Harry Potter. How could he fall in love with her, much less love her, Hermione Granger? The girl who practically lived in the library? It didn't make sense. It didn't, no matter how many times she analyzed it.
But deep down, she knew that it just didn't make sense because she didn't want it to.
But it was getting so hard.. She would give in. Would she? She was afraid of heartbreak, that she would endure afterwards. She could almost feel it, see it, in her mind. She could feel herself cringe, wince, as she could almost hear the echoing split of her heart, it being shattered…
She was afraid that he could love her the way she loved him, because that only left room for that scarring heartbreak. And she knew that, no matter how hard she tried to imagine the pain, the searing and splintering crack and fall, it couldn't be compared to the real thing. The real heartbreak. No one can explain it, tell it like a story. It was something that had to be felt, to be experienced. Imagining couldn't even come a little bit close.
She sighed, as she closed her eyes momentarily and gathered a ragged sigh, opening her eyes again and getting up. She brushed off her clothes, and picked up the book that she had put down on the floor. She stared at it, frowning slightly, as she flipped through the pages, finally deciding to return it. She got out of her secret spot, and scanned the book sides, eager to return the book in its right spot. She sighed, as she went to the next bookshelf, mentally lecturing herself for not remembering where she had found it. Suddenly, she heard a voice, the voice that haunted her dreams, the voice that she was determined to make fade in her ears, but still rang defiantly.
"Hermione?" She turned, and suddenly found her knees weak. Harry was there, his hand on the bookcase, looking at her intently.
"Harry," she said, in a whisper. She sighed, and closed her eyes for a second, trying to compose herself, before turning back to the bookshelf. She was silent, as she fumbled with the books, scanning for the right place.
Harry watched her, and recognized the way she avoided looking at him. Just then she strode out and went to the next bookshelf. Harry followed.
Hermione noticed that he had followed her, and was slightly panicking. They were alone.. She had to get out of here, she just had to. Finally, giving up, she just pushed the book in a random place, and sighed. She turned and brushed past Harry, but he caught her arm, and she turned around, her eyes pleading for him to let her go. He stepped closer, so that their faces were only inches, her heart hammering in her chest. His hand on her arm sent fiery tingles through her body, her arm feeling numb with hums and embers his touch sent throughout her. She could feel her knees buckle, a warm, melting sensation filling her stomach.
"Hermione," he said to her, as low as a whisper. She looked into his eyes, terrified of what he might do, what he might say. She tried hard to swallow, but with his eyes looking into hers so deeply, it came with too much difficulty.
"Harry, please.. Let me go," she said, almost inaudible. She was screaming at herself to run, to jerk away from his grasp, and bolt out from the library. But she couldn't. It felt as if her feet were rooted into the ground, and his hand on her arm did nothing to urge her to move away. She was lost in his eyes, the deep pools of emerald that she knew she could stare into forever. She didn't know if he could see how she felt for him, or what she felt for him, but the thought made her crash back into reality, turning her gaze abruptly to the floor. She suddenly became aware of their closeness, and tried backing away, but she could still feel his gaze, watching her.
"Hermione.. It doesn't have to be like this," he said. Hermione looked up at him, trying to make her expression as blank as possible.
"What do you mean?" She asked him, her voice soft.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're being difficult." Hermione stayed silent, trying to think of what to say. She was afraid of this. Afraid of him catching her alone, and trying to talk to her about it. She tried to look at anything but him.
"I know you're avoiding me. I'm not a dimwit," he said to her. Hermione sighed, as she tried to walk past him, but he blocked her way.
"Hermione-"
"-Harry, don't," she said, cutting him off. "Please, " she pleaded. "Please don't make this.."
"Don't make this what? Don't make it what it already is?" She turned away.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?" He demanded. "We have to talk about it, sooner or later. You can't avoid the subject forever."
"How do you know?" She suddenly snapped. "All these days, I've known that I-" she halted, suddenly, as she realized what she was about to say. She had been just about to tell him that she loved him.
"You've known that you what?" Harry asked, eager to know what she was so determined to keep to herself, noticing she had just blurted it out, from the look on her face.
"Nothing," she said.
"Hermione, I want you to stop being so stubborn."
"Harry," she said, trying to walk away again, but once again her attempt was blocked.
"What happened, in the common room," he said, "it wasn't a mistake. It was anything but a mistake. I meant to kiss you, Hermione-"
"Harry, STOP!" she suddenly shouted. "Just stop it!" She looked into his eyes, begging him to just leave it be.
"Please," she said, her voice wavering as if she was about to burst into tears. "Just please. I don't want to hear it."
"Why? Why are you so determined to forget it?"
"Because it wasn't supposed to happen," she said, her eyes becoming glossy. "We're friends. Friends. Do you know what that means? Nothing is supposed to happen. Nothing."
"That's not true."
"Just.. Let it go, Harry. Let me go." He stared into her eyes, beseeching for her to just understand.
"No. You're running away, afraid of being stuck in the same bloody room as I am, because you want to forget that it ever happened," he said angrily. "The Hermione I know would never run away, even at such circumstances as this." Hermione's eyes flickered with anger, as she jerked her arm away.
"Who is the Hermione you know, Harry?" She asked him, seething. "How this she feel about this situation? What would she say?"
"She wouldn't be afraid."
"And WHAT?" She yelled, "What could I possibly be afraid of?"
"Risk."
"Risk? You think I'm afraid of risk?" Her brown eyes were dark with rage, as she watched him, waiting for an answer. He never gave her one. She pushed past him, but he grabbed her arm again, and she spun around, absolutely livid.
"Why are you walking away? Why do you keep walking away from me?"
"You want to know why I've been avoiding you, Harry?" She yelled, absolutely losing all of her control over herself. "Do you want to know why I've been hurrying our conversations, or making sure we're never alone together? Because I'm terrified. I am bloody terrified. You know why? Because I love you. And I'm scared because I love you so much that it hurts, and I can't take it. I'm scared of loving you so much, because it leaves everything in ruins, it leaves me confused, not having a bloody clue on what I should do." Her eyes stung with tears, as Harry stared at her, absolutely speechless.
"There's your answer, Harry," she said, her voice wavering and breaking, a tear rolling down her cheek. She felt as if her knees were weak and feeble, her lungs feeling as if they were about to burst, her heart splitting into two. She looked at him one last time, although her vision was blurry, before she ran past him and out the library, ignoring his calls.
Harry stared after her, before letting out a ragged breath, running a hand through his messy hair. He was in complete shock, stunned by her words. They echoed through his head, chimed loudly in his ears. His heart hammered in his chest, feeling light-headed as if he were in a dreamlike trance.
He couldn't believe it.
She loved him.