What Really Matters

Bingblot

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 18/05/2005
Last Updated: 18/05/2005
Status: completed

It was deja vu. It was happening over again, just as it had last year. Only this time it hurt so much more to know that Cho was pursuing Harry... One-shot fluff.

Chapters

1. What Really Matters

1. What Really Matters

Disclaimer: Everything HP belongs to JKR etc. etc.

Author’s Note: For the ever-so-talented Demosthenes. *hugs*

A fluffy one-shot.

What Really Matters

It was déjà vu.

It was happening all over again. Almost exactly the same as what had happened last year.

Only this time it hurt so much more.

Last year it had only bothered her, irritated her, made her uncomfortable. Now, it hurt. Oh, it hurt so much.

Because now she knew…

She felt every smile, every look, as if it were a physical blow. And there were so many smiles, so many looks…

It had been building for days now. It had started subtly enough, a look here, a smile there. A simple “Hi, Harry” when only months ago, she would have deliberately ignored his presence.

But it had become more pronounced, more noticeable every day. More smiles, a touch on his arm, purposely seeking him out between classes and after meals…

And then Dumbledore had stood up at breakfast that morning and made his announcement. “We are at war but even so, we must move forward and we cannot allow our lives to become nothing more than constant fear and worry. Therefore, I have decided that Hogwarts will have a Yule Ball once again. It will be on the last Saturday before the end of term and will be open to all third-years and above. It will, also, I hope, prove to be a time when we can all be social and friendly without regard to House rivalries or anything else.”

The announcement had done more than anything else to completely change the atmosphere around the school, which had, of late, been rather subdued. The continuing grim news about the War and Voldemort had penetrated the very walls of Hogwarts and now, it seemed as if people were even afraid to laugh too loudly. This announcement suddenly seemed to jolt everyone into the realization that they were, after all, still young and relatively safe and, moreover, in a co-ed school. She supposed, as ideas went, Dumbledore’s plan for this Ball had been a rousing success already.

She just wished the effects from it didn’t have to hurt so much.

Dumbledore’s announcement had only increased Cho’s interest, clarified her intentions.

Flirtation had been clear in every line of her body as she approached Harry after dinner that day. It had been in the way she smiled at him, slowly, coyly; in the toss of her hair (Hermione couldn’t help but wonder rather bitterly if Cho practiced that move in front of a mirror to make it so charming). It had been in the way she looked at him as she said his name, “Hello, Harry.” It had been in the tone of her voice, the hint of shy-ness (was it contrived, she wondered?) which, combined with the flirtation, made it even more appealing.

Hermione had fled at that point, it being more than obvious that Cho wanted to be left alone with Harry. But not before she had seen Harry flush and heard him say, uncomfortably, “Er, hello, Cho.”

And it was almost exactly as it had been last year. Harry had turned red and stammered a little over his words then too, uncertain of himself in a way that Hermione found to be somehow endearing but, at this moment, was more hurtful than anything else.

Because it meant that, no matter what had happened, Harry still fancied Cho.

She hurried away from them, closing her ears to the soft sound of their voices. She didn’t want to hear what they were saying, didn’t want to know what Harry was saying to Cho.

She was nearly running by the time she reached the Room of Requirement, heading there automatically out of habit, but now that she stopped to think about it, she wondered if Harry would even remember to come here after he talked to Cho. More than likely he would forget all about their nightly practice of the latest defensive spells and the curses and hexes she read about.

Oh well, she wanted to be alone and she could be alone here easier than anywhere in the Gryffindor Tower.

She went over to the bookshelf full of Defense Against the Dark Arts books, pulling one out at random and settling down to read it.

Or at least attempt to read it.

She couldn’t concentrate. The words seemed to run together on the page and all she could think about, all she could see in her mind, was Harry. Harry, shifting his weight uncomfortably, as he looked at Cho, his expression a mixture of happiness and nervousness and a little bit of pure terror as well. Harry, faltering over his words as he talked to Cho… Harry, glancing at Cho before he demonstrated a spell as he had more than once during the DA meetings last year… (Hermione was suddenly intensely grateful that Cho wasn’t a member of the DA this year. They’d kept it up, again, a smaller group than it had been last year but with most of the same people, who’d all been more interested in learning more Defense spells especially in light of the Ministry’s admission that Voldemort was, indeed, back. But neither Cho, nor her friend Marietta Edgecombe had been asked- for obvious reasons.)

She sighed in spite of herself.

Harry still fancied Cho.

She’d hoped—or rather assumed—that he would have forgotten about Cho after all that happened at the end of last year. She knew that, what with Sirius and the Prophecy, he hadn’t spared a thought for Cho- or for much of anything else either- over the summer and the beginning of this year. Cho had made this rather easier, admittedly, by still pointedly ignoring Harry at the start of the year, but that had changed dramatically.

And now Harry was remembering all his old feelings for Cho.

He still fancied her.

Of course he still fancied Cho, Hermione thought, half-angry at herself for reacting this way as if she’d ever really had any reason to hope that Harry would someday feel more than friendship for her. Cho was the type of girl boys tended to like—pretty, a little exotic-looking, athletic, friendly, out-going. Flirtatious.

She was, in short, everything Hermione was not.

Hermione sighed again and then looked up, startled, as the door opened and Harry walked in.

He had remembered! Her heart leaped- foolishly- and then sank again as she saw the expression on his face.

He looked rather dazed, confused, uncertain, as if he didn’t quite know where he was or what he was doing.

He looked much as he had looked when he’d come back to the Common Room after kissing Cho that first time last year- in this very room, Hermione suddenly thought, irrationally feeling an added pang of hurt at this idle detail.

“Hi, Harry,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice steady, sounding almost normal.

“Hi,” he responded automatically, absently, moving to sit next to her.

Oh God, here it goes again. This really was déjà vu.

He said nothing more and finally she just had to break the silence, had to know what had happened, although she suspected she already knew.

“Did you kiss her?” she asked and then wanted to cringe at having repeated the question she’d asked last year- and in almost the exact same tone too. But she had to sound detached; she couldn’t let him hear the hurt in her voice. It was just harder to hide it now because it hurt more because now- after all that had happened last year- she knew how she really felt about Harry… But hide it she would. What else could she do?

“Huh? Oh— yes- I guess- I mean, no,” he stammered, flushing and looking awkward.

She frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

He squirmed a little, finally glancing at her. “I- I didn’t kiss her; she kissed me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he responded and then sighed a little.

She suddenly wished desperately that Ron was here, to provide some much needed distraction with his open amusement. She was sure Ron would be snickering if not positively laughing himself into fits at this point. But no, naturally now that she wanted Ron around, he wasn’t, being stuck in detention with McGonagall for having lost his temper and thrown his textbook at Malfoy’s head in Transfiguration that day.

She was silent, not sure what to say. What did it mean- did it mean anything that Harry had clarified that Cho had been the one to kiss him and not the other way around? Did it matter? Harry and Cho had kissed- again- and Harry was as uncomfortable about the subject as he had been the last time.

“She- she asked me to go to the Yule Ball with her,” Harry finally said, addressing the opposite wall more than her.

If this had been any other person, if it hadn’t affected her so personally, she might have been amused at how much this was history repeating itself, rather in reverse as it was. Harry had asked Cho to the Yule Ball in their 4th year- and now Cho had asked Harry to the Ball this year.

She sighed softly. Only this year, there was no Viktor to ask her and this year, she didn’t want to go with anyone- except for Harry.

But she needed to say something- anything- to respond.

“Did you say yes?” she finally asked and then wanted to wince at how flat her tone was. But she couldn’t help it; it was either to sound flat and emotionless or to cry…

Harry hesitated, glancing at her again. “I said, I didn’t know.”

“But you do know, don’t you? You still fancy her so of course you want to go to the Ball with her.” She congratulated herself that she managed to talk about it in such a logical way.

“No. I- I don’t know.” He paused and then continued on. “It- it wouldn’t be fair to her; she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into. She doesn’t know about the Prophecy or anything, doesn’t know anything about what it’s like. She- she doesn’t really know me.” He stopped and then repeated, slowly, as if only just realizing the truth of his words, “She doesn’t really know me.”

I know. Hermione bit her lip to keep from saying the thought out-loud. She knew Cho didn’t really know Harry, had always known it but she had never said so. But it meant- something- that Harry now knew it too.

Cho didn’t really know Harry, didn’t understand him. She didn’t know how kind he was, how caring he was, how strong he was… How vulnerable he was. She didn’t know Harry like Hermione did; he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to her; he wasn’t only Harry, the boy.

Cho didn’t care about him that much- not in that way. She didn’t worry about Harry, didn’t know about his nightmares or the danger that was destined to be his future… She didn’t love him—not like Hermione did…

“It wouldn’t be fair to any girl to drag her into danger because of me,” he said quietly. “No one really knows; no one really understands what I am or what it’s like to be me—no one, except for you—and Ron.” Harry added Ron’s name almost in an afterthought.

Hermione sternly quelled the pleased flutter her heart gave on hearing Harry’s softly-spoken admission, his acknowledgement that he knew she did understand him. It didn’t mean anything- not like that. It’s just because we’re friends, best friends; he mentioned Ron too, didn’t he?

“No one really knows—not like you,” he said again slowly, and then said something she’d thought she would never hear. “Hermione, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

She’d never thought- never seriously imagined- he’d ever ask that—and she’d also never expected just how much it would hurt to hear the words. Because it did hurt, worse than anything else he’d said, worse than seeing him with Cho, worse than thinking he’d never see her as anything other than his best friend… It did hurt…

In some of her most foolish hopes, she’d imagined him asking her something like this- to go out with him… Now, when he did, it broke her heart.

Because she didn’t want to go with him like this- not as the second-best choice, a back-up option because his first choice wasn’t a possibility. She couldn’t—not when she loved him the way she did.

“No!” she cried, her voice trembling slightly as she met his eyes. “No, I won’t- I won’t be that girl for you, Harry. I can’t.”

Surprise, confusion- and something else she couldn’t identify- flickered across his face as he looked at her. “Be what girl?”

She shook her head, hating that there were tears welling up in her eyes but unable to help it. “I won’t just be the last resort. I won’t be the girl you settle on because you can’t go with the one you really want to go with. I won’t do it- not for anyone, not even for you—especially not for you.” She stopped short at that admission and looked away, not wanting him to see her eyes. Oh God… Why, oh why, had she said that? Why couldn’t she just have left it at not wanting to be the back-up choice for anyone?

“Hermione,” Harry finally said slowly, “do you really think that’s what I think of you as? The last resort, the second-best choice?”

“Don’t you?” she asked rather curtly. Of course he would deny it!

“No,” Harry answered flatly, his tone not admitting a shred of doubt. His tone softened and he touched her face gently, making her meet his eyes and the look in them was so earnest, so sincere, she couldn’t doubt his words. “No. How could you even think that I’d think that about you? You? You’re not second-best to Cho or anybody.”

“But- but she’s so- so pretty,” she faltered, trying desperately (and futilely) not to hope, not to think that maybe, just maybe, Harry really did care about her that way… “She’s so pretty- and athletic- and she knows about Quidditch and stuff. I- I’m not like that. I’m the plain bookworm, the teacher’s pet. I don’t know about Wonky’s Faints or what Quidditch teams there are or- or anything.”

He shook his head, his gaze still holding hers, his expression serious. “No, you’re not like that. You’re better. You’re more than ten Cho’s,” he said and smiled, slightly, fleetingly. “You’re smart and you’re nice and you’re caring and sweet and honest and- and you’re pretty, prettier than Cho or any other girl. You’re--” he stopped, faltering slightly before he continued. “You’re just you, Hermione, and that’s enough to make you not second-best to anybody.”

“Really?”

He smiled a little, his thumb brushing away the few tears on her cheeks. “I asked you to go to the Yule Ball because I want to go with you, not Cho or anyone else. Just you. So, will you?”

“Yes, oh, yes, Harry,” she smiled.

Harry’s gaze was automatically drawn to her lips- her perfect lips. He didn’t know when, or how, or why but Hermione had become so much more than just Hermione… Maybe it had started with Cho and her beginning to flirt with him again—because he’d suddenly realized that the main emotion he felt when he saw Cho wasn’t pleasure or happiness or anything like that; it was panic. Panic and a need to just get away. He didn’t like being with Cho; oh, she was pretty and she could still somehow make his stomach feel funny with some of her looks and her smiles—but he didn’t like being with her. Didn’t like that he never had anything to say to her. She was just too—oh, he didn’t even know what—but it made him uncomfortable. There was enough in his life that made him feel uncomfortable and nervous; he didn’t need a relationship with a girl to add on to that.

And somehow he’d found himself wishing that he could be with Hermione instead. He was comfortable with Hermione, happy with Hermione… He could talk to her about, well, just about anything and she understood because she knew him.

Hermione- he wanted to be with Hermione; she was the one he really cared about. How had that happened?

He blinked at her a little, reaching up with one hand automatically to brush back a strand of hair that was falling in her face, his fingers brushing her cheek as he did so. “Hermione, I-” he breathed softly and then trailed off.

“Yes, Harry…”

“I- I really care about you,” he finally faltered, quietly.

She smiled again, her hand reaching out for his, their fingers entwining. “I care about you too.”

He caught his breath slightly and his eyes shone but then he sighed, his eyes darkening. “I- this- this changes everything.”

His hand tightened its grip on hers and he went on, the words now rushing out of him. “I- I care about you—I need you. But I can’t—we can’t—do this, not really, not now. It- it’s too dangerous—for you. If Voldemort were to find out what you mean to me, he’d- he’d…” He broke off, shuddering a little, his hold on her hand tightening even more. “It’s bad enough he already knows you’re my friend; if he finds out that I l- that you’re my- that you’re so much more than just a friend, he’d… He can’t find out; I can’t let him find out—can’t let him take you from me.”

His other hand lifted to cup her cheek gently. “You understand that, don’t you, Hermione?” There was a note of desperation in his voice now as he looked at her. “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

And she nodded, slowly. “Yes, I understand,” she finally said, softly. And she did. She wasn’t surprised; had almost been expecting it. She didn’t like it but she understood.

“It’s not fair to you. I’m sorry, Hermione. I wish—I wish I were strong enough, unselfish enough to just tell you to find someone else, someone who could just care about you and not worry, someone who wouldn’t be putting you into danger…”

“Ssh, don’t say that!” she said, stopping his words with a finger on his mouth. “It’s okay. Really, it is. And anyway, I couldn’t let you go—even if you could let me go. Harry, don’t you understand, caring about you is just part of me now? I can’t help it; I can’t stop it; I can’t change it. It doesn’t matter if we can’t tell anyone. You’ll know and I’ll know—and that’ll be enough.”

She smiled slightly and repeated, “That’ll be enough.”

And then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek, quickly, much as she had before. But it was different now, different because now he was aware of her in a way he hadn’t been then. Different because now he was aware of the smell of her (she smelled like books and ink and soap, mixed in with a hint of roses); different because now he felt and really noticed the warmth of her breath against his cheek in that one moment and the warmth of her lips—and could have sworn the spot on his cheek where her lips had touched tingled. Different because now he cared…

He hesitated, his gaze focusing on her lips again, and then he was leaning forward slowly, as if drawn by some irresistible force, and he kissed her.

This was different, much better, than kissing Cho; he wanted this, had initiated it- and God, it felt good… The vague thoughts drifted through his mind and vanished as his brain shut down, any further coherent thoughts leaving his mind, his entire existence, all he was aware of, narrowing down to his lips touching Hermione’s. His hands lifted of their own accord to cup her face, holding her there and he was peripherally aware of the warmth and slight pressure from her hands, one resting on his shoulder, the other sliding into his hair, as the kiss deepened almost imperceptibly. Her lips parted on a slight breath and his tongue shyly, uncertainly, touched her lips, grazing her tongue and sending a shiver through his body.

He ended the kiss reluctantly, drawing back slightly, his eyes opening to look at her, suddenly, now that the haze in his mind was slowly beginning to clear, a little apprehensive. What if- what if she hadn’t liked it? Hadn’t felt what he did? What if—

She smiled.

She smiled, slightly, her lips barely curving but he saw it and his heart leaped. She had liked it, had felt what he did…

His eyes met hers and he saw the love shining in them—the love and the confidence. And he knew she was right when she’d said it didn’t matter.

The world didn’t need to know. They knew… And that was what mattered.

~*~*~

Outwardly, nothing had changed between them.

They were still just best friends, as far as appearances went. They still spent time with Ron, were still just part of the Trio.

Nothing—and everything—had changed.

This time Hermione didn’t feel any pangs of hurt or jealousy when Harry caught up with Cho after class the next day. (It helped that he’d glanced at her and flashed a quick, private smile at her before calling Cho’s name.)

“Cho, er, can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry asked, sounding and looking, as he felt, awkward.

Cho smiled brightly, confidently. “Sure, Harry.”

They stepped off into one of the smaller hallways where they could talk without being overheard although still in sight of everyone rushing to lunch in the Great Hall.

She spoke first. “So you’ll go to the Ball with me?” There was very little doubt in her voice.

Harry averted his gaze, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Er, actually, I can’t.”

Cho stopped smiling. “Can’t or won’t?” she asked sharply, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Both, Harry thought but did not say, opting instead to say, “Can’t. I- there are reasons I can’t tell you,” he finished rather lamely, knowing it sounded like an excuse.

“Could you tell Hermione Granger though?”

He avoided the question. “I- I’m really sorry, Cho, but I can’t. I- er- I really did fancy you,” he said awkwardly, and then winced inwardly at the finality of using the past tense.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, wishing he could just get away, wishing he’d been smart enough to just say, no, outright yesterday when she’d asked him instead of stammering, he didn’t know.

“Oh fine!” she huffed. “It’s not as if I need you to go with me. Roger Davies asked me too so I’ll just go with him. He likes me.” She turned and walked off, leaving him to grimace slightly.

Girls—why did they have to ask questions to make awkward situations even worse and ask them indirectly at that?

Except Hermione. She was different, better, than other girls.

He shook his head, dismissing Cho from his mind, as he headed towards the Great Hall for lunch.

He sat down in his usual spot beside Hermione and across from Ron.

Ron smirked. “So, anything interesting going on with Cho?”

“No,” he answered simply. “She just wanted to know something.”

Ron made a face of exaggerated disappointment at this mundane response from which no amusement or food for teasing could be drawn.

Harry ignored this, pouring himself some pumpkin juice and he began to eat his sandwich as Ron turned the conversation to the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw the next day.

Hermione smiled to herself as she listened with only half an ear to their conversation.

To any observer, nothing had changed between them.

But she knew—and things were different.

~*~

In the following days, Hermione had begun to wonder how to go to the Yule Ball with Harry and not make it seem particular- unless they simply went with Ron as a Trio.

But the next evening after dinner, that problem was neatly and unexpectedly solved when Luna approached Ron (or drifted over towards the Gryffindor table in her usual way of seeming unconcerned with where she was going) and asked him, almost absently, if he would go to the Yule Ball with her. (Hermione, glancing at Luna curiously, noted that though her tone sounded as dreamy as usual, the look in her eyes was not; there was a hint of nervousness in it, a hint of unmistakable admiration in her eyes as she looked at Ron and Hermione turned her head quickly away to hide her smile at the sudden realization that “Loony Luna” fancied Ron.)

Ron turned red up to the roots of his hair, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally said, “Er, okay, Luna.”

Luna smiled. “That’s nice. Thank you, Ronald,” she said before wandering back towards the Ravenclaw dormitory, humming “Weasley is my King” under her breath.

Leaving Ron to stare after her, bemused.

Ron stole glances at Luna often after that until the night of the Yule Ball arrived when he saw her, looking surprisingly pretty in green dress robes edged with yellow, a somewhat odd combination in a rather unique style but which somehow suited her. His eyes widened noticeably as he walked up to her.

Hermione glanced at Harry and they exchanged smiles of amusement over Ron’s expression, as he rather looked as if he’d just seen Percy dancing around wearing pink robes and Dobby’s tea cozy on his head.

Harry’s gaze met hers again and his grin softened into a smile. “You look really pretty tonight,” he said softly.

The words were simple, even a little awkward as compliments went, but she felt herself blush as she returned his smile. It wasn’t so much the words- although she knew just how much it took to bring Harry to say such a thing, flowery compliments not being his style- but more the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes which accompanied it. And she felt beautiful.

Oh they were still only just friends to anyone watching—but there was a difference.

Because they both knew—and that secret knowledge imbued every gesture, every look, with an added significance.

It was in the way Harry allowed his arm to brush against hers. It was in the way his hand sometimes brushed hers, just a little too often and too regularly for it to be purely by accident. It was in the subtle added gentleness and warmth in his voice sometimes when he said her name. It was in the way he smiled at her sometimes, in the way his gaze sometimes dropped to linger on her lips when she smiled or when she spoke sometimes (even when she was pressuring him to study harder).

And it didn’t matter if no one else knew.

She knew Harry cared, and he knew she knew—and that was all that mattered.

~The End~