My sincere thanks to Another, for his wonderful beta work. -bows-
Chapter 8: She Loves Me. She Loves Me Not.
Y así pasan los días
y yo, desesperado,
y tú, tú contestando:
"quizás... quizás... quizás."
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Harry decided to skip lunch and his afternoon classes and sought refuge in the place no one would expect to find him in.
The library.
Madam Pince had been keeping a close eye on him all afternoon, watching him over the top of the book she was holding as if expecting him to continue the destruction of her beloved sanctuary.
Thankfully, Harry had been on his best behavior. After his "vision", after his fight with Hermione, after the dizziness and weakness had diminished, Harry had walked straight to the Hogwarts library and had taken from the shelves all of the Potions books he thought could help him with his current predicament.
"1001 Useful Potions"
"How to be a Potions Master"
"Potions for Dummies"
"A Nitpicker's Guide to Potion Brewing."
"What to Do When You Are Under a Spell"
"This is hopeless," Harry mumbled as he reached the last page of the last book on his list. He had found nothing on the Philtrum Casses Amator potion, and even less about a possible counter potion.
The only bit of useful information he had found among the thousand of pages he had flipped through this afternoon was about how a potion's effect could change slightly due to small differences in the quantity of the ingredients. Harry guessed that this was the case. Probably Ron had used more belladonna or less lily dust, and that's why the effects of the potion on Harry had lasted for more than the intended eight hours.
At least, that's what he hoped, because just the thought that there might be some other explanation terrified him.
He sighed in defeat again, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, trying to push his headache out by the sheer power of his will. The headache was so pervasive that Harry couldn't concentrate anymore on the whole business of Hermione and the potion.
Harry had managed to suppress the images of the dream/vision that had tormented in Firenze's class, but due to his weariness and his hunger, he couldn't anymore. He shivered absently, remembering the piercing cold that seemed to reach his very bones. Today had been the second time in two days that he had felt that screeching cold washing over him, and he had no idea why.
Harry had never thought of himself as claustrophobic. After all, you couldn't be claustrophobic if your room for ten years had been a tiny cupboard under the stairs, and if one of your family's favorite punishments was to lock you in a dark closet for hours. In fact, he rather liked that punishment…it was better than his uncle beating on him.
But he couldn't shake the feeling of despair and hopeless every time he remembered what it felt to be bounded by the arms and the legs, unable to move an inch - what it felt like to try to draw breath and feel your lugs burning for lack of air… what it felt to drown in blood… what it felt like when the earth opened up and swallowed him.
The heavy Irish accented voice that belonged to Seamus Finnegan brought Harry back to the real world.
"Harry, where've you been? You missed all afternoon classes!" Seamus asked. Harry opened his eyes to find Seamus and Dean standing next to his table, looking very concerned over his classmate.
Harry said the first thing that came into his mind, "I needed to do some research for an extra-credit in Transfiguration." He heard his stomach grumble impatiently, and it reminded him that it had been a while since he had last eaten.
"What time is it?" Harry asked his friends. Dean, the muggle-born of the two, glanced at his Thundercats wristwatch.
"Its 8:15PM, mate," Dean answered. Harry was surprised; he knew he had spent a long time in the library, but he was shocked to learn that the day was almost gone.
"Well, I've been here enough. I'll see you guys later," Harry said, standing up and picking up the books that were scattered across his table before Dean and Seamus got a chance to see them. He managed to smile politely again, only to be met by the worry faces of his colleagues.
"Are you sure you are okay, Harry? I mean…what happened in Firenze's class was pretty scary," Seamus said. Harry shook his head, trying to appear casual about what had happened.
The word "scary" paled in comparison to what it really felt like.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry about it. It was a just a bad dream," Harry said nonchalantly. Dean and Seamus finally nodded at him, a little bit more relieved by his demeanor. "See ya," he repeated, making his way out of the library, but not before putting the books back in their rightful places and giving Madam Pince a polite "good night", whom still felt the need to guard her beloved sanctuary from the menace that seemed to be Harry Potter.
Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, encountering a few students on the way who seemed to stop what they were doing when he approached, staring cautiously at him. How Harry hated his fame! He knew that the rumors of what had happened to him in Firenze's class must have spread throughout the school like wildfire, and that now everyone was wondering just what it meant.
If it had happened to anyone else, the matter would have been forgotten by dinnertime. But he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and everyone knew with Harry things were always more complicated.
Even love.
He pretty much ignored everyone as he walked down the hallways, only stopping short when he caught sight of Neville and Ginny walking hand in hand just a few meters away in front of him. He hid behind a corner until he couldn't hear their footsteps anymore. He could ignore everyone else, but he knew he would have a hard time trying to dodge Ginny and Neville's questions.
Harry made it inside the common room, ignoring the Fat Lady's remark that he looked quite ill. "Harry, how are you feeling?" he heard Lavender asked from the couch she was sharing with Parvati. He didn't even glance at them as he walked straight up the stairs to his dormitory, giving them a polite, "just peachy. Thanks for asking," before he disappeared into his room.
He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that just maybe he had reached a place where there will be some peace and quiet inside his head. He was already thinking about a relaxing shower and what he was going to ask Dobby to bring him from the kitchen when Harry felt someone's hands on his back. Next moment, he had fallen face first on his bed, pushed by an unseen assailant.
He quickly turned around on the bed, already clutching his wand on his hand, prepared to hex the living daylights out of the intruder. But "surprise" was too mild a word to describe what he felt when he realized that the only person on the room with him was Ron.
Ron was standing a few feet away from him, staring daggers back at him. It was a look that was usually reserved for Malfoy and had only been directed at Harry during their Fourth Year, when Ron thought that Harry had entered the Tri-Wizard Tournament because of fame and fortune. It was a look Harry hoped would never be directed at him again.
"RON? WHAT IN BLAZES DID YOU DID THAT FOR?" Harry screamed at his best friend.
"Because you DESERVED it!" Ron hissed, trembling with anger, pointing an accusing finger at Harry.
"What did I do now?" Harry said, utterly confused as he straighten slightly until he was sitting in bed.
"I saw what you did to Hermione! How can you say something so hurtful? She was just worried about you!" Ron accused. Harry was shocked, not only because Ron hardly took Hermione's side on arguments, but also because he realized Ron was keeping a close eye on him.
"You were SPYING on me?" Harry said defensively. If he had hoped his own accusation would make Ron back down, but he was sorely mistaken.
"YES, I WAS! I didn't trust you to behave…and I WAS RIGHT! And don't give me any crap about it, cause you sir, are the master in listening in to your friends' private conversations," Ron said, getting redder with every word that came out of his mouth.
"Why did you tell her what happened? Why did you tell her to check up on me?" Harry asked, letting go of his wand, not trusting the guilt he was feeling over Ron's words to stop him from hexing his red-haired friend.
"Because this is HERMIONE! If anyone can help you with whatever is going on with you, it's HER! It has ALWAYS been her!" Ron said truthfully, some of the anger ebbing away at the helpless sight his best friend made.
"Nothing is going on with me, Ron," Harry said, hoping that if he lied enough times, the lie would become the truth.
"Like hell it is, Harry. There's some crazy stuff going on with you. I mean…," Ron said, running his hands through his hair in frustration, "If you had seen your face when you started screaming…you were terrified…I've never seen you so scared in my life, Harry." Ron sat next to Harry on the bed and exhaled loudly, feeling useless to help his friend.
"I have a lot of things on my mind," Harry whispered, leaning his head on his hands and closing his eyes. The headache was back with a vengeance, the skin over his scar burning like a lump of coal.
A silence fell between the two friends, and wasn't broken until Ron softly whispered, "Is this about Hermione…I mean…about your feelings for her?" He suddenly felt guilty about "The Plan" Ginny, Neville, Luna and himself had concocted that morning.
"Maybe…maybe not. I don't know. Firenze seems to think what happened this morning was some sort of vision, but…I don't know…I can't shake the feeling that Hermione has something to do with it," Harry confessed, surprised at the sincerity of his words.
"Why did you snap at her? She was so worried about you when I told her what had happened! She didn't come to dinner, you know. She didn't say anything to me, but…I caught sight of her crying…on bloody Roger's shoulder," Ron said, his voice turning suddenly bitter at the mention of the Ravenclaw's name.
Harry impulsively gripped handfuls of his hair more tightly, and tried to ignore the stream of images of Hermione in Roger's arms that popped into his head, and that threatened to make his headache even worst.
Harry sighed and looked up at Ron, his answer clear as he said, "I think…I think I'm trying to push her away…that is, until all this mess with the potion is resolved. I don't want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship. You know you two mean the world to me."
At that moment, Ron felt something he had never felt concerning Harry. He pitied the emerald-eyed boy, wondering how come such an incredibly courageous and bright person could be so oblivious to what was evident to everyone else.
Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "Look, mate, I'm not trying to give you advice on your love life, because that's always been Hermoine's department, but…if you ARE in love with her, even if is just the potion…what's so bad about that?"
Harry didn't respond, turning his head around, absently looking at his partial reflection on the corner mirror. Ron decided to continue pressing the matter, "Hermione is not ugly, mate."
That got a reaction from Harry. "She's beautiful," Harry whispered with reverence.
Ron followed with a, "She's not an ignorant git."
To which Harry replied, "She's the most intelligent girl I know."
"She's not self-centered or selfish," Ron said. Harry seemed slightly offended by Ron's casual description, judging by the way his eyes grew into slits.
"Ron, she has the biggest heart in the world and you know it!" Harry replied.
"True, she's a bit bossy. But so are the Weasley women and they are, according to others, lovable. But you know that even when she bosses us around, she always means well," Ron said, trying to conceal his smile. He has finally getting a reaction out of Harry he could work with.
"I know she does," Harry whispered. Ron raised his hands emphatically, knowing he was going in for the kill, and asked, "Then, what is the big problem with falling in love with her?"
He wasn't prepared to hear Harry's whisper, "The big problem is that she's not in love with me. She's in love with Roger Davies. And that makes me feel so bad that I end up doing the thing I want the least to do in this life…I end up hurting her."
Ron didn't know what to reply. This definitely wasn't the answer he was hoping for.
"Ron, you and Hermione are my best friends. I don't want to hurt her, just as you don't want to hurt her. But if I don't find the antidote soon, my jealousy will end up destroying my friendship with her…and I can't even stand the thought of that happening," Harry said softly, turning around once more to look at Ron.
Ron shook his head and sighed. Maybe Ginny was wrong and Harry was right. Maybe Hermione didn't have more feelings for Harry than just a close friendship. After all, she seemed to be getting pretty tight with Roger. Maybe by trying to push his best friends together, Ron was making things worst.
But…what if? What if Ginny was right? Ron had never found the "what if" so infuriating before in his life.
"Harry, can I ask you something?" Ron said, turning around to look at his friend. Harry had once again closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. The young man mumbled what sounded like a "what?" and Ron decided to ask Harry the same question Ginny had asked him this morning.
"How can you be so sure Hermione is not in love with you?" Ron asked Harry. Harry looked at him as if he suddenly had sprouted a third arm.
"Are you bloody mad?" Harry spouted.
"I think it's an honest question!" Ron said. Harry scoffed.
"How can I be sure? Well, maybe because I'm not the one that's been hand in hand with her all week…and I'm not the one that's pulling her inside an empty classroom to snog her senseless… and I'm not the one who's going to take her to the Halloween ball!" Harry snapped before he could stop himself.
He grimaced as soon as he realized how bitter and jealous he sounded. Ron raised an eyebrow at him.
"I turned into a cretin again, didn't I?" Harry said, feeling so ashamed he could feel his cheeks burning.
"You did, mate. Look, I think that before you do anything else, you need to apologize to Hermione," Ron suggested.
Harry nodded. "Do you know where she is?" he asked, remembering Ron had told him she hadn't gone down to dinner.
"In the library?" Ron offered.
Harry shook his head, saying, "I just came from there."
"She's not downstairs…maybe she's in her common room," Ron said.
"I'll take a shower, and then I'll go and I'll apologize," Harry said, getting up from the bed, the hunger and the exhaustion he had felt not ten minutes ago were already forgotten.
He grabbed an old jean and a thin white shirt from his armoire, and looked back at Ron, who was still sitting in Harry's bed with an unreadable expression on his freckled face.
"So, are we okay?" Harry asked his best friend. Ron looked at him seriously for a couple of seconds, but finally smiled, nodding his head in agreement.
"Yes, we are okay," Ron said, getting up from the bed and walking toward Harry. Patting Harry in the back, Ron added, "But next time you make Hermione cry, I'll kick your arse."
Ron then left the room and went back to the common room, leaving Harry with a slight smile on his tired face.
He didn't mind Ron kicking his arse when he deserved it.
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30 minutes later…
Harry adjusted his eyeglasses and ran his fingers through his still wet hair, trying to smooth it back in a lame attempt to look presentable.
'Why am I so nervous? It's only Hermione…come on, buddy, you can do this.'
"What do you want?" the portrait of the old hag that was the guardian of the Head Boy and Head Girl's Rooms asked Harry brusquely.
"I…I want to see Hermione Granger," Harry said, wondering why Hermione had never given Ron and himself the password.
'Maybe because I never bother to ask her…. She's always in the Gryffindor common room, after all.'
Harry stayed in front of the door for some time, but nothing was happening. He was growing more impatient by the second, until he couldn't help to turn toward the portrait on the right and blurt a gruff, "Well? Is she coming or not?"
"WHAT AM I? A BLOODY MAID? Knock if you want to see her!" the portrait of the hag screamed at Harry. Harry mumbled a very sarcastic "thank you," just before he knocked twice on the wooden door that marked the entrance to the Head Boy/Girl Quarters.
He heard a faint noise from the other side of the door, and ran his fingers over his shirt impulsively, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. He heard definitive footsteps now, and took a deep breath.
The doorknob turned. The door opened just a bit…to reveal the face of Roger Davies.
'Bloody Wanker'
"Can I help you?" Roger asked the irritated Harry. Judging by the Ravenclaw's face, Harry knew Roger would swallow a jalapeño than actually be helpful.
"I'm looking for Hermione," Harry said, managing to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
"What for?" Roger asked brusquely. Before Harry could reply that it was none of Roger's damn business, he heard Hermione's voice in a soft whisper.
Roger visibly tensed, but finally opened the door completely, revealing Hermione, who had been hiding behind the door.
He gulped hard. Hermione was already dressed for bed, a tank top and trousers the color of crimson, with a silk robe over her shoulders that contrasted sharply with the rather worn out bunny slippers that were adorning her feet. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her hair tied on a messy bun that let many lose tendrils cascade around her face. He would have smiled at how beautiful she looked, but he stopped when he caught sight of the sadness in her brown eyes.
'This is my fault.'
"Yes, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice tired, but business-like. It didn't escape to Harry the fact that she was still standing next to Roger.
"I…I…was wondering if I could talk to you," Harry said softly, locking his eyes with hers.
"So talk," Roger interrupted. Harry sighed and turned his attention toward the Head Boy, ready to liberate all the expletives in his vocabulary, only to be beaten by Hermione.
Turning toward Roger, Hermione coolly said, "I'll be outside." Harry couldn't help but savor the sight of Roger's scowl as Hermione stepped out of their common room and closed the door behind her. That was a Kodak moment if he ever saw one.
Hermione avoided Harry's eyes as she took a few steps down the hallway, and Harry, who did not know how to continue with his plan, followed her in silence. Hermione finally stopped, leaned back against the wall, and looked up at Harry.
"What is it?" she asked, her red-rimmed eyes locking on Harry's. Harry found he had trouble finding his voice when she was looking at him with such gloom in her eyes. He looked down at his feet, hoping that some of that legendary Gryffindor courage would kick in. The silence was growing heavy, unbearable.
"I'm sorry…for yelling at you earlier…I wasn't feeling well, and…well, I snapped at the first person I saw…which unfortunately happened to be my best friend," he finally whispered, still looking down at the floor.
He was surprised when he heard Hermione sigh tremulously and say, "Well, I'm sorry too."
"You are?" he asked, finally looking up, his eyes betraying the confusion he felt.
"Of course I am…I shouldn't have screamed at you," Hermione said, her head lowered, her voice suspiciously neutral. Harry didn't know what to make of it until he heard her say with an amused voice, "I should have slugged you."
Harry let out a nervous laugh when Hermione finally looked up, revealing a small smile gracing her enchanting lips.
"Was that a joke, Ms. Granger?" Harry asked cheekily.
"Maybe," was Hermione's answer, the smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.
After they shared another nervous laugh, Hermione's expression sobered. "I am truly sorry, Harry. I…I shouldn't have screamed back at you," she said, biting her lower lip nervously.
"I deserved much more than just for you to scream back at me," Harry said truthfully.
"Maybe. But that doesn't make it right," Hermione said gently. She looked down so only the top of her head was visible to Harry, and said, "I'm just a bit overwhelmed…and frustrated, you know."
"With what?" he asked, venturing to put a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the heat coming from her even through her robe, and he gulped nervously.
"With you, Harry, with you," she said, raising her head and locking her eyes with his.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, his mind suddenly at a loss for words to express all the things he was feeling at this moment.
"Do you even know why you are saying sorry, Harry?" Hermione said softly. He let his hand wander from her shoulder, slowly down her arm, until he reached her hand, all the while reveling in the warmth she emanated. Harry felt assurance when Hermione captured his hand on her own and squeezed softly, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"Because I've hurt you," Harry whispered, looking down at their intertwined hands, mesmerized by the feel of her thumb tracing circles on his skin.
"You have hurt me. But is not because you've snapped at me or said mean things; it's because you've been pushing me away. Because there's something wrong with you and you've left me in the dark. I'm not used to that…," Hermione whispered, her broken voice betraying how hurt she truly was. Harry instinctively gripped her hand more tightly in his.
"I really didn't mean to, Mione. It's just like I told you…I've had a lot things on my mind," Harry said apologetically.
"Like what?" Hermione said, surprisingly gripping his shirt and pulling him closer to her, until the tip of his sneakers touched the tip of her slippers.
Harry gulped, aware that her hand was still clutching to his shirt possessively.
'Like you.'
"Like Voldemort. Death Eaters. N.E.W.T's. Sirius. The war," Harry said softly. He wasn't lying-those things were always on his mind, just like the scar was always present on his forehead. But everything else had taken second place to the brown haired girl standing in front of him.
He heard Hermione sigh and let go of his shirt. He looked up to find his friends with her eyes closed, rubbing her temple with the hand that had been clutching his shirt. When she opened her eyes looked up at him, he immediately knew she wasn't satisfied with his answer.
"What about what happened at Transfiguration yesterday? And in Divination today?" Hermione asked him. Harry sighed and looked down at the floor. He really didn't want to think about what he had seen in Divination, or remember the coldness he had felt in Transfiguration. Absently, Harry noticed that one of her bunny slippers was missing an ear.
Hermione straightened, and the sudden movement brought her even closer to Harry. Once again, she made that exquisitely possessive gesture of clinging to his shirt, her nails grazing slightly his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt. He closed his eyes and sighed. If she kept this up, he was going to do something stupid. Again.
"I…it's just…just nightmares. That's all," Harry finally answered, still looking down at the floor.
"Harry, look at me," Hermione pleaded. He didn't want to; he was afraid…afraid that if those chocolate eyes locked with his one more time, he wouldn't be able to hold back all the things he wanted to tell her and knew he couldn't.
Harry jerked slightly when he felt her hand touch his face. Hermione put her hand under his chin and tilted it, gently coaxing him to look at her.
He felt like soon he would be reaching the point of no return.
"What did you see, Harry?" Hermione whispered softly, the way a loving mother would speak to a frightened child. Again, that feeling that had come over Harry when he was crying on Hermione's arms on the hallway of Divination washed over him, that feeling that told him that everything was okay with the world and that he was safe and sound as long as she was with him, came over him.
And before he could think twice, Harry said, "I don't remember what I dreamt about during Transfiguration…I just remember feeling cold, as if I had just gone skinny dipping on the lake on Christmas morning. Scratch that…the cold was more biting than that…I could feel it jarring my bones…getting into my skull…."
The hand that was holding on to his hand tightened, and her other hand traveled from his chin to his cheek, her thumb tracing the edge of his face soothingly.
'She'll make it better. She always makes it better.'
Harry continued, his voice never rising from a whisper, "And today…I saw a starless night. And then the moon…the moon turned the color of blood…and blood started raining down…and the earth opened up and swallowed me…I could feel the blood on my face…on my eyes…I could taste in my mouth…and I couldn't breathe…I couldn't breathe, Hermione…I couldn't…."
Hermione's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and Harry found himself choking on his words. He didn't need to finish the sentence though. Hermione closed the distance, enveloping him in a crushing embrace. Harry let his arms slowly travel around her shoulders, and he crushed her body against his, holding onto her as if Hermione was the only lifeline he had on this world.
Still holding Harry, Hermione whispered, "I'm so sorry, Harry. That must have been horrible." Harry allowed one of his hands to travel from her shoulders, down her back and settled on her waist.
The moment he had started telling her what he had seen, the memory of the coldness came back. Again, he had felt that dreaded cold in his very bones. But the contact with her body filled him with much needed warmth, and it intoxicated him.
"Harry, I know I don't know what it's like to be the Boy-Who-Lived. But you have always been plagued with nightmares…and ninety percent of the time, they mean more than meets the eye. Remember the snake's attack on Mr. Weasley? And the dreams you had about the Department of Mysteries? What if this is like that?" Hermione continued, speaking rapidly, her voice thick with dread.
The tables had turned for Harry. Now, instead of wanting her to make him feel safe, the only thing he wanted was for Hermione not to be scared. Harry leaned back just enough so he could look at her eyes.
"Don't think that, Hermione. I'm sure they were just bad dreams," Harry tried to reassure her, taking her face in his hands with as much gentleness as a boy of seventeen was capable of.
'How can you say that? You weren't even asleep during Divination and you know it. And what about what Firenze said? About something lunaris being an omen of destruction.…'
Harry considered telling her this, but he immediately decided against it when he felt the wetness of a tear on one of the hands that was cupping her face.
"How's your Occlumency?" Hermione said as Harry gently wiped away the trail that the tear had left on her cheek.
"Not that good," Harry admitted truthfully.
It wasn't easy for Harry to clear his mind and empty his emotions when the potion was making the brown haired girl with the warm smile the most prominent thought in his head during all his waking hours.
'It doesn't help that you are touching her every opportunity you get.'
He slowly lowered his hands from her face, missing the warmth in the pit of his stomach as soon as he broke the contact. He managed to give her a small reassuring smile; but Hermione looked crestfallen, probably expecting that after two years of Occlumency lessons Harry might have mastered the art.
"Harry, promise me you are going to tell Dumbledore!" Hermione suddenly pleaded. Harry sighed and looked away; speaking to Dumbledore was the last thing he wanted to do.
"Look at me," Hermione issued the quiet order for the second time that night.
'Don't look at her…don't look at her…you know you won't be able to say no if you look at her….'
He felt her hand grip his bare arm, skin against skin as her nails dug slightly into his flesh. He felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, and was tempted to just make a run for it and take another cold shower before continuing this conversation.
'DON'T LOOK AT HER! DON'T LOOK AT HER! DON'T…!'
"Harry."
Harry's eyes found hers in an instant.
'Wuss.'
'Oh, shut up!'
Hermione's eyes left no doubt that "no" was not an acceptable answer.
"Alright, alright! I promise I'll tell Dumbledore tomorrow," Harry said, utterly defeated in the battle of the wills.
'Grow a backbone, will ya?'
It was almost worth it when she hugged him again. This time, he didn't dare to put her arms around her. He didn't trust himself to resist the urge to find out what her lip-gloss tasted like.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, the relief evident in her voice. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his shoulder, a small smile on her lips.
"No, Mione. Thank you," Harry said with honesty, fighting the desire to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Hermione let go of him and resumed her original position, leaning against the wall a few meters away from the door to her common room.
"So, are we okay?" Harry asked, searching her eyes for any signal that she was still angry with him. He found worry there…a bit of disappointment too…love, maybe? He wished. But anger? It was gone. Poof. Like magic.
Hermione smiled at him again, saying, "Yes, we are okay." As an afterthought, she added, "It would take much more for us not to be okay."
"This was almost worth it. After all, how many times have I heard you say the f-word?" Harry smirked, feeling once more completely at ease with Hermione. This was, after all, his best mate, his buddy, his pal.
'And you want to ruin this by falling in love with her?'
'YES!'
'I said shut up!'
Hermione scrunched her face in such a way that made Harry laugh out loud. She had such a cute button nose when she did that.
"You are not going to tell anyone about that, are you?" she asked, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Harry shook his head airily and said "Of course, not…I'm going to wait till I can use it to blackmail you."
Hermione punched him in the stomach as a joke. "I swear you can be worst than Ron," she said.
Before Harry could realize what he was going to do, he took the hand that she had used to punch him and lift it to his lips, kissing her knuckles, saying "Oh, but that's what you love about me."
For a moment, he could have sworn he saw something flash across Hermione's eyes, some primal and forbidden emotion he had never noticed before. It was gone almost as soon as it came, and Harry would have missed it if he hadn't been looking directly into her eyes.
'You don't think that…?'
"Well, I better go back. I was about to go to bed when you came," Hermione said with a sigh, looking at the door to her common room with eagerness.
'Is it me or is she's trying to avoid looking at me?'
"Unless you want to come in," Hermione offered absently. Harry was about to grin like a maniac, thinking that it would be so nice to sit near a warm fire on a comfortable couch talking to his best friend like in old times (because this week seemed to have lasted an eternity), when he suddenly remembered that they were not going to be alone.
'That slimy cockroach'
When Hermione finally looked at him, he managed to smile tiredly and say, "Maybe another day."
"I'll see you tomorrow then," Hermione said, squeezing the hand that was still holding onto hers. Hermione started to walk away toward the door, but her hand didn't let go of Harry's and Harry didn't let go of her hand either, and he didn't make a move to follow her.
The truth was Harry didn't want to see her go. He didn't want to think about what may be waiting for her on the other side of the door.
Hermione let go of his hand, but he still held to hers until she couldn't keep walking. Her arm outstretched and still linked with Harry, Hermione looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were unreadable from this distance, but Harry knew what she must be seeing right now.
A lost boy who had gotten in way over his head.
"Do you have something else you want to tell me?" Hermione whispered, the tone of her voice unusual even to Harry's ears.
'Tell her what's happening. Tell her how you feel!'
'I don't feel anything! It's the potion!'
'Tell her! Don't let her go back to her room without her knowing.'
'It would be selfish of me! When I find the antidote, I won't be in love with her anymore.'
'How can you be sure?'
'Just shut up!'
'Tell her then!'
'No'
'TELL HER!'
"No," Harry whispered softly, letting go of Hermione's hand. He watched her as she turned around and walked away.
She pushed her door open and said, "Goodnight, Harry," without looking back at him.
"Sweet dreams, Mione," Harry said, hoping his voice didn't betray the sudden pain he felt in his chest. He could see Roger standing next to the door, as if he had been eavesdropping on them this whole time. Hermione finally walked inside.
It was as if time itself wanted to stop for Harry…the door was closing in a speed that could only be described as painfully slow. Still looking inside the Head Boy/Girl common room through the open door, Harry saw Roger step closer to Hermione and whisper something in her. Hermione looked down at the floor and nodded at Roger.
And then Roger did something that made Harry feel as cold as he had felt in his dream.
Roger gently touched Hermione's cheek…and made her smile.
Harry could have sworn he saw Roger look up and give him a triumphant smile before the door close completely.
He couldn't bring himself to move for a couple of minutes. He just stared at the door, wondering about what might be happening on the other side. Did Roger have his arms around her tiny waist? Was she running her fingers through his blonde hair like she did with Harry's? Did she grip his shirt the way she did Harry's and pull him toward her?
Was she resting her head in the crook of his neck, tickling his skin with her breath? Was Roger lowering his head and brushing his lips against hers?
Could he know already what her lips tasted like?
Harry then remembered the question Ron had asked him earlier in their dorm.
' "How can you be so sure Hermione is not in love with you?" '
'I guess I already have the answer to that one.'
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Well, I got to thank my CD collection for helping me get through this chapter, specially, the songs If Love is a Red Dress by Maria McKee and Train Wreck by Sarah Mclachlan.
And of course, the words at the beginning belong to the wonderful song Quizás, Quizás, Quizás (Maybe, Maybe, Maybe) by the incredible Nat King Cole.
Let me know what you think of this!
Peace,
Anasazi