What. An. Idiot.

Renaiya880727

Rating: G
Genres: Angst, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 29/07/2005
Last Updated: 29/07/2005
Status: completed

RESUBMITTED WITH MINOR CHANGES FOR COMPETITION!!! Written to answer the question I'm sure we all have: "What happened to Hermione in book six?" Better than it sounds, please R&R!

Chapters

1. What. An. Idiot.

1. What. An. Idiot.

I wrote this fic for a two-fold reason.

The first, is in answer to a sentiment my dad and I both share after reading HBP:

WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO HERMIONE???

I'm sure we're not the only ones who feel that Hermione was WAY OOC in HBP. I wondered why she would be such a way, and came up with an answer that I think, seems very credible, given the circumstances.

The second reason, is that I have literally, grown up with Harry. He was 11 when I was 11, and he was 16 when I was 16.

Barely.

My 17th birthday is today, so I suppose that THE SEVENTH BOOK is the only one where Harry and I will not have our ages in common when it's released.

So this is as much a pick-me-up after HBP as a birthday present to myself. And even though Ron and Hermione seem to be heading towards a relationship at the end of book six, I don't think it'll work out, because of the following reason:

Ron and Hermione can't last and hour without getting into a fight.

How long do you HONESTLY THINK they can last as a couple?

Hee hee.

What. An. Idiot.

Title inspired by Hermione's comment on Harry in the first movie.

I, Hermione Jane Granger, am an idiot.

Surprised? Well, so was I when I realized it.

And what, you may well ask, prompted me to arrive at this conclusion? Well, I'll tell you.

*

It begins, I suppose, with a potion, brewed by a certain Horace Slughorn.

Up until the introduction of that potion into my life, I had always largely believed there might have been something between me and one of my two best friends. There were times when I argued with Ron that I got the feeling he wasn't as mad at me as I might have been led to believe. And there were times when Harry and I seemed to share thoughts.

During the time we spent at the Burrow, I compared Harry to Ron, as far as behavior, communication, and overall goodness went. While it was true that Harry had always been more polite than Ron, and we had never had a serious fight, I couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't be a good idea to set my heart on him.

When Harry told us about the prophecy, I knew then that it wouldn't be a good idea to start flirting with him, when he had possible early death hanging over his head. Although I didn't abandon him when he told us about the prophecy, I decided that night that it would be in my best interests to go for Ron, because he had much less chance of kicking the bucket early than Harry. I should have realized I was an idiot then.

So, on the ahem, solid foundation of arguments, impoliteness, and general rude behavior, I cultivated certain dreams involving Ron and I, marrying, raising children, growing old together—which should have been my first clue that I was an idiot, for never has Ron shown behavior suggesting he would be happy settling down like that.

Sixth year arrived, and as my friendship with Harry and Ron remained, so did my concern for Harry, until the majority of my free-time musings were taken up with worrying about Harry, and entertaining my, if I may say, delusional dreams about Ron.

Until the potion.

I had recognized the Amortentia the moment I saw it. Through a stroke of either luck or misfortune, Harry, Ron, and I ended up sitting near it. I held my breath momentarily, aware of the effects of its scent, and turned my thoughts to Ron. I inhaled, and should have realized then that I was an idiot.

Apart from the scent of grass and parchment, there was another, in no way connected with, and so dissimilar in every way to Ron that I was flabbergasted. It brought to mind strongly the day not so long ago when Harry, Ron and I where under the cloak tailing Malfoy in Diagon Alley. But this scent was in no way like Ron. Why did I not smell Ron when I had been actively daydreaming about him for weeks? More to the point, where could I have possibly smelled this intoxicating scent that made my knees feel so weak that if I had been standing then I wouldn't have been much longer?

My answer came later in the lesson.

Harry turned to me and said, “Can I borrow your silver knife?” I nodded impatiently, due to my potion and my question of which boy the scent belonged to. It took me a minute to realize that I could smell it again, even though the potion had been covered by Slughorn. I raised my head a bit, ignoring my own potion, which wasn't behaving properly anyway, and looked around. There were many boys in the class, including Ron. Whenever one would pass me, I would inhale deeply, on the pretext of sighing in frustration. None of the matched the scent that had, by then, disappeared again.

In utter frustration, I looked over at Harry, expecting to be cheered up the sight of his potion, which was sure to be worse than mine, and was shocked to see it the pale shade of pink I had not yet managed to achieve.

“How are you doing that?” I demanded.

“Add a clockwise stir—“ He began, but I cut him off.

“No, no, the book says counterclockwise!” I snapped.

As he turned away, the movement caused a small breeze, and on it, came the scent again.

I froze. Surely not--?”

On the pretext of picking up another ingredient, I leaned closer to Harry and inhaled deeply. There could be no mistaking it. The scent that the Amortentia had created for me was Harry's.

I sat there in stunned silence, forgetting my potion completely, even though it had now turned more or less the correct shade.

How could this be possible? After weeks of daydreaming about Ron, and putting Harry aside as a possible boyfriend due to the prophecy, how could Harry be the one I loved? For this was the way Amortentia worked, by making people smell the things they loved dearly.

Harry, in spite of my determined rejection, had somehow found his way into my heart. And what annoyed me most was that I had not known it until now. How dare he make me love him! How dare my heart go against my common sense that screamed he would die and leave me alone! How could I, in direct defiance of my logical mind, love Harry when it couldn't possibly be a good thing?

When he revealed the source of his brilliance at dinner, I was still incensed, and behaved accordingly. In fact, over the next few weeks I was increasingly nasty to him, accusing him of setting too much store by the book, while hiding my own true feelings.

Some days later, I forgot my anger at Harry and pointed out to him the reason for so many people turning up for Quidditch tryouts. I was hard pressed to keep myself from blushing as I mentioned the scars on his hand. I had always admired him for that; hundreds of hours of cutting open his own hand, when all he had to do was keep his mouth shut. But I must confess I would have been more worried if he had given in to Umbridge.

He's always been a fighter.

But the look on his face when I praised him, coupled with Ron's reaction, helped me to determine my course of action.

I was disgusted with myself. I may have been nasty to Harry, but this was underlined by worry over his safety, as evidenced by my desire to make him see the danger of his potions book, interest in his lessons with Dumbledore, and overall concern for him because of the prophecy.

I became jealous of Ron, and more determined than ever to do all in my power to make myself love him more than Harry. I expressed the wish to invite him to Slughorn's Christmas party, in the hope that sometime that night he would express undying love for me, or something along those lines.

Imagine my disappointment then, when he hooked up with Lavender Brown, and the one to search me out to comfort me was Harry. While I admit I may have reacted very childishly towards Ron, it was nothing to how I had been treating Harry.

I lay in bed that night crying, not, as I had expected, over Ron, but over Harry. In the moment I saw him standing in the doorway, I realized why I loved him, and it scared me. Swamped with guilt, I wept into my pillow. Guilt that in spite of my treatment of him, Harry had still searched me out when he thought I needed someone.

Harry had always been the one to come after me, the one who stuck up for me, even to his best friend. It was he who had thought of coming to the rescue of a complete stranger who his best friend didn't like, because he though I was in danger from a troll. It was he who had noticed the scrap of parchment in my hand, which led him to the Chamber of Secrets, to kill the monster that petrified me. It was he who was first to seek me out after our fight over the Firebolt, the first to extend the hand of peace.

And it was Harry who I was most concerned about during the Triwizard tournament, even when my own boyfriend was also competing. It was Harry who I worried and fretted over constantly. And in spite of myself, it was Harry who I loved.

And that thought scared me beyond words.

Harry had little chance of living to an old age with me, little chance of being granted a peaceful life, and every chance of dying and leaving me alone.

I decided then that I would not let myself love him. I would continue to be nasty, continue to hold out hope for Ron, and maybe, just maybe, I would stop loving him.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I am an idiot.

*

My resolution was tested time and time again. The first, was when I was informing Harry that there were several girls trying to spike his drinks with love potions. When he demanded to know why I didn't confiscate them, I was on the verge of telling him that I understood how they felt, that in spite of my fear of him dying and being left alone, part of me thought it was well worth it if I could have just have his love. Instead, I scornfully told him that since they didn't have the potions with them, there wasn't much I could do except warn him to be careful. Again, a sign of my wanting to help him. It did help my case somewhat in that he was still entertaining his idea that Malfoy could be a Death Eater, which gave me plenty of opportunities to belittle him.

In the meantime, my plans with Ron were brought to a standstill because of Lavender Brown. Hoping to incense him, I asked Cormac McClaggen to be my partner to Slughorn's party instead, thinking that Ron deserved to be left out. It seemed to work, but then my resolution to make myself stop loving Harry was put to another test.

When Ron was poisoned, all I could think about, as I stood in the hall outside the hospital wing, as I looked down at Ron on the bed, was how grateful I was that it wasn't Harry. If Harry had also drunk the mead, he would have been poisoned too, and it was only through his quick thinking that Ron was still alive. I doubt Slughorn would have been able to move as fast to locate a bezoar if Harry had been poisoned.

When Ron croaked my name from the bed, I should have been elated that my plan was working as far as he was concerned, but all I could focus on was how close Harry had been to death too, and that as much as I wanted to deny it, Harry's death would have affected me much worse than Ron's.

At last, hope seemed to come in two forms. The first, Ron saying he loved me when I offered to look over his homework, although that may have been because I was doing him a favor, and Harry's increasingly obvious crush on Ginny. I encouraged him in this, even though it broke me inwardly to egg him on after another girl when I wanted him so badly. When he kissed her in the common room, he looked over at me and Ron, and I smiled, when all I wanted to do was cry, I smiled. Not because I was happy, but because maybe my heart would finally begin to realize that it was not a good idea to love him, and my logic could win the day.

But my resolution broke the night Dumbledore died.

During the battle all I could wonder was where Harry and Dumbledore had gone, if Harry was safe, if he had already been killed.

I forced myself to go the hospital wing, to stand around Bill's bed with the others. The door opened, and there stood Harry, a look of inexpressible grief and pain on his face. That was when I realized what an idiot I had been. Forgetting the fact that Ginny was his girlfriend, I ran to him and hugged him, desperate to hear him breathe, to feel his heart beating, to know he was still alive.

The grief was explained when he told us that Dumbledore was dead. He explained how it had happened, and when he reached Malfoy's involvement, I clapped my hands to my mouth in horror.

Why had I not believed him? He was usually right about these things, I should have known better than to not take him seriously. In utter shame, I realized that disbelief had subconsciously become part of my plan to make myself stop loving him. Doubt is, after all, one of love's many opposites.

When Harry had left with McGonagall, I sat in a chair with my head in my hands, thinking of how much damage I had done by doubting Harry's accusations against Malfoy, by betraying him when he had never betrayed me. And then there was Ron. How cruel I was to lead him on like I had, when I was just trying to find someone who could be with me indefinitely.

It was all because of fear. Fear of being left alone. But what would be worse? I asked myself. Harry dying tomorrow without knowing how much I loved him, in spite of the prophecy, or letting him know, so that if he did die, we both would know?

I began making reparations as soon as I could. When Harry showed me the contents of the locket, I went to work on the mystery of R.A.B. knowing it was crucial to Harry's quest for the remaining Horcruxes. When I mentioned Snape's mother, and my being right about the Prince being a girl, he snapped at me. Not that I didn't deserve it, but it caused me pain to think that he had learned to be defensive around me this past year because of my selfish actions.

When I noticed him crying at Dumbledore's funeral, it hurt me like nothing else had to know that I could no longer reach out to comfort him, because that right was no longer mine. I turned to comfort Ron instead, and when he held me, I felt nothing except a deep shame at my deceiving him.

When Ginny told me the reason why Harry was leaving her, I wished desperately that I had been in her place. I would have told Harry that I was staying no matter what, and that was that.

But I can't do that, because I have scarred our friendship.

Thus, I am an idiot.

I know it will take time to fix things, but I will start by proving to Harry that I am still here for him. A little wiser and a little more heartbroken, perhaps, but here all the same. I will keep my promise and accompany him to Privet Drive, and Godric's Hollow. I can only imagine how painful returning to his home under these circumstances will be, and I will not let him face it alone.

And after all, I know for a fact he is worth the time and trouble. He has done so much for me over the years, and I will not lose my chance to return the favor.

Especially after reading his article in the newspaper yesterday.

The Daily Prophet had been going on for some time about how tragic Dumbledore's death was, until Harry's letter to the editor appeared.

I have a copy of it sitting in front of me now.

Dear Editor, (and readers)

I know some of you, perhaps even most of you, thought Professor Dumbledore was a little crazy. Small wonder then, that you find his passing so hard to accept. He once told me that, `to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure'. In the six short years I knew him, he passed on several pieces of wisdom that I would like to share with you.

The first, concerns the reason behind this war. Simply put, it is prejudice. Many people feel inadequate due to their lineage, but they should remember that `it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be'. Many of the greatest wizards and witches were half-blood or Muggle born, and many purebloods never rise to greatness. This separation only creates problems if we let ourselves become blinded by prejudice.

The second piece of advice, is that `indifference and neglect often do more damage than outright dislike'. It is my belief, that if we all spent more time concentrating on what needs to be done to win this war, and less time worrying about what others think of us when we do it, that this war would have been over years ago.

Lastly, I would ask you all to remember what Dumbledore said to those at Hogwarts two years ago: that `we are only as strong as we are united, and as weak as we are divided.' I do not believe that Dumbledore would wish Hogwarts to be closed, simply because he can no longer share another year with us. After all, he is not gone for good. Every headmaster or headmistress leaves a part of themselves behind when they die, in the hearts and mind of those whose lives they touched. I once heard Dumbledore say, that he will only truly have left Hogwarts when none there are loyal to him. What better way to show our loyalty, than to keep the school going, and pass on the knowledge that makes the entire Wizarding world what it is: a place where those who were granted extraordinary gifts are able to live in safety, free from fear of persecution by those different than they are.

I fear, and I hope I am mistaken, that it will be some time before we see the end of this age of War, and can once again enjoy the peace of mind that comes from knowing we are safe, as long as we do not allow petty differences to divide us, or influence us in any way that would cause further harm.

Albus Dumbledore has been called many things throughout his life. Friend, mentor, and, perhaps most of all, teacher. Now I would bestow upon him another title, and I am sure I am not the only one who feels this way. I wish to give him the title of Father, for he was like a father to me, as well as many others.

I ask you then, to remember Albus Dumbledore, whose dearest wish for a Christmas present was a pair of warm socks, who was plagued by earwax flavored beans, and whose words of choice when speaking in public were `Nitwit,' `Blubber,' `Oddment,' and `Tweak.'

Most of all, remember his example, and stay strong in this difficult time.

Yours truly,

Harry Potter

Since this article appeared, there have been no more articles mourning Dumbledore, but plenty celebrating his life. I don't think Harry realizes just how much influence he has over people, and I can personally attest to the fact that he has a way of making people like him, through his guilelessness and, incredible as it is that he still possesses it, his innocence.

I will try to make reparations, with him and with Ron. I may be inclined to give Ron special attention, at least until I take more careful note of the way he acts around Luna Lovegood. But maybe with time, I could grow to actually love Ron, after all, time has a way of changing things. But even if I do, it won't change the fact that I love Harry very much. I hope Harry can find it in himself to forgive me, and maybe, just maybe, I can learn to let myself love him, without fear of losing him.

After all, I've been told I'm a very smart girl.

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