Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Finally, Endlessly is completed now and I can turn my attention back to this story. So, this is chapter three. Please forgive me, if this chapter seems a bit patchy and the POV changes are confusing!
CHAPTER THREE
He loves me, he loves me not
Harry and Hermione were sitting in the Common Room on a Saturday morning, doing their homework. Well, Hermione was doing hers and Harry just pretended he was doing his too. Outside, it was warm and sunbeams penetrated high windows and danced across the yellowed scrolls of parchment. Hermione just ignored them, but Harry followed them longingly with his eyes. He really wanted to get out and enjoy the sunny day, and it was Saturday for crying out loud! But he reckoned that Hermione simply would not understand. And he didn't want to hurt her feelings again, as he was quite happy with the status quo. But with every passing minute the alluring sunbeams were becoming harder to ignore.
"Hey, Harry! Let's go play Quidditch!" Ron shouted, barging into the Common Room.
Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval. "You know, Ron," she started cautiously, "I don't think this is wise. You should be studying now. Remember, you got a 'poor' for your last Transfiguration essay."
Ron turned to her, grinning. "Still better than a 'dreadful', isn't it?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away from him indignantly. Ron merely shrugged and went upstairs to get his Quidditch attire. Harry, who successfully ignored the voice of conscience in his head, smiled at her apologetically and followed his friend, nearly leaping up with joy.
Hermione sighed. After working off her bad temper on them last week, she realized that they didn't deserve it. She found them next morning and apologized profusely. She noted that Harry looked immensely relieved. Poor Harry, after all it wasn't his fault that she fell in love with him and got jealous.
A week had passed and everything seemed normal between Harry and Hermione.
But once Hermione admitted to herself that she was in love with Harry, not only did her relationship with him become strained, but she also found it hard to concentrate during the lessons, which never happened to her before. She spent a good deal of time day-dreaming or doodling in her notebook. And she tried very hard not to stare at him all the time, lest he should suspect anything.
Transfixed, Hermione stared at the page before her. Her body stayed behind in the stuffy classroom, but her mind was far away in the land of dreams. There, she imagined that Harry finally saw her as a girl, and not only as a hardworking student and a loyal friend. He fell madly in love with her and they were destined to be together forever…
Professor McGonagall coughed twice, then again, this time louder. Hermione startled and looked up. Professor frowned at her, but didn't say anything and didn't even take points off Gryffindor. Hermione was grateful for that. The last thing she needed right now was losing points for her house. Till the end of the lesson she tried to focus on what she was reading.
At dinner, Harry was stealthily observing Hermione. While she wondered if her femininity escaped him, Harry was trying to convince himself that Hermione was in fact his best friend, had been for years, and that it was really a misfortune that she happened to be a girl. Why couldn't she be a bloke like Ron, with whom he could feel at ease, just talking or playing chess? Why did she have to be a girl, and especially such an attractive and loveable kind?
They would both be very much surprised if they ever got to hear each other's thoughts, but meanwhile Hermione sighed all the time and Harry racked his brains, trying to figure out the riddle that was Hermione Granger.
"I think, it's Krum," Harry said thoughtfully, waiting for Ron's move.
"Huh?" Ron asked, looking up from the chessboard.
"I think," Harry repeated, "something happened between Hermione and Krum. That's why she was so cranky."
Ron stared at him, perplexed. He himself stopped worrying about it since Hermione was her old self again and saved him from failing all his subjects. But he couldn't help notice that Harry was very pensive lately, throwing furtive glances at Hermione. Ron just shrugged and they resumed their game.
That evening Ron entered the Common Room, loaded with a pile of books, and tried to camouflage another of his requests for help under small talk.
"Hey, Hermione!" he said cheerfully, as he strolled over to where she was sitting. "What are you doing?"
"The same thing you should be doing," she muttered, without even looking up from her book, "revising for the tests."
With sinking heart Ron pictured his mother's disappointed face as she finds out that he failed all his exams and had to say goodbye to his promising career as an Auror. For his own sake, and for the sake of his two best friends, he added as an afterthought, he had to find out what was eating Hermione. For now he ploughed through a book on the History of Magic, waiting for a good moment.
"It's Krum, isn't it?" he suddenly blurted out, when he couldn't wait any longer.
"What?" Hermione gave him a surprised look.
"The reason why you've been really weird lately," Ron explained, preparing himself for an angry outburst from Hermione.
"Viktor and I broke up," Hermione said quietly after a pause.
"Oh?" was all he managed to say, but he looked so happy, as if Christmas was coming earlier.
You won't be as happy when you find out that I'm infatuated with your best friend, Hermione thought.
"And it's not because of him. I'm just tired," she added.
Satisfied with an explanation, Ron nodded and began to plan out his essay.
"So, how is that essay coming along?" Hermione asked him, as she scanned her notes.
When she didn't get an answer, she looked up and saw Ron staring at something behind her. Hermione traced his gaze and saw Dean and Ginny cuddling on one of the sofas in the corner. Ron looked awry at the couple and Hermione couldn't help smiling.
"Ron, she isn't your baby sister anymore," she said softly.
He turned to face her.
"I know, but…" he stuttered.
"You don't trust Dean?" she asked tentatively.
"No, it's not that. It's just that she's still very young and silly and she doesn't know what's right and what's wrong. I'm just protecting her," he finished lamely.
"Oh, Ron!" said Hermione, exasperated.
He frowned and returned to his homework, indicating the end of conversation. But Hermione didn't take her eyes off Ginny and Dean. She felt a pang of jealousy, when she saw them holding hands, kissing and whispering something sweet in each other's ear, something very intimate that wasn't meant for others. They didn't need other people, they were happy in the isolation of their little bubble. With great difficulty, she looked away.
When Hermione at last approved of his essay, Ron left the Common Room to look for Harry and tell him that Hermione's tantrums had nothing to do with that oaf of her Bulgarian boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, he corrected himself happily.
As he expected, he found Harry on the Astronomy Tower, which had become his 'ivory tower' recently.
"Harry, mate," Ron puffed, after running up the stairs, "I've got terrific news for you!"
Harry was all ears.
"Looks like Hermione chucked Vicky," he beamed.
"That's very good news," Harry grinned.
If Harry was alone, he would have danced a little jig on the spot, but of course he couldn't do that now, with Ron staring at him. His heart was drumming a paradiddle. He was excited and frightened at the same time. He wasn't sure what he should do: try to comfort Hermione, if she was upset about the break-up, or pretend that nothing happened. Or let her know how he felt about her. He wished that Sirius was alive to help him with his 'girl trouble' again.
Meanwhile, Hermione was still sitting in the Common Room, wondering how Harry would react to the announcement of her break-up with Viktor. She knew that both Ron and Harry were curious as to what was happening between her and the distinguished Bulgarian seeker. When Ron left, she knew that he was dying to share that news with Harry. And now she hoped that he would take a hint. Maybe he hadn't taken the first step, because he thought that she wasn't available? She felt that she had to unbosom herself to somebody, or she would explode because of the overwhelming emotions. Preferably to someone who could talk back.
* * *
Harry watched her out of the corner of his eye. It was so hard not to look. He was always making excuses just to be with her, to look at her and maybe accidentally touch her, if he was lucky.
How did it happen? They've been friends for so many years. He didn't even remember the exact moment when he realized what his true feelings for her were. Maybe he always loved her, subconsciously. When she smiled at him like she did, he forgot who or what he was.
When Hermione got up from her seat and proceeded to the Ravenclaw table, Harry watched her curiously. The optimistic girl that she was, she never abandoned her S.P.E.W. campaign and now she was cajoling the Ravenclaws into becoming members of the organization, while distributing the badges to the willing students.
Some of them, like Luna Lovegood, accepted them eagerly and pinned them to their robes. Others, like Padma Patil, took them less willingly, out of sympathy for Hermione, but not caring at all about her project. The rest just plainly refused and even laughed at her idealistic plans. Terry Boot, however, who had never shared her enthusiasm and never showed any interest in it at all, as Harry noted to himself with surprise, took a handful of the luminous badges and even went as far as to officially sign her members' book. He was all smiles to her, and Harry saw her blush at his lavish attention. Harry's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, when Terry took her hand and asked her to join their table. Hermione was in her element again, talking about her large-scale liberation of house elves. She blushed and giggled nervously, when Terry nodded and expressed his support.
When that git laughed and whispered something in her ear, Harry's fists balled and he had an insuppressible impulse to break that guy's neck. What the heck was he thinking, flirting with Hermione like that? And was Hermione completely blind? Did she really think that he was genuinely interested in S.P.E.W.? Harry doubted that he heard a word she was saying; all he did was ogling her! Is that what Hermione wanted? An adoring beau?
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "I can't be just your friend anymore. I can't pretend any longer that I don't love you. And obviously, I'm not the kind of guy you need. And if it means that we have to say goodbye, then that's what it will be."
Downhearted, he finished his meal and left the Great Hall, not even once looking back at laughing Hermione. In the Common Room he settled in one of the arm-chairs and took out his textbooks. He flipped through the pages, but his mind wasn't focused on the words in the book.
Harry felt like he was carrying a millstone around his neck. Everyone accounted him a hero, a savior, but he felt so weak and helpless. People would weave tales of his legendary exploits, create a myth about the brilliant Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, a unique phenomenon, and the fancier the stories, the less he recognized himself in that infamous boy. If he was such a hero, why couldn't he even ask a girl out on a date? Whatever he had with Cho, he botched it, before one could say 'Quidditch'. Now he was afraid to tell Hermione that he was in love with her, afraid to even look at her properly. If he was such a nice guy everyone talked about, why wasn't she in love with him then? She didn't need a fake celebrity, a guy who ruined everything. She wanted someone like that sleek Terry Boot. And Harry Potter didn't even come close to that.
He heaved a long sigh, forcing himself to focus on the homework he had to finish before tomorrow.
On the sofa, not far away from where Harry was sitting, Ginny was labouring over her homework too. She had noticed Harry's desolate state and, putting away her books, walked over to him.
"Hey, Harry," she smiled, plopping into a free arm-chair.
"Ginny," Harry smiled back, happy to have some kind of distraction from the boring Potions book.
"Are you all right?" she cut to the chase.
"Yes," he tried to look bright and merry, "of course, I am."
"You know, I wish you would tell me what's bothering you, Harry," she urged him. "I'm sure I can help."
"You won't understand," he said glumly.
"Try me," she challenged him.
"Well," he mumbled, passing his hand through his messy hair, "it seems like nothing is working out for me. My grades are average at best and Snape hates my guts. And I've got other problems to deal with. Everything is just awful."
"Actually, I don't excel at school either," Ginny replied, as she reached for a gingersnap. "And as for Snape, I don't think we'll live to see the day when he actually likes someone."
"But still you are good at everything," Harry argued, "and I screw everything up."
"I'm not good at everything," she shook her head. "I can't write poetry."
He laughed, remembering her abominable singing Valentine that compared his eyes to pickled toads.
"Harry, do you know what your problem is?" Ginny asked.
"What?" he stopped laughing.
"Everyone has too big expectations of you, and you feel like you're not living up to them. Well, that's not true. Just look at how much you've accomplished so far. You come out of all the battles alive, you protect your friends, and more importantly, you are such a tough opponent that you manage to keep Voldemort at bay."
"I do?" Harry gaped at her.
"Of course, if it was a piece of cake for him, he would be done with you long ago. And now he has to gather all his forces at least for a year, before he tries anything with you. That just goes to show how good you are."
"I never thought about it that way," Harry mumbled, utterly confused.
"Well, now you will," Ginny smiled. "And whatever you were worried about, I'm sure it's nothing compared to this. Now, pluck up your courage and resolve that problem of yours."
"Thanks, Ginny," he grinned.
"You are welcome," she patted him on the shoulder and went back to her sofa.
The pep talk with Ginny did its magic, and Harry felt a lot better. She was right; he should go to Hermione and just tell her how he felt. What's the worst that could happen? Okay, she would say that she loved as him as a friend and that sort of things, but it's not the end of the world. As Ginny pointed out, it was nothing compared to the hovering doom of death.
As advised, he plucked up his spirits and strolled out of the Common Room, on his way to the library. It was nearly midnight and the corridors of the castle were deserted. He soon reached the library and pushed the doors open. It was dark inside, save for the bright glow of a candle far behind the bookcases. He followed the light and came upon Hermione. Hermione, who was perusing thick dusty folios, didn't hear him come in. He coughed slightly in order to alert her to his presence.
"Harry? What are you doing here? It's long past curfew!" Hermione cried out from surprise.
"You are not going to take points off me, are you?" he smiled mischievously.
"Of course not," she huffed. "But don't just stand there. Sit down."
She motioned to the chair next to her and Harry sat down at the paper-strewn table.
"I didn't mean to interrupt you," he said, looking in awe at the mounds of books before him.
"It's all right, I was finished anyway," she replied, as she started to gather her things.
Harry helped her to put the books on the shelves.
"Do you have your homework done for tomorrow?" she asked, concerned.
"I just have a Divination essay to write," he replied unenthusiastically. "But I have no idea what to write in it. And to tell you the truth, I don't really feel like writing it."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione chided. "Of course, I'll help you with it. You can't afford to flunk Divination."
"But, Hermione," he stuttered. "You are not even taking Divination!"
"Nonsense," she brushed away his anxiety. "You never read any of the books she tells you to read and yet you are perfectly able to predict your own future, aren't you? So can I. I always told you that she was a fraud."
Harry didn't argue with that. He hoped that Hermione would at least come up with something creative, because his own death sentence (that's what Trelawney wanted to see) didn't look realistic enough.
"So, what book are you using?" she asked as she got up and went to the bookcase.
"The Future is in Your Hands by Delphine Bouchonnet," Harry sighed. "We are doing palmistry now."
"Oh, how exciting!" Hermione said, jokingly.
"Well, I suppose it's a nice difference from staring at your own reflection in a crystal ball," Harry snorted.
Hermione opened the book and found the corresponding chapter.
"Here," she pointed, "they give all the necessary guidelines, you just follow them."
Harry scanned the chapter and began on his essay, consulting with the book from time to time.
"So, what do you have so far?" Hermione peeked over his shoulder
"Nothing," he sighed. "Besides the fact that my life line is alarmingly short."
Hermione laughed at his eagerness to please Professor Trelawney.
"Well, why don't you focus on the nearest future," she suggested.
Half-heartedly, Harry stared at his hand again.
"I can't read anything off mine," he complained. "Can I see your hand? She won't know, as long as it's macabre enough."
"All right," she agreed and gave him her right hand.
He took her hand in his and observed it carefully. Hermione felt herself melt, as he studied the lines of her palm. His hands were strong and masculine, and whenever he traced the lines and marks with his finger, she'd stop breathing.
As soon as Harry took her small hand in his, his heart began to beat twice as hard. He had done it on purpose, of course. He wasn't interested in the patterns on the palm of her hand; he just wanted to hold it. How he wished that she would react half as cheery, as when Terry Boot was holding hers, all the time gawking at her stupidly. He suddenly had a strong, overwhelming urge to cover her tanned hand with kisses.
Without a warning, Hermione jerked back her hand and got up swiftly, startling Harry.
"I'm sorry," she stammered, hoisting her back on her shoulder. "It's late, I should be going. See you in the morning."
And with that she left the library. Harry could not comprehend what he had done to elicit such response from Hermione. He was afraid that somehow she guessed his heart's secret desires and it made her feel uncomfortable. She didn't love him back and she was too kind to reject him.
Dejectedly, he gathered his quills and parchment and plodded out of the library.
In the darkness of her bedroom, Hermione slid under the blankets and closed the hangings around her. Tears stained her face and she pressed her hand to her mouth, for fear of sobbing out loud and waking the other girls. She pulled the blanket over her head and cried softly into her pillow.
She did the right thing, when she pulled away her hand. She was afraid that she would let out a moan of pleasure any minute and scare Harry. His gentle fingers drove her mad and she would have lost her head there. But, thank Merlin, she gathered her wits in time. She was just fooling herself - he wasn't even remotely interested in her. He was Harry Potter, he had throngs of girls after him, who literally worshipped him. They were funny, pretty, and Hermione realized acutely that she hardly stood a chance to ever be noticed by him.
~~~~~~~~
Extra note: Delphine Bouchonnet is a real person (and she was on the French examination board, when I had my exams last year), and so is Katie Bell, by the way! Turns out they went to Keele University together. It's in the heart of England, for those who don't know, somewhere between Manchester and Birmingham. Don't know what JKR was thinking when she named her character after a real person. And I just followed in her footsteps. LOL!