Will You Think of Me, Harry?

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.!

Will You Think of Me, Harry?

By Hermione Potter

Chapter 3: Chit Chats Are More Than Chit Chats

“Hermione?” Isabelle called. Hermione looked up and saw her standing in front of her.

               “Oh hi, Isabelle. Sit down,” she smiled. Isabelle thanked her before she sat down at the library table.

               “How long have you known Harry?” Isabelle asked out of the blue. Hermione looked at the girl.

               “Seven years. Feels like a lifetime though,” Hermione answered, not knowing where this was leading to.

               “Really? That’s fantastic. He talks about you quite a lot,” she smiled.

               “That’s nice,” Hermione breezed through.

               “Hermione, I’m just going to ask straight out. Do you have any feelings for Harry? And I mean more than friend feelings, because I don’t want to be in the middle,” Isabelle asked. Hermione’s eyes widened.

               “O-Of course not! I only love him as a friend. He’s like a brother to me,” she explained too quickly. Isabelle studied her for a few seconds before smiling.

               “Okay. Only if you’re sure because I don’t want to be the cause of friendship breaking up,” she replied before getting up and skipping out of the library, leaving Hermione alone.

               “Great. Now I can’t hate her,” Hermione whispered to herself.

               “Hermione!” a little girl’s voice squealed.

 

               “Shhh! This is the library! Respect it!” Madame Pince scolded.

               I turned to see a first year Gryffindor, Emma Garrison breathing hard.

               “Yes Emmie?” Hermione called her by her nickname,

               “Professor Dumbledore wants to speak with you!” she replied excitedly. Hermione smiled at her.

               “Thanks. I’ll see you soon,” she smiled, walking to Professor Dumbledore’s office.

 

               “Professor? You wanted to see me?” Hermione walked in and saw the headmaster sitting at his desk, his half-moon shaped glasses shining.

               “Ah, Miss Granger, please have a seat. Lemon drop?” he asked her politely, watching her sit.

               “No thank you Professor. I prefer orange” she smiled.

               “Ah, quite tasty. Now, Miss Granger, I was just owled a letter from Beauxbatons for you. It seems that afer graduation or anytime you’d like, they’d like to accept you as the Charms teacher. What do you think?” he asked her. Hermione was shocked.

               “Teach at Beauxbatons? Are you sure they meant me?” she asked.

               “Of course. I don’t know anyone else with the name Hermione Jane Granger,” Albus chuckled.

               “I can leave whenever I’d like to?” she replied.

               “Yes. Whenever you’re ready they’ll keep the position open for you,” he answered.

               “Well, I’ll have to think about it. I’d miss Hogwarts so much, but I’ll think about it. Thank you Professor Dumbledore!” she exclaimed running out of the office and to the Quidditch field where her friends were training.

               “Ginny! Ron! Draco! You won’t believe what happened!” Hermione said, stopping in front of them.

               “What is it?” Ginny asked, putting her broom down.

               “I’ve been offered a position at Beauxbatons! As the Charms professor!” Hermione answered.

               “That’s fantastic. But you know, what about Harry?” Ron said, his eyes darting toward Harry who was talking with Seamus and Dean.

               “This may be the chance of a lifetime and it’ll give me a chance to forget about Harry. Maybe I can move on. He’ll forget about me anyways,” she sighed.

               “Hermione, I am one to talk, but Potter’s a moron. You should realize that by now. You’ve known him for seven years. He’s a blind moron,” Draco rolled his eyes. Ginny smacked his shoulder lightly.

               “I appreciate the insults to Harry, but I think I should. But at the same time if I do take the offer, I won’t be able to see you,” Hermione said softly.

               “Oh Herms, we’ll write to each other and visit every weekend, you know that!” Ginny exclaimed. Hermione couldn’t help but smile at that.

               “He’s going to marry her. Why should I stick around, all I’ll be watching is my own dream. Him proposing to me would be a miracle,” she sighed.

               “This is your choice. At least ask Harry about it!” the red-headed girl suggested.

               “No, then he’ll go on about asking, “What?! Why?! Why do you have to leave?” All this codswallop. I don’t want to hear it,” Hermione wanted to cry.

               “He’s going to be crushed,” Ron told her.

               “Him?! What about me? Seven years I’ve been crushed. And that’s not enough, is it? He stomps on it and does a Mexican hat dance on it!” she yelled loud enough for only them to hear.

               “What’s a Mexican hat dance?” Ron asked. Ginny rolled her eyes and pushed him. “Dimwit.”

[THAT NIGHT...]

               “Hermione, could I talk to you?” Harry said to her as he plopped down next to her on the couch in the Common Room.

               “Sure,” she answered tonelessly.

               “Well, graduation is in a few weeks and Isabelle and I have been going out for a while. I think she’s the one,” he smiled. Her eyes widened, as hurt mirrored them. She looked up at him and smiled tearfully.

               “That’s fantastic Harry. I really am glad for you,” Hermione whispered.

               “I was wondering if you could help me pick out a necklace and a...ring with me. I’m going to ask her to marry me on graduation in front of everyone,” Harry replied.

               “O-Of course. Anything to make you and Isabelle happy.”

               “That’s great! Thank you so much Hermione! I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re such a wonderful friend,” he exclaimed, giving her a tight hug. She could feel her eyes burning, but she wasn’t going to let him see her cry.

               Not when he was so happy.  

A/N: Well...this story seems to be getting some good responses! Well keep ‘um comin!