A/N: The song, "If I Don't Tell You Now" that I have used as my title makes an appearance in this chapter. But, just like everything Potter, the song is not mine. It is sung by the musical God that is Ronan Keating, and was written by one of the greatest songwriters of all-time, the amazing Diane Warren.
Chapter 6: The Decision
Harry had walked for about an hour, his thoughts as jumbled as a yard sale, before gaining the presence of mind to remember that he could simply leave the way he had arrived, and apparate home. Feeling stupid, ill, scared and confused, he heaved a great sigh of relief when he appeared outside his flat a moment later.
Making his way through the door, he plopped down in his couch, grateful to finally be away from the horrible mess he had created. He sat, trying his best to relax and think of anything but Hermione and Ron. However ironically, in Harry's opinion, despite all his efforts, he could think of nothing else.
How could he be so gun-ho about his feelings, practically laying them on a platter? How could he accept Ron's plea to stay with Hermione while Ron was away? And, foremost in Harry's mind, how could he be so stupid as to kiss Hermione? Outside her own house, no less. The house she shared with Ron, Harry's own best friend.
Harry, at this moment, hated himself more than he had ever hated anyone. His abhorrence at himself after Cedric and Hagrid died was powerful, and still haunted him daily. His disgust of Voldemort and Pettigrew bordered on toxic. But this detestation he now felt for himself was almost all consuming. He had knowingly betrayed his best friend. In Harry's mind, it was one of the worst crimes imaginable. And Harry knew that he could never right that horrible wrong.
Yet there was one other thought, aside from self-hatred, that was plaguing Harry's mind. It was Hermione's reaction that was really eating at him. If she had pushed him away, yelled at him, or even cursed him after he had kissed her, he would know where he stood. He would do the best he could to stay out of their lives from then on, and go back to hating himself and feeling isolated in peace.
But unfortunately, that wasn't what happened. Hermione had kissed him back. Harry was sure that he, in some euphoric state, had not imagined that. And now he had no clue what to think. Why did she kiss him back? Was she so caught up in the moment that she didn't even realise what was happening? Did she feel so sorry for him, her best friend, that she couldn't bare to hurt him? Or maybe, just maybe, did she...
No. Harry stopped the thought before it had even properly formed. That was not an option. Hermione was in love with Ron. She had been for almost six years now. Harry's brain was in complete agreement. It was his heart that was causing the problems. No matter how many times he tried to persuade himself that he had no chance, there was always a feeling, deep in his chest, telling him that things may not be as they seemed. It was a horrible feeling, largely because it simply wouldn't go away.
"I've got to stop thinking about this!" he cried to himself, balling his hands into fists
At that exact moment, Harry saw a flash of white fly into the room and land on a perch. It was Hedwig, carrying a note attached to her leg. Harry thanked her, and gave her a piece of bread, before examining the piece of paper. He immediately recognised the writing as Hermione's.
It was a very short note. He sat down, and started to read.
"Dear Harry," it said. "Ron told me that he asked you to stay with me while he's gone. I honestly don't know what to think about that. All I know is that we need to talk. I'll see you on Tuesday. Love, Hermione."
He looked at her neat, tiny scrawl and sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. What did Hermione want to talk about?
Harry, replacing his glasses, stood up and looked around, feeling lost in his own home. He needed something to take his mind off the letter, and what it might mean. He spied the radio in the corner of the room. Harry had always liked muggle music. It relaxed him in a way that not many other things could. He switched it on, and sat back down, closing his eyes and willing himself to concentrate on the music, and not on the whirring thoughts in his mind.
He recognised the singer immediately as being Ronan Keating, one of his favoured muggle singers. He relaxed into the chair as he listened to the music.
"I've kept it inside for the longest time
And I can't keep keeping in
All this love that's inside my heart
Maybe it's safer not to say that I care
Maybe this road won't lead me anywhere
But if I don't tell you now
I may never get the chance again
To tell you that I need you,
Tell you what I'm feeling
If I keep these feelings in
And if I don't say the words
How will you hear what's inside my heart?
How will you know then?
If I don't tell you now
I'd give anything to be in your dreams
And I can't stand standing by
With this dream that's inside my heart
Maybe I'm only gonna make a mistake
And there's a chance maybe my heart will break
But if I don't tell you now
I may never get the chance again
To tell you that I need you,
Tell you what I'm feeling
If I keep these feelings in
And if I don't say the words
How will you hear what's inside my heart?
How will you know then?
If I don't tell you now
How will you know you're inside my soul?
Oh it's driving me crazy 'cause you don't see
You're the world to me
I'm so afraid to say the way that I feel."
Harry quickly jumped up and shut the radio off. "Stupid muggle music," he muttered to himself.
But now that he had listened to the lyrics, try as he may, he couldn't stop thinking about their message. Should he say how he felt?
No. He couldn't. It was wrong; it was all wrong. He shouldn't feel this way, not about her. He walked back and forth in his living room, thoughts flying around his head as fast as the players in a Quidditch game.
Harry just couldn't decide what to do. He didn't want to betray Ron anymore than he had already, yet his heart told him that he had to. He knew with certainty that he could never get over her, no matter what. But having this hope inside of him, if there was none, was agony.
Harry walked over to the coffee table. On it lay a picture of himself, Hermione and Ron, on their Graduation Day. The three figures smiled and waved up at Harry from the picture. He looked at Ron, and bowed his head, the feeling of self-hatred returning, full force. A moment later, he forced himself to look back up at the picture, to look at Hermione.
Harry gritted his teeth knowing, and hating, what he had to do. "I have to tell her," he said to himself. "I have to tell Hermione that I'm in love with her."