Deviation

Her breathing was heavy, her heart was breaking and he didn't seem to care.

That was the worst part. He just sat, stiff as a board. His face was untouched, it was without a trace of emotion. That's what broke her heart. All of the things he had said… all of the promises… shattered, now laying at her feet. All of it. She had nothing left. Nothing to hold onto. He had been her hope, he had been the one she leaned on and he was slowly disappearing. How could she stay steady if the thing that supported her was fainting away?

A single tear leaked from her eye, tracing a path down her rounded cheekbones, barely outlining the corner of her lips. She was upset for herself. She was upset for him. She was upset for what they had been. She didn't understand how he could have done what he did, said the things he said. He knew that she needed him and he just didn't care.

So much for proclamations of love.

Her belief in the feeling was slipping away as he fell from her. Her belief in most things was slithering away. Away with the wind. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to feel only for herself and think just for herself. She wanted to believe that she was the only one that mattered. But, she wasn't. And she knew this. She knew it in every fiber of her being. If anything, he mattered more than she did.

The tear was still lingering on her face and he didn't dare move, so she wiped it away herself. She told herself that she had to be strong, that she had to hold. She just had to, or she'd fall and never come back up. She took a deep breath. She prayed for strength.

For a brief moment, hundreds of images danced in her head. Images of her saying something, anything to break that blank stare that encompassed his face. Images of her breaking him as he just did to her. Images of her holding him tightly, making him take it back. Images of him apologizing. Images of everything turning out in the end.

None of these images came to be. She could not muster the breath. She could not muster the composure. Instead, with a sad smile, she turned on her heel and slowly walked away, thinking the whole time that there had to be a reason, that there had to be an explanation.

And there was. She just didn't know, and he hoped to never tell her. He hoped many things. He hoped that she'd shake him and make him come back from this place that he had disappeared to. He hoped that she'd turn around and make things better, just like she always had. She always made everything better.

Whether she knew it or not, she was his saving grace. She was the one who kept him going. The thought of her was the single thing that motivated him to get up in the morning, to face his responsibilities. She was the one that made him smile; she was the one that had taught him so many things. She taught him how to love. Truly love. Love a woman. Sure, he had loved many people, but not the way that he loved her.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted to hold her and kiss her forehead. He wanted to be her everything, just as she was his. He wanted to tell her that he loved her a million times a day. She was the best, the sweetest part of his life. He knew that he couldn't live without her. And yet, he had just asked her to leave.

He had asked her to leave him. He had tried to make her hate him. Something inside him moved, and he looked around frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of her shoe vanishing up the spiraling staircase just in front of him. Alas, he saw nothing but his slumping shadow on the wall. The fire crackled loudly behind him. Every pop seemed to be a slap in the face.

He was already beginning to miss her.

And then, rationality stepped in and dealt a cruel hand. He stiffened up, set his shoulders back and, with a sad smile of his own, ascended the stairs and headed to his dormitory. He knew he was going to get it from Ron tomorrow.

Ron. A pang hit Harry's heart. That was whom she was going to run to. That was whom she was going to cry to. He flinched at the thought. His two best friends gone. Then again, if there was an upside to this whole situation, he had killed two birds with one stone.

At least he wouldn't have to say anything to his best mate. At least he didn't have to say the long prepared speech. At least he didn't have to seem like a huge prat. -Who was he kidding? He knew that he already did.

All he had to do now was be cold and distant, and soon they'd fall away. They just had to. He didn't know what he would do if they tried to stick by his side.

He forced himself inside his four-poster. He forced himself to think of something else, anything else. It was going to be hard enough as it was. Yes, if it was going to be anything it was going to be hard.

But, that night as he lay awake in bed, he never really realized how hard it would actually be.

He didn't know how hard it would be to brush her away. He didn't know how hard it would be to break her determination, her persistence. It certainly took a long time. He wished it would have been over and done with. But, not for obvious reasons. No, the more she persisted, the more liable she was. He wished that she would have just gone. Just left him. It would have been easier for them both.

And he hated hurting her. He hated shunning her on a daily basis. He hated watching her eat lunch with his best friend. He hated how she had taken on a lack of emotions herself. He hated how he had… killed her.

Her smile was one thing that haunted him, for he now only saw it in his dreams. She didn't smile anymore. She didn't laugh the way she used to. She didn't do anything as she did before. He always told himself that it was for other reasons, but he knew deep down that he had done that to her.

He knew that he had broken her. And, indeed he had. He had done more than break her. He had done that at the beginning, she didn't know how to describe how she felt now. All she knew was that she wasn't really the same. She also knew that things could never go back. Not now, not after all of this.

It was a sad idea, but she learned to bare it, just as she learned to bare all the other hurts. She did bear them, she did it well, but sometimes people could see through her façade. Only sometimes. And even then, she would be quick to snap back and act her old self.

Not even Ron could always detect it now. She was becoming proud of herself, in a twisted way. There seemed to be only one person who could always sense it, though. Harry. Of course it was Harry. After all, he had done it, hadn't he?

It became a game for her. How good could she become? How well could she hide her emotions? Could she throw even Harry off? Sometimes she felt as if she could… if she tried hard enough. She was actually becoming quite the actress. She prided herself in her abilities.

She even went so far as to go out on a date with someone else, but she couldn't handle it. She stood and left at the beginning of the date without a reason. He never asked for one and she never told. In fact, they really didn't talk afterwards. But, it's not as if they talked much before.

She paid more attention to Harry's reaction to it afterwards. She thought that she could detect a bit of emotion in him, but it could have been her imagination, a ghost of the past, a ghost of the old Harry who felt and loved and cared and hurt and was hut. She didn't know this new Harry.

He didn't even know himself anymore. Surely he couldn't be what he once thought he was. He knew he wasn't what everyone thought he was. He knew it. He heard their whispers in the halls, their inquisitive and melancholy tones. It saddened him.

Especially when he heard Hermione echoing the same tone of everyone else. It was the first time he had cried in a long time. He had hardened over time, but seeing her pitying gaze pierced him in the heart. It hit him deeply. What was he doing?

What he was doing or contemplating often occupied her mind. She didn't know. She thought that she had known him, and well at that, but it seemed as if she couldn't quite grasp what it was. It was always just beyond her reach as he was now.

She never stopped trying to figure it out, she never stopped seeking the reason, not in her mind, but her physical reaches to him were becoming few and far between. She felt as if it was finally becoming a lost cause, but she didn't care. She could think about it, couldn't she?

Everyone told her to stop dwelling on it. Even dear Ginny tried to console her and tell her that it was over. But she couldn't believe it. It wasn't over. Not with she and Harry. Never. It would never be over.

Never would he go back to her. He had made it a promise to himself and to her. It was for the better good. He couldn't be selfish. Not here, not now. Not with her. He couldn't risk her or put her at risk. Anyone who was associated to him was in danger. That's why he secluded himself. That's why he pushed everyone away. That was his reason. He couldn't risk his friend's lives.

He couldn't risk her life just because he needed her.

She was beginning to think that it just wasn't worth it if she didn't have him. She needed him. She needed him with every bit of her body. She ached for him. She ached to just talk to him. She missed their friendship, she missed their long talks, and their long walks. She missed holding his hand. She missed kissing him. She couldn't help but wonder if he missed her.

If only she knew how much he missed her. He might have missed her more if it were possible. He certainly thought so. If she missed him as much as he missed her, she would have come back by now. She wouldn't be out gallivanting with others. She would be in his arms, hugging and kissing him. They would be together and it would be okay. She didn't miss him. She didn't need him. She was fine. -Or so he thought.

She was slowly becoming bitter. Why hadn't he come back? Why didn't he want her? What was wrong with her? Was her hair too bushy? Too brown? Were her eyes not bright enough? Was her figure not how he'd like? Was she too tall? Too short? Too skinny? Too fat? Too wide? Were her hips too big, or were they not big enough?

She became very self-conscious.

It became so bad that she couldn't stand to be around him anymore. She always skittered away from him, thinking that she was under some non-existent, scrutinizing gaze. It really became quite horrible.

When she began running away from him for no reason, he knew it was hopeless. It would have been useless even if he could have taken her back, which he couldn't. He reminded himself of that on a daily basis. Chanting that it was for her best interest in his head. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but he did it.

But, she didn't. After months of this hide and seek game, she had finally had enough. It was enough. She couldn't take not knowing why or how or when or where. She hated thinking that they had no future. If she couldn't love him, then she had to at least be his friend. She didn't know how or why he couldn't understand that. If nothing else she would make him talk to her.

That she promised herself, and that promise she did keep.

That very day, she stumbled upon the opportune moment. She had just come into the common room from a Herbology lesson that was cancelled because of the vicious rain that was rapping against the windows. She was sopping wet and her hair was dripping, but she forgot it all when she saw Harry sitting on the biggest couch by the fire, all sprawled out. She thought he was sleeping.

Hermione looked up whispered a quiet thank you. But, suddenly a stream of doubt flicked through her mind. She didn't know if she was doing the right thing. This was what he had wanted after all, wasn't it? Shouldn't she respect his wishes?

A tiny voice in her head said no. Not this time. Not in this situation. She couldn't help but bite her lip. At least he hadn't heard her. At least he didn't know that she was there. She shifted her weight and he knee popped. Harry jerked awake and turned to face her. It was rather peculiar how the loud rain didn't wake him, but a small pop of her knee did.

Hermione gasped. His gaze was so intense, and it was holding on strongly to her. So much for him not knowing she was there. At least before she could have turned and ran away. She could have left without him knowing. She could have done it some other day. But, not now. She felt awkward standing there, looking at him, her teeth biting down harder on her lip every second. It was nerve-wracking.

Maybe it was for her, but not for him. He had never felt more content in his life. Just seeing her finally look back at him made him feel warm on the inside. There she was, after such a long time, looking directly at him, a small blush spreading about her face.

She really was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Not because of her body, or because of certain facial features, but because she was who she was. He loved her for the person she was, for the person she believed he was and could be. Physical features didn't matter to him when it came to her. It probably was a good thing, for Hermione Jane Granger was not strikingly beautiful. She was pretty in her own way, yes, but she was not someone to write home about. Not in the appearance department, at least.

Harry couldn't help but take her in. He couldn't help but notice how her wet hair fell across her face and how the water droplets dripped into her eyes; how her hands twisted her robe nervously as the book bag began to slide down her arm and off of her shoulder. He noticed that she was wearing the necklace that he had given her the previous year.

His face fell upon seeing it. It was a bittersweet emotion that he was feeling at that moment. He was overjoyed that she was wearing it, that meant that she still held a flame for him, but it also meant that he'd have to be mean again. He didn't want to be mean anymore…

“Hello…” she said, breaking the silence. He jumped at hearing her voice. If truth be told, she would have jumped too if her feet didn't feel like weights holding her down. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it, surprised that she had spoken.

He gulped. “Hi,”

Hermione dug the tip of her shoe into the carpet out of nervousness. “Um…” She looked about the room, hoping that something would trigger a topic. She found nothing, so settled for the first thing that popped into her head. “Can I… sit down?”

It was as if she thought that asking such a thing was an abomination. It was Harry's turn to get a contemplative look on his face. It slowly grew more sullen, and Hermione didn't want to hear the answer that she knew was coming.

“I don't…” He began, but stopped at the look on her face, at the tears forming in her eyes. He couldn't stand that glossy look that had taken over her eyes as of late. “Sure.”

He had to reassure himself that sitting next to him would do her no harm. It couldn't. It's not as if there were spies watching him to see who he came close to and who he stayed away from. And, sitting was just sitting anyway. She could do her homework and he could do his. They could be side by side for the first time in months. His heart rose a little.

Hermione half smiled as she approached him and the couch. She wanted to run away, she wanted to leave, but something compelled her to stay. Something compelled her to push away the little voice in her that said he would just tell her no as he had in the beginning. Something took the memories of similar situations with bad outcomes from her mind and gave her hope.

Without it, she might not have made it.

But, she had it, and it pushed her to walk faster to him. So she did. There was no use in denying her instincts now. There was no use in giving it just one more shot. Though, Harry's dejection was a bit dispiriting.

He seemed reluctant to have her sit down by him. Hermione told herself it was her imagination, but she could have sworn that he flinched when she sat close to him. She let out a small sigh. At least she had gotten farther than she thought she would.

“Harry…”

He looked at her as she looked down at her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap. He watched as she diverted her eyes from him. He watched her as she slowly leaned back against the backside of the couch. He didn't watch, however, as she turned to face him because he had diverted his own eyes to the fire.

“Harry,” She said his name with a little more comfort this time, with a little more feeling. Her inflections in the word reminded him of a song. No one had said his name the way she did, or in the tone that she did. Her gaze seemed to burn into the side of his face. “Why won't you look at me?”

He wasn't expecting that. He was expecting anything but that, actually. He was expecting her to yell, or scold, or to even tell him to do his homework. He lifted his gaze to her, and it hurt. It hurt just looking at her and knowing that he couldn't have her. He stood up abruptly and walked away from her. He leaned on the edges of the fireplace. Hermione dared not to follow him.

“Why won't you sit by me?” Tears began slipping from her eyes. “What is it? What's wrong with me?” She was hiccuping as she talked, making it hard to understand, but Harry understood her perfectly.

He stepped briskly over to her and squatted right down I front of her. “There is nothing wrong with you, do you hear me Hermione Jane Granger? Nothing. You are perfect.”

Her head snapped up. “Perfect? Perfect?” She was becoming hysterical. “If I'm so perfect, why in Merlin's name did you leave me to… to… rot? Why don't you care about me anymore if I'm so perfect?” She pinched her nose so she would stop crying, so she could hold the tears back.

Harry was afraid to touch her, but felt compelled to do something. Instead he stood, removed his glasses and rubbed his brow. Hermione was oddly reminded of an old man. “You just don't understand,”

“What, exactly, don't I understand, Harry? There are so many things that I don't get, but that's because you've blocked me out. You've blocked me out and it's tearing you apart too…”

Harry was rendered speechless. Had he really been that bad? Had she really noticed?

“I know it has been, Harry…” she was whispering, not believing that she dared to utter the words. She had to say it again to pretend it was a fact. “I know you, and there's no disputing that. You're not okay, why won't you let me make it okay for you?”

“I…” It was Harry's turn to falter with his words.

“What, Harry?” When he didn't say anything, she closed her eyes tightly to hold back the frustration. “Why can't you just tell me? And if not me, why not Ron? Or Ginny? Or even Neville! We're all worried about you. We all want to help you… What is it? You can tell me Harry, I swear you can.”

She extended her hand and took his hand firmly in her own, making him jump. For a moment, he looked down at their hands, intertwined. It was the best sight, apart from Hermione herself, that he had seen in months.

Her hands were still silky and smooth with the little calluses on her fingers from writing so much disturbing the texture. Her fingernails were still short from her biting them when she was nervous. Harry blinked, and let his thumb gently caress the top of her hand. It just felt so… so… right.

When Harry looked up, he saw Hermione looking down at their hands. He knew that she felt the same way, but… he couldn't let this happen. He couldn't keep her in danger. He wanted to be selfish, he wanted to hold her and make her his again, but that risked her life. What if, Merlin forbid, someone took her and tortured her as a way to get to him? He couldn't have that.

“Hermoine,” Even her name was precious to him. He moved slowly and sat down next to her on the davenport. “Look, I just can't…” Her eyes looked up into his, prodding him to go on. It was as if this was a breakthrough. It was the first time he had really said something to someone in a long time. “I can't run the risk of you or Ron or… anyone getting hurt because of me, or to lure me out of, well, hiding.”

She couldn't believe what he had just said. That was why he pushed her away? That's why he hadn't talked to anyone in ages? That's why he grew to be a recluse? She actually laughed. “Oh, Harry…”

Harry was perplexed. He had just confessed the most serious issue that he had been dealing with… and she was laughing? Laughing? And smiling too! He couldn't believe it! Hermoine grasped his hands with both of her own and turned towards him. If truth be told, he was a bit repulsed, only because he was mad at her reaction.

“Harry, do you honestly think that suddenly stopping a friendship will leave us out of danger? He-” Hermione stopped herself, and gulped uncomfortably. She still didn't really like saying it even two years after she started saying it. “Voldemort… won't stop thinking that you care for us, even if you do cut us off. Harry, we became your friends, and more, knowing the risk that came with it. Just… trust us, okay?”

He was rendered speechless. Had she really just said…? Well, he didn't even think of it that way. And he shouldn't have. “No. Hermione, I'm putting you in danger and…”

She shook her head softly. “I'm putting myself in danger knowingly and…”

“I won't let you,” His eyes were fierce and he was suddenly gripping her hands tightly. “I care for you too much to see you in danger and not do anything about it.”

“Harry. I already am in danger. This moment, I could get whisked away. But, do you really want to risk the chance of that happening and not having said anything to me? Do you want me to be taken and possibly killed when we're not talking? When you can't tell me that… well, that you care.” This time her eyes were soft and she was looking meekly up at him, as if asking him if he still did.

He could not help himself. He enveloped her in a tight hug. “Of course I care, Hermione. I… I love you. You know that.”

Nothing could have comforted her more in that moment. All of the world seemed to disappear; it was just she and Harry. She focused on his breathing, the way his hand rubbed her back, the way he was silently crying and not letting her see.

“I love you too, Harry. I love you too.”

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