Chapter 5 - What Could Be
Harry was filled with dread as he dressed the next morning. He'd waited for Ron to return but fallen asleep; Ron's bed was still empty that morning but it looked slept in so Harry assumed he must have already gone to breakfast. It was Sunday; the room was filled by the sound of Seamus, Dean and Neville's snores as Harry finished pulling on a sweatshirt and put on his glasses. Normally he and Ron would both still be asleep at this time too but of course, things were different now. Harry left the dormitory and made his way slowly down the stairs to the Common Room. He wasn't worried about actually seeing Ron, but rather what Ron would be like when he saw him. Would he even speak to him?
He entered the Common Room and found it empty, or so he thought at first - a figure rose from an armchair near the fire and Harry smiled. He wasn't surprised to see her there.
"Harry, what's wrong with Ron?" Hermione asked as he walked over to her.
"What did he say?" Harry asked her back.
"Not a lot," said Hermione. She was looking at Harry not with anger but with concern. "I was coming back from the Prefect's bathroom when I saw him, I was a bit surprised as you're both normally still in bed at this time of the morning . . ."
She said this a bit teasingly and Harry offered her a sarcastic grin.
"He looked awful, Harry. I don't think I've ever seen him so upset, not even when, well, when you two weren't speaking during the Triwizard Tournament. I asked him what was wrong but he wouldn't even look me in the eye, he just mumbled something like 'ask Harry' and vanished through the portrait hole. I would have followed him but, well, I was only in my dressing gown and slippers so I couldn't go wandering down to the Great Hall like that . . ."
Harry blushed at the thought of Hermione only wearing her dressing gown but then quickly pushed it away. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her rather sheepishly.
"Um, well . . . it's kind of my fault . . ."
"Oh, Harry, don't tell me you two have had another silly argument?"
"Well, yes . . . no . . . sort of."
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed; she took Harry by the arm and he allowed himself to be shepherded towards the portrait hole.
"You can tell me about it over breakfast," Hermione said. "I'm starving."
Hermione nibbled at her toast and looked Harry in the eye questioningly; Harry felt very guilty as he played with his bowl of porridge, feeling hungry but unable to eat.
"So what did you argue about?"
Harry took a few moments to answer, feeling even more guilty about the concern in her beautiful brown eyes.
"It's . . . complicated, Hermione. And it wasn't really an argument, Ron did all the shouting."
"But why?"
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I can't tell you."
"What do you mean, you can't tell me? It's me, Harry. You know you can tell me anything."
"I know that, Hermione, I really do . . ." for a moment Harry started to reach out one hand to cover her own but quickly stopped when he realised what he was doing, looking down at his porridge again to hide his blush. He missed the quick smile that blossomed across Hermione's face; her questioning look had returned when he met her gaze once more.
"It's just, well, I don't really know how to say it but it's kind of . . . guy stuff."
Hermione raised both eyebrows at him and Harry nodded his head admittedly.
"I know, I know," Harry said. "Not exactly the usual topic of conversation between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."
"Not one that normally makes Ron upset at any rate," said Hermione, buttering another slice of toast. Harry pushed his bowl of porridge away and curled his hands around his mug of tea.
"I'm sorry that I can't tell you it all, Hermione. Let me just put it the best way that I can."
He looked at her again, almost losing his control as he tried to stop himself becoming lost in the two chocolately pools that stared back at him, and tried to think how best to explain what had happened to her. He glanced down the Gryffindor table at Ron, who was sitting with Ginny and pointedly avoiding looking at either of them.
"I spoke to Ron about something . . . personal, something that effects the both of us, and he didn't like what I told him. I'm not angry at Ron at all, please believe me when I tell you that. He's the one who's upset with me and I guess that I deserve it. I want to speak to him but, well, it looks like he doesn't want to talk to me at the moment."
He watched for Hermione's reaction. She held his gaze and he knew she was thinking about what he'd just said; he thought he'd explained it as best he could without coming right out and telling her the total truth.
"I'm sure he'll come around, Harry," she said finally. "I wish you'd tell me why though."
"It's nothing personal Hermione, I promise. I just . . . can't tell you this. Please don't be mad."
Or at least, I can't tell you yet . . . not here, not now . . .
"It's all right, Harry, I understand."
Harry still felt incredibly guilty as she turned the conversation to other matters as they finished their breakfast. He kept glancing over at Ron now and again, trying to catch his other best friend's eye, but to no avail.
"Harry?"
He started, coming back from his thoughts.
"Sorry."
She smiled at him, sending a rather pleasant tingly feeling along his spine.
"Come on, we've got that Transfiguration homework to get started on. Human transfiguration is a lot more difficult than anything else we've done."
"I somehow doubt it'll be much of a problem for you," he said teasingly as they got up to leave, earning him a playful slap on the arm.
"Then you're rather lucky to have me aren't you Mr Potter?"
He grinned at her, which earned him another tingle-inducing smile.
More than you know, Hermione he thought. More than you know.
Harry frowned for what seemed like the millionth time as he looked at another complex diagram in his Transfiguration book; he was beginning to think that he would never understand human transfiguration. Hermione had been right, it was indeed harder than anything they'd studied before. Harry was also finding it quite hard to concentrate as Hermione had sat right next to him at their usual table in the Common Room - he couldn't help but think that she was sitting a lot closer than usual - and she kept leaning over to look at what he had written or to examine a part of their shared textbook in detail. Every time she did this her hair would brush his hand and he would be overwhelmed by the scent of her - he didn't know if she was wearing perfume or not but there was vanilla in there somewhere - and most of all he would feel electrified by their closeness.
"I'm not getting this," he said finally, rubbing one hand over his temple. "It's too hard."
"Don't be silly," Hermione told him, her eyes not leaving the diagram as she scribbled something on her parchment. "You can do this, Harry."
"I don't see why anyone would want to turn themselves into a giraffe anyway."
"I don't know, it could be great for fancy dress parties."
Harry smiled weakly when he realised a grinning Hermione had tried to make a joke. It was the only thing apart from Wizard's Chess that she wasn't very good at. Her grin faded as she saw the weary expression behind his smile, and she gave him a look of soft concern.
"What's wrong, Harry? And not just this thing with Ron, whatever that is, I know it's something else too. You've been so quiet all week . . . is it . . . is it Sirius?"
Harry smiled sadly at her.
"No, it's not Sirius . . . although I do miss him a lot. It still hurts to think about him, but no, there's been something else on my mind a lot lately . . ."
He gulped inwardly. Was he about to tell her? Right here in the crowded Common Room?
"What is it?" Hermione asked sincerely.
He knew he should tell her. He knew she needed to know about the prophecy too. But not here.
"Will you come for a walk with me? To the lake? I promise I'll tell you what's been on my mind. I'll tell you . . . everything."
Everything. Yes, it's time.
"Let's go," was all she said.
They started gathering up their things when Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry's arm.
"Oh, do you mind if I quickly speak to Ron first?" she asked, sounding rather guilty. "I just want to check that he's OK . . ."
"Of course, I'll just take my books up to the dormitory."
Harry packed up slowly and watched as Hermione made her way over to Ron, who was sitting with Ginny, Dean and Seamus and also looking quite bewildered at his Transfiguration book. When she tapped him lightly on the shoulder Harry turned away and headed up to his dormitory to deposit his books. The nervous fear that had plagued him during the summer was beginning to return, coupled with a rather strange excitement at knowing he was finally going to tell her. He also felt a rather mellow sort of sadness.
If the worst happens when I tell her, he thought, that was probably our last moment of true friendship.
He pushed the thought away. He didn't want to think about that.
It was a peaceful day outside after the brutality of the storm the previous night. Pale sunlight filtered down through watery clouds and a pleasant breeze blew in over the still lake; the Giant Squid was nowhere to be seen but Harry could make out the distant yellow specks of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team zooming around the far-away pitch. Hermione walked alongside him; they hadn't spoken since leaving the Common Room, but they both knew where they were headed - a solitary tree on the far side of the lake, not far from where Harry had once so spectacularly cast the Patronus Charm, that they often stopped and sat under during their walks together. There were surprisingly little other students out on the Hogwarts grounds, and for this Harry was grateful. He didn't want any interruptions. This had to be a moment for just the two of them.
He finally spoke when they were nearing the tree.
"So . . . what did Ron say to you?"
"Not much," Hermione replied. "I get the feeling that he didn't really want to talk to me, either."
Harry felt another pang of guilt at this.
"Sorry. That's probably my fault too."
"Of course it isn't, if Ron wants to take his feelings about you out on everyone else that's his decision. I don't think he's told Ginny what's bothering him either though, she looked rather exasperated with him."
"Moody git."
"Harry!"
"Sorry. Couldn't resist."
Hermione grinned but still chastised him.
"Yes he is a moody git," she said, "but apparently a certain Gryffindor Quidditch Captain is the reason he's being a moody git at moment . . ."
Harry sighed and nodded.
"You're right, I shouldn't make a joke out of it. It's my fault."
He felt her hand brush his arm in sympathy. Her touch made him feel slightly giddy, like he'd taken a Pepper-Up Potion.
"I'm sure it can't be that bad," she offered, but Harry could detect the uncertainty in her voice. He knew that for all Hermione knew it could be that bad.
They reached the tree. The grass was still a bit damp even now because of the pale sun, so Harry conjured a thick woollen blanket with his wand for them to sit on. Once they were seated silence depended on them once more. He knew that she was waiting for him to begin, but he was content to wait a few moments and just enjoy being there with her. In the distance smoke was curling lazily upwards from the chimney of Hagrid's hut; somewhere overhead a bird called, and the grass whispered gently as the breeze blew through it. And she sat there, cross legged and waiting. Giving him her full attention, those beautiful brown orbs locked on him and registering nothing else. He decided that was another thing he loved about her.
Sighing once again, he turned to face her. All of the panic, all of the nervousness, all the fear and worry and doubts had returned. The hollow sickness was floating around there somewhere too. But he ignored them all when he looked into her eyes. This was his and Hermione's place, his and Hermione's moment, and he had waited too long to be stopped by those awful feelings.
"There's so much that I need to tell you. So much that I need to say. And to be honest, I really don't know how to start."
Hermione's head tilted slightly as she smiled softly at him.
"Start however you'd like, Harry. I'm not going anywhere."
Harry smiled at that. It made him feel better. He looked out to the calm waters of the lake.
"I know that I haven't spoken to you or Ron about Sirius . . . I'm grateful that neither of you have asked. I wouldn't have been able to give you an answer about any of it. There was too much going on . . . too much hurt . . ."
He ran one hand through his hair.
"I didn't want to believe that he was gone at first . . . it's stupid, I know . . ."
"No it's not," Hermione said. "Don't think that."
"Well, I felt stupid afterwards anyway. Sirius gave me this mirror and I forgot all about it, it was supposed to let us both communicate with each other whenever we wanted. I only found it after . . . he died. After it didn't work the first time I got upset and smashed it, that was still here at Hogwarts. But I did a reparo charm not long after . . . I thought there might be still be a chance for it to work. I think I spent most of the first weeks at Privet Drive saying his name into that mirror. It only made things worse, looking back now."
Harry stole a glance at Hermione before going on.
"Most of those two weeks I don't know what I was doing . . . I cried a lot. It hurt so much."
He stared fixedly across the lake.
"Sirius was the closest I could've ever got to my parents. I know that Remus is still here, but it's not the same . . . and now he's gone. I just . . . I miss him, Hermione."
He felt her hand close around his and he smiled gratefully at her. Her eyes expressed what didn't need to be said - that she was there, that he had her support.
"I know you don't like people telling you how brave you are, Harry, but you really are. You've done so well to get through this . . . I'm so sorry that I wasn't there."
"Don't be, Hermione."
Speaking of Sirius brought back memories of his godfather, and they were both silent for a while as he sat there reflecting. Hermione watched him dutifully. She sensed that he had more to tell her, and she didn't want to rush him. He also hadn't made any attempt to remove her hand, and she liked it that way . . . she would have been happy to sit that way all day, entranced by those green eyes of his. Whilst they were no longer bright and shining like they once were, now too clouded by the pain and grief he obviously still carried, they still made her knees go weak. They would shine again one day, she knew . . .
"I have to kill him, Hermione."
His words brought her back sharply
"What?"
"Voldemort. I have to kill him. It's what it was all about."
"What what was all about, Harry? What do you mean you have to kill V-Voldemort?"
Her hand had slipped from his in her surprise. Harry sighed deeply.
"It's what the Department of Mysteries was all about, Hermione. A prophecy. A prophecy about Voldemort and me, that's what the weapon he was searching for was."
Harry told her everything that he had told Ron - the wording of the prophecy, what it meant and what it entailed for him. When he'd finished Hermione had gone very pale, and he could see tears beginning to form in her eyes. It made his heart ache terribly.
"Please don't cry, Hermione . . ."
"How can you expect me not to, Harry?" she said, her voice choked with emotion. "You've just told me that you think you're going to die . . ."
"I honestly don't know, Hermione. I wish I did. I wish there was an better way to tell you all this too, but there isn't. Voldemort's going to come for me, and if I don't kill him he'll kill me. And I don't know when it's going to happen."
Tears were rolling down her face now. She flung herself onto him, curling her arms around his neck and sobbing into his chest. Harry held her tightly and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
"W-why are y-you s-sorry?" Hermione said, her voice muffled by sobs.
"I never wanted to upset you . . . I honestly didn't know how to tell you."
He held her in silence until she quietened, stroking her hair. It took some time. She looked up at him finally, and they released each other.
"I never imagined . . . I never thought that it was that bad, Harry . . . no wonder you've been so quiet . . ."
"I've had to do a lot of thinking this summer, Hermione. Even more so since my talk with Dumbledore last week. He made me realise how important it is that I tell you - both of you. I told Ron last night . . ."
"How did he take it?"
"I . . . honestly don't know. He left not long after."
Harry stood and walked slowly down to the shore of the lake, Hermione following close behind. He crouched down near the water and gazed at his reflection, running one hand along his scar thoughtfully. When he spoke he sounded resigned.
"I never wanted any of this."
His hand dropped to his side.
"I'd give anything to have a normal life. Not as a Muggle, but you know what I mean. But I've done nothing but think for the last three months, and I've accepted what my life is. Even if that means I won't have a very long one."
"Harry-"
"I've had so much to deal with, so much that needed thinking about, but it pales in comparison to what's been consuming me the most."
He looked up at her.
"Do you want to know what Ron and I argued about, Hermione?"
She nodded ever so slightly. He stood up and looked her in the eyes.
"You."
A look of surprise crossed her face.
"Me? Why would you argue about me?"
"Like I said Hermione, we didn't really argue. I just told Ron something, and he didn't like it."
He took a tentative step towards her. He was a whirling mixture of emotions. The words he had waited so long to say were straining to be released.
"What . . . what did you tell him?" Hermione asked, her voice very soft. There was hope dancing in her heart, but she dared not show it. Harry looked at her for a long time before answering.
"That I'm in love with you."
She let out a little gasp of shock and raised one hand to her mouth. Harry felt all of the nerves and fear and pressure leave him now that the words had been said, and it was easier to go on. He took another step forward, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I started having feelings for you long ago, but I hid them even from myself. You're my best friend, you know? You're not supposed to feel that way about your best friend . . . "
"Harry-"
"Please, Hermione," he said, cutting her off. "I need to say this. I've fallen in love with you, completely. You're all that I think about. I've never met anyone so beautiful and so incredibly special as you. . . whenever I'm around you, everything seems right. You've always been there for me, no matter what. Whenever we're together, I feel . . . happy . . ."
Harry trailed off. He felt like he could go on describing how he felt forever. Her hand was still at her mouth, now framed in a heartfelt smile. Her cheeks were flushed pink from his words, and if anything it made her look more beautiful.
"You're the only girl that I want to be with, Hermione. I love you."
Her mouth opened slightly but no words came out. Harry's heart was hammering wildly in his chest. He'd taken her smiling as a good sign, but there was no way of knowing for sure . . .
"I understand if this changes things, Hermione. If you don't want to be friends anymore . . ."
"I love you too, Harry."
He inhaled sharply. He'd heard the words, but his brain was refusing to register what she'd said. His shock must have shown on his face as she giggled and took a step forward herself so that they were now standing next to each other.
"W-what?"
"I said I love you too, Harry. It's always been you . . . always. You don't know how long I've waited for you to say those words to me."
Instinct took him then, and he leaned into her. Their mouths met in the sweetest kiss either of them would ever know; tentative and soft at first but soon deeper and more demanding as their desire for each other overwhelmed them. Her arms were around his neck again; one of his hands held her tightly to him by the waist whilst the other explored her silky hair. He revelled in her, in her taste and the feel of her body against his. It seemed like they were fused together at the very soul.
For the first time in his life, the Boy-Who-Lived was truly happy.
A week had passed. Harry had never known such happiness could exist until he was with Hermione. His initial fear of being a hopeless boyfriend was quickly allayed not only by Hermione but himself too - as it turned out it was very similar to being her best friend. Studying in the library, chatting and joking with the other Gryffindors in the Common Room. Only now they held hands in the corridors (Harry thought that the simple pleasure of holding someone's hand was very underrated). Now they would stop whatever it is they were doing to kiss. Now Hermione would sit in his lap and play with his hair as they sat by the fire and talked about everything they'd done that day. The Gryffindor boys would take the mickey out of the goofy grin that would be plastered on his face after a snogging session, whilst the girls frequently squealed over the seemingly permanent glow in Hermione's face.
That night they were the last two in the Common Room. They sat in front of the crackling fire, Harry in his favourite chair with Hermione curled up in his lap. It was very cosy; Hermione had fallen asleep with her arms around him and he was content to sit and watch her, gently stroking her hair. He would have to wake her soon, as he couldn't take her up to her dormitory himself, but he would wait a few minutes longer. He wanted to enjoy this moment. It felt so good to hold her. Her soft exhalations warmed his neck, and one of her hands was entwined with his own. His heart swelled to think that this beautiful, incredible girl was his.
Despite his happiness he had not been shut-off to everything else that week. Ron was visibly in pain whenever he was around them, which hadn't been often, and Harry felt very guilty. Hermione had tried to talk to him but with no luck. They both wanted their other best friend back and hoped that with time he would come around. Harry wasn't sure how long that would be, but he was sure it wasn't the end for them and Ron.
The threat of Voldemort still lingered in his mind. It usually came to bear when he was alone, but even with Hermione around it still continually lurked at the back of his mind. He'd had another nightmare - he hadn't told Hermione about it - where he'd seen her fall into the veil that had claimed Sirius, accompanied by Voldemort's mocking laughter. He'd woken with his scar burning and rage running through him like no other. He felt a little of that anger now as he looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms and brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. That Voldemort would dare try to take her away from him . . .
The anger quickly faded into resolve as he looked at his beautiful Hermione. He would not die. He would not lose the incredible happiness that he had finally found. He would not let Voldemort take Hermione away from him, nor he away from Hermione.
Yes, Voldemort would come. Sooner or later, he would come. And Harry would be ready.
Let him come.
* * * * *
Author's Note: I'd like to thank everybody who's reviewed, I really appreciated all your comments. I hope you've enjoyed the story - I apologise to anyone who hoped it was going to be longer, but I'd always planned it to be five chapters.
Peace, love and Pumpkin-Pie
Ben N