A/N: You know all of you who believed (or maybe just hoped) that Harry needed (or deserved) to be hit in the head to make him finally see what's going on? Well… this is where your wishes come true. It happens toward the end of the section and yes, there's a cliffhanger, (this is *me*, after all,) which means that you'll have to wait till the next part to see exactly how he reacts, but the metaphorical bludger to the head is there, nonetheless. I hope you all like it! Enormous thanks, as always, to the lovely people leaving me reviews. I literally just walked in the door a few minutes ago, so I haven't had a chance to reply to all of them, but I promise that I will!
Section 8:
To Harry's enormous relief, it only took a week or so for the hubbub to finally start to die down. Even with Dumbledore's great love of feasts and celebrations, Hogwarts was still a school, and exam time was closing in. The professors were complaining about not having enough time to review with the students, and even the students were beginning to grow tired of the constant indigestion from too much rich food at all hours. Hogwarts slid comfortably back into its usual routine. Harry was delighted, believing that everything would go back to normal now that the fuss was over, and that everything would be precisely as it had been. He had reckoned without Lavender.
In spite of the fact that Harry and Lavender had been a 'couple' for over a year, the truth was that they weren't in the habit of spending much time together. Harry had been so paranoid about anyone finding out about their relationship and passing word along to Voldemort that he barely spoke to Lavender when they were outside of Gryffindor tower. Even there, he kept their interactions very low key. The bulk of their 'together' time occurred when they could sneak away to the girls' dormitory, alone, and since they were young and in love, when they finally got each other alone, talking wasn't the main item on the agenda. When Harry thought of Lavender, he thought of warm kisses and gentle touches and a soft voice moaning his name while she whispered that she loved him. To him, Lavender was warmth and passion and a blessed escape from the constant pressures of the outside world.
She wasn't someone he could really *talk* to. A big part of that was because she had so many pleasant things she could do with her mouth other than talk when they were alone, but that wasn't the only reason. The truth was, Harry always had the slightly uneasy feeling that he was with Lavender under false pretences. His Lav was a sweet girl, but there was no denying that she was just a teensy bit… not flighty exactly, of *course* he didn't think his fiancée was flighty, but… inattentive, perhaps. She noticed people when they put themselves out to be noticed. Harry Potter from the Cupboard Beneath the Stairs wouldn't have caught her attention in the least. It was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived that she noticed.
It wasn't just a question of the fame; if she only cared what the public at large thought of him them she'd have turned on him in fifth year like Percy did; but it was a factor of what the fame represented. She believed that he was a hero. She *loved* him because he was a hero. The boy she loved was brave and selfless and noble and valiant; he was the knight on the white horse and she was the princess with whom he'd find his happily ever after. His sensible side (which always sounded like Hermione) told him that she'd still love him, without the shining armor, but the overpowering voice of the insecure part of him (voiced by Uncle Vernon) made Harry unwilling to risk his relationship with Lavender by pushing the envelope of the hero image Lavender had of him.
Harry was more than a bit scared that if she discovered what he was really like; if she knew that he was moody and impatient and a little immature at times, if she knew about his temper tantrums and the way that he sometimes took his anger out on his friends, if she even had a remote idea of just how *scared* he was that he wouldn't be good enough, that he'd let everyone down become The Boy Who Died and Condemned Us All to Slavery Under Voldemort's Iron Boot… if she knew all that, then maybe she wouldn't love him anymore.
He told himself that it wasn't cowardice to hide parts of himself from her, it was just… good boyfriendly behavior. What was so bad about wanting her to think well of him, and wanting to show her his best sides? They had such precious little time together; he wanted to spend it as pleasantly as possible. Wasting the time by burdening her with his fears and his doubts and his petty insecurities would do nothing but make them both uncomfortable. This way, Harry got to spend their time in pure comfort, while Lavender got to spend it with a boy who was everything she had always dreamed he would be. His friends were there for him when he needed to vent his fears or aggressions. Lavender was there when he needed to be loved. And that was their relationship for more than a year.
This grew… complicated after the press finally decamped. Without them there to distract his fiancée, Harry soon discovered that it took enormous persuasion to convince Lavender to ever leave his side. During meals, during classes, in the common room; whenever she *could* be close to Harry, she *was*. When Hermione stopped spending time with Harry and Ron, Lavender filled in the gap so completely and so effusively that instead of the space seeming empty without Hermione, it seemed full to overflowing. Lavender seated herself in Hermione's spot at the table during meal times. She joined Ron and Harry around the fireplace when they played their marathon games of wizarding chess. If she could have gotten away with it, she would have slept at night in his bed. She *did* try to sneak into his shower on one memorable occasion. As luck would have it, she snuck into the wrong shower and gave Neville Longbottom the shock of his lifetime.
Harry would remind himself that he loved her. After all, she had stood by him all year long. She had been there for him, in his arms, to hold him and kiss him and make him feel loved when the rest of the world seemed to be falling down around his shoulders. She had shown him loyalty and support, and given him the affection he had always craved. She was everything he had always wanted, wasn't she? Of course she was. How could he ever want anything more than her love?
Alright, so it would be nice if she gave him a bit more time to himself. He was thrilled that they could finally start planning their wedding, but honestly, it wasn't as if he really knew the difference between different shades of ivory in the first place. Why did Lavender feel the need to ask his opinion on every little detail? Her ecstatic parents had willingly agreed to foot the bill for anything she could possibly want, and he knew that he'd be happy with whatever she picked out, as long as it made *her* happy, so what else mattered? Did she really need to interrupt his studying time to ask him how wide the ribbon should be on the bridesmaid's bouquets? The N.E.W.T.s were coming up, and studying shouldn't be taken lightly, especially since for the first time in years, Hermione hadn't prepared a study schedule for him.
Hermione. For the first time in as long as he had known her, Harry felt a twinge of uneasiness at the thought of long-time best friend. He tried to tell himself that he was being silly. He knew Hermione practically better than he knew himself, and he certainly had reason to know that she carried the concept of loyalty further than anyone he had ever met. She'd never given him even the slightest cause to doubt the depth and sincerity of her friendship for him, and she never would… Or would she? Because while it was possible he was just overreacting, it certainly *seemed* like Hermione was going out of her way to avoid him lately.
It wasn't just the study schedule, although that certainly threw him for a loop. No, it was more than that. It was the way she seemed to suddenly prefer studying in her common room instead of in the Gryffindor Tower. It was the way she brought books with her to meals and sat off to the side a bit, not really joining in the conversation unless someone specifically asked her a question. It was the way she made excuses not to attend Quidditch practices anymore, saying that he didn't need her there to keep an eye out for foul play now that Voldemort was gone. No, he didn't *need* her there, he replied when he confronted her over why she stopped attending, but he *liked* having her there, and he had thought she liked being there. Her only reply was a brief smile and a hurried excuse that she really *had* to run, and that she'd talk to him later.
But she didn't. She barely talked to him at all, and even when she did, he was usually the one who initiated it. It rubbed him the wrong way. Hermione had always been there for him. She had stood by him and cared for him even when he was damn near impossible to care about: during the Triwizard Tournament when only she believed that he'd been entered against his will, during fifth year when he was constantly moody and temperamental and snapped at everyone who tried to talk to him, and throughout the summer before sixth year when all he wanted to do was sit around and brood over how he had caused Sirius' death. She had given him her friendship and her affection when he was at his most unlovable.
But now, when *everyone* loved him, she couldn't seem to be bothered to give him any of her time and attention. In spite of the way that everyone seemed willing to worship him as some sort of living God, without Hermione's friendship and support, he found it very hard to feel like a hero. Had she only stood by him all those years because she knew that he needed her to? Did she not want to be near him anymore now that the battle was over? Had he outlived his usefulness as her friend?
The thoughts were unbearable. He had spent years anticipating the peaceful sleep he would get once Voldemort was defeated, but it didn't come. Instead of nightmares of red eyes and green light, his dreams were haunted with brown eyes always turning away from him, and a warm, familiar touch drifting further and further out of reach. He'd wake up frustrated and angry and more scared than he wanted to admit that Hermione was slipping out of his life for good.
One night, the nightmares left him so rattled that he couldn't go back to sleep. Pulling on a sweater and grabbing his slippers, he headed down to the common room to come up with a plan of action. *Something* had to be done. He couldn't stand for things to go on as they were for much longer. His instinct was to march across the castle and pound on Hermione's door until she let him in so they could talk it out, but even in his half-asleep state, Harry knew that was a bad idea. His Hermione was a bit of an insomniac so there was the chance that she'd be awake, but if she had managed to nod off for a few hours of sleep, she wouldn't take kindly to being awakened. He and Ron had learned that lesson the hard way, years before. No, whatever he needed to discuss with her would have to wait until morning.
He sat brooding on one of the squishy sofas and tried to come up with a plan of attack. Pity that Hermione was so much better at coming up with a plan than he was. He smiled a bit to himself at the thought of Hermione giving him tutoring sessions in how to get her to talk to him. Then the thought clicked with something in his mind, and his expression brightened. The next day was Sunday, and he had overheard some third years saying that Hermione had scheduled an hour or so in the morning with them right there in the common room to help them with their studying. He'd pull her aside once the tutoring was done, and they'd have it out, once and for all. She wouldn't be able to get away from him without causing a scene, and she wouldn't have the excuse of needing to rush off to class to get away from him. Content with his plan, Harry trudged back upstairs and finally managed to fall peacefully and dreamlessly asleep.
He slept well. Far too well. The past few nights of nightmares caught up with him, and he slept far later than he had imagined he would. When his eyes finally slid open the next day, they blinked lazily in the direction of the clock, only to open wide in panic when he managed to read the time through the blurriness of his without-glasses vision. It was noon already. Bugger.
Throwing on his clothes faster than he ever had before in his life, he bolted down the stairs at top speed, only to discover that it was too late. The third years were poring over a book that he recognized as one of Hermione's, but Hermione herself wasn't there. Slumping against the steps, Harry was trying to plan another time when he'd be guaranteed a chance to talk to Hermione when something caught his eye.
An inconspicuous piece of parchment slipped out from between the pages of the book that one of the third years was holding and started to drift down to the ground. Before Harry even realized he was moving, he was on the other side of the room, catching the parchment before it hit the ground.
The third years jumped, startled at the sight of The Harry Potter appearing suddenly at their table, but didn't give them more than a moment to recover from the shock before he flashed them a slightly shaky smile as he held up the parchment.
"I saw this fall out of the book," he explained. "Is it one of yours?"
The girls shook their heads. "This is Hermione's book," one of them answered. "She must have been using it as a bookmark. Oh no!" she squealed, suddenly nervous as she turned her attention back to her friends. "Do you think I made her lose her place?"
"I'm sure she won't mind," Harry hastened to assure them. "Hermione always remembers where she left off in a book, whether she uses a bookmark or not." The girls, relieved at his assurance, returned to their work, while Harry stumbled over to a couch and seated himself heavily, still cradling the parchment in his hands.
What he had told the girls was the truth; Hermione had a knack for remembering exactly where she left off in any book, even if she had read three others books since then. Because of that, she rarely used bookmarks. Really, she only used them at all because people who didn't know her well believed them to be the perfect gift for her. Lavender had given her a beautiful one of embroidered silk for Christmas one year and Hermione used it often so that Lavender would know her gift was appreciated. The fact that Hermione didn't actually *need* a bookmark was never mentioned.
But Hermione never used spare bits of parchment as bookmarks. Why should she? She didn't need them. If a blank piece of parchment was shoved into one of her books, then that just meant that she had needed a place to store it or hide it from someone, and the book was the easiest place to put it at the moment. (Harry, though he didn't know it, was absolutely right. Hermione had been hiding the parchment from Draco when she shoved it in the book and was, at that moment, tearing apart her room trying to remember which book she had used to hide it.) Since there was no reason why Hermione would want to hide a blank piece of parchment, Harry knew there must be something more to it. Grabbing a discarded quill off the table, Harry dipped it in ink and tried to write on the parchment. Just as he expected, it didn't work.
It wouldn't take the ink. It simply wouldn't. The drops of ink that came off the quill as he attempted to write on the parchment slid off like drops of water across a piece of glass. They glided off and spilled onto the table top underneath, but they did not leave a single mark on the parchment itself.
Harry's curiosity was an essential part of his personality. He simply didn't like leaving mysteries unsolved, or stones unturned. If a piece of parchment was charmed against being used, then that meant that it was in use already, and that its original content was hidden by a spell. Logically, Harry knew that if Hermione had charmed her parchment not to show its contents, then that meant that it held something that she wanted to remain secret. But when Harry's logic conflicted with his curiosity, he always gave in to his irrepressible need to get to the bottom of things. Showing him a charmed piece of parchment was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. It made him charge.
It took him nearly half an hour before he finally managed to break through the enchantments on the parchment. Everyone else in the tower had gone down to lunch, and the common room was deserted. Hunger was starting to gnaw at Harry's stomach as well, and he was getting angry and frustrated that he hadn't been able to break through the charm in less time. He was Harry Potter, after all. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World. How could a piece of parchment defeat him so easily? With his pride injured and his stubbornness awakened, Harry attacked the parchment with renewed determination, and finally met with success.
Harry stood shock still as he stared at the revealed image on the piece of parchment. He didn't know what he had been expecting (honestly, he hadn't given it much thought) but he certainly hadn't been expecting *this*.
The drawing on the parchment was really remarkably beautiful. He recognized Hermione's skillful rendering and the part of his brain that was still functioning acknowledged that the portrait was truly excellently done. Hermione's face in the image looked lovelier than he had ever seen it, lit up as it was in an expression of absolute bliss. He'd never seen her smile like that, not even at him. But in the picture, she *was* smiling at him. The picture-Hermione nestled in picture-Harry's arms was smiling at him with love and happiness practically pouring out of her radiant expression, and picture-Harry was looking at her with a look of love that burned in the charcoal-rendered eyes. As Harry watched, his picture-self moved a hand to caress picture-Hermione's face, turning it towards him and pulling her into an achingly sweet kiss. Picture-Hermione responded eagerly and seemed to glow with happiness as she wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him in closer to kiss him back.
Harry forgot to breathe as he watched the desperately tender way that picture-Harry and picture-Hermione touched and kissed each other. The love between them was tangible, and it literally took his breath away. He'd never seen anything so beautiful before in his life. He couldn't take his eyes away. He could hardly bring himself to blink. And he certainly couldn't focus his senses enough to hear someone walking up behind him. He wasn't even aware that someone was there until he felt the parchment being pulled out of his hands. Then and only then did he manage to tear his eyes away, and look up into the brown eyes of his best friend.
Hermione.