Wow, I got such a TOTALLY positive response to the first fic I posted here, I thought I'd go ahead and post another one. I literally just finished this up this morning. I'm really stuck on the idea of Harry having competition when it comes to Hermione's affections, so it's another one of those. And it's another Harry POV, because that's what I feel most comfortable doing (for reasons completely unknown to me). I'm sure I'll break into real plot someday, I'm still just testing the waters of all this.
disclaimer: well, they're not mine, they're JKR's. that'll do right?
Also, can I just say- HOLY CRAP - will you look at the esteemed reviewers I got on that first fic? My roommate thinks I'm nuts, having no idea who NAPPA, babygrrl, etc. are. Poor girl. AND a thread in the forum. And my linguistics final was declared a take-home. Best day!
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It has an odd way of asserting of itself, this love I have for Hermione. It pops up at the damndest times (other, um, 'things' pop at the damndest times as well, but, I digress).
Sometimes it's like there's nothing there, like she's just a friend, hell, she could be Neville for all the attention I'm giving the matter. Sometimes I'm actually intensely irritated with her, to a point where it makes my skin crawl - You want me to do *what* before the biggest quidditch match of the year? Study?! Surely, you jest. But, other times, MOST of the time, I just…I just love her.
There's a Buzzcocks song that goes something along the lines of "ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?" Yes, Pete Shelley, I have. And therein lies the problem. Definitely shouldn't of done that.
And why, exactly, is that?
Cause Ron went and did it too.
How poetic. The two best friends fall for the same girl. It's been done over and over (…and over…) in literature throughout the ages. Muggle movies, music, it's everywhere. Hell, it's a cliché, trite, something that has no place in my life. I have dark lords and NEWTs to worry about, I needn't be fretting over my love life (or lack thereof). But, alas, here I am, I mean, what am I blathering on about here, if not 'girl problems?'
I guess I should probably give you a rundown of the past…well, however many years it's been since you last checked in with me. We're all 7th years now, though I remain firmly convinced that if not for Hermione's brilliant mind and pervasive studying techniques, Ron would still be a 5th year. And I'd probably be dead several times over, but that's another story.
Anyway, following the disaster that was 4th year, as you may know, I was the lucky recipient of a kiss on the cheek from Hermione.
Ron was not.
There was no stunning revelation of my love for her following departure from the platform. I had silently acknowledged at the Yule Ball that Hermione would make a fine girlfriend. It was just a thought I had, I didn't pay much mind to it, and the events that followed shortly after just served to distract my adolescent mind further.
Acknowledging that you're physically attracted to someone and that their personality characteristics are congruent to yours is not akin to loving them.
No, that was to come later.
Back to the cheek smooch- Ron just wouldn't let it go. Of all the owls I received from him that summer, I'd say only a small percent did not contain a reference to it.
What did she mean by that?
Was she playing games with him?
What was so repulsive about his cheek?
What was so enchanting about mine?
Shortly into the summer I developed a system wherein I would skim his letters, notice the word 'kiss,' and promptly write out a uniform template response - 'I'm sure Hermione was just overwhelmed, I don't think she was being malicious, etc.' Needless to say I was just the slightest bit irritated by Ron. I mean, was it really necessary to spend all summer talking about how he DIDN'T get a kiss? Couldn't we, just once, talk about how I DID, and how that made me feel?
No.
We couldn't.
Because Ron had tunnel vision. He liked Hermione. That was all he saw. I, on the other hand, was still dipping my toes into the shallow end of the pool of my feelings. Ron was flailing around, trying not to drown, in the deep end.
For every letter I got that summer, I think Hermione received about six. She started forwarding them to me, asking advice on how to deal with this new myopic Ron. His letters to her ranged from livid at the beginning of break to almost mushy by the end.
I'll never know, or at least I don't now, if Hermione had actual feelings for Ron or if he'd just worn her down, but by the end of summer, and arrival back at Hogwarts, they were "dating."
Dating to Ron and Hermione meant that a strict schedule of fighting and snogging was adhered to daily.
I wasn't particularly crushed: the, uh, full bloom of my love had yet to be recognized. It was almost like someone grabbing the snitch before me, I was upset, but there'd be other matches.
And other matches there were.
I can file most of my indiscretions that year under three headings - "It seemed like a good idea at the time," personified in an incident involving too much actual butter beer and a clingy, smarmy Hufflepuff. The second - "You live and you learn," entailing a lesson in dating girls who only saw the scar, and lastly, "Whoops," which is exactly what it sounds like.
By the time I had experienced the third 'Whoops' of the year, I had lost track of the number of times Hermione and Ron had broken up. It was always instigated by Hermione and always involved a messily sobbing Ron waking me up at all hours to console him.
5th year ended quickly, in a blur, incidentally during an off period for the disastrous duo, and I was back home for the summer.
As it turns out, if you're going to shoot up to around six feet tall while your cousin remains a pudgy 5'4," it is not a good idea to live with him. The curtain of resentment and disgust that fell in that house almost smothered me, and Hermione, bless her heart, took pity on me, and arranged with her parents to let me stay at their house for the last month of vacation.
That's where things started to get messy.
Or rather, I let myself get sloppy.
I had labeled Hermione in my mind as someone not to become romantically involved with. Literally: in my mind there was picture of her and a label stating "Do NOT Date" was plastered across the front. As good as I thought it could be, it just wasn't worth upsetting Ron over further. That boy was a powder keg when it came to her.
That last month, however, the labeled started peeling off. She had arranged for me to sleep in the den, which incidentally was next to her room, this allowed for countless late night conversations in the hallway, starting when one of us would pass the other to brush our teeth or some equally trivial thing and ending when one of us fell asleep. I haven't ever felt that close to anyone.
Ever.
And not just physically close (though we did often end up sitting on the ground, our backs against the hallway wall, close enough for our shoulders to brush), but mentally, emotionally close. I realize that this isn't a blinding surprise to anyone. A situation such as mine with no parents and under the care of those blasted Dursleys, wasn't conducive to deep emotional bonding.
We were experiencing an opportunity unlike any we had encountered at school. There was no potions exam to study for, no quidditch match to train for, no Ron to hover about.
We could just talk.
And I could just fall in love with her.
The line between platonic love and romantic love is very thin, blurred, and often precariously straddled. What can I say? I'm a daredevil, baby. I was walking the line. On one side was this idyllic land where Hermione and I were together and Ron had contented himself elsewhere and on the other side was an angry Ron, with a face red enough to match his hair and fist fit to match my face.
And, hell, I haven't even BEGUN to talk about what I think Hermione feels about all this…
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That seems like an all right place to end this chapter, feel free to leave a review… :o)
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