The Unasked Question

cheering charm

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 27/03/2005
Last Updated: 27/03/2005
Status: completed

Harry's subconscious knows something he doesn't know. Part 2 in the Tragic Little Hero universe.

Chapters

1. The Unasked Question

1. The Unasked Question

Author’s Note: This is the second fic set in the Tragic Little Hero universe. The first fic, Tragic Little Hero, can be read HERE. The third fic in this series, Affection, can be read HERE. The fourth and final fic is in progress.

Thanks to danielerin and vicariousleigh for beta services.

**

The Unasked Question

by cheering charm

“Wake up, Ron,” Harry said, throwing a pillow at the prone form of Ron Weasley.

“I don’t want to,” his muffled voice replied, his face buried in the pillow.

“You have to. I’m sure Snape would love to extend your detention because you’re late.”

Ron lifted his head and glared at Harry. It might have had a chilling effect if his hair hadn’t been standing up on end, making his expression look rather comical. Considering the situation, and the subject, it was easy for Harry to stifle a chuckle. “You had to remind me, didn’t you?” Ron said.

“Sorry, mate. Just trying to motivate you to get it in gear. If you miss breakfast your detention will be even more miserable.”

Ron threw his blanket from his body, a scowl on his face. “That greasy git.”

“You should have known better than to try to curse Malfoy, Ron,” Dean said from across the room.

Harry cringed, wishing Dean would shut up. Ron had only just begun to accept the fact that Dean and Ginny were dating - it had only taken 5 months – but, Harry was sure the wrong comment from Dean could send Ron over the edge,.

“He started it! Of course, he never gets caught. I’m sure he’ll have a grand time in Hogsmeade today. Bloody ferret.”

Ron gathered his towel and toiletries and headed for the showers.

“You want me to wait for you?” Harry offered.

“Nah. I’ll meet you at breakfast.”

Harry, Dean, Seamus and Neville bounded down the stairs, each excited about the upcoming day in town. Any idea that their school workload would ease after completing their O.W.L.s vanished in the three months since they had been back at Hogwarts. They were shocked to realise that their workload doubled. No one, not even Hermione, thought that would be possible. As a result, the day away from their educational prison was cause for much excitement and anticipation.

Harry found Hermione in the Great Hall, munching on a scone and engrossed in the front page of the Daily Prophet. He glanced at the head table and waved to Dumbledore, who nodded and smiled in return greeting.

“Morning, Hermione,” Harry said, sitting down beside her. “Anything good in the paper?’

“The usual.” Hermione snapped the paper shut, placed it next to her plate and turned to Harry with a serious look on her face. “I was thinking about staying here at the castle today. Maybe going down to visit Hagrid.”

“Have fun,” Harry said, spooning eggs on his plate.

“Why don’t you stay with me? I’m sure Hagrid would love a visit from you. We’ve only been down there once this year, besides classes.”

“Hagrid will be drinking tankards of ale at the Three Broomsticks, as you well know.” Harry speared a sausage then took a large bite off the end. “It isn’t going to work, Hermione. I’m going to Hogsmeade.”

Hermione opened her mouth but Harry stopped her before she could start her next argument. He leaned over and murmured in her ear. “Voldemort isn’t interested in me right now. You know that. From what Snape says, he’s busy recruiting his army so when he does get interested in me again he’ll have plenty of people to help him kill me.”

Hermione gasped. “Harry, don’t say that!”

“Say what? That Voldemort wants to kill me? That’s old news.”

“How can you be so blasé about it?”

“Trust me, Hermione, I’m not the least bit blasé about it. But I’m not going to let Voldemort ruin a beautiful day in town,” he said, looking up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, which was a gunmetal grey.

“Beautiful? It looks like a blizzard’s coming.”

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring Hermione, “Dumbledore told me that there will be members of the Order in the village following my every move. I’ll be well protected.”

“And when did he tell you this?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

“Last night in our meeting.”

“Nice of you to relay that information to me,” she huffed, folding her napkin and placing it next to her plate.

Harry’s forkful of eggs stopped in mid-air. “Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry,” she replied, not looking at him.

“You’re acting like it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved the eggs in his mouth. He knew she was angry despite her denial. He waited without a word, knowing that given time…

“It would’ve been nice to know so I didn’t have to worry all night about how I was going to keep you from going to Hogsmeade,” she said, still not looking at him.

“You weren’t in the common room when I returned. I didn’t know if you were in your room or the library or if you were doing rounds or what you were doing. I was tired and didn’t feel like waiting around. You wasted your time anyway. You couldn’t have talked me out of going into Hogsmeade even if I wasn’t going to have protection.”

“Really?” she said, arching an eyebrow and looking at him for the first time.

“Really,” he stated, taking a bite of sausage.

She narrowed her eyes and tutted. Picking up a scone she said, “I still don’t think you should go, Order or no.”

“I can’t sit in this castle another minute, Hermione. I have to get out. If you don’t want to go, I understand.”

“Don’t be daft, of course I’m going.”

“Then it’s settled,” Harry replied as Ron plopped down on the bench across from them.

“Good morning, Ron,” Hermione said.

“Maybe for you,” Ron said.

Harry shrugged his shoulders at Hermione’s inquisitive glance. He couldn’t blame Ron for his attitude about his detention. He was glad that he hadn’t been with Ron when it happened, or he would be stuck in detention, too. He had done everything possible to stay on Snape’s good side for the last few days. He didn’t want to give Snape the chance to manufacture a reason for Harry to spend Hogsmeade Saturday in detention with his best friend. Harry suspected that Ron’s mind-set had as much to do with the fact that he was alone in detention as it did with missing Hogsmeade.

“Ron,” Hermione began in her voice of reason. Harry stepped on her foot under the table hoping to stop her before she made the situation worse. She either didn’t feel his heel grind into her toes, or she was ignoring him. Harry guessed the latter.

“I’m sure if you are cooperative and have a good attitude that Snape will let you out of detention early.”

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice at the ridiculous statement. Not only did it assume that Ron could suddenly take on a sunny disposition (which Harry found as unlikely as Hufflepuff winning the House Cup), but it also assumed that Snape would give a Gryffindor a break. From the glare Ron directed at Hermione, Harry could tell Ron felt the same way. Much to Harry’s surprise, Ron didn’t reply.

The din of conversations in the Great Hall was louder than usual with everyone making plans for their day in town. Ron looked around at everyone talking, his shoulders slumping more by the second. “You guys have big plans for the day?” he asked with a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“Oh, no,” Hermione replied. “Nothing really. I’m probably going to spend most of the day at the book shop.”

Before Harry had a chance to object to that plan, he felt Hermione’s knee nudge his. “Want us to pick up anything for you?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged and pushed his eggs around on his plate.

“You’d better eat. I doubt Snape will give a break for lunch,” Hermione said. She missed the glare he gave her as she began rummaging in her bag, checking to see that she had her money. When she looked up, Ron was chewing his eggs with a nauseous expression. “When we get back,” she said in a cheerful voice, “we’ll get a jump on our Transfiguration project.”

Ron all but threw his fork on the plate. “Brilliant!” he said. “That’s something to look forward to.” He pushed his plate away and got up from the table without a backward glance at his two best friends.

“Well, he doesn’t have to take it out on us,” Hermione said in her bossiest voice. “It’s not our fault he can’t control his temper with Malfoy.” She stood and looked at Harry. “You ready?”

“Sure,” he replied, following her out of the Great Hall.

When they walked out the front doors of the castle, they met fat snowflakes drifting down to the snow-covered ground. Harry didn’t care; snow he could handle. Being cooped up in the castle for one more day, he couldn’t. Harry had a hard time containing his excitement. He restrained himself from laughing out loud, but couldn’t hide a grin.

“What are you smiling about?” Hermione asked.

“I’m just happy to be free of the castle.”

She returned his smile and donned her gloves.

As soon as they arrived in Hogsmeade, Harry noticed an Order wizard on either side of the street, one looking innocently in a shop window, the other sitting in a chair outside a shop, smoking a long thin pipe and looking for all the world like a homeless person. He saw the wizard’s lips move and knew that he was alerting someone, probably Remus, of Harry’s location. He hoped Remus was the wizard in charge at least. Harry was hoping to talk to him today.

Thinking of Remus brought thoughts of Sirius to the forefront of Harry’s mind yet again. He felt a pang of guilt, and more than a bit shallow, at his happiness. His godfather was dead, thanks in no small part to him, and here Harry was giddy with joy at the prospect of, when you come right down to it, shopping. Harry thought of everything he did these days in terms of, “Sirius will never do this again.” He knew he shouldn’t, and he tried not to, but he couldn’t help it.

While lost in thought, Hermione had steered him to the door of a shop, the tinkling bell reviving him from his stupour. “Hermione!” he exclaimed as he read the name of the shop. “I thought you were kidding about the book shop!”

“I was only exaggerating the amount of time we would spend here,” she said, walking through the open door.

With a sigh, Harry followed her in the last shop he wanted to go into. She stopped at the first table she came to, picked up a book and began flipping through the pages. Harry continued on, glancing at the books on the shelves, looking for something to catch his interest. In less than five minutes, he had walked the circumference of the entire shop, not picking up a single book. He returned to the front table to find Hermione still engrossed in the same book, a look of concentration on her face. He sighed, knowing that this could indeed take as long as she implied to Ron. He walked back to the periodical shelf and picked up the latest edition of Quidditch Weekly, hoping the time would pass quickly.

After he read that, cover to cover, and flipped through a couple of other magazines, he rolled the Quidditch Weekly up and began searching for Hermione. He fully expected her to still be at the front table. When she wasn’t, he began walking around the shop, looking down each aisle. Panic began to set in when he returned to the front door with no sign of Hermione. He looked at his watch and was shocked to see that 30 minutes had passed. He knew Hermione wouldn’t leave without him, but after a second survey of the shop he also knew that she wasn’t there.

“I’m looking for my friend. A girl with curly hair?” he asked the stooped wizard behind the counter.

“A girl with curly hair?” the wizard asked sarcastically. “That could describe almost anyone in here,” he said, waving his hand in the air.

Harry looked at the students milling around, counting five girls with some type of curly hair. He spotted Hannah Abbott standing at the table that interested Hermione so much. “Thanks,” he said absently to the wizard.

“Hannah, have you seen Hermione?”

Hannah looked up and gave Harry a smile. “Hi, Harry. No, I haven’t seen her. But I just walked in the shop.”

“You didn’t see her on the street?”

“No.”

Harry was in full fledged panic mode now. “Thanks,” he said, striding toward the door to talk to the Order members that should be stationed outside.

“She might be in the back room,” Hannah said from behind him.

Harry turned. “The back room?”

“Yeah. There is a room that only ‘of age’ wizards can access, like the restricted section of the library. She’s wanted to go in there for ages. I bet that’s where she is.”

Relief poured through Harry like a cold glass of water. “Where is it?” he asked.

“The purple door at the end of the Arithmancy aisle.”

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“You can’t go in there,” a witch said as Harry reached for the knob of the purple door.

“Yes, I can,” Harry lied.

“Are you seventeen?”

“Yes.”

“When was your birthday?”

“July 31st,” Harry replied, deciding to limit the lies he had to cover.

“What year?” the witch said, eyes narrowed.

“Nineteen seventy-nine.”

Her eyes flicked up to his scar and back to his eyes, which never left her face. She waved her wand at the door and it opened with a soft click. “I know you’re lying, Mr. Potter,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.

Harry released the breath he’d been holding and walked through the open door. The room was even mustier smelling than the main room, which Harry couldn’t believe was possible. The space was dimly lit, torches on the ends of each bookshelf the only illumination for the windowless room. Dust and cobwebs covered every inch of the shelves and floor, muffling his footsteps. He saw Hermione standing at the end of an aisle with her nose buried in a book. She was leaning her shoulder against the bookshelf, pulling her bottom lip with her forefinger and thumb, a habit she had when she was reading. As he watched, she stopped pulling her lip, her hand hovering in front of her mouth for a moment, her eyes moving back and forth across the page. Harry smiled as she began pulling her lip again, apparently finished with the intriguing paragraph.

Harry walked down the adjacent aisle adjacent and came up behind her. She still hadn’t noticed him. He pulled out his wand and pressed it against her back. “Boo!”

She jumped and whirled around, dropping the book. “Harry! What in bloody hell are you doing?”

“Teaching you a lesson,” he said, putting his wand back in his pocket. “You really need to be more alert, Hermione.”

“You pulled your wand on me?” she said, turning a very deep shade of red.

“Yes.”

“That’s not very safe.”

“Neither is being in a dark room by yourself, completely unaware of your surroundings.”

“I wasn’t unaware,” she said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and bending down to pick up the book.

“Yes, you were.”

She shoved the book back on the shelf and walked out the door without a word. He followed her through the bookshop and out into the crowded street. Harry had to trot to keep up with her.

“Hermione,” he said, grabbing her elbow. “Slow down.”

She wrenched her arm away from him and continued on without looking at him. He grabbed her arm again and pulled her into the alley they were passing. “Let me go, Harry,” she said, trying to twist her arm free again.

“No,” he said, keeping a firm grip and pulled her into a doorway halfway down the alley.

“Oh, yes. This is much safer,” she said.

“Yes, it is. Because Tonks knows where we are,” he said, pointing to the mouth of the alley. Hermione turned and peeked out of the doorway and saw a homeless witch rummaging in the trash can. “Sometimes I wonder if you don’t think all of this is just a complex scenario out of a book.”

“How can you say that?!”

“I just caught you completely vulnerable in a dark, deserted back room of a shop when there are probably Death Eaters running around Hogsmeade right this minute hoping to get me or someone I know alone.”

“You’re the one that wanted to come to Hogsmeade!”

“Because I knew that we’d have protection. But they can’t protect us if they don’t know where we are!”

“Fine. You’ve made your point,” Hermione said, crossing her arms.

“Why are you angry with me?” he asked in amazement.

“I’m not angry.”

“Oh really?” he said, with a grin. “Let’s see. Your arms are crossed, your chin is jutting out and your eyes are narrowed in a way that reminds me very much of McGonagall. And I think,” he said, pulling her hair away from her ears. “Yep. There’s steam coming out of your ears.”

She swatted his hand down and tried to hold back a smile. “Stop it, Harry. I get it. You were right and I was wrong.”

“Come again?” he said, cupping his hand around his ear.

“Too bad. I’m not saying it again.” She pushed out of the doorway. “And if you tell Ron I said that, I’ll deny it until the day I die.”

He grabbed her arm and turned her around. “Seriously. Be more careful. I don’t think I could handle it if someone else I cared about was hurt or killed.”

“Harry, I’m not…”

“Just promise me,” he said in a resigned voice.

She studied him for a moment. “I promise.”

He nodded once. “Good. Now, how about you buy me a butterbeer for all the grief you put me through.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, you mooch.”

When they walked into the Three Broomsticks they saw no less than six Order members placed throughout the crowded pub. Hermione pointed out a table filled with other 6th year students in the back corner and wove through the crowd towards it while Harry went to get their drinks.

“Saw you in the alley with a tasty little lady,” said the hag on the barstool next to where Harry stood. He looked at her and saw Tonks’s twinkling blue eyes peeking out from under a floppy witch’s hat.

“How did you get here so fast?” Harry asked, looking straight ahead.

“Magic,” Tonks replied. “Do a little snogging in the alley?”

“I wish,” Harry muttered without thinking.

“Pardon?” Tonks said, clearly shocked.

Harry froze, wondering why in bloody hell he’d said that. He jerked his head toward Tonks who looked just as shocked as he felt. “Tonks, I…” Harry looked over in the direction of where Hermione was and back at Tonks. “I don’t know why I said that. Please don’t say anything to anyone.”

Her expression of shock softened and she gave him a wink. “I didn’t hear a thing,” she said, turning back to her ale.

With shaking hands, Harry carried their butterbeers over to the table full of DA members. Hermione was sitting between Ernie Macmillan and Zacharias Smith. Harry felt his insides turn to ice as he watched Hermione and Ernie. The pub was crowded and loud, encouraging Ernie to lean into her to be heard. She was talking into his ear, close enough that he was sure Ernie could feel her breath. He nodded when she finished speaking and they switched places. Harry narrowed his eyes. Ernie was practically kissing her ear as he spoke. Harry leaned across the table and placed the drink in front of Hermione with a bit too much force. She smiled her thanks and continued listening to Ernie, nodding her head at random intervals. Harry forced himself to look at the other end of the table and took a swig of his warm butterbeer, hoping to thaw out his insides. Zacharias was chatting with Neville, Susan Bones, Sally Anne Perks, Dean and Seamus. When there was a break in the conversation, Harry said, “Zach, you mind if I sit there?”

Zach looked from Harry to Hermione and smirked. “Why? Want to sit by your girlfriend?”

The people at that end of the table all stopped what they were doing. Seamus and Dean exchanged glances and Harry could tell they were figuring out odds at that moment. Hermione, Hannah and Ernie Macmillan were engrossed in a discussion about Transfiguration and didn’t appear to hear a word of what was going on.

“Hermione’s not my girlfriend, as you well know,” Harry said, pulling out the chair that would put his back to the door and sitting down. “I don’t like to have my back to the door in case Voldemort decides to walk in and try to kill me. But you seem attached to that chair. Why don’t you just keep a lookout on that front door for me, all right? Got your wand ready?” Harry said, taking a swig of his butterbeer.

Neville snorted at the look on Zach’s face. “Here, Harry. I’ll move,” Neville said, getting up and trading places with him.

“Thanks, Neville. I’ve got your back,” Harry said, winking at Neville, who slapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. Without further comment, Zach moved into Neville’s vacated chair and began a rather forced conversation with Seamus and Dean.

Harry sat down and caught a glimpse of Tonks just as she looked away from him. She didn’t look away quick enough for Harry to miss the knowing smirk plastered on her face. His stomach somersaulted and he shifted his chair a fraction of an inch away from Hermione who hadn’t bothered to stop her conversation with Ernie to acknowledge his presence.

What made me say that to Tonks? He’d never thought about kissing Hermione. Not once. In the entire time he’d known her.

Why not? He stopped mid-swig as the thought hit him. Why not? He shifted, uncomfortable in his chair, and sneaked a peek in her direction. He looked away quickly when his insides began dancing. Oh, no.

He saw Neville watching him, plastered a smile on his face, and struck up a conversation about something. He had no idea what. But he’d willingly talk about mimbulus mimbletonia with Neville for hours. Anything to get his mind off the way his stomach fluttered when he thought about Hermione.

Hermione placed her hand on his arm to get his attention and he jumped, knocking his knee on the underside of the table. Everyone stopped, grabbing their drinks to keep them from tipping over.

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his throbbing knee. Harry saw Neville’s eyebrows arch over the top of his glass of pumpkin juice.

Hermione leaned in to talk into Harry’s ear. “I was thinking we could go by Honeydukes and pick up some sweets for Ron.”

“That – that sounds good,” Harry replied. His shoulders slumped at the thought of his other best friend. That’s why not.

“Are you ready?” Hermione said, standing up.

Harry rose without a word and, after bidding their friends goodbye, followed her out of the crowded pub. “Whew,” Hermione said once they were out in the crisp November air. “It was a bit stuffy in there, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. If you hadn’t been cuddling up to Ernie Macmillan…

“Honeydukes, then?” she said, putting her gloves on.

Harry nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. His stomach was still fluttering, even more now that they were alone and her nose was starting to pink up from the cold. But now the fluttering was joined by the lead weight of guilt. Ron. He knew his best friend fancied Hermione. He had known it since 4th year. So there was nothing to be done. He’d just have to ignore the fluttering and hope it went away.

“You’ve been quiet, Harry,” Hermione said as they paid for Ron’s candy.

“Have I?”

He held the door open for Hermione and they alighted on the street, which was thinning out as the day wore on. “Yes, you have. Ever since…are you still angry with me about earlier?”

Harry stopped. “Earlier?” he croaked.

“At the bookshop,” she offered.

“Oh,” he replied, thinking for a split second that she’d caught a bit of his anger at her chumminess with Ernie. “No, I’m not angry about that,” he said, relieved.

“Good. I hate it when you are angry with me. I hate it when Ron’s angry with me, but that seems to happen quite a lot, so I guess I’m used to it,” she said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Harry said, wondering if he was going to feel guilty every time he heard Ron’s name. “Did you want to go back to the bookshop? You didn’t get anything before.”

“Yes, well that’s because you dragged me out of there.”

“Now I’m offering to drag you back.”

“You’ll never have to drag me to a bookshop. Let’s go,” she said, threading her arm through his and pulling him along with a smile.

Harry’d never had so much fun in a bookshop before. He followed Hermione around, picking up a book here and there when she stopped. But mainly, he watched her. She didn’t seem to have a goal, which was confirmed when the wizard Harry had spoken to before asked if he could help her find something. “No thank you, I’m just browsing,” she said with a smile. The wizard bowed, admiration on his face that he’d found someone else that loved books as he did, and wandered off.

When she’d chosen a few, Harry took them from her arms. “Here. Let me hold those. You need both hands to browse,” he said with a grin.

“Are you taking the mickey?”

“No, not at all. I wouldn’t dare.” He shifted the books in his arms as she put another on the stack. “Why do you love books so much?”

“Why do you love Quidditch?”

Harry shrugged. “I feel free when I fly.”

“It helps you escape,” she offered.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“That’s what books do for me. The first book I ever read by myself was The Little White Horse. I read it straight through. Couldn’t stop. I was so enamoured with the world that the author created, I didn’t want to leave it. So when I finished it, I read it again, and again. Until one day my Mum took me to a children’s bookshop. I stood in the doorway and gaped at all of the books. I imagined all the different worlds that those books would let me escape into and that was it. I’ve been in love with books ever since.”

She smiled. “I’m a nerd, I know.”

“No,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. He was afraid he’d been staring at her openmouthed as she related the story. “It’s no weirder than being obsessed with Quidditch.”

“You know, I’m not talking about books like The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6. School books are a necessary evil. I can’t say I enjoy reading them, but I love knowing that after I read the dreary dull text I’ll be smarter than I was before.”

“That’s scary,” he mumbled.

She continued on as if she didn’t hear him. “I walk through a bookshop and pick up a book,” she said, picking one up, “and I’m amazed that someone had this idea and was able to put it down in such a way that I can understand it and learn from it. It seems disrespectful of their time and effort to not at least try.” She looked at the books that Harry was holding. “I think that’s enough for today. Let’s go pay.”

They left the bookshop with Hermione’s books and two Quidditch magazines that Harry picked up for Ron and headed back to the castle. Harry was walking slowly, ostensibly because he was carrying all of their bags. He wouldn’t want to admit the real reason to anyone, even himself. He didn’t want to return to the castle, to the bustling common room…to sharing Hermione.

To Ron.

As they crawled through the portrait hole, Harry half hoped that Ron was still in detention, for which he felt a heaping amount of guilt. He couldn’t believe he was wishing Snape on his best friend. His guilt was short lived as Ron waved to them from across the common room.

“Oi! I wondered if you two were ever coming back,” he said.

“How was detention?” Hermione asked, peeling her gloves from her hands.

“It was detention with Snape. What do you think? What did you get?” he asked, nodding at the bags.

“Presents for you,” Hermione said, beaming.

“Really?”

“This is from me,” Hermione said, handing him the bulging bag of sweets. “And these are from me,” Harry said, holding out the Quidditch magazines.

“Thanks, mate. Wow, Hermione,” he said, looking in the bag of treats. “There are enough sweets in here to feed a dragon.”

“Or you. Same thing,” she said with a dismissive wave and a smile.

“And to think, I was jealous of you guys going without me,” Ron said, tearing into a chocolate frog.

“Harry! Why ya got your back to the door?” Seamus teased, plopping into an armchair across from Harry.

“I’ll sit here,” Dean said, perching on the arm of Seamus’s chair and pulling out his wand. “You know, to get your back.”

“Shut it, you pair,” Harry said with a laugh, throwing an empty chocolate frog package at them.

“The look on Smith’s face. Man, that was priceless,” Dean said, putting his wand back and slapping his knee.

“What happened?” Ron asked with a mouthful of chocolate.

“Harry pulled out the Boy-Who-Lived persona…”

“I did not,” Harry replied, getting a little red in the face from embarrassment.

“…to get Zacharias Smith to give him his chair,” Seamus continued.

“All I did was ask him to watch the door for Voldemort since I had my back to the door. It was a legitimate request.”

“He’s a git, anyway,” Ron said, looking through his bag to choose more candy. “He and Michael Corner both could stand to be dropped a few pegs.”

“Oh, Ron, really. Will you give it a rest? Ginny hasn’t dated Michael in months,” Hermione said, flipping through one of Ron’s Quidditch magazines.

“What’s up with you and Ernie?” Seamus asked Hermione.

Hermione tossed the magazine on the table. “What are you on about?”

“You two were looking rather cozy.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said standing up.

“Cozy?” Ron said. “What do you mean cozy?”

“Any closer and Hermione would have been sitting in his lap.”

“We were talking about Transfiguration and I was hardly sitting in his lap. I’m going to wash up for dinner.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the girls’ dormitory.

“From what I hear, Ernie wouldn’t mind if Hermione did sit in his lap,” Dean said in a conspiratorial whisper.

“What?” Ron and Harry said at the same time.

Dean shrugged. “From what Susan says, he’s rather keen on her. Just trying to work up the nerve to ask her out.”

Ron pushed Harry in the shoulder. “Where were you when he was all over her?” he asked in an accusatory tone.

“He was sitting right by her…” Dean said.

“…in Zacharias Smith’s chair,” Seamus finished.

“Why didn’t you do something?” Ron asked Harry.

“They were just talking, Ron.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me,” Ron said darkly.

“Well,” Harry said, standing up. “It’s your job to overreact to Hermione’s love life. Not mine. If you don’t want her to go out with Ernie Macmillan, then ask her out yourself,” he finished, walking off to the boys’ dormitory.

He plopped on his bed and released the bed hangings to close off the world. He took his glasses off and covered his face with his pillow before letting out a scream of frustration. Ernie Macmillan? He yanked the pillow from his face. The thought of her going out with him, kissing him – don’t think about that – made his skin crawl. He’d prefer she go out with just about anyone but that pompous, self-important Hufflepuff.

Well, maybe not anyone.

He had no idea why he told Ron to ask her out. That’s all I need, he thought, putting the pillow back over his face. My best friends dating. Each other. I think I’d rather be stuck in detention with Umbridge for the rest of my life than watch them hold hands and kiss. But he had stood in the middle of the common room and told Ron to ask her out. Not that he would, of course. Harry felt rather confident that he wouldn’t, because of the mere fact that he’d fancied her for almost two years and hadn’t done a thing about it. Idiot.

“Harry,” Ron’s voice called.

Speak of the devil.

“Yeah.”

“Are you coming to dinner? Hermione’s waiting for us.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’m coming.” He put his glasses back on and crawled out of bed wondering if he was going to be able to eat a thing while he watched his two best friends pretend to not fancy each other. When he saw Hermione waiting in the common room, he knew that the fluttering in his stomach was going to be the bigger obstacle to his appetite. It got stronger and stronger every time he saw her. He knew that he would have to do something about it sooner or later. He opted for later.

Unfortunately for him, Neville Longbottom opted for sooner.