Voice of the Heart Disclaimer: Because I own everything having to do with Harry Potter, I live in a castle around Aberdeen, Scotland and have more money than I know what to do with. And Sirius's name was cleared in the 4th book and he and Harry now live happily in a house outside of London where Remus visits them often. And Harry and Hermione have been dating since their fifth year and they'll get married once they are done with Hogwarts… Must you rub in the fact that I don't own anything HP-related, I don't live in a castle and I don't have money? Author's Notes: The title is from a line by the Duc de la Rochefoucald about the 'voice of the heart which speaks the truth'. Inspired, in part, by Libbie's brilliant "Time for Goodbye" on the hp_hg ficathon, so this is for her. *glomps* And for my dear Gil, aka Romulus Lupin, for his heart-warming reviews. Happy birthday, again, Gil! Enjoy and please review!
Part 1: Overheard
No good ever comes of eavesdropping.
He'd always heard that; he knew he should have left, gone back upstairs to the 7th year boys room as soon as he realized that the Common Room wasn't empty. But somehow he couldn't make himself move.
He hadn't been able to sleep, hardly a new problem for him, so he'd decided to read one of the new DADA books, this one on defensive spells, that Hermione had somehow found for him in the Library today. (He didn't know where Hermione found all these books, considering he never seemed to find them when he looked, but then Hermione knew the library better than anyone, including Madam Pince probably, so he didn't really think about it.) He'd then realized that he'd left the book in the Common Room when he left it and so he'd grabbed his Invisibility Cloak (out of habit now- for the past year whenever he walked around even just inside the Castle alone, he brought his cloak along, just in case since nowadays, even Hogwarts didn't feel completely safe) and left.
He'd heard voices when he was a few steps away and identified them as Hermione's and Ginny's and paused, fully intending to just take off the Cloak, get his book and then leave them, when Hermione's last words sank into his brain.
"Clark Randall asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him." Hermione's voice broke the little silence that had fallen as she and Ginny both studied in silence.
Clark Randall… He was one of the names on everyone's lips this year, a 7th year like them, a Ravenclaw, and he was reputedly very smart as well as being a good Quidditch player (Harry could vouch for that as he was one of the Chasers on the Ravenclaw team). He was also handsome, with thick brown hair and blue eyes that seemed, in Harry's opinion, to reduce every female in sight to giggles and blushes and fluttering eye-lashes. Every female except for Hermione that is. But Hermione was different.
"And?" Ginny finally prompted when Hermione didn't say anything after that.
"I said no," Hermione said quietly.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. She'd said no. She wasn't going to go out with Clark Randall. She'd said no… He didn't know exactly why that fact suddenly seemed so important, why he was so relieved. It wasn't as if he had any say in whom Hermione went out with or whether she dated at all… He was her best friend so of course he cared; he didn't want Hermione to be hurt. That was all it was.
He didn't stop to think why his instinctive, knee-jerk reaction had been so negative- his sudden conviction that Clark Randall wasn't good enough for Hermione, that Clark Randall would hurt her. Even though up until a second ago, if asked, he'd probably have had no opinion or a mildly favorable one about him.
But Hermione had said no…
Ginny gaped at Hermione as if Hermione had just calmly announced her marriage to Snape or something. Finally she just gasped, "Why?" with a tone and expression that strongly suggested that Ginny thought Hermione was completely insane.
Hermione was silent for a minute, studying her quill as if it was suddenly the most fascinating thing, and then she looked up at Ginny. "I think you know why, Ginny," she said quietly.
Harry forcibly bit his lip to keep from saying, But I don't know why and I want to know. Why did you say no?
Ginny only nodded, suddenly understanding. "It's Harry, isn't it." It wasn't so much a question as a statement.
Now Harry knew he really should not be standing here on the stairs under his Invisibility Cloak listening in on a private conversation. But he could no more have moved now and not heard how he was somehow connected to Hermione's rejection of Clark Randall than he could have Apparated out of Hogwarts. And now he just wanted, no, needed, to hear what he had to do with Hermione's decision.
Ginny spoke again. "You're worried about him." Again, it was a statement of fact. What Ginny didn't say but what she thought was, you're too worried about Harry to think of dating a guy right now. Hermione's worrying over Harry was hardly a secret; everyone knew that the only reason Hermione wasn't Head Girl was because she'd turned the offer down, citing her need to focus all her energy and attention on Harry and his final fight against Voldemort that everyone knew would happen soon, in a matter of months; they just didn't know how or when it would happen. (Everyone had thought it odd that Hermione had paled a little when she read the Hogwarts letter when it arrived at Grimmauld Place that summer; they all expected, as confidently as they could, that she would be Head Girl and so had been expecting happiness, had even been looking forward to congratulating her on it, a bright spot in the tense summer. She'd just put the letter away, saying nothing, until Ron had finally asked what everyone was wondering, "Aren't you Head Girl, Hermione?" She had glanced at Harry first before looking at Ron, simply saying, "Yes." She'd continued on cutting off the congratulations with a quiet "I'm not going to take it." Ron had gaped at her as if she'd suddenly announced she was dropping out of school or had grown another head and Hermione hadn't bothered to explain then, had only repeated, "I'm not going to take it and I'm going to write Professor McGonagall and tell her now" before leaving the room, leaving a bewildered silence behind. Harry had heard her reasons from Hermione herself, later that evening, and hadn't known what to say, how to thank her, for her sacrifice. He'd finally just said, "Hermione, I- uh- I don't…- thank you." Not the most eloquent thank you in the world but Hermione had understood as she always did and had just reached over and squeezed his hand as if to say that she wouldn't let him down. Not that he'd been worried about that.)
He was still confused over how Hermione's worry over him could have influenced her rejection of Clark Randall when Hermione sighed a little and looked up at Ginny. "Yes, it's Harry but it's not just because I'm worried about him." She paused, looking away, seeming to gather her courage. "I- I'm in love with Harry." Hermione's voice was quiet but to Harry, it seemed as if she'd screamed it. She might as well have, for the effect it had on him. He could hear the sentence echoing in his mind. I'm in love with Harry. I'm in love with Harry. I'm in love with Harry…
Hermione was in love with him? Harry had the distinct feeling that his jaw would have fallen to the floor if it hadn't been attached. Hermione- Hermione was in love with him. Hermione was in love with him. Hermione was in love with him.
He shook his head a little to clear it and finally recovered enough presence of mind to turn and go back up the stairs to the 7th year boys room where he headed straight for the window seat, dropping his cloak onto his trunk as he passed by.
They said eavesdroppers never heard any good; he couldn't say, didn't know, whether Hermione in love with him was a good. His thoughts were spinning as if they were in a whirlpool of sorts. Hermione, his best friend, was in love with him. All he knew was that this was a surprise, a shock, had completely thrown him off-balance as if someone had yanked a rug from under him. He'd never thought- never imagined… all that Hermione had done for him, the way she cared about him… he'd always thought it was just because of their friendship. And while he thanked the fates that he had friends as loyal as she was, as Ron was, friends who would, and had, risked their lives to protect him, he'd never thought it was anything more than friendship that motivated Hermione, anymore than he would have imagined that anything more than friendship motivated Ron. He had a sudden memory of being in the Shrieking Shack, facing Sirius… This was the man who had killed his parents. And for the first time, he wanted to hurt, to kill… He started forward, without his wand, not even knowing what he planned to do or how he planned to do it but just knowing he had to do something to avenge his parents… And then two hands grabbed him and pulled him back, Hermione on one side, just whispering, "No, Harry!" in a way that even penetrated his rage-fogged mind with the depth of the raw fear in it, fear for him… Ron on the other, as Ron pulled himself upright even on his broken leg, saying defiantly, even while his skin was white from strain, "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" Us… Ron had been able to say that, knew that Hermione would protect him with her life even then… He remembered being in the Department of Mysteries, of Hermione facing the Death Eaters, despite the fear and apprehension he could see in the back of her eyes. He had known Hermione's loyalty; she'd proven it and her friendship over and over in the past 6 years but… it was more than friendship that Hermione felt for him apparently, more than just friendship that kept her beside him, helping him…
Why would Hermione be in love with him?
But more importantly, how did he feel about her? Did he love her too? He knew he cared about her as his best friend; still remembered the way his heart had seemed to stop when he had thought Hermione had been killed in the Department of Mysteries. He still could feel the coldness in his chest, as if an icy hand was squeezing his insides, at the thought of Hermione lying on the floor, so still and so pale… Nothing could happen to Hermione. He needed her.
But did he, maybe, just maybe, love her, in more than just the she's-my-best-friend way? Harry sighed, grimacing as he stared out into the darkness. He didn't know.
He'd never really thought of Hermione in that way. Granted, after the fiasco that had been his relationship with Cho in 5th year and with everything that had happened after that, he hadn't spared a thought for any girl in that way. He'd been more concerned with keeping himself alive, with trying to figure out how he, alone as he somehow knew he would be, would defeat Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard of the century. He was just Harry; he wasn't Dumbledore or even Professor Lupin; he didn't know all the DADA spells or potions, or a lot of hexes or anything. Hermione knew more about DADA than he did, was better at hexes or jinxes. He thought of the jinx she'd placed on the DA parchment, Marietta Edgecombe's face, and smiled a little at the memory. Clever Hermione…
He had another memory, this one much older… A hug, the first gesture of affection anyone had ever shown him in his memory… Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things-friendship and bravery and- oh Harry, be careful! It was like Hermione to disclaim the credit like that, as if she was nothing more than books and cleverness… she was just as loyal a friend and just as brave; the Sorting Hat had been right to put her in Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw…
All of this just brought him back to the original object of all these musings: Hermione. He cared about her, certainly. She was, along with Ron, the person he cared about the most. He needed her; she was his best friend and the one person who'd always been there for him, always supported him… But did that mean he loved her, in that way? In that way that he knew he'd never loved anyone?
Finally giving up the attempt to figure out his muddled thoughts, he crawled into bed and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. Instead he could see Hermione, frowning over something she was reading, chewing her quill, raising her hand in class, smiling at something he or Ron had said, laughing… He could still hear her voice in his head- I'm in love with Harry… In love with Harry…
He opened his eyes, squinting at the clock by the bed to see that it was past 3 in the morning. His head fell back on the pillow as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop thinking about Hermione, trying to stop thinking, period.
His last remembered thought before he finally fell asleep was that he was really going to hate waking up in the morning…
~*~
Eavesdropping, Harry decided, was definitely a bad thing. And knowing someone loved you was a bloody curse. At least it certainly was in this case.
He just could not for the life of him act normally around Hermione today. He knew he was acting strangely, partly because he felt awkward when he was with her, but because both Hermione and Ron had asked him several times today whether anything was wrong. He'd lied each time, saying it was nothing, but really, what was he supposed to say? That he was so uncomfortable around Hermione because he had found out by accident that she was in love with him and he didn't know how he felt about that? Harry snorted at that idea. Yes, that would go over really well, he thought sarcastically.
And yet the ironic thing about all this was that his first thought and instinct was to turn to Hermione. She was the person he automatically wanted to confide in whenever he felt the need to talk about something that was bothering him. And for this kind of personal thing, he wanted Hermione's insight and opinions… If he weren't so thrown off-balance by this whole situation, he would have laughed hysterically at the irony of it all.
Merlin, but he hated how awkward he felt around Hermione. Awkward and aware of her in a way he'd never been before. Not that he'd ever forgotten about her or anything but now he seemed to have developed a sixth sense that told him where she was, what she was doing… He was aware of every time she smiled, or frowned, or looked at him… He couldn't understand how blind he must have been not to notice before the way Hermione's eyes lit up when she saw him, the way she always smiled when she said hello to him. She always looked so glad to see him… And it felt good to know that someone, that Hermione, sincerely liked to have him around, especially because he knew that Hermione's feelings had nothing, or very little, to do with his status as the Boy Who Lived, expected savior of the Wizarding world. She cared about him for himself; he knew that as surely as he knew that she knew him better than anyone else.
Everything she did seemed like another clue he should have noticed, evidence of her feelings. Even the fact that Hermione usually chose to sit next to him rather than next to Ron while eating, something he'd never thought of any significance before, had suddenly became immensely important.
At lunch that day, Hermione reached over for the pitcher of pumpkin juice, her shoulder and arm pressing against his as she did so. He flinched almost imperceptibly at the warmth radiating from that spot. How, how, how had he never noticed this before?
He had trouble concentrating in class because Hermione was always near and she was a distraction like no other. She accidentally dropped her quill in Transfiguration and when she bent over to pick it up, her hair, still bushy although it had gotten a little tamer over the years, rested on his knee for a moment. He stared at her hair and for the first time ever, he wondered what it would feel like to touch her hair. Was it as soft and smooth as it looked?
He asked her a question about their Charms homework, smiling inwardly at the confidence of her answer and the fact that she didn't need to look anything up to answer him but could just tell him. He grinned at her, "Thanks, Hermione. What would I do without you?"
She blushed almost imperceptibly, his heightened awareness of her the only thing that allowed him to notice it when he would have been oblivious to it only the day before. "Anytime, Harry." She gave him a quick smile, that he returned…
But for a brief moment, his gaze lowered from her eyes to her lips, and for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her…
He had never been so glad in his life for the day to end and it getting late enough that he could say he was tired and going to bed without causing any undue excitement. In all honesty, he supposed he really was tired; after all he hadn't slept much the night before. He felt more exhausted from the tension of constantly watching Hermione, of not knowing how to act around her anymore. And wished, sincerely, he thought, that he'd never overheard Hermione's confession of her feelings for him.
What was the matter with Harry?
Hermione frowned as Harry left the Common Room saying he was tired and going to go to bed. He'd been acting strangely all day; uncomfortable, jittery… She supposed it hadn't helped that he had apparently had trouble sleeping again; he hadn't said so but she had seen the look in his eyes, the shadows under them, too often not to recognize them now. He was preoccupied with something, too. But it wasn't something about Voldemort, she could tell, because the look in his eyes wasn't the dark, brooding resignation that was always present when he was worried about Voldemort; it was something different. But what? She and Ron had both asked him several times during the day whether anything was wrong; he'd answered it was nothing every time. Although, admittedly, that didn't mean too much, given that this was Harry, who had a habit of keeping things that were bothering him to himself. His confidences were rare and only after something happened to break through the wall he tended to build around himself. A wall he only ever let down in front of her and Ron, she knew.
She glanced at Ron who was also staring after Harry, the slightest of frowns in his eyes. "Ron, did Harry say anything about something bothering him?"
Ron looked at her, a serious expression on his face. "No." He hesitated. "Do you think it's about V-Vol- You-Know-Who?"
Hermione rolled her eyes slightly at Ron's continuing inability to say Voldemort's name as she shook her head. "No, it's something else, I'm pretty sure. I just can't figure out what it is. Maybe he had another nightmare..." She realized as she said it though that that explanation didn't account for Harry's odd behavior- he was, sadly, accustomed enough to nightmares that he was generally able to push them aside and go on with the day afterwards. "I hope he's really alright. He didn't seem upset though, just preoccupied and nervous, which isn't like him really. Maybe he's worried about taking the NEWTs with Voldemort around…"
Ron allowed himself a fleeting smile. "That would be something you would worry about, Hermione."
Hermione didn't respond to his teasing, only returned to her Arithmancy essay, still frowning over Harry's odd behavior.
Ron sat back in his chair, trying to think of any other clues to what was up with Harry from his behavior, and then frowned. Harry had seemed relatively normal at Quidditch practice that day, his usual self really if a little preoccupied. It was after, when they met with Hermione in the Room of Requirement for what had become their daily routine of practicing the new spells and hexes Hermione found that Harry's jitters seemed to return, making his dueling less than effective so that Ron had managed to disarm him fairly easily. It was Hermione, Ron thought suddenly; something about Hermione that was making Harry act this way. And he suddenly realized too that Harry had been basically watching Hermione all day, just looking away whenever Hermione looked at him.
Something about Hermione. But what?