Glass Tears

Glass Tears

There are times when you're growing up when you're positively sure that you cannot go on. When you know that there's absolutely nothing here for you here anymore. No one who needs you, no one to beg you to stay, no one to miss you. When you feel like, suddenly, the world is crumbling down on you, and your ceiling, that ceiling you've worked so hard on building, that ceiling you've tried to make as strong as you could, that ceiling you knew would never fall down even when you thought it would, started caving in. And its only you who can see it.

When you think there's no one out there who notices, no one who even bothers to notice. When there's no one who could whisper those comforting words into your ear. When no one seems to understand, when no one wants to understand.

You think you're all alone. And you are, in that far dark corner in your mind. Your fears are growing instantaneously, the echoing darkness slicing through everything single hope, every positive thought. Your heart is beyond any repair. And you know you can't go on. You just can't.

But when you walk outside into the noisy halls, and your friends are laughing and carrying on with their life as happily as they could, you can literally feel your heart getting beat on and smashed. You try to grin and laugh along, to try to ignore the feeling of the splitting and cracking inside you. And the tears that are pushing to come out. But it's gotten so hard, over the past few weeks. It's gotten so hard to even try and pretend that everything's alright, and that you know the road you've tried so hard to pave and build, wasn't fading away into thin air.

You act like nothing's wrong when you're around them. You get the feeling that they see right through you sometimes, that they can see your pain, but when they ask, you deny. And they leave it at that. At least, one of them does.

He's been your best friend for years. He's always been there for you, always the one to stick up for you. You want to tell him but you can't. Even when he catches you alone in a room, and tries to talk to you. He tells you he knows that something is wrong, but you tell him everything is fine. And when he tries to make you, to hold you, you rush past him. And you remember, that feeling, avoiding him and his comforting embrace, that you've never felt such a deep pierce at the pit of your stomach. You remember the feeling as if it were such a crushing defeat; you had just lost what you've taken for granted for so long. But you just swallow it down and walk along the empty corridor, trying to erase his pained, hurt and determined emerald eyes from your memory.

He tries to get through to you, and you can see that. He tries to catch you alone, tries to make you tell him everything. He tries, but you just don't want to tell him. It hurts that he wants to be an even bigger part of you, but you've got nothing to give. What he wants is something you're just not ready to spill. Something too painful to ever try and put into words. You tell yourself he'll understand, since he's always been the sensible one of the two boys. But he's being difficult. And you feel if he keeps pushing you, you can't hold it in any longer.

You want someone to know, need someone to know. But just not him. You realize he's too perfect, too good to be stained with your tears and problems. He's too goodhearted to know your faults, too kind to confess your darkest secrets to. You're not good enough to try and make him understand, even if he's trying to tell you in so many ways that he'll understand no matter what, if you'd just tell him.

And every time he looks at you with his green eyes, letting you peer into the hurt that you don't trust him enough to confide in, you can feel the remaining pieces of your heart break inside. And it's the splintering echo, and his pained eyes that haunt you at night. The words are fighting to come out, but it seems as if you've managed to keep it in longer. Its killing you, ripping you from inside out, but you're such a mess right now you can't think to try and comprehend what it's trying to tell you.

Until one night, you're suddenly struck with the truth. And as tears pour down your cheeks, the bittersweet taste filling your mouth, you understand. You understand why it hurt so much. You understand why his emerald eyes stab you underneath your hard shell. You finally find out. And it makes sense, it makes sense so much that it hurts to think about why you hadn't figured out before.

You love him.

And you feel that's even worse than what's already been laid on your shoulders. You love him. But he'd never feel anything of that sense for you, you know that. He likes pretty, gorgeous girls with nice smooth hair and nice smiles. He only thinks of you as a friend, and it hurts to think that he hasn't even considered you as a girl yet. You tell yourself that it's a mistake, that you're really not feeling this. You couldn't possibly be.

You just couldn't love Harry Potter in that way.

But you do.

And that makes you cry even harder. How were you ever going to tell him now? Just how? What were you going to tell him when he asks what's wrong, and there's no way to escape any longer? What if you can't push past him anymore? What if he's holding you in place, embracing you?

And you're certain that's when you'll hear the last pieces of your heart finally break.

But you're also certain that when you're in his arms you know that's where you want to be forever, and never want to leave. You'll want to hold him tight and beg him to never let go, just wishing time would freeze and you could savor the feeling of being in his arms. Of being in the arms of whom you love so much.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

People are giving you strange looks, and you just turn and look away. You've found now that the only place you can look at without your gut twisting painfully inside is down at your feet. So you avoid everyone's eyes, and let on with your day without speaking in class and raising your hand to answer. You could almost feel your Professor's gaze on you, trying to figure out why you were being so quiet. You refuse to look up no matter what. Even thinking of looking up makes you feel like a miserable failure.

After class one of your Professors asks you to wait a minute, and you're almost hesitant to stay. You don't want to hear it; you don't want to hear them trying to sound like they care, that they could possibly want to know about you and your problems. But the thing was, you didn't know. You just didn't know how to gather it all up, all those feelings, all those tears and broken pieces and sum it all up into words. You couldn't, you just couldn't. Words were too empty, too vacant to describe how you felt inside.

You can see her look at you, trying to read you as if you were just some bloody book. As if it were, or anything else, as a matter of fact, could possibly be that simple. She clears her throat, and her words begin to echo in your ears. She tells you that she notices you've not been participating as much as before, and that you've seemed.. Solemn, almost. You look at her with foggy eyes, your skin feeling cold and your heartbeats becoming only but faint and dull drumbeats.

You tell her that you're fine, just tired from studying so late at night. And she takes a moment to look at you, trying to read you again, before she nods and you turn to leave. But before you could go past the door, you hear her voice again. And this time, you could almost feel something slice through you. Something bitter and unexplainable, something that you always seemed to feel when people around you mentioned Harry.

“ Mr. Potter is very concerned with you, Ms. Granger. He tells me there's something wrong but you've long denied it since. It'd be smart, as for a smart girl as yourself, if you'd explain it to him, or try to, at least. He cares for you, and I'd hate to see something such as this mar your friendship. It may not seem like it, but he understands more than you know.”

You head out the door, feeling a bit woozy from her words. He told her. Harry had come to their Professor and asked her if she could get it out of you. He went to her and asked her to interrogate you, to search through you like you were some kind of half-witted twit. You could feel anger rush through you, as your hands clench into fists. Why would he do that? How he could do that? How? He was supposed to be your friend! It wasn't any of McGonagall's business anyway! And if you didn't want to tell him then he shouldn't be asking other people to try and get you to confess. You can feel your eyes cloud up, as you hastily wipe them away on your sleeve.

You had thought he would understand. You thought he understood when you wanted to be left alone, and didn't want to tell anyone what was wrong. You had thought he had understood what it felt to be so broken and hurt. You thought he understood what had to be left alone and what had to be interfered with. He had kept so many secrets from both you and Ron over the past years; you were certain he knew.

When you knew there was something wrong and he refused to tell you, you didn't go to Dumbledore or any Professor, much less anyone else, and try to see if he would confess to them. You didn't do that. You knew that when he was ready, he would tell you. Even if it meant waiting forever. And you were willing to. You were willing to wait forever, to let him know you cared and wasn't going anywhere until he told you. Apparently he didn't want to wait forever for you. He didn't want to wait to hear it from you. He didn't care enough to try to wait.

Your vision's become much more blurry now, as you're walking down the hall. The cruel truth and reality has hit you. He was never going to love you. Not in that way. Not in that way to want to be with you, and hold you just to feel you close to him. He was never going to see you. He was never going to see you as someone he could spend forever with, someone he would want to wake up with every morning. You were never going to mean as much as he meant to you. He was too important, too blind to see it. Even with his kind and good heart, he would never grow to love you as you loved him.

And you find yourself choking on your tears and soon you're sobbing too hard to hear anything around you. But something broke through the barrier. The voice that managed to get through to you, only made you hear your heart's split more loudly and clear. You wipe your eyes and turn to walk away, but he's at your side too soon. He asks you what's wrong, and you feel those incoming tears fighting harder to spill out. You don't answer him, as you're trying to walk without tears falling down your cheeks.

But he's persistent, and he keeps asking. You don't answer, until he grabs your arm and makes you face him. And you find yourself looking into those emerald eyes that you've known so long and loved so much. Those familiar emerald eyes that had managed to break everything inside of you.

He wants you to tell him what's wrong, he tells you. He wants to know what's been bothering you, he wants to help. But you can feel your anger towering, and you jerk away from him.

“Help?” you scream at him. “You want to help me? You want to bloody help me, Harry?” He stands there, looking at you intently.

“Yes,” he says, his voice rising with frustration, “yes I do.”

“Did you think you were helping me when you told McGonagall? Did you think I was going to tell her what I refuse to tell you? Did you think you were trying to help me when you did that, Harry?” Tears are running down your cheeks now. You can't fight it any longer.

“I only did that because I care about you, Hermione!” he says, coming closer. “You've been so stubborn and I didn't know how else to get through to you.”

You don't reply, and his eyes darken.

“You can't get through to me, Harry. So please stop trying. No one can. Just leave me alone.” He's hurt by your words, you can see, and that makes you turn away, your throat burning and stiff.

“Just tell me,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet and sad. “Just tell me, and I'll understand. I will.”

“How do you know?” you ask him; your chest feeling as if it were chained down and you were being lifted up at the same time. “You won't know how it feels even if I try to explain. It's not something you can understand as plainly and simple as anything else.”

“I can try,” he says, his eyes pleading. “I can try.” You shake your head, your tears raining down. You feel a sad smile spread across your face as you look at him.

“Just let it be, Harry. Just leave me alone. Don't make it harder than it already is.”

“I can't let it be, Hermione. This is hurting me as much as it's hurting you.” The look in his eyes tells you he's telling the truth, but something deep inside is preventing you from believing him.

“That's not possible, Harry.” Suddenly, as you say those words, a solemn smile grows on his features. You tell yourself to just turn and walk away, but you find that your feet are rooted into the ground.

His eyes are glittering darkly, and almost hopefully as you hear footsteps and loud chatter coming your way. You're trying to understand that smile on his face, and that odd look in his eyes, but you're finding it harder than usual to read him. But now there's something, something you've seen a trace of before, but now it was filling his eyes. You can't figure out what it is, because for some weird reason, your thoughts are scattered and there's a rising, warm fluttery feeling in your stomach that makes it hard for you to focus. Something's roaring in your ears, as the crowd is drawing closer and closer, and the smile on his face widens.

He opens his mouth and says something, but the loud chatter suddenly becomes deafening and your heartbeats are starting to thunder in your chest. The crowd passes, as if right on cue, laughing and talking as if you aren't there. You see glimpses of him as they pass, and you can't hear his voice but you can hear a faint whisper in your mind. You can only see him mouth it to you, and your heart stops at what you think he said. His voice echoes in your ears, although you hadn't heard it. At least you think you didn't.

Your hands start to sweat as you try to understand and try to focus at what he had uttered to you. But the words that echo in your head, those three words, are driving you insane. Along with the loud laughter and voices that surround you, you can no longer see him in the sea of people. But as you can see the crowd's tail start to near you, you begin to panic. You did want to hear what he had said, but at the same time didn't want to. You feared that his words would invoke more tears and heartbreak; something you couldn't afford to let out anymore. So you leave. You clench your fists, your fingers digging into your flesh, and you walk into the mass.

You blend in with the people, talking and giggling whilst walking the halls, and you leave him. But you've felt as if you've left your heart behind with him also.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Later on that night you cry once again. You knew you hadn't been fair when you left him, and his almost honest but dark emerald eyes and solemn smile is scarred into your memory, making you remember that you never wanted to leave him like that ever again. You cover your face with your hands, as you try to stifle your sobs, but you've awakened one of your dorm mates already. Lavender sits down beside you, and asks you what's wrong. You can hear in her voice that she really is worried, but you just shake your head and tell her that nothing was wrong. Even in the dark you know when she's frowning at you. But as you lower your hands, she doesn't utter another word, just watching you and maybe trying to figure out what's been happening lately. You hastily wipe away your tears, as you see her look down.

“Hermione.. Harry's awfully worried about you. Ron too, but not nearly as much as Harry. And worrying about you.. It's been wearing him out, Hermione. He doesn't know what to do, since you don't want to be honest to him and you try to avoid any sense of a conversation with him.” She looks up and meets your gaze, her expression serious but sad.

“He doesn't think you trust him, Hermione. And we know you do, everyone knows how close you are. But he doesn't want to believe us. He wants to hear it from you, and he'll only believe it if it comes from you. Just go to him, and tell him you trust him, if you don't want to tell him what's been troubling you lately.” There's silence, as you just look down at the white blanket covering you. You hear her sigh softly, the rustles of the sheets as she gets up from your bed.

“He really does care about you, you know,” you listen to her say, before hearing her footsteps lead back into her bed. You sigh, almost inaudibly. He did care about you, you knew that. All these years, all his deeds and the time he spent with you proved he cared about you very much. But you didn't want him to just care about you. No, you wanted him to love you, as much as you loved him. But you knew that that was impossible, and he was too far out of your reach.

You knew you should've known better than to fall for your best friend, but sometimes it took mistakes such as this to really find out just who you are. Or who you were meant to be, and maybe even who you were truly meant to be with. You realize you're all cried out now, as you gaze out the window beside you. The moonlight shone radiantly, and you look down at your wet, sticky hands. From the glowing light you could see your tears, and as one last drop fell onto your hands, you saw the glimmer and translucent skin it had been in until it splashed onto your palm.

It shone, almost like fragile glass that had just melted right before your eyes. Glass tears. You stare at it, before wiping it away on your sheets and get out of your bed. You grab the book on your tabletop, and head out in your pajamas, figuring that you couldn't fall asleep even if you tried.

You stumble out of your dormitory, and realize that there's already someone there in the common room. There's a lazy fire in the fireplace, and you edge near the staircase to see who it is. You see a mass of untamed raven hair, and you knew didn't need any more assurance that it was Harry. You watch him, as he lay frozen, staring intently into the fireplace. And you wish silently, mentally that you were there beside him. In his arms, watching the fire, satisfied and content, and feeling as if everything in the world was just fine. You close your eyes for a moment, as those butterflies start to erupt in your stomach. You long to be beside him, you long to be with him, to look into those enchanting emerald eyes of his that always managed to trap you in without even trying. His green eyes were like an escape, even like a web that you could see everything that you could ever want or need, inside of him.

And suddenly, before you know it, you're heading down the stairs, your heart set on Harry. You did trust him, you did, and he deserved to know it. He shouldn't be beating himself up just because you couldn't bring yourself to tell him what's been troubling you. You don't blame him anymore; he cares for you and he was only worried. You hoped that once you told him that it didn't have anything to do with him that it would set those fears and worries aside, and he would go along with his life and be happy, just like before. Although it broke your heart to see him at times, all you ever wanted was for him to be happy. And maybe, you figured, seeing him smile and laugh just like before, his emerald twinkling so happily, you would be happy too. You creep down the stairs, until you're nearing the flickering fire, and the green-eyed boy who cared too much for his own good at times. You stop, and watch him, although you could only see the back of his head. You close your eyes and swallow hard, trying to figure out what he could be possibly be feeling, and why he was here in the common room so late at night, all by himself. You could feel yourself slightly trembling, as if suddenly the air became frosty and you felt the need to run back up the stairs and snuggle in your sheets and warm bed in the dormitory, safe and alone. But you set your gaze on him, trying to cover up the hurt and pain and longing in your eyes, hoping he wouldn't be able to see right through you.

“Harry?” you say softly, and he turns around in the couch. His green eyes flicker with something unexplainable and dark, as he realizes it's you. You feel your heart stop, at the sight of him. The shadows and light chasing behind him made his face seem set, but his features anything but sharp and cold. His eyes seemed lighter, even though the flames behind him were lazy and gave out little light. He stands up, and walks over to you, never taking his gaze off of yours. He stands so close to you, taller than you by a few inches, but you could easily stare into his eyes without any trouble at all. You were lost in the pools that made everything fade and swirl around you, making everything seem dreamlike and hazy. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your heartbeats thunder in your chest, and you look down suddenly to regain your focus. Your thoughts were scattered aimlessly, as you try to collect them and recover your wits.

“I just.. Wanted to apologize, for earlier this afternoon,” you say, your voice awfully soft and wavering. You tried to avoid his gaze, but they seemed to be penetrating through you with so much ease, urging you to look up and stare into his eyes with honesty. You could almost hear him ask for the truth inside your mind, asking you to tell him, asking you to finally break down that over-protective barrier and let him in. You hoped he wouldn't say that; you didn't know what you would do if he did. You had a feeling you would just run away again, like last time. And you couldn't explain it to Harry, your sudden disappearance in the corridor. You couldn't say you were afraid, that you feared of getting hurt again, although you didn't know how you could possibly get hurt from him. He didn't know that you loved him. He didn't know that you would give anything for him. He couldn't possibly. And since he didn't know, he couldn't break your heart.

So why was it that you felt like your heartbreak was already in process?

“I shouldn't have left. It wasn't right, and I was being rude. I'm sorry for yelling at you, like before,” your voice got quieter and quieter as you went on, “ and.. I understand that you only did that, because you cared about me. I'm sorry, Harry,” you say, looking up at him. His expression was serious, and slightly solemn. You couldn't help but feel those butterflies return, as you gaze up at him, those jade eyes boring into you.

“I'm worried about you, Hermione,” he said, his eyes pleading. “So much that it scares me to death.”

“I know,” you say, turning away again. “I'm sorry.”

“Ron says I should just leave you alone, that you'll come to us when you're ready, and I try to, but every time I see you, I just want to grab you by the shoulders and make you tell me what it is that you've been crying about constantly, every night, so that I could make it at least a little bit better,” he grabs you by the shoulders, gently, to make your gaze ride up to him again. You could almost feel that sharp hint of tears becoming stronger. “I'm here, I'll listen. I'll listen if you'll just be willing to tell me the truth.”

“It isn't that easy,” you say, trying to force your tears back and pull away, but he's holding you firmly. “You can't just pour it all out when you don't even have the words to describe how you feel.”

“You can try, Hermione,” he said. The tears are fighting to come out now.

“It isn't fair, Harry,” you say, choking on your tears. “It isn't fair. You're asking me to tell you what's been going on when it's too painful to even try to explain. I thought you would understand; we never pressured you into telling us all those years before. You know how it is to keep secrets, all that pain that you know you can never form into words. That feeling when you know they just won't understand. You know, Harry. You've been through it so many times before.”

You could see his gaze soften, but still intense, as he let go of you slowly.

“Out in the hall, did you understand what I said to you?” he suddenly asks, his voice quiet. You're trembling from his touch, your shoulders tingling and hot from his contact.

“I.. I. No, I didn't,” you say, shakily. Then he smiles, and you look at him, confused and shocked. He raises his hands, and frames your face, your skin smoldering and your nerves humming excitedly. The room suddenly felt feverishly hot.

“I love you, Hermione. That's why I care so much, that's why I want you to tell me. I care about you so much, and it kills me whenever I see you and I know that you've been crying.” Your heart stops, and suddenly your ears are roaring and something burning but icy courses through your veins, numbing but at the same time, making everything in your body function. Your loud heartbeats suddenly fade into silence. He's still smiling, and suddenly, you feel like smiling too. You couldn't believe it. You just couldn't believe it.

“I love you,” he says, and you realize you're crying again. Tears flow down your cheeks, and he wipes them away with his thumb, caressing your skin and holding you against him. You're aware of that glowing feeling deep in your chest, as if something was healing and building up once again. You smile through your tears, and seeing your reaction, his eyes twinkle happily and his smile widens.

“I love you, too,” you say, and still grinning madly, he leans in and places his lips on yours. You raise your hands, still trembling, and wrap them around his neck, getting lost in the sweet, addicting taste of him and the feel of his arms wrapping around you and holding you closer.

In his arms, his taste still on your lips, you forget about all that hurt. You forget about the broken pieces, rips, and stitches of trying to mend your broken heart so many times. In his arms, you knew, it wouldn't matter.

Nothing would matter. And nothing did, not when you were with him.

And smiling, as you pull back, him smiling so handsomely with the firelight dancing behind him, you had a good feeling that it would be quite a while before you taste those tears again.